Destination Discipline

I sat there with my arms folded over my stomach–as the ache swelled and lulled–as my heart beat furiously within my chest. And all I could think, while my body was bending and breaking, was this: The joy of the Lord is my strength.

Now maybe you are reading this and thinking, “Boy, that Margaret sure is full of crap. I mean, seriously. Who could possibly think about joy in such a moment of pain and desperation. She should be full of curses. She should curse a god who would allow her to suffer like that.” But the thing is, I keep thinking about Job and his boils, and how even in the midst of the worst suffering of his life, he did not curse God. He questioned him, sure. Who wouldn’t? But he didn’t curse him. And that is important.

Anguish is real. The sense of losing hope is real. Pain is real. And sometimes we have this idea that God watches in blissful oblivion while we ache and moan. Andrew Peterson has a beautiful song called, “The Silence of God.” He says, “It’s enough to drive a man crazy, it’ll break a man’s faith. It’s enough to make him wonder if he’s ever been sane.” And I have felt that “crazy” so many times. The lines from the strain of it etch my face. And if I let myself get lost in that emotion–if I go swimming in the depths of my pain–all I will ever find is more pain. Because when I search myself for relief, I may as well be digging a hole to China.

This week has been a great big bundle of hard. Physical pain. Emotional pain. And a stint in a traffic jam(when the highway got shut down) that had me in a panic free-fall(there are no toilets on the highway!) And then there is the anxiety that wakes me up at night, where my heart won’t stop racing and it feels like it’s going to pop out of my chest and start dancing to Harry Belafonte’s “Jump in the Line.” And the thing is, I really LOVE that song. And I want to jump in the line! But not at 2:00am. I like to reserve my heart palpitations for running and meaningful glances at my husband.

So how did I get across the bridge from anguish to joy? Because I’ll be honest, it’s kind of a scary bridge. It’s one of those rope bridges with a few boards missing. And the boards I can see look spongy, as if one footfall is going to send me plunging into the gaping river below. And yes, there are crocodiles down there. I see their teeth. And they are smacking their lips at me. So yeah, that bridge is pretty daunting.

Yesterday morning I made a pretty simple decision to read 5 paragraphs in my devotional book. And I didn’t want to. Because sometimes reading about God feels empty. Like, okay, I get it. He loves me. Blah, blah, blah… And I don’t read my devotions every day because of this. And you know what? Today I’m glad I don’t. Because if I did, I wouldn’t have read these words by Edward Welch from February 21st.

“When we suffer what seems like endless pain, it is hard to believe that God loves us, but Jesus’suffering proves that it can be true. Second, “he who did not spare his own Son, but gave him up for us all–how will he not also, along with him, graciously give us all things?”(Romans 8:32) {like joy!!}

And some days this just feels like a whole lot of God talk, but yesterday it felt like a walnut shell cracking and a little green sprout poking out. Because I read in those words the hope of my salvation. The love of my life, nailed to a cross, with my name on his lips. He suffered pain and anguish–worse than what I am experiencing now–to ensure that I would never be alone when I experience mine.

“For I know that my redeemer lives, and at the last he will stand upon the earth. And after my skin has been thus destroyed, yet in my flesh I shall see God, whom I shall see for myself, and my eyes shall behold him, and not another. My heart faints within me!” -Job 19:25-27

Joy is so much different from happiness. It’s the difference between a splash of euphoria and the slow, steady burn of abiding peace. The peace of God truly does transcend physical pain. I know this because yesterday I felt it. And it was like a great big hug from a friend I haven’t seen in 20 years, only better–sweeter somehow. Jesus hugs my soul. And I have never experienced anything like it outside of him.

Today I feel really good. That is how life works sometimes. One day pain. The next day relief. And I’m sitting here in my workout gear because when I type the last period, I am off to take in the sunshine with a nice walk/jog/hobble. And today I don’t mind the funny looks I get from the “professional” runners. They have perfect form and perfect muscle tone and their bellies don’t jiggle like mine does. But today my pain is less. And I have Jesus in my heart. And His resounding peace echoes through my broken frame like a cheerful whistle in the empty chambers of a dark and lonely cave. Somehow that whistle makes the cold and damp bearable. And so I follow it. That’s what joy is for me, plain and simple.

So today if you are in the trenches of pain and suffering, don’t despair. Cry out to the One who suffered. He is there. He knows you are suffering. And He wants to give you joy.

