We came to breakfast tired. Hungry. Heavy-hearted. Reluctant to leave. And as we did every morning of our trip, once we had eaten, we invited God to join us there.

I opened our time with the June 13^th reading from Jesus Calling, one of my favorite devotionals and one that had been well-utilized during our times together. It was as if Sarah Young had written that day knowing exactly what we would need to hear:

I am creating something new in you: a bubbling spring of Joy that spills over into others’ lives. Do not mistake this Joy for your own or try to take credit for it in any way. Instead, watch in delight as My Spirit flows through you to bless others. Let yourself become a reservoir of the Spirit’s fruit.

Your part is to live close to Me, open to all that I am doing in you. Don’t try to control the streaming of My Spirit through you. Just keep focusing on Me as we walk through this day together. Enjoy my presence, which permeates you with Love, Joy, and Peace.

If nothing else, it spoke to me loudly and clearly. The promise of a new work when I had just written before our trip about sensing this trip was somehow a turning point. The irony of that work being JOY, which I had begun studying at the beginning of this year, only to be derailed by illness and chronic pain and fatigue and (further irony) depression. The reminder that this joy is not merely for ourselves—it is for others, as well… perhaps even most importantly. The prompt to spend time in God’s permeating presence—a reminder I unfortunately need more than I would like to admit.

I knew I couldn’t be alone in that. I had known several of these women before the trip, and had come to know more of them fairly well throughout the course of our week together. I knew I was not the only one coming to that table with a heaviness of heart that preceded our trip, let alone our trip’s end. I knew enough of each of them to know that we longed for more of God. For more of his heart. For more of his freedom. For more of his joy.

I believe, that week, we received a new glimpse of what both the pursuit and experience of these things should look like—and as they closed their eyes and allowed the images of the week to come and go, I read to them from Galatians 5:

It is absolutely clear that God has called you to a free life. Just make sure that you don’t use this freedom as an excuse to do whatever you want to do and destroy your freedom. Rather, use your freedom to serve one another in love; that’s how freedom grows. For everything we know about God’s Word is summed up in a single sentence: Love others as you love yourself. That’s an act of true freedom. If you bite and ravage each other, watch out—in no time at all you will be annihilating each other, and where will your precious freedom be then?

My counsel is this: Live freely, animated and motivated by God’s Spirit. Then you won’t feed the compulsions of selfishness. For there is a root of sinful self-interest in us that is at odds with a free spirit, just as the free spirit is incompatible with selfishness. These two ways of life are antithetical, so that you cannot live at times one way and at times another way according to how you feel on any given day.

But what happens when we live God’s way? He brings gifts into our lives, much the same way that fruit appears in an orchard—things like affection for others, exuberance about life, serenity. We develop a willingness to stick with things, a sense of compassion in the heart, and a conviction that a basic holiness permeates things and people. We find ourselves involved in loyal commitments, not needing to force our way in life, able to marshal and direct our energies wisely.

Legalism is helpless in bringing this about; it only gets in the way. Among those who belong to Christ, everything connected with getting our own way and mindlessly responding to what everyone else calls necessities is killed off for good—crucified.

Since this is the kind of life we have chosen, the life of the Spirit, let us make sure that we do not just hold it as an idea in our heads or a sentiment in our hearts, but work out its implications in every detail of our lives.

Of all the things that stood out to me—and there were many—it was this final line that most resonated. This new work within me—this work meant not to benefit merely myself but to overflow for the profit of others—would not ever come to pass if the things God put on my heart of the course of the last week (and, indeed, the last several months) remained merely ideas in my head or sentiments in my heart.

So what, then, I asked both myself and mi amigas, should be our response to the week we’d just experienced? How are we to work out the implications of such an experience in every detail of our lives?

