Catch-up Blitz: Truth and Mirrors

My only excursions my first few days in Frankfurt were to the grocery stores (more on that later). I was enjoying the peace in the home of my friend-- the peace of being welcome and an unexpected relief associated with food. My friend was not watching every bite that I took, looking for hypocrisy or evidence to use against me in a budget or quality argument. I had not consciously realized how closely and insanely I was being watched in my first place-- my knowledge of it was simply a stiffening in between my scapula, a slow growing tension that I only noticed in its absence. Sweet relief! I am rescued indeed; I probably could not have lived healthy in that household. Chronic stress is fatal, and it seems that an unhealthy relationship with food can be contagious.The entire first weekend I simply let all the tension drain out of me.The first few days of the week were spend in emails and logistics, and lots of time praying, also indoors. I felt very responsible for trying to brainstorm lists of leads, and do research and soul search: I had been so excited to get to play the housewife for a year, but then I thought maybe this would be the time when God would give me a career so that I could really take care of myself. I took a step back, feeling certain that while God had called me here thus far, I could not readily assume that He would not also send me back. My mind and heart were very full. Hurtful things that had been said rang in my ears; I carried them to the cross. On the way, I considered them a little. There may have been some truth in them. I care very deeply about truth. I always want to be able to hear it and receive it. But here is the tricky thing about it:
Truth does not swallow without love.

I love truth almost more than love and after 19 years (it took 7 for me to fall in love with truth) of struggling to bite back the startling realizations of reality when they would not be kind to cloak in words, I am rebelling. Not against swallowing my words until I know they are necessary and coated thoroughly in verbed-love: this will be the undertaking of a lifetime, glory-ward growth from merely seeing Jesus into understanding how to follow Him, how to take hand in His works when I've spotted Him. I am rebelling against the double standard I have held for myself: that I must be willing to take caustic truth from the lips of those who speak with intent to hurt, who do not demonstrate care and who do not mean me well. Yet, I must be careful not to speak a hard truth in anger, out of hurt, or into a situation in which I have not first demonstrated care, that when the truth is spoken, it may be also be heard. No more double standard: I can say NO. I do NOT have to carry with me a hateful monologue and I do NOT need to do "due diligence" and go mucking through it, trying to sort the wheat from the chaff and driving myself crazy trying to tease some gold out of the dross. God has promised that He is the one who drives my sanctification. I do not conform to the image of the world, the church, or the convenience of the people around me: I change only as He moves me to become more like Him.So when God wants to correct me, convict me: He is welcome. He has showered me with love, and He has my trust. I know that conforming to His standards turns me into someone I will like, and someone I will like to be.

But this is not to say that God does not use people to speak these convictions. I do not conform to the image of the church, but the church may help me hear Jesus. It is just to say that I do not need to give people who hate me authority to speak to my heart, in case I might miss some truth. I do not need to sort through unpleasant interactions with people in order to discover which rough bits of my soul God wants to sand: I can let go of those interactions (with forgiveness, as I have been forgiven, and forget them, as my sins have been forgotten) and instead lean into the wise and loving relationships I am cultivating. There are people in my life who love me well, and who really know me. These who have earned my trust may have authority in my heart.

And that's when I realized: I have asked these people for help in sorting out the lies from the truth in the rehashing of hateful conversations, but I have never proactively sought external feedback about my character. George Herbert says, "The best mirror is an old friend." My friends have let me know if I have mud on my face or food in my teeth, but when I only ever check when I am running out the door-- when the time, or the emotional margin is not enough for braces or a haircut-- what is someone you love to say to you? "Yup, you look fine!" It's not a lie-- you do: you look as fine as you can given the constraints, but not as good as you could if you invited the Good Physician to cure that acne problem and heal the patchy over-plucked eyebrows. We honor Him when we invite Him in, to heal and beautify His bride. Yet, the goal of Christianity is not self-improvement, it is to worship the gracious King. I don't believe too much self-reflection, even in the tradition of accountability, is healthy. So we do not live our lives in front of a mirror, not even the mirror of each other, but let's say every ten years or so, it is maybe a good idea to check in and identify the key areas when you could love people and obey God better if God healed you there. Accountability voices can affirm what God has directly show you in these times. I am excited at the revelation that I can rebel from even looking into fun house mirrors, and instead see through glass tempered by discernment and grace. There will be tempering of character through rough people and interactions, but let it be by the struggle to close eyes and hug sandpaper, allowing it to grate while love rubs off, rather than trying to understand the sounds it makes or make out a reflection from it's splintered glassy bits.

