Thoughts on faith reconstructed, being alcohol-free, dealing with disability,and living transparently (and somehow keeping a sense of humor)
I invite you, dear readers, to visit http://wilmingtonfavs.com/blogs/jana-greene/letter-to-my-disease to see the Wilmington Faith and Values site that I also write for. My blog there (usually updated a few times per week) is called “Redemption Feast”.
God bless you and yours today, and as always – please feel free to share the link with anyone whom you feel might benefit from it. Have a great day!
“Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly.” – Matthew 11:28 (The Message)
Crispy.
Fried.
Burned out.
These are not amongst the niceties exchanged between friends as we pass in the street.
“How are you?”
“Parched. Just really heavy-laden lately. You?”
“Weary and burdened, actually.”
The truth is that we do become those things, regularly. Or at least I do. A praising heart becomes a languid spirit far too easily.
I will be walking alongside Jesus, matching my footsteps to his, and enjoying the journey. And then I see something up ahead and forget to keep pace with him, racing toward what I assume is our mutual destination. Every footfall becomes heavier, until it feels I am stepping through jelly.
Or, as often happens, I will head off toward somewhere He never planned to go, figuring that I will on meet up with Him later. My steps are intentional in keeping His steady pace, but in another direction entirely. Forcing my own awkward gait, I lose sight of the unforced rhythms that are His grace.
And still….I am always surprised by the result from either choice: weariness. A tiredness that originates from the soul.
“Walk with me and work with me,” implores the God of the universe. “My ways are not your ways, you have no clue about which route to take. And for crying out loud, stop picking up rocks to carry around on the way! No wonder you’re tired!”
I have to stop and remember to read His love letter to me, to take hold of his hand for the same reason that I held my children’s’ hands when they were small. Because although they truly believed they knew better, I had the power to keep them safe on busy streets and complicated intersections. It really is that simple – stay in the Word, love God, love others, serve.
“To care for the needs of all who mourn in Zion,
give them bouquets of roses instead of ashes,
Messages of joy instead of news of doom,
a praising heart instead of a languid spirit.” – Isaiah 61:7
It turns from praise to languish when I make it about religion instead of relationship.
I’m fried, Lord, I tell him when I get worn-out. And he always collects the burned-out bits and pieces together, brushing the “me-dust” back into a pile and transforms it again.
Beauty from ashes.
Simon said, “Master, we’ve been fishing hard all night and haven’t caught even a minnow. But if you say so, I’ll let out the nets.” It was no sooner said than done—a huge haul of fish, straining the nets past capacity. They waved to their partners in the other boat to come help them. They filled both boats, nearly swamping them with the catch.
Simon Peter, when he saw it, fell to his knees before Jesus. “Master, leave. I’m a sinner and can’t handle this holiness. Leave me to myself.” When they pulled in that catch of fish, awe overwhelmed Simon and everyone with him. It was the same with James and John, Zebedee’s sons, coworkers with Simon.
Jesus said to Simon, “There is nothing to fear. From now on you’ll be fishing for men and women.” They pulled their boats up on the beach, left them, nets and all, and followed him. -James 5:1-15(The Message)
Do you ever worry about how you will meet your needs – financially – and in every other way? Like there is a drought in the middle of the ocean in some area of your life? Do you ever feel like water, water everywhere but not a fish in sight?
The story in the Bible’s book of James became manifest to me in a way I could see, hear and touch during an evening trip to the beach last month. My husband had come home from work stressed out and I’d been writing bills, so we decided to load the jeep with a couple of chairs and journey the 15 minutes to the seashore.
Ahhhh. Restorative salt air eased our moods right away.
And then, gazing out on the water, we noticed a single fish jump – and then another and another. They were swimming quickly northward and popping out of the water as they raced, some as big as a foot long. There were hundreds, which became thousands within moments. And the most amazing thing happened. As we looked into the transparent, glassy, green waves breaking in the light of the setting sun, each was filled with fish! End to end, big silver fish formed a visible wall of life under the surface. And they kept coming – millions of shimmery fish making the waves silver, leaping and splashing. The water was lousy with fish! For a couple of hours, we sat and watched the miracle. Let’s go for a swim, I suggested. So, for a glorious time, my husband and I floated amongst the fish, trying to keep still so that they wouldn’t be disturbed. In all of my years living near the water, I had never experienced anything like it.
I’m sure that there is an explanation for the phenomenon, some migration pattern that science can explain, but for me – it was a miracle. I had been in my own pattern of worry / pray / worry / pray for months. Worried about our finances, about the economy. That day I felt so comforted, remembering Jesus and his complaining brethren, who – when asked to trust Him – said, “Ok, but we’ve already been working on it with no results.” (At this point I imagine Jesus doing a face-palm and thinking, aye carumba!)
“Trust me anyway,” he says, in essence. That’s important.
The reality is that in God’s economy, there is no drought. Our needs – so radically different from our “wants” – are met despite our concern that our nets might come up “empty”.
If I’m meeting my needs – financial or otherwise – I have good reason to worry. With not a “fish” in sight sometimes, I could easily see only drought of supply in the vast ocean. Not even a minnow!
But Jesus is my portion and prize. And His provision is perfect, trustworthy. When I’ve worried about my needs and He has (again) supplied them, I always wish I had employed more faith. “Jesus!” my spirit says, “I’m sorry …. I’m a sinner, and I can’t handle this holiness!”
And after declaring aye carumba! He steers my boat back to shore and says “Folow me.”
Oh how I love Him.
I’ve never experienced anything like the grace and provision He gives….miraculous.
