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.

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.