Fight Club

Fight Club

[Please read the previous introduction to this post here first.]

October was a month. Good golly, was it ever a month. In like a lion and out like…an even bigger lion. An angry momma lion whose baby you’re messing with. Also, she’s PMSing. That kind of a month. Whatever genius is attributed to the phrase, “Time flies when you’re having fun” was misquoted. It actually reads, “Time flies when you’re having fun OR you work at an ad agency.”

It was a month full of new. New job. New home. New and significant work being done in my heart. As my friend Kelli said, “A whole new Julie.” Yeah, well New Julie and I are still getting acquainted, and the jury’s currently out on how we’re going to get along. She cries a lot more and washes her dishes more frequently, but still can’t figure out how to fill out that W-4 form…

It’s been three months since God brought me through a drastic period of reconciliation with Him, and little did I know how it would turn my life upside down. If I realized what a fight this was going to unleash, what God was going to shift inside of me, how He was going to change who I thought I was and what I identified myself with, I would have kept everything in the bottle. It’s just easier that way, right?

The other day I was describing this period as a free fall. As if someone had hurled me off a cliff; but 14 weeks later I’m still falling, waiting for the bottom to greet me. I wrestle with sin; daily, hourly, minutely. There are days I feel as if I’m fighting for my life, straining to hold on, to resist, to not let go. There are other days when I don’t fight and I let go, realizing that it was God who held me after all. And while I have Christ at my back pushing me on, it doesn’t lessen the fact that it’s an up-hill climb.

But here’s a confession: I kind of love the fight.

I hate the pain. I despise the temptation; the agony of falling down and being picked back up again; the crippling emotions that I constantly have to beat off with a club. But the fight itself? It makes me feel alive. It reminds me that I am part of something bigger than myself, and part of Someone who fought for me first.

God has been teaching me through the Old Testament, which is not typically the first place we turn for comfort outside of the Psalms. More specifically, I ended up in Habakkuk, a book that I have long labeled my “Favorite Old Testament Book,” mostly because I went to Christian colleges and still expect people to ask me what me what my “Life Verse” is. You get more points if you have an obscure reference that no one else has thought of. But Chapter 1 is fascinating. Habakkuk is teaching me how to fight and how to ask hard questions of God. This is how I imagine the dialogue unraveling in real life:

• Habakkuk: God, what are you doing? What’s the point of this? Why are you just standing around while all this happens around me? Seriously. I cry out to you, but you aren't answering. Is a little sign to know you hear me really that much to ask?

• God: Be patient. I am working. You wouldn’t believe the work I’m doing even if I told you. You couldn’t handle it. Just rest and let me work.

Habakkuk keeps wailing to God. But what happens next is the thing that got me. In the midst of this struggle and immediately following his questions, Habakkuk says, “I will take my stand at my watchpost and station myself on the tower, and look out to see what he will say to me, and what I will answer concerning my complaint.”

Wait. Did you catch that? Here’s the pattern: Sob. God. Sob. Faithful action. He doesn’t understand. He sees God nowhere. But he gets up regardless and goes to the place God has told him to go and waits for an answer, faithfully doing the work that God has him to do in spite of his pretty rotten circumstances. And don’t you kind of figure this is all done through tears and crying?
Habakkuk holds the secret to a clean fight above the belt. Wrestle with sin and wrestle with God. But don’t neglect the path you are to be walking while you’re fighting. If you don’t feel like it, too bad. It’s a forward-moving journey. Keep plugging. Make time to listen for God. If you don’t hear Him, keep walking. These are our options. Fight or stand still. God doesn’t make us suppress our emotion; we just have to obey in spite of them.

As someone in the ring wondering if the KO will come with the next hit, I can say through the tears that it’s worth it. I’m kicking and screaming, and I want to give up. But I know deep within, for the first time in years, who holds me.

Regardless of whether we feel God’s guidance, it is a good fight. Fight on.

I'm not dead. Also, a shamless reposting of old work.