Sculpture that originally stood very near the Twin Towers. Relocated now closer to the Staton Island Ferry, you can see the holes made by falling debris on 9-11, melted metal and twisted pieces.Where were you on September 11, 2001?
I just happened to be watching the news while having my coffee at 9 a.m. The reporters on the morning show said that there was breaking news from the World Trade Center in New York City. An airliner had run into the North Tower. What a horrible accident! What a strange accident.
The pilots and co-pilots must have lost control of the plane, or had heart attacks simultaneously – or some other freak incident that made it impossible to avoid hitting the building. I was listening to the commentator suggesting that it may have been aircraft trouble when I walked into the kitchen to get a bagel. It may have even been the angle of the sun, he was saying.
Then another commercial airplane hit the South Tower.
By the following cup of coffee, I would live in a different nation.
We all would.
The flames of the first tower hit licked upward through the massive cavernous hole with tragedy. After the second plane hit, the giant plumes of black smoke burned with evil.
With the attack on the second tower, the news reporters knew. The people on the streets of New York City, all gazing upward into the endlessly blue September sky? They then knew, too.
Watching the towers burn, I stood with my hand over my mouth, not daring to breathe; the air too thick with denial and then dread to inhale. I am not seeing this…I cannot be seeing this.
And then…I am seeing it. But before I could process it, another breaking news report…
The Pentagon! Another airplane has crashed into the Pentagon!
This was not random. This was not an accident.
I ran into the next room to wake my brother, who was visiting my family at the time. The Pentagon! I yelled at him, until he opened his eyes. The twin towers and the Pentagon!
My brother and I, like so many Americans, watched the news all day. We smoked one cigarette after another, even though I didn’t allow smoking in the house, because it didn’t seem to matter anymore.
Our hearts heavy, we watched and cried and touched each other on the shoulder from time to time to make sure that we were real.
We saw people jumping out of buildings and delicate papers flutter from the same floors, watched rescue workers walk into towers that would soon collapse.
Like millions upon millions the world over, we tuned in find city blocks in ruin, the security command of our nation burning, and a giant hole in a Pennsylvania field made by an airplane that hit the ground so hard that it nearly vaporized.
Terrorist attack. Our country – the greatest nation in the world – was under deliberate and devastating attack.
When I had taken my children to school that morning, they were careless first and third graders. When I picked them up that afternoon and they excitedly handed me their finger-paint artwork and spelling work from the day, it hit me: My beloved daughters would never know a world in which America was fireproof, bulletproof. As they were small, we tried keeping them from news coverage, but the climate of the world had changed.
In the days, weeks and months that followed, the world was justifiably obsessed with the events from that day.
On the morning of September 12, 2001, I bought a copy of the New York Times from a newsstand and pored over every page. For months, every magazine featured stories of the innocent victims, heroic responders, and of course, the mass murderers of terror.
And then – even as those in the nations that sponsored the terror joyfully partied in the streets – neighborhoods across America became a sea of waving red, white and blue.
Political parties? What differences? It was in our similarities that we banded together. We were Americans. I could not imagine how soon all would be forgotten (and even defended) by so many.
And each year, on September 11th, there is grieving, as there should be. There is remembrance, because there needs to be. I know that people move on because they have to – that horrors like the Holocaust and 9/11 cannot be fixated upon to the detriment of moving forward. I understand that.
But neither should they fade from consciousness, lest a new generation lack compassion for the events and victims’ families for whom “moving on” has meant permanent loss. It was not a freak accident or the angle of the sun that altered our history on 9/11 – but evil, pure and simple.
Never forget.
By: Jana Greene
I’ll take a step and its right behind me
Always fighting for control
There’s a war that’s raging inside me
I feel the battle for my soul
It’s like my shadow is dragging me around
And You are my only way out – Casting Crowns, My Own Worst Enemy
Yesterday – all morning – I felt like God’s red-headed stepchild. I was being a brat, really – acting ugly.
It wasn’t because of anything He did or said, but because of my mind-set. My brain chemistry felt “off” and my hormonal balance no better and I didn’t want to talk to God about it. I felt like there was a wedge between him and me because I was so messy, even though I know that’s the right thing to do. I wanted to own my little tantrum for a while, truthfully. But after a while, I got so tired of my own tirade that I agreed to go with my husband to the beach for a little while.
“Okay,” I told him. “But I’m in a really bad mood.” (To be fair, I thought he should be warned – as if the crying and crossed arms didn’t clue him in.)
As is his way, He took my hand anyway. God love him (and He does) – that man ministers to my Spirit like nobody else because he just simply walks the walk by loving. Not by preaching or nagging or alienating me. Living with me and our three nearly-adult daughters, he cannot afford to be easily spooked by a little female freak-out.
By the first hour on the shore, sunshine on our shoulders, I felt my mind-set change dramatically, and with it came an apology to my husband – and my Heavenly Father.
I’m sorry I pouted with you, I told God silently. But He was already over it. I love that He is so forgiving.
This morning, I picked up my Bible and read in the book of Romans that nothing can separate us from the love of God. The scripture reminded me that no matter how I feel on any given day (it changes constantly!), His WORD is fact. And I know that, intellectually…I’ve read it 100 times. But I am still learning to fully accept that in my spirit (it’s a journey).
It isn’t trouble or hard times, or hatred or hunger….or homelessness, bullying threats or backstabbing that makes me feel that chasm between the Father and I.
No…. It’s me. Often, I do it to myself.
Still, no matter where I stand crying, arms crossed and ornery, when I turn around He is there. The enemy tells us that we are separated from God at our worst, and we feel that it must be true. But the enemy is a liar.
