One More Truth

Reflections on faith, truth, and being human

2. Release

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I don’t experience the world with my emotions. It’s easier to make sense of thoughts and ideas, so when uncomfortable emotions arise, I am notoriously horrible at showing them, sorting them, and for sure, resolving them. It took many years of growing up to acknowledge this. It took just as many years to admit ‘stuff it’ wasn’t working out.

The common language for emotional resolution – ‘let go, don’t worry about it, surrender it’ – didn’t give credit to the significance of whatever I was trying to resolve. How do I just ‘let go’ of something that mattered? That had meaning? That impacted and shaped me? That still makes me question myself and my value? How do I let go of something I don’t understand? I needed a physical image for the emotional process.

Release. That’s a tangible word. It’s a fitness word, so that works for me, but it’s also a word that implies there is effort and care involved. It implies I must be intentional and willing.

Relax connects the mind and body; release connects the body and emotions. When I release the tension of emotions, my body releases tension. When I release body tension, I’m more attuned to the emotional triggers making me tight or uncomfortable. Releasing these tensions means I can live freely. Fully. I can have conversations about polarizing issues without forcing compassion (kind of impossible to do anyhow) or demolishing my reputation. I like that.

I mentioned in Step 1 that this series is not-so-secretly about working on yourself. Knowing what you’re carrying with you is definitely part of the work. Identifying what is no longer useful is part of the work. Acknowledging the obstacles that trip you up and acknowledging they are tightly stitched to your pride is part of the work. Identity is emotionally connected to all sorts of things. Here are several things I’ve discovered I’m better off releasing:

Control. It’s not mine to have. Self-control, however, is a great pursuit (and a fruit of the Spirit).

Being right. It’s not that it doesn’t matter, it’s just that the desire to be right is an unrelenting motivator and unfulfilling motivation.

Motive. Speaking of motivation, when hidden reasons for doing something drive my willingness, I am not headed in a safe direction.

Platform. A platform is rarely shared. Jesus was all about presence, not platform. He invited conversation where more than one voice could be heard. Lives were changed when He brought His presence into unexpected spaces.

Agenda. Similar to motive, but much more obvious, an agenda is focused on self-promotion. It’s often attached to a platform. Unyielding, rigid – no good. The best agenda – particularly in conversations of conflict – is to keep myself disarmed and composed, possibly disarming the other person. My composure promotes peace within the conversation, and calm within those around me.

Resentment. It is a bitter, bitter poison. Forgiveness is the ultimate release. I can forgive people, mistakes, circumstances, myself – but l have to be willing first.

Ruminations of blame or regret. I do what I can to restore, but I cannot rehash. It steals too much from me. I ask myself this: “So what am I going to do – go back in time?” If the answer is no, I release the temptation to press rewind.

Fear. Also known as worry, concern, shadow thoughts, anxiety, insecurity, panic, hesitation…the list is long. Fear is pervasive and can attach itself to anything, including the ‘shoulds’.

The ‘Shoulds’. Unreasonable or unrealistic suggestions, projections, accusations, or ideologies. Before I grab a ‘should’, I ask myself if I want to hold it. Saying, “I don’t accept that,” saves me from the future work of release.

Release is a process. I know this because Christ’s perfecting work in and through me continues. But within my faith relationship, I’ve found that release is also a trust. When I strip the clever from my weakness and the fake from my insecurity, gather all the complicated things inside me, and lay them before the Lord in prayer, His grace covers me. His love strengthens me. His will moves me into something better.

Step 2: Release the tensions.

 

1. Relax

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I’m currently on vacation. The waves and cooler weather make relaxation easy here. The sand and sun relax my body. I’m not concerned with time or what’s being eaten for dinner. If sand gets tracked into the little cottage, I’m not worried about it. The kids – who have all surpassed me in height, as of the quarantine – are burying each other up to their necks and taking pictures. We’re jumping the Pacific’s icy waves, and we’re laughing together. I am relaxed.

What could ruin our good time together?

Expectations.

Relaxing my body is a great thing. My spirit is confined to my body, and if it’s comfortable in that body, all the better. But relaxing doesn’t begin in the body – it starts in the mind, particularly in the area where my unspoken, subconscious expectations are hidden. These expectations – of myself, of others, and of situations – are often unrealistic, and unchecked, they have the power to damage relationships, ruin a good mood, and burden my body. Until I confront them and evaluate if they are reasonable, beneficial, or worth clenching up over, I will continue to demand someone meet my expectations.

Relaxing my mind by relaxing my expectations is a proactive approach to life. It takes diligence and practice, time and focus. It requires ownership, and yes, it is work. I don’t want to spoil the next 4 steps for you, but this little series about having conversations with people who make you mad because their ideas are so archaic and their beliefs are so out there they must have the IQ of a gnat, is actually a series on how to work on yourself.

