Going to the Garden

Blog

  • Moths and Rust

    Barely a month into our new apartment, and there are 2 broken things. A dishwasher that isn’t draining, and a bathroom fan that won’t turn on. Eerily reminiscent of our last rental, and two of the precursors to the catastrophic mold and rodent issues that led to our emergency move.

    So I found myself, at 10 o’clock at night, hand washing and drying two days worth of dishes so we’d have counter space to make breakfast in the morning. Oddly enough, I wasn’t mad unlike how I’ve often found myself at unfair inconvenience. I did smirk at the irony. And I felt the hand of God pointing back to my very recent lesson: decay in this life is inevitable.

    Last month, in the middle of the uncertainty and upheaval of moving and before I knew where we’d live, I was walking the beach and talking with God about the unfairness of it all. I found lots of beach treasures (see previous post about Pretty Little Things). I also saw a gnarly, saltwater-eaten penny. Ok, ok, this one deserves a trip back in time to understand the significance better.

    *Doo Doo Doo Doo*

    I was raised below poverty-level poor, and by the time my husband and I had our daughter, our finances had not improved. But my faith in Jesus had begun to take root in a new way. I found myself getting to truly know God as Yahweh Yireh: the One who foresees and provides. No matter how hard my husband and I tried, we could never get ahead or get a good-paying job, but God always provided what we needed in unexpected, random ways just to keep a roof over our heads and food on the table. One thing that kept my head up in those years was finding pennies on the ground literally everywhere I went. For me, it was a tangible reminder of the manna God provided His people in the desert. As I walked through my own personal weary, dry land, finding these pennies became a connection I had with Him and a sign of encouragement.

    I don’t need pennies as desperately as I once did because He grew that confidence and expectation in me. But seeing them, albeit much less frequently than I used to, still reminds me of that time.

    Okay, so back to the gnarly penny I found last month on the beach: I knew without a doubt this was another reminder. But this time it was about the impermanence of material provision. This time God was saying “Girl, you know I always provide for you. But the ultimate goal is not material provision. It will rot. It will decay. You are free to seek true, lasting provision.”

    Seriously, the message was that clear. Not in those specific words, but the gist of it was the same. Just this loving discipline that went along with having to let go of my shells and sea glass.

    And it was confirmed again. The next day, I found another penny on the sidewalk, and it had deep scratches all over it. Yes, God will provide, but these material things are not my focus. They are not the source of my security or hope. Even if God is the source of my house or my things, they will break and be lost and eventually go away.

    So when I found myself doing dishes tonight, I was prepared to say: yeah, that makes sense. I can expect things to break and go wrong. Not because I’m unlucky or unloved, but because that is life here. My fight is not against the impermanence or decay of this life, but against the spiritual forces that seek to make me think this life is all that there is. My hope in Christ will far outlast even the newest dishwasher, hallelujah.

    As I write this, I am listening to the freezer fan going wonky, as it has been since we moved in, and I’m wondering how much time we have left for that appliance, too. To God be the glory! He holds my life, and my frozen foods, in His hands.

  • Pretty Little Things

    I was on the beach earlier this month, getting out my frustrations with God, hoping to get some encouragement. I started picking up pretty bits of shell and rock and glass, enjoying the colors and being soothed by the activity of searching, while conversing with my Creator.

    As my bladder began insisting it was time for me to end my search, I stood looking at the collection I had uncovered. I thought, “This will be a good reminder of my time with God”. And I felt in my spirit that I needed to drop these things and walk away.

    At first I protested: that doesn’t make any sense. These are just bits of things, they make me happy. What an odd thought. Probably the OCD kicking in. But no, this was an object lesson. Did I really need those things to remember my time with God? Did I need more things to look at and decorate with until the clutter consumed my space?

    So I went through the shells one by one to make sure I wasn’t leaving an important one. And in the end, I dropped them all on the sand. And in my spirit I sensed that God was encouraging me to trust Him, not in all the pretty things I think I need to keep me happy or secure or relevant.

    We have been in the process of completing an emergency move from our rented duplex to an apartment, and this scene has replayed in my mind throughout going through our things, figuring out what is salvageable from mold and mice, what is needed, and what isn’t.

    I’ve had many opportunities to ask myself: What things am I holding on to because I hope to one day get to it, or because I like the idea of it, or because I might need it later? How does amassing all these things hinder my time and energy to follow through with what God is calling me to? I come from an ancestry that kept things out of the “what-ifs” of potential lack or actual poverty. My forebearers compiled their own collections of perceived need and comfort to detrimental effect. This is uncomfortable territory.

    And I keep seeing myself throwing the pretty shells back on the sand, trusting God to keep me secure and complete, and somehow the desire to hold on to things weakens.

    Then I lost something of personal value. I had toted around a wrought iron and wood bench that belonged to my poverty-level parents before they divorced when I was a teen, all the way from New Mexico to Washington. It was special to me, even with the difficult memories. I had completed ongoing restoration on it with my husband, and it was beautiful. It was stolen from our yard in the middle of our move.

    As I mourned the loss, I was reminded of my open hand dropping pretty, little, significant things in anticipation that God would be enough, that He would provide.This moving and other circumstances has also reminded me of the very temporary nature of buildings, people, and things. All are subject to change, to decay. And all this was causing me to feel dissatisfied. Restless. Searching.

    So this morning I directed myself to seek God. I’ve been avoiding intimate time in prayer the past couple of weeks. It’s been busy and chaotic, but more than that, I’ve been afraid that God will not meet me in the middle of my swirling thoughts and feelings. No matter that He’s done it over and over before. I wasn’t sure about this time. Because the thing my anxious thoughts remember most about God is that He doesn’t do things my way. He doesn’t meet me how or when I expect Him to.