Here is what The Authority says:
“None of this fazes us because Jesus loves us. I am absolutely convinced that nothing – nothing living or dead, angelic or demonic, today or tomorrow, high or low, thinkable or unthinkable – absolutely nothing can get between us and God’s love because of the way that Jesus our Master has embraced us.” Romans 8:31-39 (The Message)
He is our only way out, carrying us in an embrace.
What a beautiful Savior.
By: Jana Greene
Having just finished a fantastic book that talked about – among many other things – whether Christians should “keep it real” with the world, I felt as though I should blog about my entanglement. Not because it’s so interesting that a middle-aged woman would get so worked up about what amounts to normal, first-world problems, but because I wanted to share a vision that God is giving me to deal with feeling this way. (Spoiler: it isn’t His magically making things perfect….that miracle is for the next world, not this one).
When I went to bed last night, my More Spiritual Self was kinked up.
After instigating a mild argument with my husband, I had tried to sleep. When that failed, I tried to pray. Fitfully, I asked God would He please give me a break here? I know we are not supposed to let the sun go down on our anger, but I am clearly in the right!
That small, still voice didn’t chastise me anymore. Still, I quit trying to pray because I was so out-of-sorts and jumbled up, I couldn’t tell where one request started and another whiny demand ended. Frustrated, I tossed and turned all night. Tomorrow will be better, I told myself.
But this morning, nothing in my closet fit me – The Fat Fairy neglected to visit me during the night to relieve the body-issue angst that is the hallmark of my Selfish Self. (If she would only come and take my fat away while I was sleeping and leave money in it’s place, it would solve TWO problems simultaneously!) All day, worry entangled me. Issues big and small (and all out of my control) tormented me and I walked around in a cloud of menopausal grump.
By noon, I had myself so knotted up with stress that I broke out in tears at Costco while waiting to purchase toilet paper and cat food. The check-out girl was very friendly, in a “I’ve no idea what to do about this” way, which made me cry harder because I felt sorry for her. She didn’t tell me to have a nice day.
But on the way home from Costco, I had a random memory about a short exchange between my daughter and I earlier. When I had taken her to school that morning, I complimented her on her outfit (which really was lovely) and she held out her necklace for me to see and said, “It’s my favorite.”
I also remembered that it was the same gold-toned necklace with beads and feathers on it that sat on our kitchen table for a week, knotted up in a ball. My daughter had gotten it tangled up at the bottom of a bag and asked me to unravel it, which I’d tried to do several times.
“You should really take better care of your stuff,” I had told her, when she’d given it to me and asked me to fix it.
And each time I would try to untangle it, the frustration mounted. Within minutes of not being able to tell where one link started and another began, I’d leave the project out of sorts, the necklace jumbled up worse than before. She’s just going to have to throw it out…it’s unsalvageable.
As a last resort, I enlisted the help of my husband, who patiently untangled the entire chain and left it for my daughter to find on the kitchen table. He didn’t fuss at her for letting it get that way, he just solved the problem behind the scenes. Which brings me back to today, when she wore her favorite piece of jewelry restored to it’s former glory.
I’m trying to untangle my chain, I realized. I’m knotted in a ball and don’t even know what to pray for.
“Perhaps,” said my More Spiritual Self. “You should give the big ball of it to God and let him untangle it.” And my Selfish Self, after reeling from the sting that my husband would be God in this analogy, had to concur that I have to bring my anxiety, pain and restlessness while I am still frustrated. Nothing is unsalvageable to God, but when I try to untangle myself, I make the knot bigger. He will be untangling my messes all the days of my life, but I have to leave it on the kitchen table, so to speak – and not as a last resort.
Sometimes I fail to take my issues to Him because I know He has every right to say, “You should take better care of your stuff” and I’m afraid He will.
But He never does, He just loves.
I’d like to say that VOILA! I am in a fantastic mood now that I had an epiphany, but I’m trying to “keep it real” here. I can tell you that this afternoon, I’m not crying anymore and that when I got home from Costco, I broke down and changed into sweatpants with an elastic waistband. I texted my awesome husband that I love him twice today and I am still sober, which doesn’t seem like it should be a big deal after eleven and a half years of not drinking, but trust me – sometimes it still is. All of these things (yes, even elastic waistbands!) are blessings.
And God is still on the throne and loves us even though we are messy, knotted-up things.
We’re His favorites.
I don’t often link The Beggar’s Bakery to the blog I write for at WilmingtonFAVS.com, but today I wanted to share the post with my readers here. The WilmingtonFAVS blog is called “Redemption Feast”. God bless you and yours, and please share the link with others who might be interested in the sacrifice of a person’s right to hold and practice Christian views in the name of “tolerance”. (Oh, and GOD BLESS AMERICA!)
http://wilmingtonfavs.com/blogs/jana-greene/christians-and-the-tolerance-tide
By: Jana Greene
“Peter said, ‘I don’t have a nickel to my name, but what I do have, I give you: In the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, walk!” He grabbed (the crippled man) by the right hand and pulled him up. In an instant his feet and ankles became firm. He jumped to his feet and walked.” – Acts 3:6-8 (The Message)
I have been bummed out lately about something that happened five months ago, in March. It is a long story about having broken my leg by engaging in a daring feat (getting up to use the bathroom in the middle of the night and turning my ankle) and the surgery that resulted (a stainless steel plate, six screws and a pin) and the recovery time. I am still in that recovery time and I don’t like being slowed down.
My family and I lovingly refer to my new, repaired appendage as “Frankenkle”, the healing has gone very well, although not as quick as I’d hoped. Most of the time I don’t even limp, and count myself as a grateful recipient of a divine act. In the grand scope of things, it’s not a big deal…I’m just a little wobbly.
