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. (!)

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.