    What anxiety conveniently leaves out is that the way God meets me and speaks with me is what I really need, every single time. I ended up reading Ecclesiastes, and being comforted by an ancient king’s perspective that mirrors my own fretting. I came across 2 Corinthians 5 which has done much good for my heart in the past, that reminds me that the temporary nature of this life is GOOD.

    All these pretty things are good. But they are not of ultimate good. I can drop and miss and rest. And that will not change anything of eternal value. Give Him time and space to work, friend. He will not disappoint. This world surely will, but He will not.

  • What If Resting Is the Work?

    There are many things that cannot be accomplished in busy seasons, but intentionally slowing down is surprisingly hard.

    I have so often said that I just want a break. But if I’m sideline by illness or circumstances, or confronted by my limitations, I grumble and fret; raring at the bit to feel productive or at the very least feel less guilty for not doing as much as I think is expected of me.

    Slower seasons are incredibly important, though. Since I am not in a season of survival where it is paramount that I keep going, I can no longer ignore all the ways I am consistently being pointed towards an intentional slowing down in order to more fully heal, to really rest and experience the vastness that comes with a relationship with God.

    I’m being invited to ask the hard questions, to examine wounds that have generational roots, and to address the constant anxiety that points to rampant maladaptive thinking, with humility knowing that I perpetuate some of these cycles.

    I don’t want to do it. Change is hard in and of itself, let alone change that involves uncovering those things I’ve purposefully left alone because they’re too painful, complicated or unflattering. I had hoped ignoring it or doing some fancy spiritual bypassing would make it go away. Like, a more biblical version of “Don’t Worry, Be Happy”, I’d wooo-ooo-ooo my way to peace and contentment.

    Well, it didn’t work.

    This invitation to learn to trust and obey the God who allows suffering and sin to exist has been long-standing, and one that I hadn’t been ready to fully accept until now. Even now, I don’t feel ready.

    God has been doing some amazing transformation in me over the past 8 years since I’ve returned to Him. Truly, I am different than I was. I have seen growth and healing in areas that I thought were just part of my personality.

    Throughout those years, I frequently prayed for healing, physically and mentally. I’ve dealt with (and continue to deal with)awful unexplained physical symptoms, dark intrusive thoughts, despair, near-constant physical and mental anxiety, self-hatred, absolute exhaustion, feeling as if I’m losing my sanity, and feeling absolutely alone and misunderstood. So many things I have tried have not worked. I have been prayed over multiple times by multiple faith-filled folks. I tried just “having more faith”. I had mostly hoped God would just heal me since everything seems to fail.

    One shiny, happy person coming right up. Poof! All better. Peace and contentment all day long.

    But God hasn’t taken it all away.

    I’ve realized that He’s actually been including me in a process of healing; a process that doesn’t dismiss or ignore my pain or doubts but lovingly addresses it, as well as the deep-seated sin that feeds the cycles.

    I’m in a place to accept that invitation more intentionally now. It’s still difficult to commit to the process, though.

    I have so many other things that I could be doing; good things, beneficial things, godly things even. There are so many ways I could numb out or distract with enjoyment rather than do this.

    But I am so tired of existing the way I have been. I’m so tired of using activities and people and excuses to try to suppress all the things God wants to address.

    I choose to decline responsibilities, distractions, and things that are not mine. I choose to trust God that those things will get taken care of in a way that better glorifies Him rather than me just trying to be in control. I choose to focus on the responsibilities and relationships that are mine in this season, even when it gets uncomfortable and it would feel easier to distract myself with other things.

    If I want to end generational cycles, if I want to do good and not harm to my clients and the people around me, if I want to be able to be honest with others and myself, I think this is the next layer of the onion, so to speak.

    If any of this resonates with you at all, I hope you pray about intentionally slowing down along with me to experience what it’s like to rest in Christ and truly give all of ourselves to Him.

    Regardless of what the dark caverns of my heart and mind hold I know God’s love is at the bottom of it, and I’m looking forward to seeing how long and deep and wide it reaches.

    Based on my past experiences and studies, even with constant struggles, I move forward with some hard-fought anchors of faith, however tentative they may seem at times.

    I have been read that He is my light, my strength, my song, and that’s all I need for the journey.

    Onward, to a time of rest and discomfort. Wait, is that a thing? It doesn’t seem fair, to get rest but be uncomfortable. God might make me address that messy relationship or that time I didn’t do the thing that I was supposed to, or all those things that I don’t have answers about, or… I’m not so sure about this, again.

    Lord, thank you for holding us even when we’re caught between fear and faith. May faith win out.

  • Beginnings

    A view looking down at a doorway leading to the outdoors with a concrete step on one side, and a pair of feet in socks on the other side.

    “It’s a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don’t keep your feet, there’s no knowing where you might be swept off to.”

    – J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring

    I’ve started plenty of things in my 36 years. So many things, I’ve lost count. I have also completed some of the things that I’ve started, in one way or another. I have also given up on many of the things that I began.

    I am an optimist-in-training, with an emphasis on “in-training”. I am putting this page out with the caution borne of 3+ decades of failures and disappointments. I do have at least 1 year of experience in retraining my thoughts to embrace good things, which is why I’m finally moving forward in putting my writings out in a more accessible format to a larger audience.

    Does the world really need another writer who views life from a Christian lens? Maybe not. But writing has long been my way of understanding life and encouraging others, so if someone benefits from this, it will have been a worthy attempt.

    With excitement and trepidation, I’ll take the step and see where it goes.