I believe we are to make some commitments. To ourselves. To those most in need. To the God who gives all. I shared with them the list God had put on my own heart:

• A commitment to pray. To really pray. And to lift up needs beyond my own and those closest to me. To pray for the girls we’ve met by name. For the project directors. For the projects, themselves. And for my heart to be burdened in such a way that I cannot NOT pray.
• A commitment to gratitude. To embrace a renewed and redeemed perspective— on God, on wants versus needs, on what is enough, on what is good, better, or best, on what I really deserve, on grace—and to thank God as I should.
• A commitment to sacrificial giving and service. Among those who belong to Christ, everything connected with getting our own way and mindlessly responding to what everyone else calls necessities is killed off for good—crucified. I have given, but only to a comfortable degree. We are called to more. We are called to question, especially as Americans, what is truly necessary. And to make redeemed choices regarding what we do with our time, energy, and resources accordingly.
• A commitment to selflessness. To live freely, animated and motivated by God’s Spirit, so as to not feed the compulsions of selfishness. For there is a root of sinful self-interest in us that is at odds with a free spirit, just as the free spirit is incompatible with selfishness. To learn to not be driven by commitments to personal comfort that end with me placing myself before others but to instead put the needs of others before my own. Consistently.
• A commitment to working it out. It is all too easy to return home and slip back into our break-neck pace and mind-numbing routines, pushing the events of the last week into the far recesses of our memory. I must commit to slowing down. And to making an intentional and conscious effort to not only revisit my journal and my pictures but to actively wrestle with the convictions and revelations and stirrings and callings they created (and continue to create) within my heart, mind, and spirit.
• A commitment to Romans 12: 1-2. So here’s what I want you to do, God helping you: Take your everyday, ordinary life—your sleeping, eating, going-to-work, and walking-around life—and place it before God as an offering. Embracing what God does for you is the best thing you can do for him. Don’t become so well-adjusted to your culture that you fit into it without even thinking. Instead, fix your attention on God. You’ll be changed from the inside out. (The Message)

What more is there to say?

You will be changed from the inside out.

Look, I am doing a new thing! See how it springs up? (Isaiah 43:19)

I am creating something new in you: a bubbling spring of Joy that spills over into others’ lives.

We left the Dominican Republic that morning, reluctant yet still just as expectant as we’d been when we’d arrived. There is more work to be done. In us. Through us. And, by the grace of God, even in spite of us.

We are ready.

We are able.

We are willing.

Your kingdom come, Lord. Your will be done. On earth as it is in heaven.

Amen, and amen, and amen.

I sit here, staring at my laptop—the breeze blowing through the tiny little hideaway from which I have been hiding—and my thoughts won’t slow down long enough for me to catch one and throw it up on the screen.  Grasping for words usually isn’t an issue for me.  Unless, of course, there are more words than I know what to do with.

The last three months of hit-or-miss writing have not been born out of a lack of words as much as an overabundance of them.  Heavy words like pain, depression, fatigue, or illness.   Expressions laden with double meanings like under the weather and over the limit and have had my fill.  Phrases that cut to the core like there’s nothing I can do to help you or we’re going to need to try yet another medication or I’ve done all I can do.   Tired, weary, well-worn words like suffering, faith, perseverance, hope.  Words I can’t quite put into sentences.

Words I would like to erase.

I would love, instead, to fill a fresh page with a lifetime’s worth of new words:  Adventure.  Healing.  Peace.  Passion.  Joy.  Intimacy.  Love.  Health.  Contentment.  Laughter.  Gratitude.  Expectancy.  Faith.  I would like to write passionate sentences imbued with their meanings.  I would like to live a life that strings them together, weaving an intricately simple storyline of restoration and redemption.  I would like to taste their promise—to eat them whole and then sit, fat and happy, while they fully digest, their flavor still lingering on my tongue.

It is no coincidence that I now, finally, find words—now, a week away from leaving on our mission trip.  Now—with phrases of another tongue slipping through my brain faster than I can get a hold of them and file them for future use—now I am able to sit down and reflect on the past five months worth of dark, desperate words.  To consider how it could possibly have been that in the midst of experimenting with joy I found myself once again in the grip of clinical depression and chronic pain.  To contemplate what on earth the past 150 days of reading and wrestling and struggling and lamenting and pleading and shaking my grimy, clutchy fist could possibly have to do with what comes next.