So, most have already read this, but in an effort to prove that I'm not dead, I'm posting a blog post that I wrote on my church's blog last fall. It's lame, I'll readily admit it. But it's summing up how I've been feeling. This past year has been crazy, and if you had told me even 6 months ago that I would be quitting my career and heading back to school full time (with another full time job "on the side"), I would have punched you right in the throat. But here I am after my first day of classes, and feeling like I'm about to give up the fight.

So the next post is a reminder to myself. Hopefully it will be an encouragement to you again.

Elevator

His once-blue overcoat was stained with the work of the real world, straining at the seams from the worries of basic human existence.  We nodded the typical pleasantries as I stepped onto the elevator.

Almost over. Two more days. We can do this.

His english was halting and labored, but he kept up his end of the script for my benefit or, more likely, to assuage the awkward silence that inevitably bubbles for 20 seconds.  It's interesting how we feel a need to connect with someone that we've never met and likely will never see again.  I guess, regardless of what people might believe about themselves, the fact remains that there is an innate desire to identify with one another, even if for a few seconds.  Why else would we put on smiles and shuffle through small talk with strangers?  And we are all the same on an elevator.  The haves and have-nots are all, for a brief moment, just people trying to get to the next floor, too lazy to take the stairs.

Don't make eye contact, Julie.  We don't want that much connection.

The jangle in his pockets broke my concentrated analysis of the dingy buttons that had been pushed too often by unwashed hands.  The numbers could barely been seen.  Regulars like us knew to view it as a telephone keypad; Work in the middle, Home on the top left.  No matter how foggy my memory in the morning, those were never forgotten.

He pulled out a large ring filled with keys of varying degrees of authority.  His short fingers sifted through them until they stopped on a grey head.  Toyota.  I guessed a Camry.  The others fell in line with a shattering sound as the lone key held their weight.  How many stories that ring must hold.  Is he a landlord, dreading the argument with the college tenants about those holes in the drywall?  Does the tiny key open his daughter's dollhouse that he worked overtime for three months to afford?  It was a small price to pay to see her toothless smile again.  Kids always pick on the different one.  How many homes and friends have entrusted him to be the keeper of their secrets?  Did his neighbors even bother to send a thank-you note for that time he turned off their kitchen light during their summer trip to Yosemite?  His aged mother will probably need more milk.  It's easier for her to stay home to care for her husband, whose memory has long been lost to fictional events of another era.

I fished into my pocket to find my set of keys, past the cell phone and under a few pennies.  In the harsh fluorescent light I thumbed through the contents of my ring.  Cluttered with reward cards and loyalty fobs, a testament to my cheapness.  Yes, sell my personal information, but in return give me a 55¢ coupon on my next purchase of toilet paper.  Sure there were keys that opened things.  My office.  My house.  My car.  But these belied a sense of involvement in another set of stories.  There was an episode of the "The Cosby Show" were Cousin Pam talks to her date on the stoop of the Huxtable's brownstone.  "You can tell a lot about a man by the number of keys he has."

And you can.  Keys lock secrets and protect valuables, but they unlock varied angles of stories outside the simple 9 to 5 world.  They represent other people and relationships.  Heartbreaking and wonderful stories, all falling in line on a ring.

An open letter to my airplane neighbor

Dear Woman-Sitting-Very-Close-to-Me,

I'm writing about an incident that happened on our flight from Washington, DC to Dallas-Fort Worth. It was brought to mind as I passed through the deli section at the grocery store this morning.

You seem like a perfectly lovely woman. I truly mean that. It's always a nice idea to start off the plane trip with a little giggle about legroom. Testing the temperament of the folks you sit between is a strategy I use often as it could be vital to your survival. A bit of advice for next time, though. If you are as big as a tree, please check in extra early so you can choose a good seat and not jam in between us.

