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When you change the way you look at something, what you see will change.
That’s a really bad attempt to quote Deepak Chopra, who I recently saw speak at a conference. He also said that our bodies are merely artificial manifestations of our collective, raised consciousness and that we are merely energy entangled within the DNA of our ancestors (or something extremely deep and ponderous like that). For purposes of this post, we’ll just stick to the first quote.
According to Dr. Chopra, we all have a set point. A default position for how we view things. For instance, when we encounter a challenge, do we view it as a problem or an opportunity? The bad news is that this set point is typically formed within the first three years of life. It gets worse. We typically create our set point by mirroring based on expression, body language and other cues from our surroundings. Okay, now stop. Think about how your parents respond to stimulus. Scared? Well, don’t be. You can change this set point through self-awareness.
This past week, I was reminded once again of my set point. I got up close and personal with a big heaping spoonful of self-awareness.
I’ve been grappling with a major life decision. I’ve blogged about that several times lately. Through this experience, I’ve come to realize that you don’t have to be going through trials and tribulations to stretch and test your faith. You can be challenged while being blessed. It’s almost embarrassing for me to admit that the big crisis I’m wrestling is whether to take a new job or stay in the one I currently hold.
In a time when many people have been seeking work and struggling through a sluggish economy, I feel more than guilty for asking anyone to pity me in my situation. But it’s been hard. The new job is a risky one with lots of upside. My current job is stable but has taken a mental toll on me. It’s been a really hard decision, in part because I’m finding it hard to trust that God will provide no matter what my decision is.
I’m placing enormous pressure on myself to make the right choice, to not mess everything up. I’ve defaulted to my set point, which is to over-analyze and then paralyze myself. To create a scenario where I’m near meltdown and stressed beyond belief. Where I drive my wife crazy all weekend, pacing back and forth while flip-flopping on what I should do. Where I somehow turn a very enviable position into the worst thing that has ever happened to me.
In 1 Thessalonians 5:16-19 it says: Rejoice always, pray without ceasing, in everything give thanks; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you. Do not quench the Spirit.
Wow, my set point is soooooooooooooo far away from that. It’s a daily battle to adjust it. To continue to be self-aware. But Dr. Chopra is right. About the whole change thing. As soon as I realized how I was responding to the situation, it changed the way I viewed it. And that changed the situation itself.
I’m happy to report that I am starting a new professional chapter. I’m taking the new job. I’m trusting that God will continue to provide. I have sadness to leave my current team and everything that I’ve accomplished there for the past several years. But at the same time, this move is going to significantly stretch my faith. I won’t have any safety net, other than God. My set point naturally says that is too dangerous. That I should reconsider.
But the set point I strive for rejoices in the opportunity and gives thanks. And keeps the Spirit flowing within me. It feels good to put it in writing. I can’t wait to see how God uses this new chapter in my life to further His will.
As I mentioned in my previous post, I have a decision to make. I’ve been praying, stressing, debating, turning to scripture.
Daniel 2:20-23 is a passage that continues to pop up for me. I keep digging in. Staring at it. Searching for significance. I’ll copy and paste the verses below for easy reference.
Daniel answered and said: Blessed be the name of God forever and ever, for wisdom and might are His. And He changes the times and the seasons; He removes kings and raises up kings; He gives wisdom to the wise and knowledge to those who have understanding. He reveals deep and secret things; He knows what is in the darkness, and light dwells within Him. I thank you and praise You, o God of my fathers; You have given me wisdom and might, and have now made known to me what we asked of You, for You have made known to us the king’s demand.
At this point in time, God has given Daniel the power to see and interpret King Nebuchadnezzar’s dream, which will allow him to basically be a hero and a prophet and a key part of God’s plan. He has given Daniel exactly what he asked for, and Daniel has received it fully.
What I immediately draw from it is that God will speak, reveal and equip. He will grant wisdom, he will guide us from dark into light. He will give us exactly what we ask for.
But many times I miss it. In fact, as I’ve been grappling with this major life decision the past several weeks, I don’t feel like I know what to do.
Why?
Well, I have three guesses.
I don’t hear it. I am simply missing the communication, or I can’t fight my way through all the noise and distraction. I’m looking in the wrong direction.
I don’t get it. I’m not in a place in my faith walk where I can receive the message clearly. It is basically going right over my head. God says one thing, but I hear another.
I don’t buy it. I hear it, and I get it. I just don’t believe in it for whatever reason. I can’t internalize it, because I have doubts.
