Group Therapy

Day 36

I can see the blessings of the Lord and His hand all over my life. I can see it in the morning when I wake up in a safe home, all the lights come on with the flip of a switch, the shower pours out hot water (well for about seven minutes anyway), and there is food to eat for breakfast and to pack for lunch. Creature comforts. I can see it in my safe drive to work, and my quiet mornings in front of my computer in an environment that is comfortable and familiar; a workplace that has allowed me a variety of forms of self-expression where I can flourish and grow. Security and satisfaction. I can see it in the evenings when I am home cooking dinner (a new skill I have acquired since I quit my second job), chatting with my roommate about important and not-so-important events of the day, scratching the dog behind the ear, and popping over to my mom’s house to borrow an egg. Simplicity and contentment. And I can see it in my every-other-Tuesday Bible study.

This week, my roommate was sick (but not contagious) and was unable to leave the house to meet at Starbucks like we usually do. In an offhanded way, she said, “we could have Bible study here….” You see, none of us want to miss it. It’s the highlight of every-other-week. Just a small group, getting together, chatting about our lives, reading a book, and turning to the Word for the answers to all of life’s mysteries. We pray together, and pray for one another. We laugh, we cry, we encourage. We catch up on family news, drink coffee (or tea), and anticipate the next event in each other’s lives. So, when she proposed that we have the meeting at our house, I was most willing to suggest it to the other girls, who were happy to change the location. Who could have foreseen it would be the best decision we could make? Opening up our home allowed for us to be more relaxed, freer in conversation, and louder. (And we didn’t have to pay a fortune for coffee just to sit there.) By the end of the evening, we had all agreed to the permanent location change. And just that easy, I began practicing something I’ve been preaching for a while now: opening up my home and having people come in. That looks like the hand of God to me.

There seemed to be one theme and one theme only as we sat around that table. At first, it didn’t come out. After all, there was good news to tell, common frustrations to laugh about, a whole month (half of us were out of town two weeks ago) of life to catch up on. But after the chit-chat had fizzled and the proper inquiries had been made, someone exposed their heart and the tears began to flow. It had been a rough month. And not just for me. (As it turns out, I’m not the only person on the face of the planet. This is news to me!) As we went around that table, everyone shared a heartache. And not some minor frustrations either-serious, deep pain. It was then that one of the girls reminded us of our last session. We had been reading the book Lies Women Believe and the section “God should fix my problems” had been the topic we discussed. We went through the scriptures listed and began to laughingly say, “I don’t like that one. I don’t want to hear that.” After all, who wants to apply Romans 5:3-5 (And not only so, but we glory in tribulations also: knowing that tribulation worketh patience; And patience, experience; and experience, hope: And hope maketh not ashamed) to their everyday lives. Or how about James 1:2-3 (My brethren, count it all joy when ye fall into divers temptations; Knowing this, that the trying of your faith worketh patience.) And then there’s the verse that I was fascinated with a month ago but then totally forgot about: 2 Corinthians 4:17 “For our light affliction, which is but for a moment, worketh for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory.” As I begin to dissect that, I am amazed again and again. I mean the word-play alone makes it a beautiful verse, contrasting “light affliction” with the “exceeding weight of glory” and “a moment” with that which is “eternal.” But also this idea that light affliction brings forth eternal glory. And not that our afflictions, our trials, our sufferings are light or to be made light of. They’re heavy. They grieve and pain us. No, our afflictions are only light by comparison to the “far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory.” Wow! That must be some glory we’re in for! Everyone around that table felt like we were due.

So, as we reread those verses, we all meditated more seriously on what was being said-what was really being said. We opened our ears and our hearts to the Word of God and prayed that as we sought God over the next two weeks, we would find ourselves on the upswing the next time we all sat around that table together. And I think, no-I know, that’s what the hand of God looks like. That’s what a blessed life looks like. Buying the truth and selling it not. Comforting one another with the comfort we’ve been comforted with. Finding a place of healing and rest, and a place of glory in tribulation. That’s the hand of God moving in my life, that’s the showers of blessings. Not just a happy moment or a shared laugh, but a shared grief and a fitting word. May my eyes always be so open to see the beauty of Jesus and His redemptive work in my life and the lives of those all around me.

Step Up

Psalm 30:5- “weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning.” This is a promise in God’s word.