And all this giant rambling is merely to set up my next story by saying:
I had a wonderful conversation with my best friend and she said many helpful things which have caused me to deeply reflect. One changed some habits which led to more stories:
"Get out and enjoy meeting God where you are now. God did not suddenly and awesomely pull you all the way across the world so you could sit in a room and think. You could have done that in Virginia. I think He's delighted that you are trying to be so responsible and obedient and practical, and I am not saying go spend a ton of money, but get the heck out there and enjoy where He has brought you."

So I went out and explored.

Already?

These are pictures of Bad Schwalbach, the beautiful little town that I fell in love with in two short weeks. For the record, I wasn't trying to guard my heart at all. On the contrary, I made a point to wake early and wander from end to end and all over the hillsides, opening my heart wide to the sunrise. I made friends with the lady who runs the only book store in town, promising to see much more of her as soon as I was paid. She was full of helpful recommendations for books I might be able to enjoy already that would improve my German. I had a long conversation with Bernhardt, who runs the tanning salon, while he took the biometric pass photos I needed for my visa. He wanted to get right into modern politics and American-German relations since WWII. It is not surprising that Bernhardt preferred deeper topics to "flaky" American small talk, but it is rather unusual that these people were willing to be so helpful and so open with me so quickly. It usually takes a long time to get to know anyone German. You have to prove that you really are here to stay.

I thought I was.

I collected tourist material and I took pictures to post later with detailed descriptions of the town's history as a holistic healing center, the Roman mud baths, the main drag full of cute little shops that only takes a half hour to traverse, the Jane-Austen worthy fields at the top of a serious hike. I went in search of a farm for raw milk and I started a batch of homemade sauerkraut. I found a place to take the little girl for a milk shake as a treat. I explored every grocery store, making mental notes of their offerings and comparative prices. I want to church, stayed after for coffee, memorized names and starting dreaming about where to volunteer when the summer holidays came to an end. I found the library. I began writing a post about how perfect it was that this was a little holistic-health town, sprung up around the baths, and here I am ready to practice and experiment with a holistically-based healthier lifestyle.

It all seemed so perfectly aligned.

Just this one little problem-- where I wasn't getting paid, the way I was told I would. And I was being expected to cook, but not given a portion of the food budget, as discussed. And I had waited for the discussion. And I had taken notes, and I had written down my bank information and handed it over. And then I had waited another day-- because life gets busy, and remembering is (apparently) hard. And then I waited another day-- for essentially the mystical reason that God told me the timing wasn't good. I used this day to prepare and pray for what would now need to be a boundary re-negotiation.

And on the third day, as is wont, everything changed.

Out of respect (for my own desires to stay classy-- don't be too impressed) I will neglect all the details. I will say only that I believe God was absolutely faithful to help me through this confrontation (which always makes me nervous) with my integrity and my courage intact.

But the fourth day found me packed and jobless in Germany, newly homeless and headed for a dear old friend's apartment in a city nearby. (Coincidence that she should be there? Ha! God is great.)

A week (und munze= small coins) later, I'm blown away by the speed at which the wind can change. God does not forbear to send me tacking quickly this way and that at full throttle, and I must admit I love every second of it. Except for the vague panic when I think too long about how I will soon be really homeless (my friend is moving) and my savings won't hold out too long and all of these job prospects could so easily fall through and maybe I won't get a work permit and maybe I will have to come home with my tail between my legs and OH gee, Jesus, these waves are really big and I'm beginning to sink........

So I gulp down some deep breath and I fix my eyes on Jesus.
I admit that there is fear; there is lots of uncertainty. And it does get to me.
I say I am sure that God brought me here. And that He knew that this job was untrustworthy, even when I didn't. I am surprised, but He isn't. He tells me to try to stay, so He has something else in mind.
I say He will come through.
And after I do, I have a second of angst: Oh, Lord, I will be so embarrassed if have just said this and you don't come through. I will be humiliated if I am wrong about all this-- please do not let me be put to shame. I've already done shame-- I don't want to go back.

