God in a messy day

I like to think I understand grace. I've grown up knowing that while God calls us to do good works, they have no bearing on His ultimate love for us. I'm starting to realize, slowly but surely, that I have no inkling of what really living in God's grace is like. 

I've been on this kick lately to get my life together. By this, I mean living each day perfectly. My perfect day would be something like this: get up in time to read my Bible, take a shower, prepare a healthy lunch, be an awesome teacher with kick-ass lesson plans, come home and walk my dog, clean my apartment, make another healthy dinner, and then enjoy an hour or so in a hot bath while reading a good book. 

My problem is that if one tiny things go awry, I give up. For some strange reason, I feel like I can only communicate with God if I'm making good choices and my life is in order. If I feel like my relationship with God isn't good or He's upset with me, I have this strange feeling that the day is lost anyway, so it doesn't really matter.

Today, for instance, I got up early, read my Bible, and made a salad for lunch. In all my self-congratulations, I forgot to grab my lunch from the kitchen. The rest of the day did not go well. I rushed off a school letter that my boss had to correct and then my kids went crazy in the afternoon and refused to learn anything. 

I was going to recover, though. Nope, they weren't going to get me down. I had a list of things from Target, Petsmart, and Trader Joe's and I mean an expansive list. This list included fruits, vegetables, lesson plan binders, and toilet paper. 

I'm on my way to Target and I'm at this intersection from Kingshighway to 64 West that no joke takes about 5-10 minutes to get through when it hits me: I forgot to turn off the coffee pot at school. Crap. In those few seconds, I know that my day is totally shot. I lose, Wednesday wins. I think, in internet-safe terms, screw it. 

I turn my car around, drive back to school and unplug the coffee pot, and head straight for home only pausing to pick up a bottle of wine at a gas station. My day is over. I failed. I might as well give it up for lost and start again tomorrow. I order take out, turn on Law and Order SVU, and pull up a blog that I've read through about 30 times. 

Where is grace in this day? Why do I not feel free to fail and try again? Why do I have to wait until tomorrow to start over? I honestly want God to fit in this neat little box on a healthily, happy, day between 6am and 7am. I feel like if I read my Bible and pray before I go to work, and then am productive throughout the rest of the day, then that's good enough.

Maybe the reason I keep failing at this ridiculous goal of "getting my life together" is because I refuse to let Jesus into the hum-drum, messy parts of my day. When things are going great, I pray. When things are falling apart, I pray. When I make bad decisions or slightly aggravating things happen to me, I ignore God until I can start again. 

This is just a theory, but I feel like if I let God into every part of my day, prayed before I gave up on going to the grocery store, prayed before I picked up that bottle of wine, prayed before I ordered take-out that I obviously didn't need, maybe I wouldn't need to skip the grocery story, get a bottle of wine, or order take out. My day falls apart and I go to an easy fix, an easy way to forget my problems. 

God needs to be in the messy parts of life. He doesn't fit into a quiet time or into a life that runs smoothly without Him. God loves me a lot more than I'm giving Him credit for, and I have a feeling I'm hurting Him as much as I'm hurting myself. 

A Prayer for Smoot

Before I start out this blog, I want to assure all of the Smoot-lovers out there that Smoot is perfectly healthy. There have been some recent events that have me thinking about what I want for the end when it comes to Smoot. These are my ramblings dealing with these ideas...

Yesterday, a neighbors dog died. I went to check up on her and she told me her horrid story. She came home and her sweet pup who normally snoozes on the couch or bed was by the back door. She was lying in a puddle of blood and urine, having seizure after seizure. No doubt she was trying to get outside to be obedient. She rushed her to the E.R. (animal version) and they told her that she was blind and it would cost thousands of dollars to keep her alive. This dog was 13 years old and my neighbor chose to euthanize her, which I applaud as a brave decision.

I'm saying all of this because this episode put a terrible fear in my heart. The idea of coming home to Smoot lying in a puddle of blood by the door, trying to be obedient to his last breath, breaks my heart. Smoot will be 8 in March. The average lifespans for English Bulldogs is eight years. While Smoot is healthy and happy, I can't deny that in all likelihood these are his twilight years. I'm praying to God that when I found out something is wrong, it will be in a vet's office. I pray that I will have the strength not to let him live blind, deaf, in pain, scared. I pray that I have the courage to give the ok to end his life. 

