Destination Discipline

“I’d been had all along by grasshoppers, muskrats, mountains–and like any sucker, I come back for more. They always get you in the end, and when you know it from the beginning, you have to laugh. You come for the assault, you come for the flight–but really you know you come for the laugh.”  Annie Dillard, “Pilgrim at Tinker Creek

What gives life meaning? What is my purpose? Where am I going and why does it matter?

Have you ever asked yourself these questions? Or were you too busy just trying to eke out a living? I often find myself in the hustle and bustle of life, moving from task to task in a flurry of activity. I don’t always enjoy my job, but I have to work to pay bills, and frankly, the paycheck doesn’t always stretch as far as I need it to. So, I rush and—not unlike a little house finch—I am fluttering from branch to branch trying to find a morsel of food or a place to shelter.

No mirrors, but we have cell phones with no service

But sometimes I get to slow down and ponder the meaning of life. I find myself with fewer distractions and a good book in my hand (such as “Pilgrim at Tinker Creek” by Annie Dillard). And I wonder if I’m on the right path. Her keen observations of nature resonate, especially when read by a campfire.

There are no mirrors at our cabin in the woods. The closest we come to knowing what we look like is when we see our reflection in the windows. The older I get, however, the more aware I am of my body. Little twinges of pain flare and throb like lightening bugs at twilight. Other times, my joints feel like a rabid wasp got loose and started stinging me. But on a good day, the only warmth I feel is the sun.

It looks so pretty on the surface. It’s what lurks beneath that is so terrifying.

Last week soaring temperatures and humidity meant any amount of time spent outside guaranteed a sheen of sweat on my skin. At one point, we snuck off to the river to cool down. We found delight in crawdads, little fish nibbling at our legs, and peepers (little hopping frogs). But we also discovered, much to our horror, leeches. Once a leech attaches itself to one’s skin, it releases a toxin that prevents blood from clotting. Therefore, once removed, we discovered the blood just kept flowing; a brutal reminder of the invertebrate that was recently attached. We thought we had autonomy over our anatomy. The leeches proved otherwise.

Nature reminds us how little control we have over not only our bodies but our lives. The river provides a perfect metaphor in that there are forces—often beyond our perception—pulsing and writhing with one instinct: feed! This hunger drives every living creature because in order to exist, one must consume. While the leech thrives on blood, it will detach if life blood stops flowing. Other creatures, like horseflies, bite and devour and care not whether one lives or dies. Then, one need only look up at the ever circling turkey vultures if we need a reminder that death is always lurking.

Our first day in the country, my husband found a dead bobcat on the road. The poor beast had been recently hit by a car and Eric couldn’t bear to leave the beautiful creature there to disintegrate. He placed it on the bed of his truck and—once off the main highway—took time to inspect it. He was intrigued by the markings, from its whiskers to its toes and its tail. This beautiful cat had been prowling and probably hunting before being blindsided by a vehicle.

Something beautiful had been destroyed and we felt the loss of it. Granted, the only intimacy we were allowed was surface level – namely we saw the body. We have no knowledge of her habits, her mate, or her young. We don’t even know what her last meal consisted of. We didn’t know this cat, but her life mattered if only because she was a valuable part of the ecosystem.

But was her only purpose “consumer”? I’m not sure what animal’s prey on bobcats. And if she was only a predator, was that all that gave her life meaning? Did she merely exist to reduce the population of vermin? When I look at such a creature, I find myself in awe of the splendor of her body. Had I hit her with my car, I would have stopped. Had she been alive, I would have wanted to help her. But I am also keenly aware of those teeth and those claws. Would she have wanted me to try to save her life?

Maybe it was not my purpose to have intimate knowledge about a bobcat. So, I spent time with my human neighbors instead. Those conversations helped me connect and know more about their lives. I walked away from each conversation feeling known and cared for. I hope they felt the same. This is the joy of the human experience: connection and intimacy.

When I consider these experiences, I am struck by something; intimacy has very little to do with anatomy. We stroked the fur of the cat, touched her toes and her face, but we didn’t really know her. In contrast, we little touched our neighbors but felt love.

How am I different than the bobcat? How am I different than the vulture or the leech?

My body implies that I am a 47-year-old woman. That is my anatomy.

My mind says I have autonomy. I have the freedom to govern my body.

But lately, my heart has been longing for intimacy.

Annie Dillard created within me a longing for intimacy with nature. I want to know the mysteries of rocks and flowers and bumblebees. There is so much beauty and I can’t take it all in, but I want to try.

