ebb & flow

This morning when all the children were sleeping, I padded into the den to find Matt reading his Bible. He said we had a minor emergency in that no coffee was pre-prepared the night before. Like the stellar man he is, he got up and ground the beans stealthily in the garage as to not awaken anyone.  A few minutes later he brought me my coffee and stood above me and he said:

“I feel like you have pulled away from me and I am hurt by it.”

I needed a drink. Of coffee, that is. And I stalled a response by gulping in some much needed caffeine. I had felt distance the night before and wondered about it. In a marriage there is ebb and flow. It is to be expected. Natural. But a healthy marriage will note the ebbs. A courageous partner will confront the distance.

Matt and I began a heart to heart conversation about how we had arrived at this spot of distance in our relationship. I am grateful for this courageous partner and his servant-leadership. 

And so, I began pondering the ebb and flow of life. Ebb happens in our relationship with God. Recently I made a quick trip to the Mississippi Delta where I grew up. The trip threw my routine off. I usually spend some time in the mornings connecting with God. I lost my rhythm. Ebb.

Before that I had flow. Something I had been confounded over in my spiritual journey came together. Like the last puzzle piece falling into place, God delivered a message into my spirit and it gelled. It all started in Ezekiel. Zeke has a lot of ebb and flow. 

This is what the Sovereign LORD says: “On the day I cleanse you from all your sins, I will resettle your towns, and the ruins will be rebuilt. The desolate land will be cultivated instead of lying desolate in the sight of all who pass through it.  They will say, ‘This land that was laid waste has become like the garden of Eden; the cities that were lying in ruins, desolate and destroyed, are now fortified and inhabited.’  Then the nations around you that remain will know that I the LORD have rebuilt what was destroyed and have replanted what was desolate. I the LORD have spoken, and I will do it.”

Listen to the contrasts. Sins. Ruins. Desolate. Laid waste. Destroyed. In contrast with Cleanse. Rebuilt. Cultivated. Like the Garden of Eden. Fortified. Inhabited. Replanted. I hear ebb and flow in that. For me that passage represents all that He has been about in my life over the past five years. He has rebuilt my ruins. Yes, He has. He has rebuilt my ruins. Areas of desolation have become like the garden of Eden. And I am acknowledging a large FLOW of the Spirit.

In regards to the ebb, little e, of last week; I found my rhythm again by going back in my journal to get in touch with what He had been doing in my heart before the ebb. 

St. Ignatius called this ebb and flow desolation and consolation. Consolation refers to the times we sense God’s spirit. It is the sense that all is well. Desolation, then, is the loss of a sense of God’s presence (Ruth Haley Barton, Sacred Rhythms, p. 112). We may feel off center or even rebellious. 

In the last few years, I have been encouraged to notice, simply notice, these ebbs and flows. What gives me life? What drains me? What has brought me back in the flow? What has blocked it? In noticing, I have been able to choose things that put me in the flow and try to avoid the things that block it. Certainly, I cannot always choose the flow, but in noticing I can search like a blind woman feeling her way for what will bring me back to the flow of the Spirit. 

I am grateful for the flow, and I don’t much like the ebb. I wonder how much I would appreciate the flow without the ebb, though. Even in the ebb, I can believe and trust that God is there. I may not feel him or know where He is exactly; but I can trust that He is with me. I trust that because His Love Letter to me tells me that. He will never change. He will never leave me.

As for the ebb in my marriage, we declared a date night. We ate at Whole Foods and went to see Midnight in Paris (****). We remembered what it was like when we were in the flow of relationship. We recently visited Paris. Flow. And seeing the images on screen took us there for a brief while. 