I did not spring out of bed this morning with a “Hallelujah” on my lips and a bounce in my step. But I did wake up with a song in my heart. And every time a thought, that I didn’t want to dwell on, would try to sneak into my head as I lay there trying to sleep in the dark hours of the early morning, I would sing my song inside my head, and rest in the Lord.

Today, I am taking a step up. The Bible admonishes in Proverbs to “keep thy heart with all diligence.” And in this area, I have failed. Some of you may be saying that this is not fair; that I have been waiting for years, keeping my heart for someone with the right resume to come along and sweep me off my feet. And in some sense, that’s true. I have been picky and downright snobbish about it. But when I had a perfect opportunity to truly guard my heart, to truly use my head to make decisions and not just my whim and my romantic sensibilities, I erred. Please, no one see this as a slam on the man, but rather a slam on the woman who didn’t slow down long enough to catch her breath. (After all, it’s nice to be breathless over someone who makes your heart beat so fast.) I didn’t stop long enough to seek God with any kind of diligence. I simply plunged headlong and impatient in my own strength, believing my waiting days were over. Fail.

Admittedly, I have swallowed too many lies about romance, love, sex, dating and marriage from tv, movies, books, music, and culture in general. And I’m disappointed in myself. To quote such a movie (based on a book), “What's the point of my being almost twenty-two when there is still so much for me to learn?" Allow me to replace “22” with “28” to personalize the illustration. So, as I second guess everything I’ve said, done, felt, or experienced, I get real before God and admit that I’m frustrated. I’m frustrated that I have to be taught things over and over because I’m headstrong and willful. I’m frustrated that there’s no reverse button on life. I’m frustrated that I can be so self-confident that I hurry right into decisions (good or bad) without waiting on the Lord. But God is faithful. So faithful, in fact, that He wouldn’t let me continue on my hasty path without bringing me to a place where I had no choice but to stop.

As I drove into work this morning, I heard a song (that I’ve heard dozens of times before) that really blessed my heart. Allow me to quote (extensively) the song “Blessings” as sung by Laura Story:

We pray for wisdom
Your voice to hear
And we cry in anger when we cannot feel You near
We doubt Your goodness, we doubt Your love
As if every promise from Your Word is not enough
All the while, You hear each desperate plea
And long that we'd have faith to believe
Cause what if Your blessings come through raindrops
What if Your healing comes through tears
What if a thousand sleepless nights
Are what it takes to know You’re near
And what if trials of this life are Your mercies in disguise

I “bolded” a couple of lines that really apply to me in this season of life. I have been angry because God will not “fix” me in the time and fashion I want fixed. But that’s not Ashley allowing God to work, that’s God allowing Ashley to be in charge. And ‘Ashley in Charge’ is not a world any of us want to live in…not even Ashley. That’s something to be thankful for right there! I have to remind myself that God’s plan and God’s timing are absolutely perfect, and He really doesn’t need my input. It’s a hard pill to swallow because I love to give input, but it’s also a relief. Knowing that the burden of the success of my life is not on me, but instead on my Heavenly Father, really takes a load off. So now that I’ve said it, it’s time to start living it. This should be interesting.

It feels like hope....

Today was hard. But God is good. I'm not going to elaborate much on what made the day hard, just another wrench in the healing gears, I suppose. Let's just say that getting a flat tire was the least of my problems today.

Tonight, I did receive some discouraging/encouraging counsel, though. The feeling inside me is not just going to burst like a balloon inside my chest when I make that big discovery about what's holding me captive. I have a wounded soul. And just like any other wound, it will take time to heal. This was discouraging in the fact that I'm not just going to snap out of it when I figure out all the answers. But encouraging because there's no way for me to know all the answers. The more I seek out answers, the more confused I become. I simply have to keep stepping upward even though I can't see the path in front of me. There will be more bad days, but my hope is that they get fewer and farther between and eventually become interspersed with good days. Yes, it feels like it might be hope, shining through on the darkest day.

Tonight's post is short because, to be honest, I'm very tired. Tired of struggling to get through the day, tired of crying, tired of grieving, tired all the way down to my bones. But there will be a day when my cup will be filled to overflowing. Maybe not tomorrow, maybe not the next day, maybe not in the foreseeable future. But there will be a day. And I am looking forward to it.

Wait on the Lord

Day 33.