If I told you all of the signs I think I’ve received from God to help with my current decision, you’d probably laugh and say something like, “Oh ye of little faith.” I’ve all but paralyzed myself, because I don’t want to misread the signals. I don’t want to look back and realize I made some big mistake because I misunderstood God’s will. What if I’m not getting it?
My wife made a good point this morning, telling me that it was probably more important that I trusted God in the decision, no matter which way I went, and believed that He would see me through, whether it worked out the way I hoped or not. I know that to be true. But it hasn’t made the decision any easier. I’m not buying it, I suppose.
I’m continuing my prayer for wisdom, faith, perseverance and provision. Hoping I have a breakthrough and not a breakdown tonight. 🙂
The choice must be made tomorrow, so I’ll be sure to report back and share more specifics. Deep breaths in the meantime.
Earlier this week, I was frustrated and struggling. You may have noticed me heading to such a place in my recent posts. During a moment of quiet time, I specifically asked God to help me see why I was so stuck and why I was falling so fully back into my old routine, my old chains, my old idols. Over the course of 30 minutes, God spoke to me from Psalms and two “prophets” to help me make sense of things.
After my prayer for clarity, I opened my Bible. Randomly. And hit Psalms 132. In that passage, it says, “Surely I will not go into the chamber of my house, or go up to the comfort of my bed; I will not give sleep to my eyes or slumber to my eyelids until I find a place for the Lord. A dwelling place for the Mighty God…”
Insight #1: I’ve been cramping God’s style. I haven’t been making room for Him. Providing Him with space to work. That makes sense. I’ve talked before about how important it is to create space. I just haven’t been practicing the preaching.
I continued my pursuit, flipping back to passages in Jeremiah that I had read earlier in the week. In Jeremiah 4:14 it says, “…wash your heart from wickedness, that you may be saved. How long shall your evil thoughts lodge within you?” And then in verse 18, “This is your wickedness, because it is bitter, because it reaches to your heart.”
Insight #2: I need more elbow grease. Evidently, I still have some internal scrubbing to do. Sin digs deep. It sets in over time. You can’t stop scrubbing when things look clean on the surface. I am in a continual fight to take back my heart, as we all are. Yet another example of the need for patient endurance.
I finished up in Jeremiah, and then another prophet of sorts spoke to me. Jamie Oliver. My wife was in the background watching Food Revolution, tracking Jamie’s efforts to improve the health of Los Angeles by, as the title of the show suggests, revolutionizing their food. I was about to close my Bible when I heard Jamie shout out in his snippy yet endearing British accent, “You have to ask the question: Where does my food come from?” He was referring to the quality of the meat being used to make hamburgers. God used that simple phrase to give me one last truth to chew on.
Insight #3: I need to check my food supply. In addition to not making space for God, and failing to continually clean, I am also malnourished. I have been filling myself with junk food. Feeding on the same old lies. Curbing my hunger with things that temporarily satisfy but have no long-term value. It’s like eating bacon for breakfast, lunch and dinner (I could so do that by the way) and expecting to feel healthy and full of energy.
Ask and ye shall receive. God responded to me with a clear explanation of why I have been experiencing less than what He has for me. I’m not creating space. I’m not cleansing my heart. And in fact, I’m filling the space with additional junk, nourishing myself with things that will just further clog my spiritual arteries and further damage my heart.
I love that I’m in a place right now where I can troubleshoot with God. It’s so different from how I would have approached the situation in the past. Thanks to Jeremiah and Jamie for the words of wisdom. Now, if you will excuse me, I’m going to try and find something healthier than bacon for lunch.
Restless. Agitated. Anxious. That’s me lately.
None of my usual distractions are working. I’m not thriving in any of the areas or activities that usually affirm me and help me feel like I’m okay, that my life is okay, that it’s all okay. All of the ways I self-medicate, they are all just a bit off kilter. Just enough to leave me with an unsatisfied pang and a highly sensitive mindset. All the things that define me are a little less definitive.
It’s like my skin has been peeled. I’m a giant, exposed nerve. Everything is affecting me faster and more intensely than it should. I’m dangerously close to flipping the switch to off and retreating to the dark where the bright lights won’t strain my eyes and the chaos won’t pierce my ears.
I just wrote about patient endurance. How funny! Here I am feeling like I’ve lost all momentum. I’m tired. I’m half-defeated. I feel like I’ve regressed, that I’m still so much of the man I thought I’d left behind. That I’m so close to falling back into the same numbness and blindness that used to define me. And that just feeds my frustration. I’m not really enduring very well. And I’m surely not being patient about it.
This is when and where I must take/make a stand. This is where I choose between two paths. One leads back from where I came. The other marches forward. Again.