Sometimes we encounter people that give us a clear perspective on the true state of our heart. But I find it rather curious that when I encounter one of these people, I instinctively justify my own response to their fundamental problem rather than simply loving them for who they are. If loving your neighbor sounds easy, it’s not. And I’ll be candid, I find it to be a very complex issue that deserves to be addressed. I’ll illustrate why.

Today I found myself stewing(again) over someone who continually displays a very arrogant attitude toward me. This person believes(or at the very least acts like they believe), that because of their title and position,(maybe even because they have more money) that they are entitled to treat me as less of a human being than they are. If you have never been treated this way, God bless you. For some reason I have encountered a lot of people like this in life, and they make me seriously crabby. Like fingers on a chalkboard or the smell of sewage on a windy day—these kind of people attack my senses. I often feel like there is nothing I can do to alleviate the aggravation other than to leave their vicinity as quickly as humanly possible. Which I do. The problem is, my thoughts go with me.

After encountering such a person today, I immediately stopped what I was doing, prayed for that person, and then forgave them for offending my senses. And if you believe that, I have a bridge to sell you in Brooklyn. Actually, my train of thought was something much more debased, and sounded something like this.

“What on earth gives Jimmy the right to think he’s better than me? I’m just as smart as he is. Heck, I work out! And Jimmy is fat. In fact, Jimmy is stupid too. But he’s SO stupid he doesn’t even know he’s stupid. He just walks around with this casual, “I’m so much better than Margaret attitude.” And I really hate Jimmy because his attitude toward me stinks. Because I am awesome! I mean seriously, how can he not think I’m awesome? Look at Jimmy. Sometimes he doesn’t wear socks. And a lot of times his tie doesn’t match his pants. And the thing is, the next time I see Jimmy, I’m going to stick my tongue out at him behind his back because I think it will be funny and that will make me feel better about his stinky attitude. And he will never even know, because like I said before, Jimmy is stupid. And obviously, I am so much smarter than Jimmy. (disclaimer: gender and name have no bearing on the real person and are–in this instance–used for illustrative purposes only)

Pride:
noun: a feeling or deep pleasure or satisfaction derived from one’s own achievements, the achievements of those with whom one is closely associated, or from qualities or possessions that are widely admired.

Pride is gross. It is definitely one of the nastier traits of the human heart. And what I realized today–as thoughts of “Jimmy” took up entirely too much space in my brain–was that my attitude was just as ugly–if not uglier–than his.

Why do I instinctively want to be a jerk to someone who has been a jerk to me? I suppose it’s because evil hurts, and my gut reaction to pain is to cause pain back. But what absolutely kills me in this instance is how my response to arrogance was in fact, an exaggerated response of the same exact nature. When I realized it, I was stunned. But that realization did nothing to make me have better thoughts about the person who makes my life miserable. Forgiving and loving people who disdain us is really hard.

When I think about the character of Jesus and what he calls people who follow him to do, it really is quite revolutionary. I mean seriously, he tells us to love our enemies and “bless those who persecute us.” But how do I do that? Sometimes I just can’t. And that is when I remember why Jesus came and took my sin to the cross–to forgive me for all the times I was an unrepentant, arrogant jerk. He saw all my pride and ugliness and he loved me any way. And I can’t even be nice to Jimmy the Jerk.

Everything that Jesus taught feels contrary to what the rest of the world says or does. After all, isn’t that what people go to court for? They are seeking justice for the wrongs that have been done to them. A good friend of mine put a post on Facebook a few weeks ago along with an inflammatory video and a caption that said, “I’m praying for justice.” Only, from my perspective, she seemed to be siding with people who were intentionally inflicting great pain on others in the name of(what I considered to be) a very flawed ideology. People often toss the word justice around like its a baseball to be thrown at monsters who prey on the innocent, but when I consider that I am the monster, and someone should claim justice for all the wrongs that I have done, I have a completely different perspective. Then I’m not crying justice at all, but rather, “Have mercy on me!” Because if we all got what we deserved, well… let’s just say it’s not altogether a very pleasant train of thought.

Today I realized I am not better than my jerk neighbor. In fact, I’m worse. And the only consolation I have is to remember the grace that has been extended to me in the person of Jesus Christ. He bore the brunt of my sin on Calvary so that I can write about what an arrogant jerk my neighbor is, and how I can be forgiven for the exact same behavior, and at the same time somehow learn to extend that love to others. It is perplexing and mysterious, and perhaps one of the most beautiful gifts so readily rejected by the mainstream because it seems “exclusive” when in actuality it was always intended to be a fully inclusive gift graciously given to the entire human race. Today I realized once again that without that incredible grace, I am utterly and desperately lost.