I remember long ago weeping on a different friend's floor-- utterly undone by the emotional consequences of some bad relational decisions and sobbing Psalm 34. My sweet friend's face hovered near mine, bewildered as I tried to cry and laugh at the same time, unsure if she should comfort me or smile at my comic mess. She was the perfect audience for this public Psalm to make its way into my heart, in that subtle way Jesus has of doing dramatic things in the most anti-climactic way possible. Today I still remember Psalm 34 with the texture of dorm carpet pressing into my elbows.

"I sought the LORD, and He answered me;
He delivered me from all my fears.
Those who look to Him are radiant;
their faces are never covered with shame." v.4+5

So I sought the Lord-- and my plans changed from set to spinning.
And I found myself unemployed in Europe, with no ticket home.
And yet, free from odious employ. Given generous hospitality, and plenty of time to look on Him and radiantly enjoy this fantastic adventure that I would never have been so prodigal to choose for myself.
And so I say again, tweaking the angst 'til it twitches no more, He has a plan-- an amazing plan-- full of good works, prepared in advance for me to do HERE. He will come through, and I will not be put to shame.

Stay tuned. (!)

Oh Germany, land of warfare.

I never imagined how appropriate it would be to use this blog title as my keeping-in-touch, Au-pair-adventure blog. But here I am, getting to know my new family, and they both have rebellious spirits, much like mine.

The little girl is a "tester" of boundaries (her mother brags, and I have seen)-- another strong-willed stallion, whom I must discipline and train but not break. The mother claims to be a recovering people-pleaser, although I have more recently seen that she too, will push whatever limits are not enforced with consequences. I have a measure of authority over one and under the other-- I am the spread in a submission sandwich. I am about to have oh-so-much practice navigating some complex boundaries. I am nervous but excited-- this is going to be very difficult, but I am going to grow. And indeed, we are well underway.

While I am not foolish enough to traverse the ocean without a contract, the exact boundaries of expectations, consequences and services had yet to be laid out satisfactorily. I became more anxious for this discussion as some of my early expectations were quickly disappointed. Before arriving, I thought they were healthy, non-picky eaters. (So did they, until I started discussing traditional nutrition and challenging the low-fat notion.) I thought there was a measure of logistical organization. However no further research had been done into the proper process of my on-base paperwork in the time between my first interview and my flight, and precious days were wasted in the wrong office waiting rooms. It took the better part of a week to sit down and have this boundaries discussion, and to my shame it took me 24 hours after that discussion to begin realizing that no compromises whatsoever had been made to me, and in fact the perks offered me (German classes, a limited work week OR overtime pay) had been coaxed away using some fairly manipulative negotiation tricks. She had made her problems mine, but had not made my problems hers.

In taking on this position, I have been excited to learn how to be a servant, according to traditions I have read about in old Britain and heard about from my grandparent's reminiscing about growing up in the South. These stories are about the place of valued household servants in a family; a group of people without whom the household simply does not run smoothly.  A forgotten class who enrich the lives of the ones they serve and who are seen as indispensable, there are both good and bad stories about their treatment, but I had high hopes for my value as a luxury (live in, exclusive, experienced, college educated childcare!) in these modern times. I dreamt of learning to be like Samwise Gamgee and Mary Poppins. What lovely ideals! Do I seem foolish yet? I should.

And so I find myself in a land known mostly for warfare- both physical and spiritual, facing an upcoming fight. It will be much harder now to renegotiate these boundaries so soon, although I am gratified that at least I said, "that seems fair, but let's see how it goes," rather than, "yes that will work all year." It will be much harder to negotiate these boundaries gently now that I am angry about falling prey to tactics, and taking so long to notice the inconsistencies in the position being communicated verbally and that being expressed through actions. And yet, here there is still so very much room for growth. Instead of being able to come open-handed and give generously, and be cared for and respected in return, I must argue my worth and fight for my value against a shrewd and miserly negotiator, who does not shrink back from plying upon pity or obscuring facts. Beloved, this is the way of the wily world, and it is time to learn how to protect your good against it's abuses while living by it. To learn how to rebel against the parts of claims that are excessive while not rejecting the entire relationship-- to live in and with those who need my help and yet still would abuse it has become my most necessary skill. Is this not the heart of being salt in a world of manure? It is important that I not compromise my health to enable this woman to keep a servant who is in fact beyond her means, if she has not been lying to me about her grocery budget. If she has not been lying, better to leave now than impoverish them and malnourish myself. If I have allowed her to lie to me, it is important also for her good that I not allow her to extort unchecked. However, if I am called to serve this family, I will need to die to self a little each day to serve them. There is so much tension here. How much death is helpful, and how much enables? There is much argument to come. I dread it, and I am not confident that I will do well by her, myself or Jesus. But thank God that no matter how I do with this test, He values me the same. By Grace, and the loving reminder of my community back home, her devaluing of me will not speak to my heart, which answers only to One who saw fit to die for me. His budget does not change, and He does not reneg His promise to take care of me and be my Hope, wherever I may go. 