I also desire intimacy with friends and neighbors. People. For all their messiness and hypocrisies, I want to know the inner workings of the human heart. I want to be shocked, amazed, and overwhelmed with compassion. I want to forgive and be forgiven. I want to know the comfort of my mother’s embrace.

More importantly (and mysteriously) I desire intimacy with the Creator. I find in myself longing to know and be known by a Being that made the toes of the bobcat soft and sharp, but who also made the jaws of a leech filled with venom. This creature that sucks blood has even been known to save lives. What kind of Being is this? And why do I feel within me this need to be known and loved by Him?

I am connected to something larger than my senses perceive. My body belongs not only to me but to the world and to God. Maybe that is why I feel pain when my neighbor rejects me. If part of my purpose is to be loved, it causes deep pain when someone rejects me. But I also know I have rejected people. I have caused pain. And that creates within me a longing to be forgiven.

People may laugh at me for these ramblings. “She is a fool,” they will say, “for posting such inanities. Who cares if people like or don’t like her? This is boring. I’m out.”

But it matters to me. I am trying to find my place in the world. Maybe the dear reader is too.

The wider culture would have us believe intimacy is touch, pleasure, passion. But those are fleeting. They are like the deceased bobcat after a few days in the woods; returning to dust. I long for deeper pleasures. A cool breeze on dew-drenched feet. The gaze of a friend who knows I regret the harsh words I said and says, “I still love you.” The sizzle of broccoli in butter on a cast iron skillet. The whispered words of truth when everyone around me is speaking lies. I want cotton candy clouds and great blue herons flying overhead and ferns that glisten in a random sunbeam. There is magic and mystery in the world around us if only we stop to observe and listen. There is truth if only we stop to consider and ask the right questions.

I am only a woman, but I am alive. And while I’m still living, I choose life. And life is not really lived unless one is loving and giving and experiencing the world both from the microscopic and mountainous viewpoint.

If the heavens declare the glory of God and the sky above declares His handiwork, I want to be His. I want to belong to Him. More and more every day. Therefore, I surrender my anatomy and autonomy to Him in exchange for greater intimacy. That is what gives my life meaning and purpose and ensures my final destiny. What about you?

“It’s just emotion that’s taking me over.” The Bee Gees

Have you ever experienced an emotion so strong you lost your appetite? To be honest, it’s rare for me. I generally “eat my feelings”. Upset? Chocolate. Sad? Ice cream. Pissed off? French Fries. I learned from a psychiatrist recently that carbohydrates produce soothing endorphins in the brain which is why people eat when they are having intense emotional responses. This carb-induced physiological process is powerful. Therefore, I know something is very wrong when I’m so upset while trying to eat it immediately comes back up. It’s almost like my body is resisting the need to be comforted.

“O afflicted one, storm-tossed and not comforted…” – Isaiah 54:11

Sometimes an event happens that causes so much pain we resist comfort. Our brains become so overwhelmed that we feel like we are falling into the abyss and all we can do is grope and flail and scream. And when someone reaches out to take hold of us, we bite, claw and grapple.

Years ago, I stepped into an elevator with a co-worker and was startled by her lean frame. She had gone from “pleasantly plump” to “sleek and suave”. I was impressed! I said, “Wow. You’ve lost weight. You look amazing. What’s your secret?”

“My daughter has been in the hospital.” She said.

I said, “Is she going to be okay?”

“She’s not out of the woods yet.”

She fidgeted uncomfortably, obviously eager to escape my prying questions. Meanwhile, I stood there feeling foolish. I never knew anyone who lost weight from emotional trauma.

There is no way to prepare for pain. When the hammer falls, the broken capillaries rupture and a bruise forms. Whether it’s physical or emotion, pain is a “little death.” It is the loss of something important to us. It might be something as simple as our dignity (after embarrassment) or as complex as the loss of a child or parent. It’s important to know our emotions are intricately tied to our physical processes and we therefore don’t always have control over them. Much the same way we can’t control the rhythm of our heart, we can’t regulate the throb of pain as it shakes our psyche.

Why then do we set expectations for grief or pain? We all process it differently. As unique individuals, we are all responding to our environment and the best any of us can do is to feel, process and heal. What may take one person a day, may take another person decades. Therefore, we must show up with compassion and kindness for the journey each of us are on. We shouldn’t compare our journey to that of our neighbor and we shouldn’t criticize or critique the way others respond to a traumatic event.

