Wreckage

I went for a really long drive on the back roads of Little Rock today. Spring is bursting out all over the place and the trees, bushes, and flowers are all in bloom. The grass seems perkier as well and I enjoyed its vibrant green color against the blue skies.

I went driving with the radio turned on and my thoughts for the most part turned off. Sometimes you need to do this in order to achieve a renewed level of sanity. But my thoughts eventually turned back on. It is sometimes surprising to find out what is lurking in the recesses of the mind. At least for me. We live in a world of constant stimulation, and it is so easy (scarily so) to ignore your own heart. Don't want to deal with an issue? BOOM! Log onto Facebook and hear about someone else's for a little while, or at least long enough to forget your own.

What is lurking in my heart? Honestly, a whole lot of anger. This is not surprising to me. It seems that my whole life long I have been dealing with anger about something or other. I think I have many really good reasons to be angry, and many good reason to be not angry. Some of the good reasons why I am angry include other people's sin. I am angry at the way their sin has affected my whole life. I am a broken human being because of someone else's sin.

At the same time, I'm sure other people can say the same of me. We are all broken because of sin. I once heard a quote which went along the lines of "we all live in the wreckage of other people's sin". Sad, profound, and true. I know there are some who would instantly disagree with me and claim that "Jesus came to give me victory!" or platitudes like that, but the plain fact is that while Jesus did achieve the ultimate victory over sin, and one day we will live in a world redeemed from the Fall, we still live in a very, very sinful world.

This is evident all around us, and sometimes it touches us very close to home. I have lived through my share of heartache due to the effects of sin, and it makes me very angry. At the same time, there is a lot of hope in this sin-sick world, a lot of redemption, and I see it all around me. Men who get up in the morning and are faithful to do the right thing even when others around them fail. That gives me hope. Women who love imperfect people imperfectly and will never stop. That gives me hope.

I spoke on the phone with one of my best friends in the world last night. We talked, among other things, about the wreckage we live in everyday. It has touched and changed each of us. She asked and I talked about how I am mostly completely flummoxed by this year in Little Rock. Most days I wake up and think "what-the-h am I doing here?". It makes no sense to me. My life here is so ordinary and I can't for the life of me comprehend the lessons God is teaching me. This makes me kind of nervous. I need some justification for moving away from my friends and family, my life, to Jacksonville, Arkansas, of all places. I thought God had some big, grand reason for moving me here, and although I know beyond a doubt that He wanted me here, I still want a really good, crystal-clear reason for it. So far, no dice.

So what is God doing? The not-knowing makes me angry, confused, and a little doubtful. The last three years of my life have been such a roller-coaster of events, emotions, and spiritual growth all moving me to a place that I didn't expect or want at all: here. While I was making the decision to move here, people kept saying "you should just do what you want to do", which annoyed me to no end. What I wanted to do was exactly the opposite of this, but what do you do when what you want to do isn't an option? Well, you do the next best thing, or in my case, the next possible thing. You obey the light you've been given even as the darkness closes around what you really wanted.

When what we expect to happen doesn't, we are left with so many broken pieces to make sense of, and then, hopefully, gracefully, to move on from into the life we had never imagined, but are nonetheless living. How do we do that? I am still struggling with this question. My times with God are still filled with questions, and even sometimes accusations, mingled with pleas for direction. What now? Where now?

I guess this is a post I've had bottled up in me for a few months now, ever since I closed the door finally and completely on a part of my life that I held far too dear for far too long. I am a fool for clinging so completely to such incomplete happiness. My hands are loose now, and what do I grasp? My Savior, of course, who is the only One who can make sense of my life in the end, who IS my life in the end. I thought I was clinging to Him, but I realize now that I was grasping Him in one hand while holding onto my own plans with the other. Now that both hands are free to grasp Him, I feel a little off-balanced. My other hand is still trying to cling onto other things besides Him. Foolish, but redeemable, girl.

My life is filled with dichotomy. I am surrounded by wreckage and beauty, good and evil, joy and pain. I know there are many "reasons" that I can't fully comprehend or even appreciate now in the midst of it. Maybe I should let go of my desire to know, and instead rest. I always like to end my blog posts on a happy note, or at least a note of hope; resolution would probably be the best word for it, actually. Oh, but things are not resolved. Not at all.

But I'm not working on figuring it all; I'm working on trusting.

Springtime

It's Springtime in Arkansas! The flowers and trees are in full bloom, and they are brilliant against the blue sky.


Daffodils!


Forsythia bushes bring back such wonderful memories of my childhood. I love them!


The sky is so beautiful, and it keeps praise tripping off my tongue. Spring, you are more then welcome to stick around!

International Women's Day

Apparently, yesterday was International Women's Day. Personally, I view this as a little piece of nonsense. I'm not sure why we feel the need to almost deify our gender, to blow our accomplishments out of all normal proportion, but there is something to be said for knowing your place and staying in it.