I woke up this morning and determined that I was going to practice the presence of God today. I tried to simply go about my Sunday business as I normally would. I spent time in devotions, meandered over to my parents' house, took the dog on a long walk, fixed a nice lunch. (FYI: My church has Sunday service at 3:30 in the afternoon.) All in all, it was a pretty good morning, and I was able to feel like I was on the healing side of things.

I set aside time in the afternoon to simply pray. Because I have not been able to pray, I was aware that this would make for an interesting quiet time, but in “practicing the presence of God” I knew that I must attempt it. Wait. Allow me to clarify. It's not that I haven't been praying this whole time. I have been. But my prayers have turned into something less like conversation and more like desperate pleas I chuck skyward in an attempt to fight off stray thoughts or ideas. Or begging God for some kind of relief, clarity, direction, or peace. Other than that, I write my prayers in a journal in the morning. (Sincere thanks to Aunt Becky for that idea.) But this afternoon, I thought it might be a good idea to introduce a season of prayer into my Sunday routine. At first, I opened my Bible and prayed through a few Psalms. Then, I let my own cry come before God. (I actually didn't cry this time, which is worth noting.) And then I laid down for a nap. But it was the afternoon. And afternoons are not my best time of the day. So, just when I thought I was making progress...two steps forward, three steps back. It's not that anything happened, nothing tangible. Just thoughts. After all, this whole war has taken place inside my head...and my stomach. Off to church, and this song bird can barely get the words to the beloved hymns past the lump in her throat. Everything hurts, and I've never payed such close attention to the words before. I do not have joy unspeakable, no matter how truly wonderful it is what the Lord has done. It is not well with my soul. I pray in my pew that the sermon will give me some answers, but (and this is no fault of my pastor's) it only adds more confusion. Frustrated and discouraged, I head home, after I'm assured by people who love me that they will be praying for me this week.

I already know that the answer is not going to come from someone else. I have sought out the godly counsel of many. I have listened to radio programs, music, sermons. I have been reading books, weighing ideas, searching the internet. But I know it's not going to come from some outside source. It's between me and God. And I can't force God's hand. So, the answer, whether I like it or not, is to wait. Yuck. Psalm 27:14- Wait on the LORD: be of good courage, and he shall strengthen thine heart: wait, I say, on the LORD. I hope it's not irreverent to quote Tom Petty right after I quote the Bible, but he really knew what he was talking about when he said, “The wait is the hardest part.”

Tonight as my roommate and I were taking a nice long walk in the cool of the evening, we passed the graveyard down by the park. My roommate has commented more than once that every time she passes by that way, she thinks of 1 Thessalonians 4:16. (For the Lord himself shall descend from heaven with a shout, with the voice of the archangel, and with the trump of God: and the dead in Christ shall rise first.) “And I want to see it!” she says with unreserved enthusiasm. We turned our eyes to the eastern sky and were both a little disappointed that it didn't split open, and that Christ Himself didn't come bursting through to catch us up in the twinkling of an eye. I'll admit, this whole situation, or whatever you call it, has given me a more eternal perspective than I've ever had. I'm so easily distracted by the cares of this world; I rarely have the time or energy for a big-picture-perspective. I never want to think about things I can't understand, like eternity, or heaven, or let's face it-anything in the book of Revelation. But really, aren't we all, all of us who are believers in the Lord Jesus Christ, just waiting. Waiting on Him to return for His beloved. Waiting on a day when there's no more pain, suffering, and fear. What a day that will be! We are called to wait on our blessed Redeemer, in the knowledge that He shall return (John 14:3), and when He does, so shall we be forever with our Lord. Truly, it will be worth it all. Even so, come, Lord Jesus.

Never Satisfied

It's day 32. I decided to start keeping track of the days because I'm curious what happens on Day 40. Perhaps that's superstitious, but nevertheless, it will be interesting to see if it has any bearing. Also, with it being Saturday, I have the opportunity to see how well I function without a set routine. So far, not too bad. I have found that the mornings, once I get to work and settle in, are infinitely better than the evenings and afternoons. This morning I woke up with a little bit of energy to do the dishes and take the trash out. Yes, that is a big accomplishment for me. I rejoice in the little things. I was also able to go to the grocery store. I know, I should really slow down, right?