This played out for me recently when a family member told me my child’s emotional issues were my fault. They told me if I had fixed my own issues, my child wouldn’t be where he is. I questioned this view and was assured that if I were following their prescribed method, my child would level out. This short-sighted opinion turned me upside down. First, I’m on my own journey, and while I’m doing my best to function in a broken, fallen world, I am not perfect by any stretch of the imagination. Even if I were perfect, I can’t control my child’s unique response to his environment. I can’t control the chemicals in his brain any more than I can control the air he breathes or the food that goes into his body. I could saturate him with an environment of perfect love (that never loses a temper and always corrects with positive intent while providing affirmation) and he would still falter. That is because we are imperfect people living in an imperfect world. Why then do we set such unrealistic expectations for each other? He has not learned to temper his emotions. I am trying my best to teach him.

Our culture is entirely too focused on the aesthetic. We celebrate the kid with the graduation robe and the beautiful hair and makeup and the perfect grade, but we give little credence to the child who stumbles with relationships, succumbs to peer pressure, and lies. It’s almost as if we forget they are little humans. It’s almost as if we cast a wary eye on the “bad kids” forgetting the best any of us can do is learn from our mistakes. One is not better than the other; they just are. They are as worthy of love, care, and consideration as the other and shouldn’t be cast out—or worse—maligned. In fact, these are the kids that need MORE love, MORE care, MORE consideration. They are struggling with complex emotions they don’t know how to process and they need our help to teach them how to respond.

I wish carbs fixed all the problems in the world. It would be so much easier. Lose your job? Candy bar. All better. Alas, we are dependent on the love of others to support us when we are struggling. When those support structures collapse, we are left with a life not worth living. So please, don’t desert the people in your life who think differently or respond inappropriately. I know it’s in fashion to put up boundaries and eliminate certain people from our lives—but it’s not always the right thing to do. We do it because it’s easier than staying. Love stays.

When I am struggling with people, I remember God sees me as I am and loves me. He would never leave or forsake me.

I often get frustrated with the people I love when they do things I don’t like or say things that are hurtful. It takes more strength and courage to walk towards someone we disagree with and say, “I’m not leaving.” This is hard when emotions are swelling like the tide. But if I am loved by a God who “will never leave me or forsake me,” doesn’t that give me the confidence to do the same?

I haven’t been very strong lately. One could say I’m stumbling and scraping my knees a lot. After all, I am only human. But I am learning that real love perseveres. It transcends emotion. It fights for the good and sees the beautiful heart beneath the muddy façade.

I often don’t want to overcome my emotions. I want to give in to them and flail and thrash. Today, I choose to embrace them. By God’s grace, I will feel and I will heal. I hope my dear reader will try to do the same.

Have you ever longed for security? Has the ground you walk on been uneven and swampy? Do you take one step only to see your foot disappear into a bog of quicksand? Just when you think you have solid footing, you tumble headlong into a pond filled with rotting fishes? Did you think, “Man, I should have smelled that coming!” Or is it just me?

I have been practicing my French lately, as in, “pardon my French.” These little articulations of discomfort reveal the unsteadiness of my footing as French is not my native tongue. I’ve been trying to navigate an obstacle course of adverse events without breaking my leg and frankly, I have sprained both ankles. I like to consider myself a pretty hardy individual but I’m plumb tuckered out. I find myself praying, “Help, I just need help,” a lot more frequently than I care to admit. And it’s not because I’m a pansy. (Though I do like pansies – especially the yellow and violet colored kind.)

Several important questions have come to my mind as I consider my life and my place in the world. First, can I live up to my own high standards? It’s so easy for me to think about what other people are doing–or rather, should be doing–and form an opinion that shapes my attitude and behavior toward them. Second, can I extend grace to people the way God has extended grace to me? I often have this idea that everyone should be disciplined or they are just lazy. It is much easier to point fingers than take responsibility for my own actions. Which leads me to the last question, do I have the strength to surrender to God’s will for my life?

Why is this happening to me?

Someone wiser than myself might respond, “Why not me?” But when God’s boot squishes my face into the gravel, I would like an explanation. That doesn’t mean I’m going to get one, but while I’m coughing up blood, those questions just sort of necessarily intermingle with the fluids.

The thing is, I have been praying for something to change and it hasn’t. Because of that, I frequently doubt God’s goodness. I “kick against the goads” so to speak (see Acts 26:12-18). God is pointing me to move in one direction, but I keep trying to avoid His sharp, pointy stick. He is inevitably forced to push me to the ground with a simple question, “Margaret, what’s up? Do you want to follow me or not?”