Until it hurts– usually after a long day of over-doing it. It swells and aches and makes it difficult to walk. I get frustrated and grumpy. And then I have to be pulled up.
I forget that it isn’t a big deal, then when it’s like that. In the momentary pain, I picked opened my bible one day to look for guidance. It opened to the verse in Acts about the man and his instantaneous firm ankle.
Funny how God answers our frustrations.
Perhaps the idea is that we count ourselves as grateful recipients of the divine even while we are hurting. The most devastatingly crucial act having been Jesus’ undeserved (and very, very painful) death on the cross for my salvation. Sometimes, when I’m in pain because of an injury or a circumstance in my life, I limp around as if I’ve forgotten all of the divineness God pours out on me. Circumstances can be more painful than any other kind of hurt – and just as debilitating! Those are the wobbliest times….a time of trusting the Lord with your family, a time of seemingly unanswered prayer, or not having many nickels to your name. But the promise is the same.
He’s got this.
My ankle will become firm in time, but my Father is healing more than just my body during this time of slowing-down. When I get bummed out, God reminds me that my faith in him has been made more firm in this slowing-down time, I just have to stand on it to see the millions of things to be grateful for.
The view is divine.
By: Jana Greene
Today is the last “first day of school” for my youngest child. She is nearly seventeen now – a senior in high school. Before I dropped her off, she and I said a quick prayer together – Dear Jesus, please give her a great first day and a great school year. Now that she is in 12th grade, she has a lot to look forward to.
But as it is the last day I will ever drop a daughter off for her first day of the new school year, it’s a little bittersweet. As I watched her walk into the building, my eyes stung for a moment. Wasn’t she only a kindergartener clinging to my legs a couple of years ago? Now, she is a beautiful young lady carrying herself with confidence. I am so very proud of her.
Driving my kids to school in the morning is one ritual I’ve tried to keep constant through the years. They rode the bus home in the afternoons, but morning trips were mine. It usually felt like quality time (in 20 minutes or less), except for when they were thirteen and fourteen, and then it sometimes felt like a root canal (what with snarky attitudes and slammed car doors). But mostly I remember a lot of laughter, and singing to the radio, and really good talks about the deep and the trivial.
A happy morning ride to school made me feel as though my kids would be okay. I would remind them to “make good choices” and get a feel for what was going on in their little worlds. On the mornings all went well, I felt born to be a mom. I didn’t know that they would grow up so fast.
You hear a lot about empty nests but my husband and I can’t really relate to that concept yet. In our blended family, the children are twenty, twenty and seventeen respectively and all three are still living at home. None of them seem in a particular hurry to fly into the world without us. He and I often groan about not having FIVE MINUTES alone in the house; we joke that we will have to move to an island in the middle of the night and leave no forwarding address, just to get five minutes alone. We have a bit of empty-nest-envy sometimes, in truth, because I was also born to be his wife and now in our mid-lives, he deserves to be the center of my attention as well.
This morning, the milestone of my youngest daughter’s last first day of school generated a tiny little identity crisis panic attack in my heart. I think that’s normal, but then I remind myself that “normal” is just a setting on the washing machine.
The truth of the matter is that we Moms – having devoted ourselves to our kids – have to learn what makes us “tick” all over again when they grow up. There is so much purpose in motherhood that I forgot it might not be my sole purpose. I’m still figuring out where God’s plan places me in the scheme of my identity, but many times His plan places me nowhere near who I’ve understood myself to be. He knows I will always be “Mom” to my beloved daughters, but His plans for HIS children are grander still.
Enjoy the full nest! my empty-nester friends tell me. Enjoy your kids…they fly away soon enough! And it’s true – mine is a SENIOR now! If I get teary now thinking about her being in 12th grade, how will I fare when the kids really DO move out? If I worry about them so much now while they are still under our roof, how much more will I worry when they are out? What will I fill the space with – the space that is feathered now with clutter and noise and drama?
And the small, still voice that I recognize as family, too, says “Trust. Fill it with trust in me. I’ve got them now.” So I have to try, because my Father knows best.
For her last year in high school, I hope circumstances allow me to take my youngest to school each day. We will laugh and sing to the radio and talk about subjects deep and trivial in twenty precious moments or less, and pray together quickly before she leaves for class. God has fresh ideas for her life, and she has the whole journey ahead of her.
Born to be God’s child, too….
By: Jana Greene
Have you ever butt-dialed God?
I mean, accidentally called on him. You aren’t trying to pray, but you suddenly feel like He can hear everything you do and say and you aren’t sure how long he has been listening. It’s a little disconcerting.
All of the sudden you are in His great presence. Maybe you thought about asking for His help in a certain area. You need Him. You flip your heart open to place the call, and Whoa! He is already there.
How long has He been able to know what I’m thinking?
Or worrying about?
You feel a little silly; like maybe you should say, “Oh hi! I was just going to call you, really. But here you are, already listening!”
Or, “I meant to do that.” (He knows better).
Or embarrassed, rushing back to consider all of the things you were thinking about your neighbor before you reached out to the Almighty. All the things you said when you didn’t think anyone could hear you.
He doesn’t want carefully choreographed pleasantries. He wants the real deal.
That’s the thing about God: He is always on the other side of the line, and still…I know He appreciates it when we call him deliberately. Accidental prayer – those groanings of the spirit that happen as a secondhand thought – are prayers all the same. But we all know that when someone means to connect with you, it’s always more heartfelt.
It is a learning curve, to keep in constant contact with God during the course of the day. I don’t mean to poke fun at prayer at all – prayer is my lifeline. I guess that’s kind of my point – the setting forth to communicate with God should become a constant conversation, not a dialing up.