In marriage and in my spiritual journey, I am like an attentive gardner noticing the weeds, the dry patches, the rich soil and the delightful sunlight and cultivating the fruit that comes from walking with the VineDresser.

e-camp tales

They sat among paper and markers spread about the floor on the final day of e-camp - youth not yet in their twenties possessing a wisdom and presence few will ever know. The older one, tan with chestnut hair tied up in a pony tail, asked questions of her younger friend. The younger, pale-skinned with white-blonde hair and braces with red-rubber bands looked to her friend to explain the mysterious.

“Some people decide they don’t want to do it. But when I was seven years old, I decided to live my life for Christ,” she said as she reached for a pink marker. 

Bodies traced on 5-foot strips of white paper surrounded them. The campers in the Create It section had traced their bodies on white paper. As the girls chatted, the campers lined the halls decorating these sketches and expressing their personalities in ways only the uninhibited youth can discover.

Among them, Claire and Josie sat discussing matters of eternity using words with immeasurable impact like: Have  you thought about it? Do you know what it means to be a “Christian?” Would you like me to pray for you?

The e-camp counselors, haggard and stiff, ferried markers back and forth. As we passed, we relayed an alert to pray. Our smiles belied the muscular soreness and weariness of bone we felt after a week of running after 140 children. As I passed my good friend and fellow accomplice in the Create It section of e-camp, she whispered, “Paydirt!” And we both got it that this is the REASON we are here. Our hope and prayer is that the children would get a glimpse of the God we worship. 

e-camp equals 

1,000,000 strips of tissue paper.

500,000 e-mails.

900 stickers.

500 markers. 

250 pencils.

200 lanyards.

180 t-shirts.

165 paint brushes.

80 bowls of glue.

40 drumsticks.

25 journals.

14 construction paper “chains”

10 trips to Sonic.

1 year of planning and praying.

The planning and worrying. The praying and cutting. The painting and hammering. The setting up and the tearing down. The million pieces of tissue paper glued to the concrete floor. The brand new pedicure now splattered with Kilz primer. The t-shirts carefully designed, printed, labeled and sorted and then sweated in with sweet service to our God. The eight or so thawed gallons of ice cream dripping down the Learning Center freezer. One humble leader willing to clean it up. His wife who stacks chairs and submits to her Father. We would do all this and more for one lost sheep to find her way home. We do it because Our Father said He would do it. Only He said He would lay down His life for one lost sheep. 

It all boils down to a question I saw scribbled in a sketch book by a sage 12-year-old boy. “God, how did you let Jesus die on the cross and not help him?”

How?

How?

Are we really worth that? I did not ascribe that worth, He did. Adonai. Jehovah Raah. Immanuel. Jehovah Tskidenu. 

Later Friday night, I sat in the audience as 140 children under twelve lead me in a worship experience that must have bounced off the gates of Heaven itself. A little angelic blonde girl aptly named Summer danced before me. She personified worship and playing before God and resting in His Sovereignty. 

I mused... Is there any joy greater to our Lord than seeing a child break out in unabashed worship? Is there anything that pleases Him more than 140 children singing His Name in praise? Is there any higher calling than to simply be a vessel for His Spirit to fuel these children?

What will this generation of deep thinkers and passionate lovers accomplish? 

I cannot fathom it. I am changed to have been a part of seeing them worship our God this week at e-camp.

holy play

Lunch at the top of Montepulciano. Look carefully at my glasses and you can see Matt, the Artist.

Playing in the StreetA View from the Other Side of TownAt that time the disciples came to Jesus and asked, "Who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?" He called a little child and had him stand among them. And he said: "I tell you the truth, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Therefore, whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven.

Jesus loved word pictures. The accounts of this story in the gospels paint us a picture. Jesus calls a child. One account says that he actually cradles a child in his arms. And in so doing utters these words about the greatest. Imagine the dynamics, the jockeying for first place in Jesus eyes. And then, Jesus tells them. You are great if you are little.

