I Reckon It's a Reckoning

From My Utmost for His Highest tonight:

"And Peter...walked on the water to go to Jesus. But when he saw the wind boisterous, he was afraid." Matthew 14:29-30

The wind was actually boisterous, the waves were actually high, but Peter did not see them at first. He did not reckon with them, he simply recognized his Lord and stepped out in recognition of Him, and walked on the water. Then he began to reckon with the actual things, and down he went instantly.

I have not written anything in here for over a week not for lack of things to write about or things going on, but rather for the over-abundance of them. It has been 12 days of spiritual and emotional exhaustion. Ever have those stretches where every blessed moment feels like a revelation of some kind?

I am wiped out.

The good news about that tonight, as I sit on my bed and type, hunched over in a way that will give me a backache very shortly (but I have no desire to sit anywhere else), is that I think God worked specifically to get to me to this point in order to face this week, and this coming weekend.

This week will be crazy busy at work, for about 23 reasons that I won't take the time to list. Suffice it to say that when I even think of tomorrow, Monday morning, I want to faint dead away and have someone wake me up in three weeks. I know this week holds a list of activities and people that I cannot keep up with while maintaining an attractive attitude of patience. None of the tasks or people are bad--it's just a lot. And all of it has deadlines.

Then comes Saturday. Liann and I are hurling ourselves into a car to arrive at the airport by 5:30 a.m. to catch a flight to Boise. It's time for my home-finding trip. I have until Wednesday afternoon to find an apartment or house or condo or whatever to move into a month from now, and lots of people to connect with while I am in the area. I cannot express how grateful I am to Liann for coming to help--whew. I can't imagine doing this alone.

Liann sat with me tonight and we made a list of things I would like in my new place to live. This is no small task for someone who has forgotten how to express an opinion to the Lord about anything. In the balance of expressing my heart and wanting His will, somewhere along the line I ditched the dealings with my heart. I think it's a pretty short trip for you to figure out what that has done to my prayer life. Pppbbbtthhhhh. Dry and parched may start to cover it.

It did dawn on me last week, though, that in many of the stories that melt my heart about the Lord, people's needs were meet very specifically, and many times we know it because of what they asked for in prayer. And I know you know me better than to think I am talking about "Where's my new Hummer?" kind of prayers. I mean those that can involve real, material things, but that are really about bigger issues in our hearts.

My big issue right now is leaving. I have fought and fought over trying not to be too sad about this move, and just be brave, and it's all gonna be okay, and being afraid I am not being apologetic enough for being heart-broken for having to leave the people I love most in this fallen world when there are others it has not bugged so much to leave. Well, as my good friend Holly says when she's had enough, I'm done.

I feel sick to my stomach about leaving. It's finally here. I am pretty much incapable of talking about it for more than three sentences without crying. I confess to being a little mad that I am leaving my nephews and niece when one of the things I have wanted most in life is to be an aunt. I know it's ridiculous, but I have thought about that since I was about nine years old. I am excited about new adventure, but I am crushed at the idea of not being around the corner from a mountain-full of people I adore.

Frankly, I did not know it would be this hard. It wasn't a month ago.

Hence, the whole walkin' on water segment at the top. I love that Chambers points out that the storm was already clearly raging away, but Peter just didn't see it when he laid eyes on Jesus. He didn't reckon with water or wind; he just stepped out to follow His Lord. I think that was me in October 2004 when this relocation was announced, and has been me in many ways since then. My answer when people have asked how I feel about "the move" (I am inappropriately sick of that phrase, by the way), has been all about how He will provide, and sure it will be tough in some ways, but it's so clear that I am supposed to go, and it will be okay.

Two weeks ago, I started to "reckon with the actual things". It was time to change utilities out of my name, open a new bank account, clean out my teaching files, deliver things to Goodwill, take note of what I will have to purchase for a place by myself, send farewell letters to churches, make lists of people to invite to going away events.

Today I hit the skids about making phone calls to set appointments for apartment tours. I need to do this tomorrow. My normal thing would be to research to death the places I want to look at, and have as much information as I can possibly garner before I even call, much less visit in person. I have already spent hours and hours online and in rental magazines and talking to people at work who have made their trips. But I know there is more I could do.

"...and down he went instantly."

I can't do it. I just can't anymore. And you should envision that with a resigned shoulder-shrug and sideways head-toss. I have no more brains or energy to throw at this. I can't handle one more moment of pre-home-find-trip preparation.

I think that must mean I have my eyes turning back to Him again. I said yes to the move in the first rush of chasing Him, what Chambers says we need to do by being "reckless immediately." If it's His voice, there is no hesitation with consideration of our circumstance; we are to "fling it all out on Him."

But I confess to taking lots of time lately to consider my circumstances, weigh my options, measure my own abilities, balance my efforts with my own intelligence. It was not enveloped by nearly enough prayer and trust.