My initial gut reaction is, “I’m not sure.” Because I’d rather walk on the easy path where there are gumdrop cobblestones and licorice arm rails and lollipop signs pointing to sugary (ignorance is) bliss. I find that I despise the discipline of the lord and grow weary when reproved by Him (Hebrews 12:5) because I have forgotten who He is.

Who is God?

“Who is this who darkens counsel by words without knowledge? Dress for action like a man; I will question you, and you make it known to me. Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth? Tell me, if you have understanding. Who determined its measurements–surely you know! Or who stretched the line upon it? On what were its bases sunk, or who laid its cornerstone, when the morning stars sang together and all the songs of God shouted for joy?” – Job 38:2-7

I am not a god, though I have frequently tried to be. I think my way is the best way and especially, I don’t think my heart is deceitful above all things and desperately wicked. I figure I know best and that’s that. Basically, I am in need of a little instruction. God knows this. He also knows I’m resistant to correction. Like Job and his friends, I have a fundamental misunderstanding of God. I disrespect His power, His holiness and His right understanding of the way things are in His universe.

Annie Dillard gives an interesting account in her famous book, The Pilgrim at Tinker Creek. “What else is going on right this minute while ground water creeps under my feet? The galaxy is careening in a slow, muffled widening. If a million solar systems are born every hour, then surely hundreds burst into being as I shift my weight to the other elbow. The sun’s surface is now exploding; other stars implode and vanish, heavy and black, out of sight. Meteorites are arcing to earth invisibly all day long. On the planet the winds are blowing: the polar easterlies, the westerlies, the northeast and southeast trades. Somewhere, someone under full sail is becalmed, in the horse latitudes, in the doldrums; in the northland, a trapper is maddened, crazed, by the eerie scent of the chinook, the snow-eater, a wind that can melt two feet of snow in a day. The pampero blows, and the tramontane, and the Boro, sirocco, levanter, mistral. Lick a finger: feel the now.”

I have made my experience of the universe too small. Why have I only focused on me? As if my experience of the world is all there is. Not only have I wrongly set my eyes in the mirror, but I have darkened my gaze to the beauty and mystery of the world around me. Where does life spring forth from? What makes the snake slither? How are the clouds shaped? Why does the earth have to move at all? It is always in motion. And why is it circular instead of square or oval or … flat?

I don’t have an answer to these questions, and I won’t. But rather than focus on these glorious mysteries and the magic in the world around me, I’m busy crying about transient things. I have been cursing when I should have been marveling. Behold what manner of love the Father has given to me that I should be called a child of God. And so I am! I am loved. Cherished. Precious in the sight of my creator – and flawed by sin. He wants to remake me in the image of His Son but I’m chasing after pots of fools gold at the end of fluorescent rainbows. I say I want security, but I already have it. I was purchased with the blood of His only son. So why am I trying to kick him in the shins and run away?

The pain in life is a reminder of what a broken, fallen world we live in. “Therefore, we must pay much closer to attention to what we have heard, lest we drift away from it. For since the message declared by angels proved to be reliable, and every transgression or disobedience received a just retribution, how shall we escape if we neglect such a great salvation? It was declared at first by the Lord, and it was attested to us by those who heard, while God also bore witness by signs and wonders and various miracles and by gifts of the Holy Spirit distributed according to his will.” (Hebrews 2:1-4)

If I am brave enough to recognize that He is God and I am not, I must surrender to His will in order to claim the security He promises. There are no coincidences. His sovereign will is always done. Nothing occurs apart from his sight, therefore, like Job, I repent in dust and ashes.

I have been trying to control people and situations, when I can’t even control myself. How foolish I have been. Am I the only one?

There are some very real tragedies in life that cloud my view of God. But the very essence of faith is trusting what I cannot see. Therefore, I must shift my gaze to Heaven. I must trust that God’s word is true and is no lie; He is a shield for all who take refuge in Him. The angel of the Lord encamps around those who fear Him and delivers them. (Psalm 34).

My friend, if you have been kicking against the goads, as I have, let me remind you who is stronger and mightier and more loving than you could ever imagine. He loves us too much to leave us as we were. Surrender is sweet when we trust the Lord. And He is faithful who promised. He will never permit the righteous to be moved. And we are only righteous by the blood of His son, who laid down His life for us.