And yet I know they somehow do—in that way that you just know that you know.  Something is stirring in that deep, wordless space within my spirit, and with a week to go I am increasingly aware of a vague, unsettling sense that I am on the verge of something.

I do not yet know what words will fill in the blanks that follow the what, where, when, and why’s.  I just know the blanks are there.  And I have the distinct feeling there are new words I will be learning over the next few weeks, the most important of which will probably not be in Spanish.

Where these words will take me, I cannot predict.  Where they start and where they end are mysteries beyond my capability to understand.  But sometimes, it’s not so much about where to begin.

Sometimes, it’s all about where do we go from here.

Here is a list of resources for this month, to help you with your experience of practicing gratitude and thanksgiving!

One Thousand Gifts: A Dare to Live Fully Right Where You Are by Ann Voskamp (Jan 17, 2011)

Choosing Gratitude: Your Journey to Joy by Nancy Leigh DeMoss (Apr 1, 2011)

A Thankful Heart: How Gratitude Brings Hope and Healing to Our Lives by Carole Lewis (Nov 2005)

A Simple Act of Gratitude: How Learning to Say Thank You Changed My Life by John Kralik (Dec 27, 2011)

Living in Gratitude: A Journey That Will Change Your Life by Angeles Arrien (Oct 28, 2011)

Thanks!: How the New Science of Gratitude Can Make You Happier by Robert A. Emmons (Aug 6, 2007)

Living Life as a Thank You: The Transformative Power of Daily Gratitude by Nina Lesowitz, Mary Beth Sammons and Lee Woodruff (Oct 1, 2009)

Gratitude Factor, The: Enhancing Your Life through Grateful Living by Charles M. Shelton (Nov 1, 2010)

Radical Gratitude: Discovering Joy through Everyday Thankfulness by Ellen Vaughn and Chuck Colson (Mar 22, 2005)

Grateful Heart, The: Living the Christian Message by Wilkie Au (Mar 1, 2011)

But despite my best, most mis-placed efforts, I rarely, if ever, seem to, in the words of the old BK commercial, “Have it MY WAY.”

Which creates a little “issue” in the gratitude department.  How do I be thankful for that which I did not ask or want?  Or for that which I lack?  Or for that which evades me, or plagues me, or torments me mercilessly?

My thoughts turn, as they always do when this topic arises, to a story Corrie ten Boom tells of her sister in The Hiding Place.  I dig my old, warn copy of the bookshelf, cracking the binding as I open it to find the passage.  The pages are yellowed and warn, but the story is ever-new.

Corrie and her sister, Betsie, were leaders in the Dutch Underground during the Nazi invasion and occupation in Holland, hiding people in their home in a specially built room and aiding their escape from the Nazi’s.  The ten Booms were found out (though the secret room successfully spared the lives of the “watches in their closet”) and all were shipped to concentration camps, where Corrie and Betsie remained for almost a year.

The particular story to which my thoughts have turned takes place after Corrie and Betsie have been moved to Ravensbruck, where they are hopeful they will have better accommodations.  What they find, instead, are even more overcrowded quarters, and large bunks with rank straw mats upon which nine women slept in a space meant for four—complete with an infestation of fleas.

As soon as they discover this newest plague, Corrie laments, “How can we ever live in such a place?” while Betsie starts to pray, “Show us.  Show us how.”

And no sooner does she pray this than she declares with excitement He has given them the answer—and it is to give thanks in all circumstances.  And so, they begin to pray.

“We can start right now to thank God for every single thing about this new barracks!”

“Such as?” I said.

“Such as being placed here together.”

I bit my lip.  “Oh yes, Lord Jesus!”

“Such as what you’re holding in your hands.”

“Yes!  Thank you, dear Lord, that there was no inspection when we entered here!  Thank You for all the women, here in this room, who will meet You in these pages.”

“Yes,” said Betsie.  “Thank You for the very crowding here.  Since we’re packed so close, that many more will hear!”  She looked at me expectantly.  “Corrie!” she prodded.

“Oh, all right.  Thank You for the jammed, crammed, stuffed, packed, suffocating crowds.”