Bringing him my thoughts and worries – in real time – as they unfold.
Keeping the heart flipped open in His presence, which is always near.
Can you hear Him now?
By: Jana Greene
The speakers on stage – as big as house doors – pump the baseline so hard that I can feel my ribs vibrate with each beat. Always a sucker for percussion, I am bouncing slightly with each perfect, deliberate fall of the sticks upon snare. Melodies, streaming from the lead guitar, make me move against my will in the way that only a middle-aged white woman can manage; with certain awkwardness, but I don’t care. Move anyway, my spirit tells me, and I obey because sometimes my spirit knows what to do.
And then she sings.
Her voice, raised in worship, is flawless. It rises and falls in perfect synchronization with the music and it doesn’t struggle with highs or lows but surfs on the notes, catching the perfect wave every time. She is worshiping God with all she has and I know that He is pleased. He created her ability to sing with seeming ease and share it with the world, and she has mesmerized us all with her gifts. With her obedience.
My voice has the potential to traumatize…not mesmerize.
When I get to heaven, I want to be able to sing like she does. Or like Queen Latifa. Or maybe Joss Stone. But who knows? Perhaps by that time I’ll be at enough peace with my own gifts to keep from envying those of others. I’m not proud that I sometimes covet the talents of others, but hat covetness burrows into my mind before I have the chance to rebuke it at times.
Music is one of my very favorite ways in which God spoils us all. It was created by Him to give us another tool of praise (and sometimes just to get jiggy with it) and I wish I was as good at making it as I am to listening to it. I know God doesn’t mind that I sing off-key, but I do.
Sharing our talents can be a daunting task. We don’t get to choose the gifts we are given, but we do have the choice to use what we have – or to keep it to ourselves. I know he truth: that the Singer at my church works on her music often, that her synchronization is perfected not only by gifting, but by practice. Effortlessness is not what she strives for; worship is. Each of the musicians in our church’s worship band has mind-blowing talent, which they each use every week to bless others. After Sunday services, I have to fight the urge to corner each of them and say, “Do you have any IDEA how AMAZING you are?” (I don’t want to be creepy about it. Just appreciative.)
We all have different gifting, different processes. God is pleased when we use our talents to bring other hurting people to Him, no matter what that talent may be. And those “what if’s”?
What if I use my talents and fail, and make a fool of myself?
What if it’s just too hard?
Move anyway, my spirit tells me. You’ve been a fool for much lesser things. And I listen.
Because even though I cannot carry a tune in a bucket, sometimes my spirit really does know what to do.
By: Jana Greene
“And though it is true that the church must always disassociate itself from sin, it can never have any excuse for keeping any sinners at a distance. If the church remains self-righteously aloof from failures, irreligious and immoral people, it cannot enter justified into God’s kingdom. But if it is constantly aware of its guilt and sin, it can live in joyous awareness of forgiveness. The promise has been given to it that anyone who humbles himself will be exalted.” – Brennan Manning
Church.
It is a place and a people, both.
My earliest exposure to church was as a small child in my grandparent’s Baptist congregation in Houston, Texas. I remember my grandmother carrying me on her vast hip down the aisle, introducing me to other congregants as we passed. When I sat down next to her for the service, I was surprised to see that everywhere was red. Inside the proud brick building, pews were deep red velvet, as was the carpet. Shiny Baptist hymnals were red as well, although many had faded to pink from the sun through stained glass.
“This is God’s house,” I remember her whispering to me.
I had heard about him before – God – in the stories that my grandparents read about all of the animals being crowded into a boat because water was filling up the world, and about his talking to a man in the belly of a fish. I told my grandmother that filling the world with water didn’t seem like a very nice thing to do, and she’d chuckled. She explained that God sent a rainbow as a promise that he would never do it again, and that the flood seemed bad but was really good. “Noah’s flood meant that God’s people could start all over again.”
She also told me about God’s Son, the Teacher. He lived a long time ago and loved all the people. She said that even though this Teacher was in Heaven with God, He would live in me, too, if I asked.
At thirteen years of age, I asked.
Since that time, I have experienced the Spirit of God many times in churches – and also the stinging judgment of my fellow humans there. So long as services are held on this planet, there will be issues in the churches. As is true with most tangible things, the church itself is imperfect. It is a divinely touched organic thing, subject to troubles when people forget to offer up Self as a living sacrifice to him. Sometimes even good people forget. The church should disassociate itself with sin by virtue of it’s holiness….but there is always hope for sinners. God’s son, the Teacher, said so.
He has called us to gather and fellowship anyway. We need each other. He also said to welcome others into his church just as they are, and to do so with love, to point people to Jesus.
The “place” of church has changed through the years. Today, services are just as likely to be held in a building that shares walls with a grocery store, or on the sea-side, or in the auditorium of a middle school. Some have sleek décor and play rock music, some deliver messages by simulcast, some are still in proud brick buildings with stained glass and hymnals faded pink by the sun. There is a church for every taste nowadays, for every spiritual leaning.
But the God of the people in his church is the same yesterday, today and tomorrow. His church seems to be growing in passion for the lost ones, those Christ was so passionate about. Many followers of Jesus are constantly aware of their guilt and sin in order to spread the awareness of joyous forgiveness.
God’s house should be the perfect place people to start over again, not for keeping sinners at a distance. God’s people should be the loving extension of his grace, a people whose souls are stained a deep, crimson red with his blood.
A place and people full of grace.