I was talking with a man from New York the other day who had just planted grapevines to test his wine-making skills. According to this aspiring vintner, you actually cut off the grapes that grow the first two years so that you can build a strong, deep root system. Finally, in year three, you’ll get the kind of harvest you need to make a large barrel of potentially drinkable vino. Feels kind of like my story. There have been a few times when it seemed I was actually bearing some fruit, only for it to get cut off and removed. Like the grapes, maybe I needed to go through a few growth cycles that were focused not on fruit but on roots.
God is all about long-term success. He doesn’t want us to be flashes in the pan. 15 minutes of fame. Short-lived. He doesn’t want us to be satisfied with a first year harvest that produces a little fruit, at the sacrifice of a much larger, sustained harvest later.
I’m still wrestling with God. Still clinging to things that make me feel good, safe, wanted, successful. Things that don’t require a whole lot of faith. Immature fruit that doesn’t require deep roots. The danger in that is that it makes it really hard to keep the light switch on. It doesn’t require, or even allow, me to grow in Him.
I’m hoping to overcome this agitation soon. It’s clouding my vision and making it more difficult to clearly hear from God. It’s stunting my growth. One by one, I’m prying my fingers loose of the distractions, the substitutes, the cheap imitations. Trying to keep my focus on roots and not worry as much about fruits, at least for now. That will come with age, just like fine wine.
The first 18 verses of 1 Timothy set up a storyline that has helped me keep my focus amidst adversity, both of my own making as well as external forces. Here are the highlights:
The purpose of His commandment is love, “from a pure heart, from a good conscience, and from sincere faith.”
When I stray from that, I “have turned aside to idle talk…understanding neither what (I) say nor the things (I) affirm.”
The Lord has “enabled me” and has “counted me faithful, putting me into the ministry.”
Although I was formerly a “blasphemer, a persecutor, an insolent man.”
His grace was “exceedingly abundant.”
That He might “show all long-suffering , as a pattern to those who are going to believe on Him.”
That last part is what I’d like to focus on for a moment. Long-suffering simply means: patiently enduring wrongs and difficulties. I take this both to mean my ongoing failures in my pursuit of God as well as the obstacles, trials and challenges the world hurls my way. Patient endurance.
It’s not enough to simply endure, to take my lumps while I flail about or lash out. I need to have patience as well. Patience suggests that I won’t get rattled or thrown off my game regardless of what I encounter. That I will be calm, cool, collected. That I won’t react rashly to situations. That I won’t over-exert myself to combat the world around me. Slow, deliberate, measured, consistent, even. Those are the descriptors I associate with patience. Endurance is the physical will to continue. Patience describes the mental state and attitude required for success.
Three things about this passage comfort me greatly. The first is that He has found me faithful and thus will enable me. He will equip me with the strength and skills required for what He asks of me. Secondly, He’s more than capable of doing it. In fact, He’s “exceedingly” capable of doing it. Lastly, He is clear about what I should expect: long-suffering.
You could look at that and be really pessimistic. Gee thanks. Long-suffering sounds like a ton-o-fun. You could internalize it only for how it sounds. Long. Suffering. Like when I had to watch Gone with the Wind, remastered for the big screen. With apologies to Clark Gable, Vivien Leigh and the vast majority of humans everywhere, “Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.” Most painful time I’ve spent in pursuit of entertainment. It felt like I was trapped in that seat for 48 hours straight.
But I don’t look at it like that. When I look at it, it feels just like life. Everything meaningful you achieve here on Earth requires the proverbial blood, sweat and tears. You have to earn it. There is sacrifice. Pain. Commitment is required. Dare I say patient endurance? So why wouldn’t the same be true for pursuing God’s will? And since the payoff is far greater than anything to be achieved in this world, shouldn’t it require long-suffering at a different level?
Embracing that is powerful, because then the challenges just seem like hurdles that you get better and better at clearing. It’s like the burn you feel when doing sit ups or stretching yourself to run one more mile. Embracing my definition of long-suffering also takes away the pressure of perfection, because it suggests that you will consistently fall down, slide backwards, veer off course. It won’t be a straight line from here to there. And that’s okay. The point is that you have to methodically maintain your motivation and your momentum. Patiently endure.
I’ve found great comfort in that fact lately. I have been tripping up a lot. It’s like I’m so close, yet still so far away. But as I remind myself that God is currently “enabling me” and that long-suffering is just an expected part of the pattern, it’s enough for me to avoid being gone with the wind and instead get my second wind. To suffer long and endure patiently. With a better attitude than I had in that movie theatre. And a better outcome in The End.