Also, that salami log you're gnoshing on looks really good. No. Seriously. I love meat just as much as the next girl. But here's the thing. That smell? Believe me, the last thing you want to do is upset the delicate balance between the turbulence and my stomach. I've been working on techniques to keep my cookies down for a very long time, but your weird snack is going to undo all of that effort in one fell swoop. There are two kinds of food in this world: airplane and non-airplane. Let's put together a quick and dirty guide for future reference. I'll print it out and stick in your bag for you. You can thank me later.

Non-airplane
Anchovies
Salami logs
Egg salad
Kimchi

Airplane
Cashews
Carrots
Salami between two pieces of bread with lettuce and tomato
M&Ms (if you share, otherwise, they are strictly non-airplane)

Grey area
Tuna

For future reference, if it needs to be refrigerated, it deserves a second and third thought before stuffing it into your string pack. Also, that arm rest is not actually for you to put your arm on. I know, it is deceiving, but the simple fact is that when you have to put three people in a row that arm rest magically transforms into a buffer zone only.

So, in closing I want you know that I intend no malice toward you and your pocket o' cough drops draped on my lap. Yes, a fistful of meat is an appetizing snack. But hey, we're all in this plane together. Let's work together to make it not suck so bad.

Sincerely,

Julie

Shout out

(Preface: Look at me, hopping back into blogging as if nothing had ever happened...wait, nothing has happened around these parts for a very long time. My apologies. More posting to come soon. I think my muse is afoot.)

My good friend Kelli over at Aspasian Aspirations is smarter than you. And by "you" I mean me. I deeply respect her for the time she spends thinking through issues and formulating thoughtful responses. Her desire to honestly wrestle with real questions about faith and life make her a wise woman to turn to when you want to think deeply and not get the cliched "Christian" answers or "God is a Republican" crud. You should read her blog, starting with this post right here. And leave comments. It's good for us bloggers to engage in conversation. Thanks for your insights, Kelli! And thanks for all those late night discussions.

My Calling

Holy. Cow. I want this in the worst way, even though it's not really my decorating taste: http://www.jonburgerman.com/Work/comments/colour_in_wallpaper/

I'm actually sitting here obsessing over how I would color it all in. Nothing would ever get done. This from a girl who spends entire conference calls filling in every single "o" in the 26 page document being discussed and who actually decided against buying a specific Bible because I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I would not be able to keep it uncolored. I'm almost shaking as I think about it (see a picture here: http://tinyurl.com/6lrpco). You think I'm kidding, but as I headed to the checkout counter with it, I realized that it just was not going to happen. That is the very reason I decided against buying it. I know, I know.

Hold on. Epiphany. Maybe this is what I am supposed to do with my life. They say that whatever the first thing you think about when you wake up in the morning is what you should do for your life's work. I've never had an answer to that. My first thought when I wake up? "I have GOT to pee," and I'm pretty sure they aren't hiring for that position in these economic times.

Professional Colorer. I think I may just pass out with excitement.

Weighing in

Everyone and their brother has been blogging, Twittering, journaling or arguing the election results from last Tuesday. I tried to keep my thoughts inside, only discussing with those I felt would really agree or understand my point of view because I just didn't feel like arguing or debating anymore. Those that know me will be shocked to find out that it is possible. But watching everything unfold has brought a couple of recurring thoughts to my mind, and I really have to get my thoughts down and make my peace with the issue. With that said, please read to the bottom of the post before clicking away. My final takeaway may surprise you.

Yes, I was disappointed in the results of Tuesday's election, and saddened that I couldn't fully rejoice with my community and family and friends over the historic rise of an African American to the highest office in our land.  There is nothing I would have loved to do more than to join that small group of people huddled around the Lincoln Memorial on Tuesday night listening to the returns on a transistor radio (yes, they still make those, kiddos). The unexpected and hidden issues of race and prejudice that I have overcome (and am still working on) in my own life made this a victory that I wanted so desperately to be a part of. What an amazing experience that would have been to be looking into the face of Abraham Lincoln, on the very steps that Martin Luther King made his historic "I Have a Dream" speech while the results were announced! To see the hope and excitement that President-elect Obama has enacted is energizing, and I understand it and love it. I really, really do. I do not want to diminish the enormity of the week's events by saying, "It's great that we have a black president, but...". It's not fair to those who died and suffered injustice and bigotry and who fought unmovable powers to see this day come to pass. 