By: Jana Greene
“But how can people call for help if they don’t know who to trust? And how can they know who to trust if they haven’t heard of the One who can be trusted? And how can they hear if nobody tells them? And how is anyone going to tell them, unless someone is sent to do it? That’s why Scripture exclaims, A sight to take your breath away! Grand processions of people telling all the good things of God! But not everybody is ready for this, ready to see and hear and act. Isaiah asked what we all ask at one time or another: “Does anyone care, God? Is anyone listening and believing a word of it?” The point is: Before you trust, you have to listen. But unless Christ’s Word is preached, there’s nothing to listen to.” – Romans 10:14-17 (The Message)
When I first read this scripture, I thought about a locomotive. The image came to my mind of a train making stops in all kinds of places and picking up wayward people of all walks of life before continuing down the track. I don’t know why. Writers are a peculiar bunch when it comes to thinking (and everything else).
Another line of thought kept me active in my alcoholism for many years: Nobody knows how I feel. As long as I fed that train on the black coals of Terminal Uniqueness, the faster it gained speed for the inevitable train wreck. Since no one else has had the exact same life experiences that I have, I felt justified in drinking – and so I drank more and felt sorrier for myself and entered a tunnel of dark denial, and well….enough of the locomotive metaphors. The result was disaster that I might not have survived.
I might not have. But I did, because God is real and because surrender is an option.
The book I’m working on writing is about the ways that I’m not unique, which is most ways. It is about life happening to a person who lost control; about that loss of control being the best thing that ever happened to her because it set the trajectory for letting go and letting God do His work. There are elements of comedy, because so much in life is absurd, and musings about getting older, raising kids, and the like. Also along the storyline, there are many dark tunnels, experiences that may speak to others who have lost control, these are the the parts that are difficult to write. Painful to write. I would rather not include some experiences in the book because they are embarrassing and shameful.
But they are the very same things that made me feel as though nobody knew how I felt when I first tried to get sober. They are universal, really – just as much as getting older and raising kids. Everyone hurts. I think it’s important that others know they are not alone, not “too bad” for God to love, not a train wreck waiting to happen. Unless there is a Grand Procession of Christ-followers willing to be honest, who will help? God has given me a beautiful, awful, honorable burden to write about my recovery so that maybe someone with similar uniqueness will know that God can be trusted.
Or as Isaiah said in scripture, “Does anyone care? Is anyone listening and believing a word of it?”
I care. I believe.
As I relinquish the engine to God and ride in the boxcar, barefoot and vulnerable with my legs dangling over the passing tracks – watching the world and enjoying the view, and grabbing ahold of other wayward sinners on the way, pulling them up to ride along side me. There are bumps in the track and the car rattles at times, and we are not certain where it is headed. But it’s okay because we are confident that the Engineer knows what He’s doing.
It is a sight to take your breath away. And breathe life into your soul.
By Jana Greene
Addiction can cut a wide path of destruction….career, reputation, relationships. The news story about Randy Travis this week reminded me just how wide that path can be.
Mr. Travis has sold more than 20 million records during his country music career. According to his official website, he has seven Grammy Awards, 10 Academy of Country Music Association statuettes, 10 American Music Awards, seven Music City News Awards, five Country Music Association honors and eight Dove Awards from the Gospel Music Association to his credit.
Yes, Gospel as in the “good news” of John 3:16: that God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten son, Jesus Christ. And whosoever believes in him shall not perish but have everlasting life.
Mr. Travis was also an actor, having starred in Hallmark Channel movies and Christmas specials, and was known to his friends for having a deep abiding love for his wife and manager of many years, Elizabeth.
In short, he seemed to “have it all”. But where addiction is concerned, having a lot means having a lot to lose.
Earlier this week, an incident in which Mr. Travis was charged with driving while intoxicated made national headlines. He had crashed his car was allegedly yelling threats at police – naked – when they arrived at the scene. In his mug shot, he appears beaten, looking at the camera with a menacing glower – not at all the shy, lanky superstar represented by his public image.
Addiction has a way of doing that, too: bringing the darkest aspects of a person into the public eye. If Mr. Travis suffers and addiction to alcohol, he might continue to deteriorate until he commits to sobriety.
According to the CNN story that ran on August 8th, 2012, he was also arresting for a similar offense back in February of this year.
“I apologize for what resulted following an evening of celebrating the Super Bowl,” he stated after the February episode. “I’m committed to being responsible and accountable, and apologize for my actions.”
He was sorry – he had been celebrating the Superbowl – and no doubt embarrassed about the incident.
In the past couple of years, Mr. Travis is reported to have been involved in messy court proceedings with his ex-wife of 19 years, Elizabeth (who also acted as his Manager for over three decades) until as she put it: Mr. Travis made impossible to do her job. . This most recent DUI suggests that Mr. Travis’s disease is worsening; that he is losing control
Career, reputation, relationships – all take a hit as addictions spiral.
The mess he is going through now seems impossible to overcome…except that all things are possible through Jesus Christ. I cannot pretend to know the heart of Mr. Travis, but if he is a Christian (as his Gospel music might indicate) he already has what it takes to walk in recovery. He has already accepted that he is not his own Higher Power.
Being broken and recognizing that you are not God – those two things make a person an excellent candidate for the recovery life.
There is a special shame in being a Christian and being an addict – and yes, it is possible to be both. It may be true that Christians shouldn’t battle addictions, that they are free through grace to live a life of sobriety. It is also true that people who truly love the Lord walk around in human flesh. They have struggles and make mistakes, and are not immune to consequences. They are – like others – their own worst enemies at times, powerless against sin, yet stunned when faced with the wide path of destruction it leaves.