I am not entirely sure about the meaning of this beautifully mysterious interaction. I know that I love Jesus all the more for it. And it stills my noisy soul to think about being a babe in His arms. I wonder if He is referring to all the ways I protect myself from life, for example, making out like I am smart or kind in front of people. Posing. To be a child is to drop the pretenses and just be. Just be vulnerable to the brutality of life. Just be honest about my immense need for salvation. Just be real about my battle with sin and the flesh and how often I lose that. Just be in His arms.

The day after that hellish entry to Italy was a day of play. I am curious that the Lord ordered it that way. A day of seeing the darkness of my own heart and of the world post-Fall set the stage for seeing how sometimes we see Eden on earth. I began the day with Italian espresso. Need I offer more explanation?

Matt and I quickly crammed our elephant-sized suitcases into the tin-can Fiat and headed for the autostrada. Four hours of driving started off with laughter. And she chased away the tears of the night before.

As we entered the autostrada, another car immediately blew our Fiat off the road. It was as if we were standing still. I chuckled. Matt looked over at me and with flat lips and clenched teeth and says, Was that a nun?

I howled with laughter. A nun? On the autostrada? Leaving us standing still? Of course.

So Matt made it his goal not to be passed. And that is how we arrived at Montepulciano.

One of the Etruscan kings founded Montepulciano. This quaint village has decorated the mountainside since the 3rd or 4th century B.C. I said, B.C. As Matt and I explored the little cobblestone alleyways and clocktowers, something happened. We became young again. Very young. We played. Time left us. The bells sounding and marking the hour became music to our ears and had no other meaning.

I know that pride puffs us up. And to be without pride is to be smaller. As we ran from site to treasure to view to discovery, pride left us. We did not care what we looked like. We looked like American tourists, of course. But we were children playing.

We forgot about all appetites except the hearts of the children within us. And we forgot to eat before the restaurants closed for siesta. That we Americans have chosen to stay open 24-7 for business shows our foolishness and drivenness. Italians close down for naps. Hungry? You are on your own in Montepulciano. Go pick some grapes. And wait until 3:30 p.m. when life returns to the square.

We climbed all the way to the top of the hillside village. And we found a winery. Groups of weary, hungry Americans were already on the terrace. We saw a plate we liked and pointed. We want that! Plates of cheese, prosciutto, bruschetta delighted our palates. And the wine. Well, I think I had never really tasted red wine before this day. This was red wine!

We rested and drank in the view - quite literally.

The day was simply magical.

Maybe it is the closest I have come to simply letting Jesus carry me right next to his heart.

unpacking rome

The view from our Fiat once we got going...

For the enchanting days of our trip, stay tuned. 

Oh, how I was tested on those words about faith and flying. The day we flew to Rome we actually never made it to Rome. We sprinted to the airport in Nashville and sat for three hours because of bad weather in Chicago. We missed our direct flight to Rome and barely made a re-routed flight from Chicago to London. Everything that could go wrong did - well, except we didn’t crash. I am grateful for that. We were harassed by flight attendants. Lied to by American Airlines staff. Sent on a wild goose chase. Flightless in Heathrow in England. Bagless in Rome when we finally did make it. We missed one entire day of our anniversary trip. And we missed the part I was anticipating the most.

A charming Bed and Breakfast awaited us in Tuscany. My friend Erin Tumlin had insisted we stay there. She had visited it when in Italy a few years ago. Le Due Volpi is run by Heidi and Lorenzo Flores. Heidi speaks several languages including English. I called her and she warned us not to attempt the trip at night. A good word. 

I hadn’t cried when my bag never chugged around the carousel. After the reality soaked in that we would not make it to the bed and breakfast, we rented our car and drove into Rome. The finest red wine and homemade ravioli my tongue has ever known staved off the disappointment for a while longer.

I had warned Matt all day of the impending breakdown. One disappointment after another eroded the dam of emotion until nothing stood to hold back a flood of tears.  