Because the only person you can control is you.

When engaging in conversations about topics that divide people, you only have control over you.

To expect more than that will negatively affect you – mind, body, emotions, and your biological systems and responses. You’ll get tied up out there in the big world where people have the free will to think, act, look, speak, feel, and decide differently from you.

So relax your expectations.

Expect people will disagree with you. Expect to be misunderstood and judged. Expect to have convincing explanations, strong research, and loads of passion, and expect that someone may not care. Expect challenges and moments where you are tongue-tied or corrected. Expect self-centeredness to come at you, and sometimes, come out of you.

‘Ok, Michelle, so just lower my expectations, toss heavy issues I care about to the wind, and become a pessimist?’

No, that sounds miserable. And in times such as these, when hard conversations need to be had and people are hungry for a glimpse of humility within these conversations, we can’t throw away opportunities to share the truth about things that matter. Here’s the beauty of relaxing my expectations in people and outcomes: it raises my capacity to hope and remain hopeful.

In faith, I expect that God will uphold the truth.

In hope, I expect that He will convict hearts and reveal understanding, in His time.

In trust, I expect that He sees all, knows all, and He is a Judge who is perfectly fair.

Because of His love, I expect that when my beliefs are challenged, when my understanding is questioned, when my doubts are activated, God is faithful to renew my spirit and refresh my peace when I come to Him and ask.

No matter who disagrees with me, I still get to be me.

Unchecked expectations carry the false belief that I will experience security and satisfaction when my expectations are met. Hope reminds me that Christ meets those needs. I can relax. That’s good news.

The topics are big and the issues are important, but promoting change within patterns of thinking and behavior is a long game. Endurance, patience, and humility are virtues for this long game. A conversation about a polarizing issue is a hopeful step toward change and understanding, but don’t expect that destiny rests in the outcome of one conversation.

Step 1: Relax – it’s just a conversation.

 

 

Shooting Stars and the ‘Just Because’ Wonders of Jesus

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Fall is slow in finding its way to the desert. It shows up one morning on a thermometer that reads in the 60’s, leaves by mid-morning when the sun scorches car interiors and skin, then returns with a bedtime breeze. No colors and no leaves, but after surviving months of three-digit temps, I’ll take it.

When I saw autumn on the thermometer a few Saturdays ago, I carried my coffee outside and watched the sky brighten. The open sky has an effect on me. I see stars, or the sun, or the horizon for miles, and prayer is my Pavlovian response. I have a theory about this response, that it’s biologically wired through the vagus nerve, a long and complex nerve that connects the brain to the body. The vagus nerve begins in the roof of the mouth, flows down the length of the torso, stretches little fingers along the vital organs, and ends in the gut. Relax the tongue from the roof of the mouth and you’ve relaxed the sensory nerve associated with performance jitters and common anxiety. My mouth naturally opens when I look up, relaxing the vagus nerve, and the signal between brain and heart – my gut instinct – is prayer. God’s creative design is the coolest.

I talk to God all day long, but truth be told, I don’t always listen for what He has to say. I typically go from activity to activity with my prayers, drifting into different lanes of thought or remembering something I’m supposed to do, abandoning prayer altogether. Sometimes I pray a list of things while I’m driving, ending when I arrive, never once getting quiet with the Lord. The vagus nerve was named for the Latin word ‘wandering’. Appropriate description of my prayer life.

While watching the sun rise that Saturday morning, I jumped into praying a few days’ worth of stuff. God said, ‘Whoa, Michelle. One at a time.’ I knew it was His idea because one at a time is a God practice. My ideas run fast and tangled, and seventeen at a time is my ineffective approach. I liked His idea better.

I prayed one request, pausing to ask God what He thought of the matter, allowing Him to cool my confusion, hurt, or need. I’d forgotten how reflective prayer feels like rest and I shifted easily into the slower pace. It was so peaceful, I committed the next two weeks to morning prayer, first thing – no phone, no Bible, no exercise, just me and Jesus. And coffee. Sorry, I’m basic.

Two weeks under the stars of early morning required some adjustments, but not many. I hadn’t laid under the stars as if there was nothing else to do for years and I awoke ready for prayer and the quiet rustle of palm trees. The moon filled and then emptied, carrying me a week past my two week challenge. My challenge has become a practice. It’s too good to quit.

I’d prayed for one thing at the beginning of the prayer challenge – to see a shooting star. I’ve seen at least six so far. It wasn’t a prayer with utility or importance, just a prayer to witness the wonder and smile. I can’t explain why God would grant my request with such extravagance, other than to reflect His generous nature. He’s reminding me that as much as I need prayer time with Him, He delights in time with me. He wants my prayers, and I’m glad, because I have a lot of them.