I am not a feminist in the most popular sense of the word, but I do believe women have unrecognized power. Unrecognized by ourselves alone. I think we should be capitalizing on the power with which God in His sovereign wisdom has endowed us, but sadly, we want, not our own, but someone else's power. I think this a sad state of affairs.

I understand that there is oppression and exploitation of women all over the world today, but this is true for many people groups, cultures, and races, not just women. I think the biggest offenders in this area are women themselves. We have exploited and oppressed ourselves beyond anything a man could ever accomplish because of our refusal to recognize and rejoice in God's created order.

Or course there are days when I think "boys are dumb!", because, well, they sometimes are, but there are just as many days when I have to acknowledge my own sin against God; my rebellion against the way in which He created me to function; my inate "dumbness" (read: sin).

But getting back to the whole "power of women" thing, I took some time yesterday to dwell on the women who are, in my estimation, the most powerful. I would say that truthfully, I have grown up in a matriarchal society. The women in my family are powerful. As I think about my ancestors on both sides I see that the men have been mostly flakes. In fact, a few days ago I was looking up my original maiden name (before I was adopted at age nine) and a picture of my uncle Frank popped up. He is a sex offender. My dad died when I was five because he was a drug addict and an alcoholic. The man my mother married when I was seven (and who later adopted me) is a porn addict who allowed his sin to destroy his marriage. I have heard stories of my grandfathers and great-grandfathers who were emotionally, sexually, and physically abusive to their wives and children. The women in my family have had to be strong to survive.

There have been no feminists in my family though. Only women of quiet simple faith resolved to do the right thing, even when it resulted in their own harm. They haven't been perfect, not by a long shot, but they have been faithful. My mother loves to tell us stories of her grandmother, Jessie, for whom my little sister is named. A woman who was married to a difficult man, but who was a woman of prayer. My mother is sure that she loves Jesus because of her grandmother's prayers. And I love Jesus because my mother loves Him, and so on. In His grace He has used the prayers of these righteous women to result in many physical and spiritual children.

I am thankful for such a godly heritage of women who knew their place and stayed in it, and not just my own family members, but my many spiritual mothers as well. I have been ridiculously blessed in this area. These women had (and have) such power over future generations because they submitted themselves in humility to God's plan for them. I pray that I am like them.

I have great hope, not only for the women in my family, but for my brothers as well. Truthfully, I pray for them more than I pray for my sisters, because I have a sneaking suspicion that Satan wants them more. I don't want to see another generation of men in my family weakened by sin and devoid of purpose, so I do what I can do as a woman to help them. I don't bash men simply for being men, but I point out what is true of all of us - we are sinners. Our problem is not our gender, but our nature. I strive to live out biblical womanhood before them so that they know what it looks like, and one day will marry a woman who will not be subordinate to them in their humanity, but mutually submissive to them in obedience to God's design.

There is great power in womanly submission, not only to husbands, but to God. I pray that more and more women tap into this power but it's too late. Happy International Women's Day!

Sunday Hymn

Man of Sorrows! what a name
For the Son of God, who came
Ruined sinners to reclaim:
Hallelujah, What a Savior!

Bearing shame and scoffing rude,
In my place condemned he stood;
Sealed my pardon with his blood:
Hallelujah! What a Savior!

Guilty, vile, and helpless, we;
Spotless Lamb of God was he,
Full atonement! Can it be?
Hallelujah! What a Savior!

Lifted up was he to die,
"It is finished!" was his cry;
Now in heaven, exalted high:
Hallelujah! What a Savior!

When he comes, our glorious King,
All his ransomed home to bring,
Then anew this song we'll sing:
Hallelujah! What a Savior!

-P.P Bliss, 1838-1876

A Mouse in the House

There's a mouse in the house...and he is a punk. A few weeks ago a small dark brown object ran by my foot as I stood in my room in the Big Blue Farmhouse. At the time I was on the phone with my mom and I let out an exclamation of surprise. A mouse in my room! The indignities had reached a new level of low.

A few days later I saw it creeping along the corner of my room near the door. I decided to enlist Bud to help me get rid of it. He dug out a mouse trap as Nancy let out her characteristically over-dramatic groans. The trap has stood empty for over a week now, mocking me with it's very emptiness, as I wonder when he will re-appear. This weekend I saw the mouse again, running blithely by the trap on his way to whatever mice do in farmhouses.

This morning I was awakened by a rustling in a drawer of a dresser which stands near my bed. It was a little after 3:30 and I lay, half asleep, wondering what I was hearing. Suddenly, I knew and sprang to action, knocking on the drawer (I wasn't about to open it and have a mouse in my face) as loudly as I could. Rap, rap, rap! I know you're in there Mr. Mouse! For the next hour I lay listening for his return. Finally, I opened up the drawer and found the remnants of a partially chewed plastic bag.

This is war! Jeanne - 0, Mouse - 1. Oh, but that will change. Stay tuned for more news from the Big Blue Farmhouse.