strange mirth

It struck me yesterday, forcibly, that strange things make me laugh.

Often, these strange things make me laugh in public places when I am on errands of some natural seriousness. It’s as though I have an endless supply of inside jokes with myself (or with people who aren’t there with me) that pop up at curious times to disturb my usual placid air.

Most of the time, I am pretty good at holding back the laughter. What wants to be a loud giggle is repressed to a bemused smile. My self-control doesn’t always work, though.

Yesterday I had to go downtown to fill out some paperwork for a new job. Finding my way to the fifteenth floor of a building full of government offices smack in the middle of my city became a feat fraught with miniature faux pax (is that plural? If not, I have no idea how to make it so). First, I drove around downtown for about ten minutes, unsure of the best place to park and repeatedly making wrong turns in the process of looking for that elusive Free Space. I did not find a free space, but I found a conveniently located garage that would house my stellar auto for a mere “$1 for 20 Minutes.” There I parked, and rode up the elevator with a few smartly-dressed bank workers. I felt out of place in my jeans, but at least I was wearing my (albeit very dirty) pea coat.

Next, I trundled out of the bank building and around the corner to the tower where the office is located. I went inside and looked for the elevators. There was a woman behind a desk in one corner, shuffling papers. She saw me wandering in circles like a caged animal, and finally said, “How may I help you?”

She helped me. The elevators were hidden because I had to show a picture ID before I was allowed to ride them. Okay, everything made sense now. Up I went, and filled out my paperwork quite uneventfully.

It was on the way out that the strange mirth attacked me. I’d found my way back out of the office building with no trouble. Once on the sidewalk, I turned and walked purposefully toward the bank building, clutching the signed papers and thinking what fun it was to try looking professional like all the other business-suited people bustling around me.

I entered the bank building and walked through the foyer to the elevators. But something was wrong. These were not the elevators I was looking for.

In fact, I was not in the correct bank building. Already starting to laugh a little, I left the first bank building and went in the other, which is next door. Again I approached the elevators. Again I realized, These are not the elevators I rode in before. (But this time, I got in one and rode a few floors before realizing they were the wrong elevators.)

The mirth was really bubbling up now. It was as if there was a pile of laughter inside me, like dry baking soda, and someone had just poured lemon juice over it. I wandered around a little more and found the elevators to the parking garage. As I hurried toward the double doors, a young businessman in a suit approached the other side and held the door for me, smiling. I said “Thank you,” and smiled back. Then I hurried into the nearest elevator and let the baking soda and lemon juice out. I laughed all the way down to my floor of the parking garage. Then, I composed myself and feigned a confident stride back to my car.

Rethinking this incident, I’m not sure what was so funny. Even while I was laughing in the elevator, I wasn’t sure what was so amusing. Somehow, not knowing what I was laughing at made me laugh all the harder. What can I say? Sometimes, I enjoy the strangeness of my mind.

a new leaf

I finished my tenth handwritten journal on Saturday and began my eleventh. My first entry in a new journal is always a little contemplative. This time, I decided to post some of it on my blog, so here are a few thoughts from my personal writings for the world to see. (Hello, world.)

For once, I am not as excited to turn over a new leaf; begin a new journal. My life seems to entertain a constant search for meaning. I always collect the puzzle pieces, put them in little piles, and try to fit them together. Most often I try to force them together. All of them. Because I want to see the picture. Now! My impatience makes me sick. And yet it’s there. One piece fitting with another, quite naturally, only makes me long for more. I am hungry to understand it all. I don’t want to be content with a clue, a glimpse only.

In some ways this is a good thirst: for knowledge, for wisdom. But in others it’s very selfish. My motives are self-focused, most of the time. I ask so that I can use the results for my own gain. To get what I want.

Yet, I thought today of Psalm 37. God gives us the desires of our heart. But are the things I want good things? I want to get my dreams and to be happy, cozy, easy, and content. Are those good goals? Are they godly goals? Do I dream as He dreams, or do I limit my imagination to possibilities that require less effort, less faith than what He imagines on my behalf?

I want to grow. I want to change. I don’t want to remain stagnant, as much as that sometimes sounds appealing . . . because it’s easy. It’s the way of little effort and much relaxation. Not resting in God, but laziness. That path is not fulfilling; it’s empty and without satisfaction. I know.