Even as I struggle with the emotional and spiritual aspects of this, I feel it’s important to mention the very physical side of it. If it were not for feeling an intensely physical pain, I don't know if I would have the drive to pursue this with such single-mindedness. It's not a touchable pain. It's deep inside the pit of my stomach. Not quite like nausea, but like a squeezing inside my upper abdomen. It moves into my chest, almost like a weight is resting on it, a tightness that makes me wonder if I'm having a heart attack or an anxiety attack without the heavy breathing. It creeps into my throat, and rests at the very back of my mouth. All this is combined with an overall fatigue. Oh, and on Tuesday, I broke out in a rash. The rash must be stress-induced, but at least it doesn't itch...too bad.

I keep thinking today, a day that I have not cried, that maybe the answer to all of this is not so mysterious and hidden as I've thought. That maybe it's not a secret room inside that has to be unlocked and swept out, but maybe it's more obvious, more tangible than that. And so, as I continue to rest, breathing deeply and saying “God, I'm giving that to You,” whenever an unpleasant thought flutters through my mind, I wonder if all this stems from putting things (people, ideas, material things, even ministry) between myself and God. And I begin to wrack my brain for a time in my life, a situation, a place where I've been completely satisfied. Or have I always been so anxious for the next thing-even a good thing, that I have become incapable of ever being satisfied? This is a hard saying. But I'm starting to examine every aspect of my life and question why it is that Jesus is not really enough for me. I have said that He is, but I have lived like He isn't. I don't like admitting this, but there it is.

Today, as I was riding in the car, I stuck my arm out the window, then my face. The wind was refreshing, if not rejuvenating, and I began to think about how in the book of Acts, the Holy Spirit came on the disciples in the upper room as a rushing mighty wind. I am anxiously waiting for my own Pentecost experience, where the Holy Spirit will fill me to overflowing, when I can stand with confidence and feel inside the peace of God and know in my heart that He is truly enough. That He truly satisfies. And that He is all I need.

Oh Death

“I start the day, the war begins,” so beautifully penned Mark Hall. I have been starting each day in a very routine way over the last week. After tossing and turning all night, falling into a fitful sleep haunted by vivid dreams that refer back to nothing and seem to hold all the answers to anything at all, I wait for the 6:30 alarm. Hit the snooze. At 6:35, I roll out of bed, wander into my living room where I see my best friend/roommate sitting at the end of the couch working at her computer, the dog curled up beside her. Then I, being the MeMonster that I have become, curl up at the other end of the couch and bemoan my life while she listens patiently. God forbid she’s not there! That breaks the whole routine. I have to lay there not-so-silently until she finally comes into the room, takes her spot, and allows me to bemoan even louder and more to the point. Why is it that pain turns me into the most self-centered person on the planet?

I explained to another friend last night that as bad as it seems right now, three weeks ago it was worse. Three weeks ago I looked and acted like a person losing her mind. I felt like a person losing her mind. There were days when I couldn’t get out of bed, couldn’t eat, couldn’t interact with other people. It was so bad that I had to just quit my second job. Now, I could make a list (a long list) of reasons that I didn’t need to be working a second job: It was cutting into every other aspect of my life, I was completely worn out, I dreaded going in, I justified going against personal convictions to work there, etc., etc., etc. But really, since I’m being honest, I quit because I couldn’t spend another shift (5-6 hours) locked inside my own head that way. Thoughts, that seemed to slither in like a serpent, would coil around my mind and heart, squeezing out all reason and common sense. Before I could finish my shift, I would have a complete nervous breakdown and have to leave. Revisiting it even now makes me shudder.

Today, I got out of bed, but not because I wanted to. In fact, I tried to convince my roommate that we should both just stay home today-that way I wouldn’t have to be alone. But I got up, got ready, and went to work anyway. You can call that progress. Or sheer determination. I call it a hill, and brace myself for the next valley. Pessimistic? Perhaps. Realistic? Definitely.

As the song says: “The hurt can't hurt forever, and the tears are sure to dry. And it won't rain always.” In my head, I know that’s true. In my heart, where the pain stems from, I’m finding it hard to believe. I can feel the prayers of God’s people keeping me afloat today. That’s as much as I can ask for. I am hanging on to my verse from Psalm 119:169 (“Let my cry come near before thee, O LORD: give me understanding according to thy word”), and searching the Word for answers. Today as I read in John 17, I was reminded that Jesus prayed for me over 2,000 years ago (John 17:20 - Neither pray I for these alone, but for them also which shall believe on me through their word). And this reminds me that yes, Jesus loves me. So as I continue to dig out whatever is holding me captive inside, I trust in Jesus and His unfailing love for me. Love as strong as death, even death on a cross. Because maybe I, like Paul, am being crucified with Christ. Nevertheless, I live. So even though I have been sobbing even this very afternoon without any warning or any specific trigger (it just comes out), I still lay hold upon the hope set before me, that my Redeemer liveth. And even though it feels like death, it may in all actuality be the birth of new life, a brand new creature in Christ. No matter the outcome, it’s all in God’s hands.

