Author: lauren

God Responds

Today I’m grateful that God responds. That the solution to feeling disconnected and far from heaven is to say to God, “I feel disconnected and far from heaven.” And God responds. He moves, he changes things. These last weeks have been hard for me, despite all the fantastic people in my life, despite how much I love my day-to-day. My friend died, and her death saddens me greatly. Not only that, but being in mourning makes it so much harder to ignore the close relationships that have been broken this year, the ones I can’t take comfort in anymore. So I find myself on my couch, without the will or energy to rise. When I feel like that I say to God, “I don’t have the will or energy to rise.” And God responds, and I feel a bit lighter, enough to move my limbs, enough to do the things I know will make me feel better, but which I couldn’t do without God’s response. It overwhelms me that God is not only willing to hear my complaint, but that he so easily and reliably responds.

I know it’s a bit Christian-y for this blog, but I don’t mind. At the end of the day, I believe that I was made to live in the center of God’s love, and to preach the good news that you were too.

Eternal Life

I recently lost a good friend. Her name was Brianne, and she was one of the greatest people I’ve known. She was a good influence on everyone she was around, including me. She loved children, and went to South Africa to help at an orphanage there. She loved with her actions, caring for people with concrete acts of kindness given with great joy.

Brianne died young, and suddenly. She was hit by a large truck that ran a red light, and that was that. The cute husband and I had both prayed over Brianne while she was in our small group and when she came back to the midwest for a short time before returning to South Africa. We laid our hands on her, and we believed we heard God speak great plans over her life. Plans for marriage and motherhood, for a great ministry and love for a thousand children. So when we heard that she had died, we had to ask ourselves; did we hear wrong? Were those just our hopes for Brianne? Was God tricking us, not wanting to break the news too early that Brianne wasn’t going to be around for long? If God had plans for Brianne that hadn’t come about yet, how could she die?

We have an image of heaven as an empty white landscape where everything is soft and squishy and nothing really matters. We get to live, and it’s kind of nice, but nothing happens. We picture heaven as the end of the story, when all the action has happened in our physical lifetimes, heaven is the static reward. We do not get this idea from the Bible. The Bible describes heaven as a place where things happen. The Bible’s description of heaven is of a pulsing, gorgeous city, of gardens and towers and mansions. The Bible describes heaven as a place where angels ask questions that get answers, where people are sent out on missions and then come back. Where time passes, and new things happen, where there are seasons and light and healing being done.

My faith depends on the words God speaks to me, on the words written in my holy book, and on the reflection of my community. If I am to believe in these things, I must believe that Brianne still lives. I must believe that in heaven, things still happen that matter. I must believe that even though Brianne’s time with us was cut short, her life is still being created by the loving hands of God.

The Artist Small Group

This fall I’m leading a small group for artists with the dazzling Rena. A few months ago after a few beers, Rena and I were talking excitedly about what a great small group for artists would look like, and Rena exclaimed “Let’s do that!” and so we are.

The group looks like this. We get together, Rena makes sure everyone has a beverage of their choice (most impressively, she makes fresh loose-leaf tea for anyone who asks for it), and eventually we settle down in couches and folding chairs. One person does a devotional, where they share a bible passage they like and why they like it. One person shares some of their artwork. So far we’ve had poetry, photography, and a prototype tropical cookie. We sing worship together, and then everyone answers three questions. What are you making? What do you wish you were making? What was a moment this week that you felt connected to God? Once everyone has answered, we break into small groups and pray for each other.

Rena and I have been praying for this group before it began, and we pray that the group will inspire people to make more artwork. We pray the group will encourage people to notice and actively pursue connection with God. We pray that God will speak to the people in our group about their artwork. We pray these things because we believe that God speaks through the act of creation, and if more things are created, more of the kingdom will come.

In Defense of the Hard-Headed Jerk

Every time I judge someone, it bites me in the ass. Every time. Not always right away, but it’ll come. I’m worried about this principle because I’m reading a book that has kicked me into some super-advanced Yoda level judgment. It’s the kind of judgement that can only really be achieved by encountering a mindset you used to have, even fervently defended, and have now abandoned.

I’ve noticed lately that the easiest time to judge someone is when they’re coming from a place you used to be. Some of the most hardcore “pull yourself up by your bootstraps” people I know are those who used to live in poverty and worked their way out. The person most likely to criticize someone else’s eating habits is the person at the table who used to be obese. You would think it would be the other way around. Like the formerly obese person would have the most grace for the guy taking down a third slice of cheesecake, that they would understand where that guy is at and cut him some slack.

I get like this with religious Christians. I used to be an extremely religious Christian, and now I’m some other kind of Christian. Centered-set Christian, or Kingdom Theology Christian, or a Hangs Out with Drug Addicts Christian. Something like that. When Dave Schmelzer so eloquently speaks about Muslims who follow Jesus or Atheists who follow Jesus, I internally call myself a Recovering Christian who follows Jesus. That time of my life was miserable, I don’t ever want to go back there, and every time I hear someone talk or write like that way of living is a good idea, I go from zero to irate in 2.5 seconds.

If I’m talking to someone in a bad place that I used to be, I immediately feel superior to them. If they were as good, strong, smart, open-minded, committed, spiritual, or awesome as I am, they wouldn’t be in that bad place anymore. If they would just do what I did, they could get out. I think the human brain is predisposed to look for ways to inflate itself, and this is such an easy way to do it. I forget all the miracles I’ve experienced in my life, the lucky breaks, the divine interventions, the grace of God. I forget for a moment that I can’t really take credit for my own intelligence or even my work ethic. These are gifts too.

When I speak to someone who is living in a space I used to inhabit, I can very easily assume that I have nothing to learn from them. Since they are where I used to be and I have moved on, obviously they can only learn from me. It takes a great deal of humility to remember that no two places are exactly alike; someone else’s experiences are never going to be exactly the same as mine. And perhaps in my rush to get out of dodge, I missed a few things that might be valuable. Maybe someone who stayed a bit longer could teach me about that.

I’d like to think so anyway. It is harder but much better than writing off so much of humanity as hard-headed jerks. So I will try, really try, to get some good stuff out of this book I’m reading. If for no other reason than the love and respect I have for the dear friend who gave it to me.

Tug and Pull

Among the artists that I know who are trying to be professional (in the sense that we’d like to be paid for our work, not in the sense that we wear power suits or use words like “synergy”), there is a constant tug and pull between creating new work and marketing already created work. There are times when it is much easier to focus on “working on my work” (thank you, King Missile) in a dark room where no one can see me. Other times, I’d much rather putter away my working time sending e-mails, going to open mics, and furiously networking rather than start a long stare-down with a blank page.

Why is it that it always seems like the right thing to do is the thing I don’t want to do right now? Is that stoic-type thinking, or just work avoidance?