Being free to walk into grace requires that one step into surrender. Salvation grace is applicable to recovery from addiction; it is allowing God into our darkest places and accepting that he so loved us that he sent his only son to die for us.
He had everything to lose, and gave it up so that this alcoholic can live free to tell others that they can, too.
Mr. Travis has lost a lot, but he still has everlasting life. He still has God, who SO loved him that he gave his only son.
Today I am sharing the link for my other blog at Wilmington FAVS, “Redemption Feast”. Today’s post is about the wiley nature of relapse, and keeping support close by (even when miles away). God bless!
By: Jana Greene
My husband makes me want to be a better woman…a better version of myself. He usually sees the best in me and overlooks the worst, which is an awesome courtesy for married people to extend to one another.
Because he lives with integrity, humor and generous love, he inspires me every day.
One of the cool things about aging, if we do it right, is that what we find inspiring changes. What I found inspirational ten or fifteen years ago does not “wow” me in quite the same way anymore. Olympic medals are amazing, no doubt – signifying the overcoming of unimaginable odds, hard work and achievement. But the people who inspire me most these days overcome on a less-flashy scale.
Inspiring is:
A pastor who is real with his congregation week after week.
A new mom who sacrifices to be home with her baby.
A man driving a big pick-up truck with a “I ❤ My Wife” sticker.
A volunteer who gets up early Saturday mornings to make pancakes for the homeless.
An alcoholic picking up her “one year” chip at a meeting. Or her “one day” chip.
An elderly couple who still hold hands.
A teenager who apologizes to a parent after an ugly fight.
A spouse who makes the effort to keep the spark alive in a marriage.
A person who remembers to be thankful, daily.
An old woman who forgets how old she is, and believes that she is beautiful because God said so.
A friend who prays for you every day.
A veteran.
An owner of a large company who stays true to his values, even when unpopular.
A single mother working hard to raise children by herself.
A father who makes the time for his kids and wife.
A wife who still enjoys spoiling her husband.
A person who knows brokenness and trusts God to put the pieces back together.
No gold medals. No cereal boxes emblazoned with faces. No household names.
Just someone who sees the best in people and overlooks the worst, which is an awesome courtesy for all people to extend one another.
Inspiring.
By: Jana Greene
I found this letter amongst some old pieces I wrote in early recovery. In fact, this one dates back eleven years, almost to the day. I had been sober seven months when I originally wrote it. I pray it will bless someone who needs to read it.
A Letter to my Disease
Dear Alcohol,
I know I have had a hard time letting you go, but I feel I must remind you –
I have God on my side.
You may have genetic advantages, and plenty of opportunities to tempt me, and social acceptance, but those things pale in comparison to the Almighty God.
I have friends, too. Powerful friends.
Friends who have fought you for a long time and WIN, day by day.
Friends who care about me, just as strongly as you wanted to destroy me.
I have the “steps”, the “statements” and most importantly, scripture to pray –
And those help keep you at bay, too.
I thought you were my closest friend.
I counted on you!
You lied and deceived, and this I cannot forget.
I know you for who you are, now.
I know you are there, waiting to destroy, still. Willing to play the part of friend,
While you decimate my health, my relationships, and my spirit.
But therein lies my advantage.
I know you are there, and I recognize your voice.
I don’t deny you, but I do despise you.
You will never take me alive, and you will not cause me to die.
You had your try at me, and through Jesus Christ and His saving grace,
I am victorious.
It is finished, one day at a time, by that same
Saving Grace.
I have God on my side.
By: Jana Greene
I’m not sure if God is moving me slightly out of my comfort zone, or if he just keeps changing where “comfortable” abides in me, but He has been manifesting His love in the wildest ways lately. Like standing under a blackening sky, I find myself a bit afraid of the darkness in the world until….Look! A tiny star appears, and then another, and another. He keeps bringing points of undeniable light all around me until I am so surrounded by his obvious love, and the darkness is overpowered. I just keep bumping into light and love, utterly grateful.
One of the areas becoming new to me is praying aloud with others. Strangers. I am perfectly comfortable writing to God, writing about God, writing with the Holy Spirit guiding me. But verbally, I am not eloquent in the least. I stumble over my words and stutter in making my request. Complicating the matter is that I don’t do so well in large groups, or in public speaking, and the role I’m stepping into requires both. But still, I’ve felt the tugging at my spirit to step out of what is comfortable in order to plead on behalf of others in front of the father. So, I’m trying to be obedient in that.
I am blessed that one of my closest friends, Melissa, is a gifted pray-er. The first time I prayed for others with her, I was humbled immensely. She and I were huddled together with a couple of people who were hurting and needed prayer, all of us crying, and my friend’s words were cascading into the small, intimate space between our faces. She first invited God to our circle, and then her words just knew what to ask Him for. And as she made petition to the Lord to heal the hurts, she praised him for meeting us in that place and for all that He was already at work doing.
Request and praise.
Make vulnerable and give glory.
Ask and trust.
Afterward, I thought about her glorious prayer, which was not stumbled over, but straight from her heart to God’s in the most raw and holy way.
“You are such a good pray-er,” I told her, and hugged her tight. But later on, I wondered if “pray-er” is even a word found in the dictionary. As it turns out, it is not.
Prayer is defined as an address (as a petition) to God in word or thought, or a set order of words used in praying. But in doing a little research, I found out that “one who prays” is called: a “Supplicant” -one who makes humble petition. My friend, Melissa, is an excellent Supplicant.
We, in relationship to God our Father, are all Supplicants – whether our set of words flows easily or with struggle. Perhaps when we link hands with a stranger and petition God to hear us, our willingness to act with supplication is part of our prayer. I’m trying to learn this when I pray with others, not to worry about presentation, but presence.