By Faith

By faith Abel offered unto God a more excellent sacrifice than Cain; by faith Enoch was translated that he should not see death; by faith Noah prepared an ark; by faith Abraham, when he was called to go, obeyed; and by faith Ashley (that’s me) started a blog about her journey into holiness right in the midst of the most painful season of her life. It’s not that I feel holy. Or even that I feel that I am moving towards God in some hot pursuit of holiness. In fact, I would never have started this journey because I was convinced I was already holy and in right standing with God. But about four weeks ago, (July 26^th to be precise) God confirmed within me the call on my life into full time ministry. Now, for all you Bible College buffs, you may be surprised that this confirmation of calling didn’t come at an altar of prayer surrounded by the godliest people I know, or while reading my Bible, or while listening to a sermon in church. I was simply counseling at youth camp and completely in my element. I had so much joy and excitement; I knew that God wanted me to pour out my life into other people. I sat in the church van that night, talking to my boyfriend (my awesome, perfect boyfriend-but we’ll get to that later) about how God was showing me my life and revealing to me His will. I don’t know if I’ve ever been so happy I was, sitting in that van in the middle of the night, on the phone, a cabin full of sleeping girls that were my responsibility, and the presence of God surrounding me. Oh what joy to serve the Lord! And if I could go back to any moment, that’s the moment I would go back to. I have agonized, I have wept and prayed, I have lamented, I have begged-- God, take me back to that moment. That moment when everything was good and right and perfect. Take me back. Take me back. But, wishful thinking and willful obstinance does not create a portal of return, though I’m certain I’m not the only one who would find such a portal a relief.
It was the next day, (for those of you keeping track, Wednesday, July 27^th) the very next day that everything changed. If you’re on the edge of your seat awaiting some fantastic tragedy or cataclysmic event, sit back. It was simply a feeling. A feeling that nagged at the pit of my stomach. A feeling that would not be ignored, though I tried my best to shrug it off or chalk it up to exhaustion, etc. But no, it would not do. The feeling persisted until it held me captive, a prisoner inside my own head. It dominated all of my thoughts, held a stranglehold on every emotion, pulled me down into a depression as I resisted the only thing I knew I had to do. I didn’t want to break up with my boyfriend (if you’ll remember, I think he’s awesome and perfect), but whatever this feeling was that was burning up my insides, insisted that I break off the relationship. Oh no God, anything but that. Take anything but that. I would rather give up my own legs, than let go of that. Two weeks of sheer torment went by. I sought counsel, godly counsel. I wept and prayed. I tried to suppress my feelings with logic and rational thinking. I spent the weekend with him, but it was a miserable weekend. All because I knew what was required of me. Sacrifice of the most acute kind, not of an imperfect or blemished offering, but of my most precious earthly treasure. How could it be? And on Saturday (August 20^th), amid tears and confusion, I released him to God. Not only my confusion and I suspect not only my tears… But it’s done. So I waited for peace to flow through me. It’s Thursday. I’m still waiting.
I’ve been told by my pastor that this is my journey to holiness. It feels like a journey to hell, if I’m being honest. I have good moments and bad moments. There are moments when I miss Nick so desperately that I just sob and sob. And moments when I’m so confused, I can’t function. And as I try to pray, I say “try” because I can’t feel the clear path between me and God, I simply have to remind God (really remind myself) of the promises in His word. Today I opened the word to Psalm 119: 169 in the midst of my crying and read: “Let my cry come near before thee, O LORD: give me understanding according to thy word.” And so I trust in His word today, in this moment of clarity, and despite the ache down inside, the knowledge that my soul is still searching, I trust that God will give me understanding according to His word. And I acknowledge through the pain, fear, and doubt that this is indeed a journey of faith.
“But without faith it is impossible to please him: for he that cometh to God must believe that he is, and that he is a rewarder of them that diligently seek him.” Hebrews 11:6.