So tonight, Liann prayed--I cried. I just cried and nodded while I listened to her praise Him for the perfect love and care He has always provided, and lay before Him my heart, her heart, and a very real need I face in a week--a new home.

And after making no-brainer lists for an apartment like washer/dryer hookups, here is what I really want:

1. A place big enough for people to come stay with me
2. A place that will allow me to bring my grandmother's dining table and hutch that are currently in use at my parents' house (I know it seems silly, but I can't tell you the surge of joy and comfort it brings to think of having those pieces with me.)
   
3. Nice landlords/managers and neighbors
   
4. An address I can come home with from this trip. I truly do not want to be on a waiting list, have to be making a bunch of confirming phone calls over the next month, or wondering if an "opening" will become available before the moving company heads north with my household goods.

Do I know that He will provide a decent home in Idaho? Of course--in the big picture, He always, always provides. For me, at this moment, though, as my friend Amber said recently, sometimes you need to know He is in the small things, like a bedroom and bath for guests, and furniture that has a million memories in it.

For Cryin' Out Loud

I cried almost all the way home from work yesterday. Started at the corner of Alabama and Redlands Blvd. and went right up the mountain. No big deal in the life-scheme of things, I guess.

Except that I hate crying.

I didn't used to, but now I hate the runny nose, the goofy face, the red eyes...and the contact lenses that shrink right up and squeeze your eyeballs to death. Mostly, though, I hate that it indicates to me a loss of control on my part, especially if I am alone. In my mind, I equate loss of emotional control (water from my ocular cavities) with a lack of trust in God's care and sovereignty. This applies to only me, of course. I don't really have any hang-ups about other people sobbing. But, what am I crying about if I know Jesus is Savior and I know He is in charge and that all things work to His glory? Get a grip, Slusser!

So, whaddaya know...Jesus loves to make me cry when I am alone.

Clearly, we're at odds here. You see my dilemma.

My eyes well up the moment I ponder His goodness. His grace. His patience. When He tries to tell me He loves me, and would I hold still for just a minute so He can just say that, and could we not talk business for two seconds. When He tries to tell me that all my oughts, shoulds, and woulds are making me smaller, and draining the life out of me, and by the way, you do that because you compare yourself to everyone around you, and I, your Creator, don't see you that way.

Basically, any time I think about Him in a context other than Him wanting my obedience, I run the risk of tears.

So I often choose not to run the risk. Crying is exhausting. I don't have time for it.

I have stuff to do. Emails to send, lists to make, reports to type, people to call, an apartment to rent, people to pray for, stuff to take to Goodwill, things to think about.

I have an appearance of peace and joy to maintain, for Pete's sake! Crying makes that messy! People are watching.

The good news is, I guess, that yesterday was the first time in a long time that I cried, and let myself keep going, and didn't get mad at myself for it. I suppose that's a growth moment. A watershed moment. Get it? Watershed. Tears, wet, water--stay with me here.

That's my prayer for the moment to Him--stay with me, here. Don't let me run off. Don't let me keep everything tidy and clean, 'cause I can do it, and not in a good way. I have something ugly in me that is capable of turning emotions off and on like a faucet. I discovered it in late 1990, and I have had enough experience with it that it scares me to death. I have it in me to be a machine. I have joked that if I were not Christian, I would be so Utilitarian it would be horrid. But I'm not really kidding. It's in there, and there have been times in my life where the emotional faucet was off, and I found it was easier and easier to let it stay that way, or to flip back and forth between what I decided I would care about and what I would not, as it was convenient for me.

My keep-it-clean, emotional give-a-hoot-don't-pollute theory (actually, I think I should say, practice) does not make me a better person. It does not draw me to God. It does nothing for my soul or spirit. Except maybe shrink it.

In short, me keeping me clean and tidy and hospital-cornered makes a mess.

God in his sweet timing, let me run into the same person yesterday who prayed for me back on May 16. She's the same sister to whom I made some of my statements about dislike of crying about 3 months ago. I told her I wanted to know more about grace and be closer to Him without crying.

She laughed at me. In a good, you-gotta-be-kidding-honey kind of way. Actually, that's exactly what she said at the time. And yesterday, it was like just being able to talk with her was a reminder of that, and the tears started a couple hours later. It was a thorough mix of grief, joy, excitement, weariness, anticipation, trust, awe, release...good and messy. I told her she shakes my tidy little snow globe world every time I see her. Praise the Lord for that.

I think I decided my problem is that I am actually on the verge of tears all the time, so I don't let my heart wander over there, where that happens, 'cause I'd never do anything but cry. Never do anything but not have charge of my own responses and abilities and learning and appearance and and and...

Sounds like a "my power is perfected in weakness" life may be possible after all. I think it's not an optional approach to Him, the fullness of Him, the person of Him. If I want more than fire insurance, I have a feeling this is the only road.