Where Do I Begin?

I think I mentioned recently here and here that change is coming in my life. I can talk about it in two ways: change with a lowercase "c" and Change with an uppercase "C." But I guess it all amounts to the same big C, right?

Okay, enough hemming and hawing. Let's just get down to the nitty gritty, the thing I've been hesitant to discuss lately. Well, see... it's God. And, yes, you are correct in saying, "Elizabeth, you've blogged about God before. This isn't anything new." But I feel like the way I'm about to lay it on the line is new. For me at least.

Here's the deal. I can look back over my life and see all the times that I was lost in confusion or despair or anxiety or joy or happiness, and hindsight has given me the benefit of knowing it was All. For. A. Reason. Yes, even the worst of the worst - cancer and death and all those awful things that I've gone through or lost people to. I've been able to look back at so many of those things and maybe not know THE purpose, but know there is A purpose.

And now I find myself in a similar situation. I was granted a beautiful moment of clarity, when I was able to look back at my recent history (namely, since Jackson's birth) and see A purpose. God put me on a path I didn't even see until I was quite a ways down it. And that path is leading directly to Him. Now, hold the phone a moment. Yes, I think my life has always been on that path towards God. But now I'm finding it is so much more deliberate and intentional.

Need an example? How about this. I used to truly dislike (I'd use the word hate, but that's pretty strong) any contemporary worship music at church. Guitars and drums really turned me off. Ugh. And those people who clap to the music at church and raise their hands in praise? Uh, no way, dude. Not for me. I'll stick with my traditional hymns and passive church services, thankyouverymuch. And then Jackson came along. And our old church changed their service times. So my traditional service wasn't working with nap time. Darn it. That meant we had to start attending the late service, the (horrors!) contemporary service. Slowly, over about a year or so, I started to really like it. And I started to even (gasp!) download some praise music. AND THEN GUESS WHAT? I even clapped to the music. Egads! God was working internally on my heart, massaging it for growth. (But I'm still not ready to raise the hands just yet.)

And then, growth started coming from external means too. Our old church started going through some tumult, and I did too. Adapting to life with two kids took a toll on me. I lost touch with some friends, grew deeper with others, visited a new church, decided to lose some weight, and then the bomb was dropped last fall with my lupus diagnosis. I discovered a need to start prioritizing my life. If I was giving myself to something and not getting much in return, it was time to cut it out and let it go. I made the conscious decision to step down from some groups I was in, limit time with others, and start pursuing the things and places that made me feel most alive. I wanted to focus on a sense of calling and not a sense of obligation.

The place I felt most called to be was Windsor Crossing. The music was the first thing to grab me. Now isn't that funny? Remember, I disliked (okay, hated) praise music. And guess what this church has? ONLY a praise band. No choir, no hymnals, but a stinkin' praise band. Ha! (God is cracking up now.) The first time I visited the Crossing, I couldn't BELIEVE that people weren't jumping out of their seats and dancing to the music because it was so uplifting. Then I went back again and heard the lead pastor preach. And I couldn't BELIEVE that people weren't jumping out of their seats and... you get the picture. Seriously, the place moved me. Dan and I started visiting off and on last summer and early fall, but were still planning to stay at our old church and see it through (to help solve some of the issues there and not to abandon our commitment). But every time we visited the Crossing, I felt compelled to return. I was torn between two places. And then I got a swift kick in the butt: lupus. Ever heard that saying, "It's time to fish or cut bait." Well, I decided to start fishing. And, yes, Dan was in on it with me too.

I spoke to my old church and parted ways, and we started attending the Crossing and calling it home. And only then did things start to crystallize for me. As hokey as this sounds, God started calling me into something deeper with Him. How do I know that for sure? Well, every single time I attended the Crossing, I was crying and finding parts of my hidden heart exposed. Parts I thought were buried, and parts I didn't even remember I ever had. Lots of figurative talk, huh? Well, let me be specific: I no longer just wanted a life in God's presence. I NEEDED it. I also started to examine my beliefs about Jesus, and realized it's a hard concept for me to grasp. (There, I said it.) And I realized how very starved I am for depth and relationship and forgiveness and confidence.

I think back over the last few months of my blog, and realize there's not much there that would lead anyone to truly believe what I'm saying right here right now. I haven't let on much to any turmoil in my soul, have I? Not really. I've barely even discussed it with anyone, besides glimpses I've let a few select friends see. I was testing the waters. And then last night, I gave full disclosure to Dan for the first time. Turns out we're not as different as I used to think.

It's a scary thing to do - to admit that I am weak and unworthy and unlovable, and that I need something that seems so intangible and invisible to many people. It's countercultural, isn't it? We Americans are taught to stand on our own two feet. And my daddy didn't raise no wimp! He told me to buck up, little camper! My faith was just what I was taught to DO, not what I was taught to NEED. So it's kind of embarrassing, even now, to come clean about all of this. But I know it's necessary, and I know it's time.

Doesn't mean I'm going to hit the "publish post" button with lots of confidence though. I'm still afraid. Afraid to admit these changes publicly because I might be called to live it. I might be scrutinized. And what if I can't live it? Oh, but dear me... isn't that what it's all about anyway? I am not being called to live it. I am being called to surrender to it, and to let Someone Else live it through me. I have no idea how, other than to beg daily for help with it. And then to listen. Listen, Elizabeth. You'll hear what to do. You'll know.

I am trying to be more open as God talks to me through all of this. I know He uses my experiences, sights, sounds, and conversations to talk to me. For example, my Body Life class at church last week was all about conflict resolution. Something I didn't really think pertained to me very much. Well, maybe a little but not much. And within 36 hours of the end of class, I had my first of two conversations with people that called me on the carpet for my personal behavior. In the first conversation, my gut reaction was to defend and attack. I started to do that, and then pulled back and shut my mouth and listened. And I realized she was right. Ouch. I apologized, and we talked about ways to handle it in the future, and then I thanked her. Yeeow! Can you believe it? I actually said, "Thank you for helping me practice what I preach." That makes me crack up even now, just thinking that I could have that kind of response to an "attack." (If that ain't proof for you of God's existence, I don't know what is.) The second conversation happened about 36 hours after that. It wasn't quite the same and lacked the hostility, but it brought me up close and personal with some errors I've made in the past. Again, I acknowledged the mistakes and apologized for them and I took what she said to heart. Both conversations are God's way of speaking to me about living my life with more direction, more intention, and more depth.

The joke among my friends at church now is how many tissues we'll need for worship. Honestly, I have never left that building without some sort of moisture welling up in my eyes. Some days, I am drenched when I leave. I told one of the pastors that I'm going to start wearing a poncho to church. He said it's all part of the melting. That phrase has stuck with me, because it encapsulates all I'm experiencing in one word: melting. My preconceptions are melting, My grief is melting. My fears are melting. My independence is melting.

What will be left at the end of all of this, the lifelong journey? I am not sure. But I know that it will be truly, honestly me.