Wrestling with God. It’s evidently a very popular expression. Turns out there are several books with this title, endless sermons posted online, quote upon quote. Until yesterday, I had never actually heard it used as a formal phrase.
My wife and I were at dinner, celebrating her birthday. A nice big steak and a tasty glass of Malbec, paired with some surprisingly deep and rich conversation. We were philosophically discussing our lives, our purpose, where we are, where we want to be. My wife shared with me something her counselor told her earlier in the week. He said she was wrestling with God. Not fully trusting Him, not fully giving up control to Him. A few days later, one of her friends repeated that exact phrase to her, and it struck her deeply. I thought it was all very interesting, particularly the concept of wrestling with God. I could relate to that. It felt like a really appropriate visual for much of my recent journey.
This morning in church, the pastor was talking about simplifying life. And he talked specifically about wrestling with God. There it was again. God’s definitely trying to communicate with my wife and I. The pastor talked about Jacob, who went from “heel grabber” to “man who wrestles with God.” He talked about being called to run away from something really good so that we can receive the very best. That hit home with me.
God has been making my comfortable life very uncomfortable lately. I’ve been subjected to exceptional stress at work, and I’ve been waging internal wars. God has been tugging on me, pulling me toward something. And I”ve wanted to go, but in typical fashion, I’ve dug my feet in, locked my legs, wrapped my arms and started wrestling. The closer I get to whatever the “it” is, the more it scares me. My comfortable life. I make so many excuses for why it needs to be the way it is. Why I need to strive for that next promotion. Why I need to make a better life for my kids. Why I need to provide more financial safety. I’m paralyzed. Trapped. Extinguished. I’m out of the game.
Everything the pastor said this morning stabbed me like knives running to my bones. I’m caught up in materialism. I lie to myself, saying I need the next “thing” so that my family can be more comfortable. Meanwhile, I’m inviting more and more stress into my life. I’m teaching my kids that success in the world’s eyes is what defines them. I’m constantly distracting myself and my family with stuff and more stuff. All the while, I’m just giving God lip service, turning coward the moment I think I might be asked to experience sacrifice.
I can feel God leaning in, pushing me to either take a stand or fall away. I can feel Him calling me to stop with the heel grabbing, reaching out and grasping for the feet in front of me. I feel Him calling me to stop complicating matters and getting swept up in the rat race, to do as it says in Hebrews 12:1 – to run with perseverance the race marked out for me.
My stomach has been in knots for three weeks. External situations, coupled with my internal debates, have created choppy, rolling waters that toss me about and make me seasick. And I don’t even fully understand what God is asking of me yet. But I do know it’s reaching a climax, a moment of truth, an act of closure. And in the meantime, I’m wrestling with God. Trying to obey. To trust. And to potentially run away from something really good to experience the fullness of what He has for me. Even if that means getting really uncomfortable in the process.
I never know when an idea will hit me. As a result, I almost always have a pen on hand and some form of paper. I make notes on napkins, envelopes, notebooks, gum wrappers, anything that is near me when inspiration hits. My mind never rests. It’s always turning. So I’m almost always reaching for something, anything that can help me record my thoughts.
I have drawers packed with scraps of scrawl. Sometimes, when I revisit them, I can’t even read my own handwriting and have little or no idea what I tried to write down. Other times I read it back and wonder how I thought it was worth writing down in the first place. And every once in a while, I stumble upon a surprise.
Tonight, I was rummaging through my scrap heap and came across a few old church bulletins. They were several years old. I had scribbled all over them with lines of poetry, thoughts about fiction projects and new characters. Evidently not paying much attention to the church service around me. I was taking the time to brainstorm, to drift off into a daydream.
After finding several examples of where I had checked out of worship to write, I retrieved a few programs from the past several weeks. To my pleasant surprise, they looked much different. The same chicken scratch covered them, but instead of another plot twist, I was writing down key points the pastor had made. I was recording inspirations from God. Verses or analogies or key words that would later remind me of something important He was sharing with me. I was in communion with God.
I view this as a physical sign of how far I’ve come in the past few years. How much closer I am. How differently I approach my faith walk. It’s very encouraging for me to have proof of the progress. See for yourself, if you can read my writing:
This first image is a collection of notes from church services where I obviously had more on my mind than God.
This second image is from a church service I attended a few weeks back. Notice the difference.
Before there were machines for such things, a threshing floor was used remove harvested grain from its stalk and husk. It was a flattened surface, usually circular and paved. Often it was shared by several families or entire villages, and it was usually placed outside the village where it could be exposed to wind. The farmers would spread the sheaves of grain across the floor and use animals such as donkeys or cattle to thresh the grain by walking around in circles and dragging a heavy board behind them.