Feelings and Freedom

No.

I don't say it enough.

No, I really don't.
And it brings freedom.
"No" carries the same power as ofter-praised "yes" to open my life to new possibilities.
New possibilities need space. They need time. I have to take a bit of my life and put it into each new possibility to make it come alive. And because I occupy a fixed space and linear time dimension, I must surround these spaces and times with a wall of "No"s.

This is a painfully obvious truth. This is simply how life works. Surely, everyone know this.

Yet I feel I must apologize profusely for every "No" that I say.
If "No" is a knife, I feel I should cut with a dull blade.
If "No" is a wall, I feel I should build it of blankets and jello.
I only stop apologizing when I get tired and angry.
Henry Cloud claims that anger is the correct, healthy response to a trespassed boundary.
I cut my Nos with rubber and built them with gelatin and I apologize when I am wronged and I am surprised that I am deeply, frighteningly angry?

No.

Rebellion is scary because it is angry.
And anger is scary because it is powerful.
And I worry most of the time that I will do more damage than good with the power that I possess.
I fear my effectiveness. Therefore, I avoid my anger.

But if I say NO to my anger, then I must also say NO to the truth.
And "YES" to the truth is worth "NO" to all other things.
So sometimes, with trembling, I come into my anger.
And it always feels like rebellion.
My emotional signature to an intentional "No" is reckless, daring defiance.
My soft little "I'm-sorry-but-no"s become hearty "HELL NO"s.
I feel like I am being hopelessly difficult. High maintenance. Disagreeable. Non-compliant. 
And I'm so damn bad at this NO saying, that I probably am being a real bitch about it.
(Because if I don't please everyone, I'm obviously a bitch.)

I am stopped in my tracks by the sweet release that this rebellion brings. Like a hot air balloon casting off ballast, I rise a little higher when I exile another Yes and put a No in its place.

I say NO to perfectionism. And I say YES to right where I am now.
I say NO to caring about this or that detail. And I say YES to enjoying the whole.
I say SCREW pleasing everyone! I can't do it and I WON'T. I'm going to please the one who loves me!
I say EFF thin; I would rather be strong.
I say NO to trying to control everything, and whoosh!
Suddenly I've cleared the clouds and I'm floating along in the sun. I've said YES to whatever outcomes God sends, and I'm defying gravity. I'm rebelling against anxiety and the crushing weight of hopeless responsibility. They have no space, no time here. My NO has severed their ties and my Nos have blocked their return. My now empty hands reach out to receive contentment, and my heart swells with a sense of God's pleasure.

Against an objective standard, my rebelliousness might not even turn out to be actual rebellion. My feelings, while they are valid, should not be confused with the truth. Many of these "revolts" are just the mundane confrontations necessary to healthy relationships. My feelings about them are a reflection of how deeply I am a slave to the expectations of others. I am so ready to surrender my identity to how well I have pleased them, that staking my claim to my own identity feels like an act of war. I have rendered authority in my heart to lies and false priorities. I have donned a nice, safe, life-vest and I am floating with the status quo. My No feels like rebellion, because I'm swimming upstream and going against the tide. But mutiny to a false captain is loyalty to the king.

I place one No on top of another. I am building a wall. I am building a door frame. I am not doing it very well, and they often tumble down and must be stacked again. I am, however, growing stronger in both my ability to stack them well and in my confidence that stacking them is exactly what I should be doing. I rebel and say No, that I might say Yes to my Beloved.