“Thank You,” Betsie went on serenely, “for the fleas, and for—“

The fleas!  This was too much.  “Betsie, there’s no way even God can make me grateful for a flea.”

“’Give thanks in all circumstances,’” she quoted.  “It doesn’t say ‘in pleasant circumstances.’ Fleas are part of this place where God has put us.”

And so we stood between piers of bunks and gave thanks for fleas.  But this time I was sure Betsie was wrong.

Fleas are a part of this place where God has put us.

I encounter Betsie, every time I read this amazing story, with no small amount of awe and wonder—and perhaps even a little jealousy.  Oh, to have a heart that can truly practice gratitude in all circumstances.

Because my heart, I must admit, is not nearly as—as what?  As humble?  As pliable?  As faithful?  As obedient?  As grateful?  I do not yet know how to truly be thankful for chronic pain, for the endless struggle to make ends meet, for the lifelong battle with my weight, for merciless depression and anxiety, for those things which wound most deeply and make the least sense in light of a loving God.  Minor irritations?  Sure—I can make that leap.  That from which I can see future benefit?  Absolutely.  But these?

I just don’t know how to say it like I mean it.

And that is, of course, imperative.  I can make my lips form the words, but unless I mean them, they are worth very little.

So what then, do I do, when I am commanded to give thanks in all circumstances, yet find myself with a halting, faltering tongue?

I must remember.

As Corrie and Betsie remembered:

Fridays—the recurrent humiliation of medical inspection … filing slowly past a phalanx of grinning guards … But it was one of these mornings while we were waiting, shivering, in the corridor, that yet another page in the Bible leapt into life for me.

He hung naked on the cross…

…I leaned toward Betsie, ahead of me in line.  Her shoulder blades stood out sharp and thin beneath her blue-mottled skin.

“Betsie, they took His clothes, too.”

In front of me I heard a little gasp.  “Oh, Corrie.  And I never thanked Him…”

All gratitude begins with the Cross—and it is to the Cross my attention must turn in those moments of pain and struggle and weariness and even despair.  My practice must begin with the ultimate, most sacrificial gift—that I may appropriately appreciate all others.

Corrie and Betsie lead scores of women to a saving relationship with Jesus—with this Jesus who hung naked on the cross and whom we never thought to thank—while in residence at Ravensbruck.  The reason they were able to do so without being ever being caught or detected by the guards, who stayed mysteriously far from their living quarters?

The fleas.

Lord,

Help me to be thankful for even the fleas.  For the most hateful, irritating, miserable aspects of my current circumstances.  Help me to remember to hold these events up against the sacrificial love of Jesus, who hung on a Cross to bear MY SIN AND SHAME—that my heart may be properly positioned before you.

Help me to truly learn to give thanks in all circumstances.

And help my heart to become more like yours, in the process.

Amen.

What seems much more common, when it comes to joy, is that it seems to run concurrently with other emotions, practices, or mindsets.  Such is the case with this month’s practice, gratitude.

What we find in scripture are examples of times when thanks are given, and where joy is also present:

Psalm 107:22
Let them sacrifice thank offerings and tell of his works with songs of joy.
Psalm 107:21-23 (in Context) Psalm 107 (Whole Chapter)

Psalm 126:3
The LORD has done great things for us, and we are filled with joy.
Psalm 126:2-4 (in Context) Psalm 126 (Whole Chapter)

Isaiah 51:3
The LORD will surely comfort Zion and will look with compassion on all her ruins; he will make her deserts like Eden, her wastelands like the garden of the LORD. Joy and gladness will be found in her, thanksgiving and the sound of singing.
Isaiah 51:2-4 (in Context) Isaiah 51 (Whole Chapter)

Jeremiah 31:12
They will come and shout for joy on the heights of Zion; they will rejoice in the bounty of the LORD— the grain, the new wine and the olive oil, the young of the flocks and herds. They will be like a well-watered garden, and they will sorrow no more.
Jeremiah 31:11-13 (in Context) Jeremiah 31 (Whole Chapter)