The first recorded miracle of Jesus happened at a wedding celebration. The wine ran out – an embarrassment, yes, but certainly not the end of the world – and Mary told her son about it in such a way, He understood she was asking for a miracle. Mary had never seen Jesus perform a miracle, but she’d experienced the miracle of having Him drop into her womb in the most perplexing fashion. She’d witnessed the miracle of watching her son grow in distinction, beyond human limits, yet fully attune to the cry of humanity. She believed the God who had sent her a son had indeed sent His own Son, and as He grew, her faith grew with Him, moving from head to heart to lifestyle.

Jesus answered his mother’s request with, ‘It’s not my time.’ He could have left it at that. But Mary’s response to the wedding workers, ‘Do whatever He tells you,’ communicates wild faith. She believed Jesus was capable of every impossibility and she boldly and humbly trusted He would act – not because He had to, but because He loved her, because He cared, because He’s the giver of all good things. Just because.

Jesus looked at his mom, felt her faith, and knew – His time had come early. He turns water into wine that night. I like to imagine Jesus smiling to Himself, thinking, ‘She’s going to be so tickled about this.’ I don’t doubt He delighted in watching Mary taste the goodness and look His way, completely overwhelmed by the miracle, completely thankful she’d been there to ask, and by doing so, experience the wonder.

Stars streak the sky all the time; I only notice them when I’m watching. So I’m making space in my life to sit under the sky and look up. Prayers are answered all the time, but how often do I notice? I’m making space in my heart for bigger faith, the kind that asks for simple joy as well as the kind that releases those deep-down gut prayers. And when I’m too tired to talk or make sense of my own thoughts, I don’t say anything. I just watch for His wonder.

 

Every once in awhile, one of my kind readers asks, ‘Is it ok that I shared your post?’ For heaven’s sake, YES!! Yes you can! Any time, my friends. And thank you!

Looking for Jesus When I Don’t Understand

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On Ash Wednesday, I awoke in the dark, and clumsily made my way toward coffee. While I’d slept, a vulnerable post had been released into a bigger sphere than my normal audience, and there was no taking it back. Strangers, loved ones, or acquaintances were reading the delicate story my mind had kept in sounds, feelings, and colors. It’d taken a long time to find the language, but somehow, 700 words made it to paper and the sensory story I hadn’t known was there had finally been told. It was healing to honor it and let it go, and as a gift, the Lord saw fit to have it open my Lenten season.

I didn’t yet have a practice for Lent, but I was chaperoning the 6th grade zoo field trip and I figured the zoo gardens were the perfect setting for a soul retreat and the revelation of a meaningful practice for the next forty days. But before we boarded the busses, it was announced my daughter would be a soloist in the upcoming spring concert, and in the few seconds it took to say her name, my soul took a long sip of disappointment.

My daughter had tried out for countless solos and it was happy news she’d finally been chosen, but without knowing the date of the concert, I’d already said ‘yes’ to attending a conference that would fall on the same day. In twenty-two years I’d attended at least 2 million games, concerts, assemblies, science fairs, leadership days, rehearsals, speeches, awards ceremonies, presentations, dance performances, and parades. I’d spent my life being there, even when it didn’t seem to matter, and now that it was the big solo that mattered a lot, I’d be absent.

I was confused, maybe even indignant. I was annoyed that the God of all time and goodness couldn’t work things out a little better. I was afraid my daughter would need therapy for the rest of her life because of my absence. And I was uncomfortable with these unpleasant feelings. More than that, I was discontent with forty years’ worth of other confusion, disappointment, hurt, indignation, annoyances, and fears. I didn’t want them anymore.

So I wandered into the forty day season with a promise rather than a practice, the same promise throughout Scripture: if I look for God – even in the midst of things I don’t understand – He says I will find Him.

Forty is the number of years former slaves wandered in the desert; the number of days rain fell and swelled around one boat holding all the world’s remaining life; the number of fasting days for prophets, and for Jesus Himself. Forty is the number of days I stewed and worried and overate to avoid the hard work of letting go of old grievances (and of watching a solo on Duo rather than from the front row).

When counted as a number, forty is the timeline of hardship and nearly losing your senses. But when viewed as a process, forty is a number of healing.

Newly freed slaves wander, and in the process, learn to trust the provision of a new Master. Water covers everything, and in the process, the earth is made clean. Prophets and the Messiah go without, and in the process, they draw closer to God and find He is enough – He is everything.

I unbury the hard stuff I don’t understand, and in the process of confronting and forgiving, I see what I hadn’t before – healing. In the Holy practice of looking for Him, I find Him, as He promised. But the Easter story I’ve never seen until last week – Holy Week – is that in the process of looking for Him, He’s healing my heart, healing my mind, and healing my senses, so that when I find Him, I’ll see, hear, feel, and know it’s Him. And I’ll recognize He’s the Savior He says He is.