The final blow came when we returned to the airport to pick up my bag. Our rental car came with a navigator. Let me include here that the iPhone is the finest navigator made. No GPS can compete with its genius. The “navigator” Hertz gave us kept taking us to the train station. A deluge encircled Rome and hail threatened to pound the tin can we were driving into so much scrap metal. I thought, “I am going to die on the freeway in Rome trying to find the airport. How romantic!”

In a fit of rage and the precursor to the tearful breakdown, I flung the navigator to the backseat hereby rendering it broken as well as useless. When we finally found the airport at 11:00 p.m. Rome time, we had been without sleep for over 24 hours. I am counting the five hour nap on the flight over.

The airport halls swallowed us as we searched for American’s Land of Lost Baggage. We turned back when the area we needed to enter was blocked off. Deflated, we headed back to our tiny rental car. As we pulled out of the parking area, Matt said, “I’m going back in.” He pulled back in and parked. 

“I’m done,” I said. And I was. 

I sat in the car while Matt re-entered the Land of the Lost. The floodgates opened forth and I cried over every disappointment that day. I may have even covered some disappointments from the past 20 years. I realized the ambivalence I had experienced before the trip was supposed to “protect” me from just such disappointments. Yet here I sat sorely disappointed and red-eyed.

“Would the entire trip go this way?” I asked God. “This is what I feared,” I admitted.

I rehearsed the words I had written on the morning of our departure:

Even though I don’t understand and, frankly, will never understand, why God does what He does; I will get on the plane and in faith believe that He is taking me somewhere. And that it is GOOD. And that is the strength and hope I share.

I even regretted writing them. Am I being tested, I wondered. Had I stirred up some demonic plot to make me want to take these words and eat them on a cracker?

In this moment I named my little g god, aka idol - the god who disappoints.

As I sat beneath the lights of the airport and strangers walked by my car, I let the truest part of my soul come out. The Doubts. And I met that idol and named it. And then I said, “That is the lie of Eve.” 

Matt returned from the dark cave of the airport lugging my mammoth bag. My puffy eyes confused him. I attempted an explanation. Mostly, we needed sleep. 

We drove 30 minutes in the wrong direction before I pulled out my iPhone and found us.  We headed for Italy’s autostrada to get a jump on travel the next day. We grabbed our ticket and entered the toll freeway. Just 100 feet into it, we spotted a hotel. The bright lights nearly blinded us in Vegas-like mirage in the desert fashion. Matt wheeled around and headed back out of the Autostrada. The Autostrada in Italy is second to the Vatican in holiness. They think a lot of it. And charge dearly for the privilege to use it.

Matt put in the ticket. “63 Euro” read the digital screen. This equals $100. The computer running the autostrada at 2 a.m. thought we had traveled the entire toll-road in 30 seconds. Matt and the automated voice began a series of arguments. Apparently the digital guy did not understand Matt’s English. Matt put in a 5 Euro bill. The little gate blocking us from SLEEP popped up to allow us to drive through. Then a flash and they took Matt’s photo. We burned rubber through the gate and literally washed up on the curb of the hotel. 

The teenage attendant spoke no English but a little Spanish. In rusty Spanish, we bargained for a lesser rate seeing as it was 2:00 a.m. We literally fell into the bed and did not open one eye before 10 a.m. the next day. 

Really, the next morning brought me a little clarity. I could see the lie I was holding in my right hand. The lie that God holds out on me. He disappoints. He baffles (well, He does do that). He leads me on wild goose chases. And that morning, I confessed my need of a Savior - One Mighty to Save. The God Who Gives Me the Desires of My Heart powerfully convicted me on that morning in the lobby of a Vegas hotel in Rome, Italy.  

And hope rose alongside of the steam of my espresso.

g'night city of light

The Eiffel is close enough to salute good morning and bow to a good night. We may try to climb it today. We have walked MANY MANY miles.

Adventures. Stories. Discoveries.

And now we are ready for Whalley Court and 3 boys who have our hearts! We have celebrated well!