This activity would literally tear the ears of grain from the stalks and loosen the grain from the husks. Afterward, all the grain and broken stalks would be tossed into the air with a tool called a “winnowing fan”. The chaff and straw would blow away with the wind, while the heavier grain would fall to the floor, ready to be collected.
I keep bumping into references to “threshing floors” while reading scripture lately. The last time it happened, I was finally curious enough to find out what a threshing floor actually is. In researching threshing floors, I uncovered the information above, and I came across an article by Don Walker who wrote:
“I believe that worship for us is to be a time of “threshing”, when God separates the “wheat’ from the “chaff” in our lives. When we enter into worship, we are stepping on to God’s “threshing floor” where He deals with those things which need to be “winnowed” out of our lives. ” http://www.preteristarchive.com/PartialPreterism/walker-don_pp_04.html
More broadly, I feel like this is a metaphor for our ongoing relationship with God. I’ve written before about circling the drain and consistently encountering and addressing common challenges and issues you have. While we circle, I also believe we undergo this threshing process, where God literally separates us from those things that separate us from Him.
Threshing is such a painful sounding word. The entire process sounds painful. Especially if you are the grain. Think about it. First, you get harvested from your resting place and carted over to this pit in the middle of nowhere with gusting winds. You are thrown on a paved surface where heavy animals trample about while dragging a large, heavy piece of wood over you, with the specific intent of tearing you into pieces. Then, as you lie there in several pieces, you are scooped up, tossed into the air, where the wind blows scatters parts of you across the way and the rest of you lands back in a pile on the floor. Ouch.
A relationship with God is going to include pain. Really choosing to be in a close relationship with Him requires threshing. A lot of threshing. A violent battle with parts of yourself. A tearing, trampling, wind-blown experience. I have been carried to the threshing floor several times this past year. Each time, it is painful, uncomfortable, slightly agonizing. But every time I commit and see it through, I exit in a better form, cleaned of unnecessary parts, more focused and concentrated, closer to the grain He planted in the first place.
It’s been quiet on my end. I haven’t had a chance to blog much the past week or so, which is okay because I haven’t been all that inspired to write anyway. I haven’t really heard a lot from God. And all of that is okay.
There was a time when I’d hit the panic button if I didn’t feel like God was feeding me insights on a daily basis, if I didn’t step to the computer with half a dozen posts at my fingertips. If I didn’t feel like my journey was in high gear and moving forward.
What I’ve come to realize is that sometimes God just wants me to slow down and sit with things. Spend some quiet time. Let silence carry the conversation. Get some rest and be refreshed for the next leg of the journey.
And so I’m trying to slow down, sit, be quiet, relax, pause. And for the first time, I’m actually having some success doing so. It’s a peaceful feeling. I’m surprised by how much movement I can make in this journey by standing still.
So the swarm balls and deserts
Seventy feet up, in a black pine tree.
It must be shot down. Pom! Pom!
So dumb it thinks bullets are thunder.
I love Sylvia Plath. She was a tragic, dark woman surrounded by trials and tribulations. Her life ended abruptly in suicide. But her writing is haunting and gorgeous and sustains her as one of the most influential poets of modern times. Agree?
The above is the way she closes a poem called “The Swarm”. I read it for the first time in a long time just the other day.
As my limited web research tells me, when bees swarm, sometimes they cluster in a ball high in a tree. They stay there until they decide where they want to go. Loud, sudden noises can make them come down to a lower level where the beekeeper can reach them and collect them. From here, the bees can be easily led and managed. In Plath’s poem, a shotgun blast does the trick.
I compare this to my journey in that it is easy for the world to make a loud noise, cause me to take my eyes off God, to lose focus and to spiral into the danger zone where I am easily led and managed away from my safe place on high. The loud noises are so tempting. They scream for attention. They are so very effective.
Remember when Peter was walking on water toward Jesus? He was doing great. But then the wind got “boisterous” and he hesitated, he became unfocused, he took his eyes off God…and he started sinking. Just like those bees. Down and out.
Sometimes the loud noise that gets me is just a distraction. Sometimes a wound. Sometimes a worry. A wavering of faith. A temptation. In any event, it can be hard to fight the instinct to turn my head or duck upon hearing such a noise. Even when I’m walking on water, hearing from God in major ways, a loud clap can snap me right out of it. And down I go. Lured away. Dumb enough to think bullets are thunder.
the way to (t)here 
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