Dreaming the right dreams. The best dreams. That is what I want. And the wisdom and stamina to fulfill my purposes. To carry projects to completion, to be disciplined in how I spend my time. Focused on the dreams. And the Dreamer.

compassion

I’ve spent a reflective late afternoon and evening. I probably can’t articulate what I’ve been thinking and praying about, but maybe the words will come later. I’ve been nostalgic the past few days; homesick for Germany a little, and otherwise in the frame of mind to take stock. To step back from my life and look at a larger picture. Usually I strain to see any glimpse of a larger picture, but when I have sufficient time to be still, sometimes I can.

Today I didn’t have a monumental revelation, but I did end up with a sense of awe. I’m overwhelmed by the details and happenings of my life; the things that happened that I asked for and did not ask for, the pain and the healing, the devastation and the renewal. There’s such beauty in the process even though it hurts.

Most of all, I’m overwhelmed by God’s compassion. I’m thankful that not only does He have compassion on me and every member of the human race, but that He also cares enough about me to periodically break my heart and recreate a longing to be compassionate to others.

Today I realized: it is not the idea of heaven, the fear of hell, or the knowledge of His vast strength that draws me to my God, the God of Christianity. It is His compassion. It is the way He has drawn me back to Him every time I’ve gone away: this clear sense of overwhelming, unconditional love. Grace. Mercy. Compassion. It is difficult to describe, but I had to try.

unwanted gifts: FreshBrew blog post

Check out my post today on FreshBrew, Unwanted Gifts.

And have a merry Christmas eve!

new article

Check out my new article on Ungrind, and stay tuned for more blogging here. I’m on Christmas break, hanging out with my family, and feeling more wordy than usual. Whether that translates to more posts or not, time will tell.

clearer perspectives

Today I’ve felt the urge to write. Really write. The blog is a good place to start, I suppose.

My thoughts of the past several days do not wish to translate themselves to words, but I can say that they have been — mostly — lucid. I’m sitting here trying to think of how to describe the moments of illumination I’ve experienced. I have not received great new revelations or prophecies, nor have I hit upon the wisdom of the ages. However, I’ve had a few of those moments where God zooms my view out, and I can see everything with clearer eyes. My vision, for the briefest of moments, is crystal clear and I can “determine what really matters,” as the Scripture says. Such moments are beautiful, and I wish they were tangible — readily held onto like tokens of remembrance as I glide seamlessly into new clouds of confusion and the fog of human thought.

I feel like I have written of this before, perhaps here, but doesn’t it seem that we humans live most of our lives in a fog? We are inwardly focused, selfish, and entrenched in concerns about either the past or the future. We fail to see the present and its opportunities. We also fail to see the present as it fits into the puzzle pieces of the past and future: instead, our present personal problems appear grossly over-sized, swollen by our selfish feelings so that we cannot see past the blobs of woe. We cannot see the landscape they are set in; we cannot see the other characters involved.

That is why the lucid moments I described — the brief times when I see circumstances, others, and the grand scheme of life more clearly — are so precious. They also provide a clearer view of myself, because instead of bloating my ego, they put my concerns and desires in perspective.

Once, in a cathedral in France, I had one of these moments of epiphany. I stared at a glinting, colorful stained glass window in the ancient church and felt that I was as small as a mere speck of dust. Insignificant. I’ll never forget the freedom of that realization.

I think the moments of clarity come when, somehow, I forget for a moment to care about myself. That opens the door to new vantage points. Jesus said that I must lose my life to find it. I’ve understood that in a martyr-like or even a literal sense, but perhaps it is what I am talking about now. Perhaps “losing myself” is not only about consciously sacrificing, with a sigh and a shake of the head; perhaps it is also these happy moments when I forget that I have needs and wants. When I love the Lord and feel that He loves me, and everything is very simple. I don’t need anything; therefore, I become insignificant. Content and forgetful, and thus, able to see things I couldn’t see before.

Christmas lights

As I walked in my neighborhood today, I glanced at various windows to see the soft lights of Christmas bulbs shining from their trees. At one house, a single candle lit each pane.

I began to think about the traditions of Christmas, and of how pleasant it is to have twinkly lights, delectable desserts, and good-smelling trees at this dreary time of year. The coziness of indoors, with spicy candles and sugar cookies and a lit tree, effectively combats the stark, leafless trees and browning grass outside.

renewal, revisited

As referenced in my last entry, I’ve been thinking lately about renewal.

This year, I’ve experienced what I’d term renewal in several areas of my life. It has meant a return of optimism. It has meant a fresh bubbling of hope. It has meant leaving behind difficult, painful past experiences and reaching forward to new pursuits and friendships.

