thoughts from the gym

dear muffin,

today I went to the gym & worked out. this happens about as often as the cubs win the world series.

my trackrecord is almost as painful as theirs, too. 

however, I got to wear my brother's basketball shorts [because I don't have a pair-- case in point], which made me feel hardcore & slightly ridiculous.

the guy who walked around the track kept glancing at me when he thought I wasn't looking. either it was because I looked like a buff underarmor commercial... or else because he was amused by the girl in XL basketball shorts struggling with a 10lb weight. [I'm going with the former.]

there's something about working out; something invigorating. it makes me feel vibrantly healthy & alive. but alongside the adrenaline rush, there's the sweating part. and the huffing&puffing part. and the turn-pink-in-the-face part. I think I would work out a lot more if it wasn't for those other parts.

but that's obvious. right? 

Paul told us to work out, too. to work out our own salvation with fear and trembling.

haha! you say. that is exegetically incorrect. an improper use of the text. hermeneutical homicide. and let's not even get started about cultural context.

and you're right of course. but I can't help but notice similarities. 

dear God: teach me to be kind-- right now, please. and while we're at it, I wouldn't mind being buff. but don't ask me to go to the gym; I don't want to sweat. and You can't possibly expect me to never say unkind things; that would be too hard. I don't like turning pink-in-the-face.

***

Working out has two phases: there's the sprint, & there's the long-haul. the sprint is a piece of cake: you sit down at the machine, or place your foot on the track line, or slip into the pool. those first few strokes are effortless. you feel your blood begin to pump; your heartrate picks up. it feels good. you tell yourself that this time, it's gonna be a good workout. this time, you won't fail.

aaand then reality hits. a few minutes into the workout, your temples are pounding, pain is cramping your muscles, and even your toes are sweating inside your socks. as if to add insult to injury your cheeks have turned blazing pink & each breath can be heard halfway across the gym. suddenly, maintaining that avowed pace becomes a lot harder... and a waterbreak begins to sound really great. you deserve a waterbreak, right? you've tried so hard. given so much effort. 

My awareness of sanctification goes in spurts, too. a sermon or article or conversation will convict me, and I recognize a problem in my life. I confess it & throw myself headlong into purging the weakness. I vow that this time, I'm gonna change. this time, I won't fail.

and then reality hits. I begin to tread water. slip on the track. allow that unkind word to fly. I see the pain on my sister's face & know I've messed up again.

but I tried so hard. can't I just have a break? some applause for the effort?

It would be nice if sanctification was more like getting a pedicure. lean back, sip your latte, & watch it happen.

But the fact is, it's not. it's more like a workout: a long, sweaty, uncomfortable workout. we are being purged by fire & refined as silver. and the most uncomfortable part is that sudden crystalline realization that you can't do it. 

it's true. we can't. but thankfully, it doesn't matter, because He who calls us is faithful, and He will do it. it's still not a sanctification pedicure: the creator delights in the faithful toil of his creation.

but we are assured of victory in the end.

***

when I got home from the gym, I had a blister from the rowing machine. it felt good. 

I lay on the floor, and my dog came over and licked my ear. that felt good too. but nothing felt so good as the tall glass of cold water. I took one sip and then didn't stop until the glass was empty.

***

we will fall. as citizens of humanity & runners in this race, we will never stop falling. but He promises to be our Strength and see us to the finish line. 

and once that finish line has been crossed, He promises us a waterbreak like none on earth. 

your fellow runner,
-rory

strength and sorrow

dearest rory,

today I lost a sibling.

I don’t know what gender it was. I hadn’t ever met him/her. I had only known of his/her existence for twelve days.

twelve short amazing days.

in those twelve days, I had grown to love this sibling. I had imagined what this sibling would be like. I had picked out my favorite girl's names and boy's names. I had tried to picture life with another sticky, smiley, sunny person running around the house. I had told my friends this good news. they were excited to meet this sibling. I was excited to meet my sibling.

I had written out that I loved this sibling up on the blackboard in the kitchen. I had written it along with the names of the rest of my family members.

I don’t think I can bear to ever clean that blackboard again. but then, I can’t bear to look at it either.

why? why would God take this baby away from us? why would He raise our hopes only to tear them down again?

I asked Him these questions. I yelled these questions at Him.

somehow I don’t think He minded me yelling. somehow, I think He looked at me and cried with me. I felt Him reach out and hold me in His arms. He told me to cry. He told me He was right there and that He wouldn’t let me go.

the night before we found out that the baby was lost to us, I had picked up my dad’s Bible. it fell open to the book of Job. for a moment, I considered turning to one of the books I liked better. psalms, proverbs, ephesians, or philippians sounded nice.

but I started reading the first chapter of Job. and then the second. in two short chapters, Job had lost his possessions, his wealth, and his ten children. he didn’t know why. he didn’t know why God would allow him to culminate such riches and blessings only to take them away.

he was desperately sad. he was desperately confused as to why this had happened to him.

his wife told him to curse God and die.