When it comes down to it, dogs don't have souls. Their suffering isn't "counted to them as righteousness." The only reason people have to keep terminal pets around is their own selfishness. I pray that I am not one of these people. I'm praying that I'll be able to say goodbye to Smoot in a vet's office, stroking him while he painlessly falls asleep. I'm praying that he never has to suffer. I'm praying that by some grace of God, I'll see him on the other side. 

Here's hoping heaven is better than sex

There is nothing I hate more than being single and wishing I wasn't then when well-intentioned people say "Don't worry, God has someone great in store for you." 

Ok, actually I just lied. I love hearing that, but as soon as they leave the room and I'm back in my messy apartment and my messy life, I wonder how they could possibly say such a thing. I wonder how anyone can be married. 

Another break-up, but fortunately (or unfortunately) this relationship lasted all of 5 days, and we didn't really talk during those 5 days, obviously because he was planning on how to end it. It's sobering, and it leaves me wondering once again why I let myself get excited, hopeful, that somehow this would be the end of my singleness.

This is the part where I'm supposed to say that what I really need is a closer relationship with God, trust him, make him the center of my life and blah blah blah. I know all of that is true, and I know that people say that you can't have a marriage until you've proven yourself trustworthy in your relationship with God. (yes, I actually heard a pastor say that at a wedding.)

I think that's bullshit. Once we get all of our ducks in a row, find complete satisfaction in him, and prove how good we are, then we can be married. If that were true, none would be married. 

Here's the thing, before sin entered the world, before Adam and Eve ate the forbidden fruit, before we had need of a Savior, God said "It is not good for man to be alone." We needed this kind of partnership before Satan had corrupted us and made us aware of our sinful natures. If we needed marriage when we were perfect, how much more do we need it in this messy, fallen world? 

Yet I'm not married. I'm about to be 27 and honestly I'm lonely. This hasn't made me quite desperate yet. I don't hang out at single bars or go out with anyone who asks. I keep my standards pretty high, but I try to be open to as many possibilities as I can. Yet I'm still single. I'm still praying that I won't be. 

Whenever I share my struggle with other women, usually they say something along the lines of "You'll find someone! God made someone just for you." I'm so appreciative for their belief in my man-getting abilities, but I also have to take a shot of something sobering after their words. God did not promise me a husband. 

God promised to be faithful to me, regardless if I was faithful to him. God promised me eternal life. God promised me a lot of things, but he never promised me a marriage, sex, and kids. 

When I look at things objectively, I have to realize that there is a possibility that I'll remain single for the rest of my life. I won't die surrounded by kids and grandkids, but surrounded by dogs and a few people from the nursing home where I spent my twilight years. 

And it sucks. That's all I can say. God knows the desires of my heart, and so far he hasn't answered them the way I want them to be answered. He might give me a husband, and he might not. But he's still God and this life is short. I might die alone at 97 sad and heartbroken. And you know what? That will be ok. I mean sucky, but ok. When I get to heaven and I look back on this camping trip I called life, I don't think I'll regret anything. Can God have something better than marriage, sex, and family in heaven? I'm pretty sure he promised us that heaven will be more than we can ever imagine. 

Frankly, when you get to the point when you realize your most cherished dreams won't come true and you start longing for heaven, you realize you're in a low spot. But isn't that the kind of place God wants us to be in? 

Whenever I'm really lonely and depressed, I imagine life as a camping trip. I freakin hate camping. It's sojourning in hell to me, actually. But I LOVE coming home after camping. I get through camping trips by imagining how great that bubble bath and comfy bed will be. I think this temporary life with these temporary tents are kind of like that. I don't mind doing the dirty work of life, and perhaps even enjoying a sunset or two, when I know I'll be going home soon. 

And we'll all be going home soon. Just one favor, if I die single, can I spend the holidays in heaven with you guys???

