Mrs. Jones, Mrs. Job

Compadres

           Yesterday I once again fasted, for direction, clear meaning, and other existential ideals. To re-create purpose. Lately I do that sort of thing, embracing quotes like, "When I waked, I cried to dream again (Shakespeare, The Tempest, quoted in The King's Speech). The day was filled with distractions, errands and non-essentials. Anything to keep my mind off of food and eating.
           Today "when I waked" again I felt little closeness to God and no specific direction. I exercised inside on the treadmill, because of unusual summer-downpour rains, rains, and more rains. Walking the treadmill is like spinning in a hamster wheel that leads to nowhere. It is as exciting as yesterday's discipline. I hate it. So I either watch TV or listen to music. I NEEDED to be encouraged, so today I opted for energetic music. An epiphanous thought struck me as I listened to Kirk Franklin's CD (songs to which I had not listened, for years).

A clear line of thinking came, like an "aha moment," a revelation from out of the blue, similar to the way Author Virkler says God speaks. It was a spontaneous impression rather than meditated. I already thought that possibly we had been going through testing. It feels more like a comprehensive final exam, covering everything I've ever learned in my 159-7/8 years of life:  IF love wanes through what I perceive as repeated "failures," this test reveals selfish and ugly things--that the main reason I love is because of things done for me or given to me...

           ...and then, the stinging curve ball: Which.Reveals.My.God-Relationship.
What?  I am prone to follow God only because of what He does for me. In other words, to use God rather than love Him. Grow up. Ouch! The dreaded "gimme, gimme syndrome."
           Approaching a notable birthday, as well as 39 relatively steady years of marriage, this lengthy test uncovers... my vulnerable-side. How do I react to repeated dead-ends? How much do I really trust my husband... and God? During an unending season of ego-smashes and challenges to our identity, I can't help but think in the education mindset and hope for an A on the comprehensive exam.
           My fictional Prince Charming is intelligent, kind, strong, and courageous. My husband is all that and more. We are a team. Like George and Barbara. Jimmy and Rosalynn. Ronnie and Nancy. Appreciation-roots actually seem to be deepening. I love my husband in sickness, and in health, and now through... career strangulation, with pinnacles being re-adjusted as well as the eventual follow-through. Through lightning strikes, floods, and chemo fire with under-pixilated brain fog. There is a collapse of ideal dreams. Our imagined Lego structure might be only 12 bricks high instead of prime 13. And then the self-searching question: Did I prolong this never-ending season?
           Faith and trusting God are active and circular (a hamster wheel). We trust God, and God trusts us enough to allow a decade of back-to-back and bamming ego-busters, for refining; for our benefit and our good. Resist natural responses like Wealthy Job's proud, despairing, (possibly realist) nameless wife "Mrs. Job" [after experiencing unimaginable, rapid-fire personal losses in one day... and then, to top that, on "another day" came Job's loss of dignity; losses that we would never wish on our worst enemy] who wailed to destitute Husband Job, "Are you still holding on to your integrity? Curse God and die!" (Job 2:9).
            I sense Mrs. Jobs' tears, dramatically-flailing arms, and maybe even a touch of hopeless cynicism. She was vulnerable. Like newly-planted, fine, and tender grass shoots or seedlings. They are bright green and glaringly easy to spot. It seems appropriate that since the Bible mentions her in a negative light, her name was withheld. Her soul was deflated. She had an understandable weak moment and needed shielding.

Thank you, Father. Despite my wavering ways, You personally call my name. And You do intimately communicate. God carefully cradles an awkward set of size 10 extremities, but what does He see? A little set of feet. A beautiful asset which is precious; and, kindred to this transparent blog post, vulnerable.
           And, too, my husband and I represent that same set of feet; compadres; a pair. We are one. We fight the good fight of faith separately, yet together. And, today, I am humbled. Despite feeling disillusioned, our relationship is precisely where it needs to be: In God's loving and settled hands.

           Happy soon-to-be 39th, Sunshine, and many more.

Fight the good fight of the faith. Take hold of the eternal life to which you were called

when you made your good confession in the presence of many witnesses.

(I Timothy 6:12)

Believe for Impossible, But Discern Stupid

I have made a fool of myself, but you drove me to it. I ought to have been commended by you, for I am not in the least inferior to the “super-apostles,” even though I am nothing. I persevered in demonstrating among you the marks of a true apostle, including signs, wonders and miracles... (2 Corinthians 12:11). 

The earnest yet unpolished Apostle Paul's long-distance leadership was being challenged by the Church in Corinth. Why? For one, he didn't ask for a salary! The leadership used that and other arguments to claim he was attempting to manipulate the church body. On-site leadership desired to overthrow his power, and Jesus-followers desperately needed discernment. 

Spiritual as well as common-sense discernment is beneficial, as we interact with others and even in everyday life situations. To help us make solid decisions. This simple, personal story bomb attempts to illustrate discernment, or the lack thereof.

It is a cloudy, rainy morning; and as with most workdays, I am the first in my department to arrive at 7:30 a.m. I.AM.CHILI-BRINGER... for today’s birthday lunch. Ugh! Why is it raining at this moment, the morning I've brought food? How will I carry a full crock-pot, the compact elephant-sized kind, AND keep my hair dry with no raincoat hood? Should I wait and ask for a later-arriver's help? No… just think of it as a shortened triathlon, and believe for impossible.

Yoga's easy Eagle Pose

My trusty polka dot umbrella pops up, as hoped for. I carefully press its skinny handle into the crook between my head and shoulder, managing to cover my styled coiffure. Thus far, my neck is uncomfortably kinked to the right, but my left hand is free to open the vehicle's rear door with dry hair, no problem. I take a deep breath, bend at the knees like a Yoga instructor in the Eagle Pose, and reach for the crock-pot situated on the floor. 

Now, stupid begins because multi-tasking with a heavy pot is not wise. The weight of the chili-filled container requires flexed arms, coordination, and muscle. After skillfully rising, I step back and fling my bony elbow to close the car door. My encumbered right hand somehow frees a feeble finger to press the remote’s lock button. Triathlon "Leg One" completed.

I amble to the covered entrance. The umbrella is no longer needed, so I drop it and contemplate "Leg Two"… somehow opening the building's door, with both hands already in use. Can it be done, the announcers anxiously ask? 

One of my crock-pot-carrying palms has four ever-willing fingers to grasp the handle. The fingers half-way fling the door open, and I slip through. Whew! I’m in!

"Leg Three," climbing the first of three flights of stairs, feeling mega-encumbered... the second flight... and then the third. By now my heart is racing with labored breathing. On a drizzly, dreary morning, I experience a meager victory. I plug into the conference room’s electrical socket the intact crock-pot with its tres bon chili. Woot, woot.

An impossible accomplishment for which I feel proud. But why? Are impatience and feel-good vanity all-important factors? Nothing bad happened, but where is wisdom?

Disclaimer: NEVER attempt this impossible feat. Press out of the moment, to discern stupid: For vanity's sake, wear a hooded raincoat, and for safety's sake... WAIT FOR HELP.

The Church in Corinth, too, needed prayerful help... from God. To either listen to tangible, onsite, manipulative leadership that was attempting to undermine Paul's authority. Or, to step back and remember off-site, solid, motivating Paul. They knew of his miraculous change to Christianity. He was a supernaturally-provided leader. 

All that glitters (and makes us feel good) is not gold, nor are decisions based solely on our fickle feelings. It takes discernment, and like Yoga's praying Eagle Pose, is easier said than done. If we were Jesus-followers in Corinth, what would we have discerned and decided regarding transparent, earnest, rough-edged Paul?