Job didn’t listen to his wife. he looked at the destruction around him and said, “the Lord gives. the Lord takes away. blessed be the name of the Lord.”

that verse jumped out at me. it screamed at me. I think God was yelling it at me. and I heard. and the next day, I clutched my Bible and reread those verses with a broken heart.

the Lord gives and the Lord takes away.

why? why would God take this baby away from us? why would He raise our hopes only to tear them down again?

I don’t know. I only know that He has a purpose for everything.

and even when I don’t understand those purposes… blessed be the name of the Lord.

love you so much,
muffin

p.s. [thank you to everyone who has/is/and will be praying.]

p.p.s. love this song:

as the thunder rolls,
I barely hear Your whisper through the rain,
"I'm with you"
and as Your mercy falls,
I raise my hands and praise the God who gives,
and takes away...
I will praise You in this storm.

goats & silver platters

dear muffin,

I have a confession to make.

I do not enjoy reading my Bible every day.

[now you can gasp in horror at what a terrible Christian I am.]

I've always envied the authors, bloggers, etc. who seem to love nothing more than grabbing a chai latte, settling into an overstuffed sofa, and poring over scripture for hours at a time. they always seem to discover some deep truth or application to their lives, no matter what passage they're reading. they come out refreshed & invigorated, thrilled to read through the Bible.

that's never been me.

let's be clear. I do love the Bible, in a very real way [perhaps we'll call it the Textbook Way]. there is true confidence in knowing that the answers to all of life's questions can be found between those leather covers. I love learning the practical applications from my father & pastor. I love how well everything, from relationships to politics, can work when God's simple commandments are followed by faithful hearts. I truly desire to become more like Christ in all that I do.

but when it comes to the Practical Way, waking up early each day and slogging my way through the book of Numbers... the enthusiasm fizzles. 

I read it. I wrinkle up my forehead & try to feel interested in how many bulls, rams, & lambs were sacrificed. I look for life application as I plow my way through the offering of Ahira the son of Enan (who brought a silver platter, a silver bowl, a gold pan, a young bull, a ram, a male lamb in its first year, a kid of the goats, two oxen, five rams, five male goats, and five more male lambs in their first year)... but it's hard to stay focused. especially when his offering happens to be the exact same as those of Pagiel the son of Ocran, Abidan the son of Gideoni, Ahiezer the son of Ammishaddai, Gamaliel the son of Pedahzur, Elishama the son of Ammihud, Eliasaph the son of Deuel, Shelumiel the son of Zurishaddai, Elizur the son of Shedeur, Eliab the son of Helon, Nethanel the son of Zuar, and Nahshon the son of Amminadab. 

or take the "burdens of the Lord against ______" (fill-in-the-blank with your favorite ancient pagan nation.) after ten minutes of brimstones and crashing cedars of lebanon, I glaze over.

frankly, it all starts to sound the same. I lose interest. it becomes a chore, to be completed as quickly as possible.

so I sigh, disentangle myself from the couch, and start my day. and the next morning, I don't feel particularly enthusiastic about picking up my Bible and continuing. "oh...i'll do it later." without effort, I find that time begins to lapse between bible readings: days pass before I "find time" to flip to Numbers again and plow my way through the next couple of chapters.

I don't want it to be this way. I wish I loved my morning Bible reading. sometimes I do; when I happen to be reading Esther, or a familiar psalm, or a passage that jumps off the page and applies itself to my life. but all too often, as I sit down to read my Bible, I suddenly remember that mom asked me to wash the dishes, or that I need to clean my room, or that I haven't practiced harp all week. and these things seem to take precedence over my reading.

don't bother telling me that I've got it upsidedown&backwards: I know it. reading my Bible isn't about being entertained. it doesn't matter if I come away feeling warm and fuzzy. the Author included each & every verse deliberately, and even the "boring" parts are valuable for instruction and reproof.

but still my readings remained hit-or-miss, dependent on my mood & busy schedule. 

recently I read an article by Tessa Hershberger, from the e-magazine setapartgirl. [a purposeful intimacy: http://setapartgirl.com/home.html]

I encourage you to read it; she puts everything much better than I ever could.

but in a nutshell, she likened our time spent with the Lord to the time we spend with friends. for example, in order to spend time with you, I call you up & we plan a date. we don't say, "maybe we'll show up some time tomorrow, if we feel like it & you have something interesting to say, and I can't think of anything better to do;" we both commit to a specific time. we put aside our schedules for an hour or two and concentrate on each other. we don't text while talking (well, not usually ;), we don't bring our homework, we don't grab the newspaper lying on the table. when we sit down together, we both know that the time is just for the two of us.