Prayer of a Tangled Necklace

This morning I wore a shirt that *required* me to wear this beautiful blue and purple gemstone necklace that I never get to wear. I found it tangled in the midst of several other necklaces. As I started to untangle it, I had a spiritual crisis of sorts.

My time was running low and I really really wanted this necklace. I half laughingly and half seriously said a prayer out loud "God, please help me get this necklace untangled!" As I worked, I went through a spiritual journey.

As I prayed this strange prayer, I started imagining God answering it. What an amazing blog post! I could write about how God answers prayers from His children, even over silly things. Then however, I started wondering if planning a blog post in advance about how God answers prayers might be testing God. Would God help me get my necklace untangled if I wanted to use the story for publicity? I switched my prayer to a prayer of repentance, but asked that God still help me untangle my necklace anyway, because it would look smashing with the shirt I was wearing.

As I continued to work, I thought about how prayer is kind of like a tangled necklace. We have all of these different reasons and motivations and they may or may not hinder us from getting to the purpose of prayer. But does that mean that praying successfully is like showing off a beautiful necklace? Perhaps I went to metaphorical with this.

I continue to untangle. This time my thoughts took a dreaded turn. I started to think about what it would mean if God did help me get this necklace untangled. It would be wonderful, but what does it say about God that He would help me untangle a necklace but not save my dying mother from cancer? I shuddered and kept working.

Do we pray for ourselves? Do we pray for God? Do unanswered prayers bring us faith or do answered prayers do that? Why does God answer some prayers and not others, especially answer prayers that are trivial and not the ones that change lives? Does God really care if I get this necklace untangled? If He does answer it, is He a trivial God?

I got the necklace untangled, but I think I know less about prayer then when I started.

Why I Keep Coming Back to Anglicanism

If I'm honest, I have to admit there are days when I feel like I don't love Jesus. If I wanted to be even more honest, I would admit that there are days when I don't even like Jesus very much. On those days, going to church can be like going to the dentist to get a tooth pulled.

I can only hope that you can commiserate, and that I am not the only Christian who feels this way sometimes. If you can admit to feeling this way, then you understand what I mean about going to church when your spiritual life is nil, flat, dead. It's excruciating.

I've been a part of Acts 29 churches for a while, and I want to be absolutely clear: I LOVE Acts 29 churches. The thing is though, sometimes I can't get as excited about Jesus as my arm-waving, "amen" shouting comrades. Sometimes, the words of the praise music is irritating, the prayers are dull, and the whole experience can grate on my nerves.

The problem is ME.

I am human. I don't love God perfectly. But the amazing thing about the Gospel is that Jesus loves me perfectly. Sometimes, I just go through periods when the emotion and that euphoric feeling isn't there. On those days, I need the Gospel even more.

The beauty of a liturgical service is that you say the same prayers, with the same people across the world over and over every Sunday. For example:

ALMIGHTY God, Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, Maker of all things, Judge of all men; We acknowledge and bewail our manifold sins and wickedness, Which we, from time to time, most grievously have committed, By thought, word, and deed, Against thy Divine Majesty, Provoking most justly thy wrath and indignation against us. We do earnestly repent, And are heartily sorry for these our misdoings; The remembrance of them is grievous unto us; The burden of them is intolerable. Have mercy upon us, Have mercy upon us, most merciful Father; For thy Son our Lord Jesus Christ’s sake, Forgive us all that is past; And grant that we may ever hereafter Serve and please thee In newness of life, To the honour and glory of thy Name; Through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

These words are true, the Gospel is true. Jesus rose from the grave bodily, and these facts don't change according to how I feel. I keep coming back to these liturgies throughout the week, reminding myself that even when I don't feel like these things are true, I say them anyway, because they are the ultimate truth.

I cling to the prayers in the Book of Common Prayer like a drowning person clings to a life raft. I say them even when I don't feel close to God. I say them throughout the week, even without meaning to, because after saying them for weeks and weeks on end, they simply stay in my head.

I need this kind of repetition that is Biblical and not dependent on my emotions. If I only worshiped when I felt close to Him, I would be a very sorry worshipper indeed. I cling to the truth on bad days, and revel in it on the good.