But I have to be honest when I say that I have a hard time believing, however much I may want to, that Mr. Obama's voting record will allow me to sleep soundly. There will be no one to pass the buck to when he feels like voting "present" instead of "yes" or "no". For me, politics comes down to a simple question: do you believe that government is the solution, or is government the problem? I strongly believe in the latter. The church should be stepping up and doing the work that Government can't do. Government cannot share Christ's love when they feed the poor. It will not be a reflection of Christ's service on Earth when they are bailing out a homeowner on the brink of foreclosure. Only followers of Christ can be that picture and show that gesture with any meaning. That is the mission of the CHURCH, not the government. So yes, I am concerned about Mr. Obama's voting record, opting to increase the size of the government instead of shrink it. Very concerned. Though I am not a one-issue voter, I do question the judgment of a man who does not believe that a baby born full-term after an abortion that did not "take" should be given protection (even most staunch abortion rights supporters oppose infanticide). 

All this said, I am encouraged by the bipartisan tone that seems to be spreading across the country. (Check out this cool link.) If Mr. Obama screws this up, Republicans will be a shoe-in for 2012. But here's the thing: I don't want him to screw it up. There is way too much at stake. I want him to succeed because we have to. A big change is coming and I can literally feel it in my gut. I hope it is for the better, and I'm trying very hard to quell my cynical nature that tells me it probably isn't. I'm giving Obama a blank slate and the benefit of the doubt. His political ideology goes against almost everything I believe in, so this is an act of trust. Trust that my God is sovereign over all and that my hope and change comes from Him, not from a man in the White House. My parents had a philosophy by which they raised my sister and me: you have our trust until you lose it. And that is what I will say to our new President. You have my trust until you lose it. I am, until he proves me wrong, an Obama supporter; not because I agree with him, but because we can't face these challenges divided, and because I trust that my God hand-picked him for a reason. I sincerely pray that it is for a good reason. 

And if Mr. Obama lets me down, like all humans will, I will continue to follow God's command for me to pray for my leaders. Why anyone would want to be President is beyond me, but facing those challenges without the wisdom and guidance of our Savior is unwise. I would encourage all 5 of my readers to do the same. 

I've just fallen in love with a bunch of new music, so I'm going to give them a little (and according to my Google Analytics, I do mean little) free publicity in hopes that you fall in love as well. 

First up, we have Fleet Foxes. Mellow, 60's-style harmonies. The following is one of their most beautiful pieces. Wicked cool video, too!

White Winter Hymnal from Grandchildren on Vimeo.

Next up we have a Swedish sister duo by the name of First Aid Kit doing a cover of Fleet Foxes "Tiger Mountain Peasant Song" and it is gorgeous.

First Aid Kit's album "Drunken Trees" can be bought here. Do it now.

First Amendment Tuesday

The creepy thing about this video is that NBC has been pulling them down from every place it's been hosted for "re-editing". Apparently it's too heavy on the Democratic Party criticism. You know, too even-handed and putting blame on both sides of the aisle.

Ambiguity '08

Living in DC means people "from away" (to use a Maine term) often assume you have some secret, insider's knowledge on the political scene. And if I'm asked one more time if I've seen the President or a terrorist, I'll be giving them wrong directions to the Washington Monument. Several people have asked me to write about my thoughts on the current presidential race. Which candidate do I feel is the most genuine, or offers the most hope or change? Obama or McCain? Conservative or liberal? Democrat or Republican? Like music and movie reviews, I'm never really sure why my opinion really matters that much, other than for good conversation or debate (which I love). But of course my ego soon wakes up and dives into the ring before I have the chance to stop it.

I have very strong feelings about November's election. No really, I do. They can be summed up very simply.

I think I'll make a bumper sticker. I'll put it next to this one. (Picture courtesy of www.werescrewed08.com)