"If we simply spend time with God when something opens up in our schedules, 'when the mood strikes,' or when we're after some kind of quick emotional fix, our relationship with Him will be little more than a selfish and half-hearted acquaintance." ::Tessa Hershberger

it suddenly dawned on me that I give more time & effort in getting to know my friends than I do my Creator. my time with the Lord needs to be purposeful, just like the time I spend with you. and even if I don't *enjoy* my reading... that doesn't make it any less of a priority.

so.

the long and short of it: I'm determined to read my Bible every day. rain or shine. I know, this seems obvious... but I've been slacking. stopping to think about it, however, I realize that nothing can be more important than putting aside distractions and spending dedicated time with the Lord.

for my life right now, it's not practical to say "I will always read my Bible at 8:00 sharp." but I can start with the first step. whether it's several chapters during breakfast or a few quick verses before a nursing exam, I want to set apart time for His Word each day.

no, that's not quite right: I don't want to.

I need to.

even if it means reading about goats and silver platters. 

your humbled friend,

rory

a tea-time discussion

dear rory,

today a battle raged somewhere deep inside of me. I didn’t hear legions of soldiers marching in formation, stomping their iron-shod feet, shouting war chants with blood-lust in their mighty voices, brutally clanging their weapons, or savagely awaiting the trumpets to sound and the war to begin. instead, I heard a much more civilized battle taking place. a battle that involved two professors in tweed suits sitting down over a cup of tea (maybe they were speaking with British accents? don’t judge.) and discussing life.

meet professor heart and professor mind.

professor mind is notorious for being selfish. he enjoys going to pity-parties and holds many an audience captive with his pitiful descriptions of his pitiful life. despite his flaws, he does wish to be better than he is. he knows that his disposition is not right, but he has been selfish for so long, that he often forgets he is striving to become something better.

professor heart usually fights for what is just and right. he knows that he was bought with a price, and with the help of the Holy Spirit, he works at becoming a new creation. although he occasionally has his moments of weakness, he tries to seek after wisdom and to correct professor mind in a way that is kind, but firm.

these two professors usually meet somewhere inside of me. at a little out-door café. or so I imagine.

during their civilized battle today, I overheard a discussion of theirs.

their dialogue went something like this:

“ah, professor heart! I’m so glad that you could make it. please, do take a seat, and let me ring for the tea to be brought out. it’s such a dreadfully hot day, and I feel it all the worse, for I spent half the morning cutting the grass. or rather, I spent half the morning thinking about cutting the grass and dreading the task of actually doing it. it is such a bother that *I* should be the one to do it. why can’t somebody else do it instead? doesn’t everyone know I have better things to do than to get sweaty and dirty cutting a lawn? I’m sure I should have been resting my poor head. I woke up with such a dreadful headache, you know. oh! here’s the tea!”

“how long did you say that your mother has left to live? I know that she has been sick for quite some time now.”

“my dear professor heart! wherever did you hear such a thing as that? my mother is in perfect health, thank goodness! she has never been better, in fact. although, *I* have been feeling slightly down lately. I tell you that I am *quite* overworked. most people don’t have any idea how much I do for my family. why, just yesterday I had to…”

“and when did you say the bank was going to seize your house from you?”

“did I say that, professor heart? good heavens! the rumors you have been hearing! no, no, the bank is not going to seize our house! we are managing tolerably well, I assure you. things have been a bit tight… did I mention that we are going to have to sell some of our furniture? I was quite put out when mother told me so. to think that a respectable family like us should have to sell some of our furniture. it’s not fair at all, to be sure. why, if only we had more money, the things I would buy! First of all, I should like to get…”

“how do you find the soup kitchen at the shelter for the needy? I hear that they actually make quite a decent lentil stew.”

“the soup kitchen, professor heart?”

“yes, and how is your factory job going? the one that works you from dawn to dusk?”

“uhmm…professor heart. if I could but interject for a moment…?”

“and your father… it is such a shame that he is not a hard working man. I hear he visits the pubs so frequently that…”

“professor heart! none of these things are true! we are quite fine, believe me. I have good health, a home, food, and hard-working parents. I do not have to work from dawn until dusk, I assure you. I only have a few measly chores around the house, and mother and father work so hard that these tasks of mine are comparatively nothing. we are doing quite splendidly, thank you. have I made myself perfectly clear?”

“yes, quite clear, professor mind. forgive me for asking. now, what were you saying before I interrupted?”

“I… uhmm… well…”

needless to say, professor mind went home feeling very ashamed of himself. he resolved not to complain anymore and decided to be even more helpful than he had been of late.

professor heart went home with a smile on his face, quietly singing a ditty he had learned as a child: “do everything without complaining…so that you may become blameless and pure children of God.”

and I went in from mowing the lawn… *cough cough*… feeling especially grateful for everything that God has given me and wishing that I had spent less time that morning complaining and more time giving Him my thanks.

hopefully professor mind has learned his lesson. but I’m guessing he’ll soon forget it and have to be reminded again. good thing the café is open twenty-four seven.

your strange, imaginative friend,

muffin