Last Sunday after church, I went up front to pray for others with my Supplicant friend. We held hands as we waited for others to come forward for prayer, and I peered out into the congregation. The lighting in our sanctuary is kept very low during this time, so that worshipers might concentrate more fully on God instead of worrying what others might think. I’ve always appreciated this twilight-prayer time personally because I get so easily distracted, but today, it looked dark out there in the crowd.
Until a young lady and her friend came up for prayer- two tiny stars of light until they were in our arms and under Melissa’s fervent prayer. I allowed myself to stop nervously formulating prayers for my time aloud, and melted into the pleads and tears and worship that was spreading throughout the entire sanctuary like wildfire. I was the “amen” section for this prayer-time, which was just fine with me. All of us – we prayed in agreement – and Jesus, huddled up with us, delighting in Melissa’s beautiful words of supplication, through her gifting – music to His ears.
On the walk back to our seats, we could not move without bouncing into light and love, and I wondered….
Is it possible my stumbling on words is of no consequence to God, who considers the heart even in silent prayers? If He can read my thoughts, he knows my gifting and lack thereof, He can translate my awkward out-loud requests. Perhaps the word ‘prayer’ is both a noun to describe words that petition and a noun that describes the humbled person doing the petitioning. Maybe we are walking, breathing prayers – going about the daily business of living in constant pleading and praising. Continual requests and praise as we make ourselves vulnerable, asking and trusting and giving Him glory throughout.
And He answers, overpowering darkness….manifesting His love in the wildest ways.
By: Jana Greene
“Judas (not Iscariot) said: ‘Master, why is it that you are about to make yourself plain to us but not the world?’ (in reference to ascending to heaven).
“Because it is a loveless world, “said Jesus. “A sightless world. If anyone loves me, he will carefully keep my word and the Father will love him – we’ll move right into the neighborhood! Not loving me means not keeping my words. The message you are hearing isn’t mine. It’s the message of the Father who sent me.” John 14:22-27 (MSG)
Over the past few weeks, I have felt like the world were falling apart. Losing hope, like Jesus is not welcome in many neighborhoods. As we are approaching a Presidential election, media coverage (largely unbalanced) is stepping up the mud-slinging and Americans are picking mud off the ground and hurling it at each other. Civil rights issues are at the forefront, and people and businesses with belief systems that have been practiced and adhered to for centuries are being sucked into the vortex under the guise of “civility”.
It is un-hip now to be a Christian, no matter which side of one particular debate that Christian might fall on. That’s the crazy thing – Christians as a whole are slowly but surely starting to be persecuted in America – not by bodily threat, but by that thing that Americans have long disdained: intolerance. A witch hunt for historically conservative people is still a witch hunt.
There is even a movement to make “all religion illegal”. It is still a small and restless, largely underground phenomenon, but I can assure you, it exists. I have seen the evidence with my own eyes, in my own town. The frightening thing is that such a thing doesn’t seem out of the realm of reality these days.
Allow me to describe the current government trajectory as I see it with my earthly eyes: It is growing into a massive, monstrous machine that sucks the civil liberties of the masses into a grinder in the name of its own twisted definition of the ‘greater good’. In the end of digestion, this ravenous machine – having gorged on the constitutional sacrifices of Americans, craps out a tiny brick of pseudo-rights for a small segment of society. That’s positively un-American. And yes, that’s my opinion.
So far as I know, we are all still entitled to have one. But leaning too much on my passionate opinions and too little on my faith doesn’t usually go well.
Everyone seems angry with everyone else right now, myself included. I hate that feeling, that angst. Because it comes from a place of fear. I need to take a step back and breathe, and give my earthly eyes a rest.
It seems to be American against American, in chat rooms, on blog pages, on Facebook, even in our homes, our neighborhoods. It is so easy to get focused on the manifestations of evil all around – the horrors that took place in a movie theater in Colorado, the epidemic of human trafficking – which takes in our own country! The distractions of feeling politically passionate because of movements and issues, and freaking out with fear about the possibilities. The longing for justice, because it is so out of whack. I get so wrapped up in my emotional frustrations with the entire world, which are largely out of my control, that I forget that none of it is a surprise to my God. I forget that He himself said that it is a loveless world, and that even when it feels completely out of control, He did not leave us all here stranded.
“I’m telling you these things while I’m still living with you,” Jesus continues in the verse. ” The Friend, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send at my request, will make everything plain to you. he will remind you of all the things I have told you. I’m leaving you well and whole (on earth) – that’s my parting gift to you. Peace. I don’t leave you the way you’re used to being left – feeling abandoned, bereft. So don’t be upset. Don’t be distraught.”
Distraught doesn’t even begin to TOUCH how I’ve been feeling lately. But that’s what happens when you look around the world for peace, instead of exclusively within – where He has placed it. Within, where He gives us The Friend, who in turn fills us up so that we can love on a loveless world. The Friend, to guide us through a sightless world. Hearing the message of the Father, who IS love, instead of talking heads on the news, and instead of the voices of hatred.
Because I will worship God on my knees forever and ever, and no law can stop me. The government didn’t give me the right to pray and worship and it cannot take that right away. It is a right endowed by my Creator, who will is not subject to the rules of man, and who gives a peace that passes understanding to ALL who ask for His redemption. There is also a lot of beauty still in the world. Because the Holy Spirit is still on this planet and within us, there is still majesty, purity, grace, hospitality, and love – so much love. God fills all of us imperfect, cracked vessels with his love in order to love on a world that is falling apart. My hope is in Jesus.
Amen and God Bless America!
Musings of a Gypsy Soul 