For me, renewal looks like this in real life. I spent two years, from summer 2006 to summer 2008, in Germany. A barrage of experiences created a wealth of memories. My mind needs only a tiny trigger to trip the hammer and fire off a blast of images, emotions, laughter, and tears. When I moved to the States and began a challenging new job last fall, I did not realize what tempest still raged inside me. For months, I cried frequently and experienced an ache and longing I’d never felt before. I longed to go back, but I knew it was not the place for me any longer. I missed the places, the language, the missionary culture. Most of all, I missed the people. Seeing a group photo of my dorm girls, much less watching one of the year-end videos my coworkers produced, could instantly prompt a fit of weeping. Part of my heart was ripped out, savagely, and the wound continued to throb and fester for a long time.

Because my departure and transition to the States was so emotional, I neglected to fully recognize what had happened. I saw only its immediate effects, like a trauma victim who is dazed, feeling only pain and seeing blurry images. Now, after many months of healing, I can look back and see the experience more clearly. I can see that I invested a lot at Black Forest Academy; very slowly, sometimes unintentionally, and then deliberately. I loved many of my dorm girls and coworkers to a great depth; I embraced them as family. No wonder, after such investment of myself, it devastated me to leave.

“Devastated” is a good word for how I felt. Although I knew life would go on, I had a hard time picturing a community or a job as fulfilling as those I found at BFA.

But after devastation came renewal. As I look backward now, not from any great height or spiritual vantage point, but still, as a more stable person, I see that God began the process as soon as I reentered the States. As I nursed my wounds and cried my tears, He began to surround me with a community of friends and family here. As I complained to Him that no one here understood what I’d been through, He showed me that there were plenty of people willing to listen to my stories. As I stumbled through the first few months and struggled in my first year of teaching, I often felt cynicism creeping close. I experienced hardship. It was difficult to see that things were getting better – but they were. I was adjusting. God was renewing me.

This fall, I’ve recognized the renewing work and seen it come to near fruition. My second year of teaching is wonderful: I love it. I’ve recently moved out on my own, with a dear friend as a roommate, and am loving the settled feeling it brings. I look around and see people to love, a community to belong to and invest in, and new opportunities to pursue. I don’t know what the future holds, or even what is around the immediate bend in the road, but I know this: that my God is a God of renewal. Restoration. Rebirth. Re-creation. He has healed wounds I once thought irreparable. He has restored hope where it was dead. He has melted away cynicism and replaced it with trust in His abundance.

renewal

“He satisfies you with goodness; your youth is renewed like the eagle” (Psalm 103:5).

“When You send Your breath, they are created, and You renew the face of the earth” (Psalm 104:30).

The first verse is the promise of youth being renewed. The second talks of God renewing the face of the earth – a broader promise which reminds me of the verse in Romans 8 about all creation groaning for redemption.

An amazing concept, renewal. It means God actively intervenes to repair damage and make something new again. Someone’s heart. The entire face of the earth. That is a beautiful picture.

But what does it look like, practically? I’m pondering this. Another post forthcoming.

here I sit, not at work

Once again, I’m sick.

I’m trying valiantly to have a good attitude about this. There surely is a purpose in it, but I confess I see nothing but frustration and unpleasantness and inconvenience at the moment. I’d been over my other long-lasting malady for only a week or two, when on Sunday I came down with what I thought was a “little trifling cold.” Yesterday I felt worse, but still made it to work. This morning I woke up an hour or two before my alarm and realized I shouldn’t try to teach today. My heart was hammering, I was on the verge of feeling feverish, and once again I have a sinus infection not to be described. (So, I won’t try.) What is up with this? The third time I’ve been sick this fall.

So, I finally gave in and made a dr. appointment for this afternoon. Maybe I want drugs, or maybe I just want him to tell me I don’t have some horrid disease. Either way, I hope to find some relief and start on the road to recovery.

For now, I’m stuck at home, and wondering how to make the next few hours productive. I’ve been feeling the urge to write, but the necessity of teaching and the pleasantness of cultivating friendships have eased that intention onto the back burner. Maybe I should pull it out to the front again. I guess blogging is a good beginning.

The weather is beautiful. It’s a shame I am not well enough to walk in it. However, I can still enjoy it from my six bedroom windows. (Yes, six. I am living in the light, and it’s lovely.)

So, attitude is important. Perhaps that is what I am to learn through this constantly-being-sick experience. Being sick and immobile can easily plunge me into frustration and depression, but when I stop and look at my life, I have much to cherish and enjoy. In fact, I love my life right now! I won’t let a silly virus get in the way of that realization. This, too, shall pass, and meanwhile I can use the time to reflect and write…and leave all my stresses and uncertainties in God’s capable hands.