Thank you, Jesus.

I have been reading a pretty good book by Dean Koontz called, “Ashley Bell” in which the main character, Bibi Blair, faces some pretty daunting situations. When she is most afraid she calls herself “a valiant girl” in order to give herself courage. She will say something like, “Valiant girls do not go mad,” and then run off to face her fears. The more I read about her, the more I want to be like her. The problem is, I’m not a fictional character in a book. I’m real. At least I think I’m real. And my problems are pretty real too.

I recently celebrated the completion of my very first 3 minute plank. Now you have to understand that I never thought a 2 minute plank was possible, but I have learned over time that if I ignore my brain and try anyway, I often find that I can accomplish heretofore thought impossible things. So last weekend when I was holding my position and miraculously managed to pass the 2 minute mark, I wondered if I could hold for 15 more seconds. So I tried. And when I made it I wondered if I could hold for 15 more. And I did! And when I wondered if I could make it to 3 minutes, I thought, “I will probably die, but I should try it anyway.” And so I celebrated by posting my accomplishment on facebook, because you know it didn’t really happen if you don’t post it on facebook. And everyone congratulated me. And I was the queen for a day. And it was so totally awesome. Until I woke up the next morning and realized that wasn’t the end of my story. Because for every 3 minute plank, there is a triple scoop ice cream cone hiding around the corner waiting to take me down like the weak chump I really am.

“Bibi needed to gather her courage; the one good thing about doing so was that, given how little courage she still had, she didn’t waste much time in the gathering of it.” –Dean Koontz via Ashley Bell

Sometimes gathering courage feels like trying to build a fire with wet moss. No matter how many times you stick a match into the moss, the result is always the same; a small pfft–and then a little wisp of smoke as the match burns out. At least that how I felt this morning when I was trying for the 3 minute plank again. I realized I was a “little off my feed” but still, 2.15 felt like a failure. Every exercise I tried to do felt like my imitation of a wet noodle pretending to be dry. But I pressed through it because, truthfully, I don’t trust my body. Years ago my body told me “fat is the answer.” In case you were wondering, the question was, “Who are you?” So now I really struggle to listen to my body. I push through the hopeless/helpless feeling like a duck hunter wading through mud. I know there’s a duck out there somewhere, I just have to find it. Then I will shoot that sucker and…well…somehow that analogy breaks down because I like ducks. They are pretty. So never mind. But you get my point. Sometimes I don’t feel good and I push forward anyway because that is what valiant girls do.

So I was at the doctors office last week and the kind, well-intentioned doctor told me to “take it easy” over the weekend. And I said, “What does that mean? It’s supposed to be nice on Saturday and I want to ride my bike.” And she smiled and nodded and said, “I understand. You should do that. Just don’t go up any big hills or anything too strenuous.” And I started laughing like the perfectly ridiculous cartoon character I am and said, “You don’t know me very well, do you?! You may as well tell me to staple my lips to the ceiling. That would be easier than “taking it easy.” Because I have become so accustomed to pushing through “the hard” that it’s really challenging distinguish between valiance and lunacy.

I saw a woman at work today who had lost a fair amount of weight. She has gained it all back. Just like that. I bet one day of resting turned into two and then ten. And I’ll bet she was “listening to her body” while she ate a high calorie meal and promised herself she would make up for it another day. The struggle is real folks! So yeah, when someone tells me to “take it easy” I’ll definitely take the lip-stapling to the ceiling, thank-you-very-much!

“Valiant girls are spunky and resolute.” –Dean Koontz via Ashley Bell

Facing food addiction and depression is tough stuff. And the hardest thing about it is that I can’t trust my body. My brain lies to me. My muscles lie to me. And all of my thoughts are a tangle of “Do this! No do that!” And it is all so confusing sometimes and I really just feel so freaking crazy! Que the deep, cleansing breaths.

I guess my point to all of this is that I continue to put one foot in front of the other. I made it through my workout this morning, even though I wasn’t in tip top form. And that’s okay. I accept that. Because even though I felt kind-of weak and crappy at the time, 2 hours later I felt like a million ducks. And this past weekend, I only did a couple of hills and then I found a back country road and sang an Eagles song. And I’ll bet you will never guess which one.