Colossians 1:12
…and giving joyful thanks to the Father, who has qualified you to share in the inheritance of his holy people in the kingdom of light.
Colossians 1:11-13 (in Context) Colossians 1 (Whole Chapter)

We see, in these verses, the co-existence of joy and thanksgiving—indeed, when it comes to the act of giving thanks, it almost appears that joy is a pre-requisite or perhaps an essential ingredient, much like the instruction to give cheerfully (2 Corinthians 9:7).  In this way, both the action and the heart are engaged: giving is done with cheer.  Thanksgiving is done with joy.  The heart must be properly engaged—just as with love (I Corinthians 13:1-3)—for the action to have any meaning or bear any fruit.

I believe this must inform our practice of giving thanks, this month.  What this tells me is that this practice is not meant to be approached as a chore or as if we are grasping at straws to come up with items to list within our gratitude journals, if we’re even bothering to list those things for which we are giving thanks. It is meant to be done WITH joy, so that we may further CULTIVATE JOY.

So, what does this mean?  If we do not FEEL joyful as we are thinking back over our day (remember the Examen exercise?), or, even worse, if we are struggling to see that for which we ought to be thankful, what do we do?  Do we fake it?

Here is what I suggest:  Meditate on your list.  (And if there is nothing ON your list?  Meditate on the cross.)

But what does that mean?  It means this: find a quiet setting free of distractions, and try to get quiet, both internally and externally.  When you feel quiet, begin to review the items on your list (or the events of The Passion) one by one, taking time with each to really ponder them—to engage your senses and your emotions, to enter in to the memory of that item upon which you’re meditating, to reflect on what it means to you and why you are thankful.  Then, when you find you have connected emotionally with the memory or event—when you have touched upon that feeling of gratitude—stay there for a moment.  FEEL the gratitude.  Marinate in it—let it soak in.  If you feel so led, express the gratitude—in worship, in writing, in person to whom you owe thanks to or for.  And then take a moment to step back, and survey what else is going on emotionally within you.  Chances are joy may be close by…

But what if there is still no joy?  Then repeat, as necessary.  (Often, if possible.)

I conclude, in my reading of these scriptures, that joy and thanksgiving are meant to intertwine—to be wrapped up in one another like two different skeins of yarn left to their own devices.  Tangled, if you will—unable to be separated.  But the key?

The key is this:

You must not merely express gratitude.

You must FEEL it.

And once you feel true gratitude, joy can’t be too far behind.

Lord,

we so very, very rarely feel true gratitude.  The kind that wells up within our hearts until we feel we will burst.  The kind that compels us to put words to it in some inadequate form of expression.  The kind that drives us to our knees in awe of you.

But we want to.

We want to give thanks joyfully.  And we ask you to teach us how.

Teach us how to see.

Teach us how to feel.

Teach us how to express.

Put our hearts in their proper places.

And fill them to overflowing with thanks to you.

Amen.

“Isn’t she funny?” I might say.  “She always does this—that girl is a hoot.  One of these days she’s going to remember this whole There’s Another Team on the Field thing…”

But I’m not, alas, someone else.  I’m me.  And this tendency to be continually blindsided is less than endearing.  (Quite frankly, it’s freakin’ annoying as all get out.)  But despite my best efforts, it always manages to sneak up on me.  Every. Flippin’. Time.

I wish I were one of those people who never got rattled by the enemy.  But I’m not.  At least not YET.

When I began The Joy Project in January of this year, I was looking forward to the process nearly as much as the outcome.  As one who has struggled with depression and anxiety, the possibility of JOY gave me hope and stirred a bit of excitement somewhere deep within where that tiny hope-flame had first become lit.  But truthfully, the pursuit was equally as appealing—the commitment to engage in twelve different spiritual practices, both old and new to me, indicated by scripture to bear such fruit—it sounded like fun at the time.

See?  You’re already shaking your head, mumbling, What was she thinking?  Kind of like when I prayed, during pregnancy, for a Strong, Passionate, Creative, Independent Young Woman.  Who does that?

Me.  I do.

And then, later, unexpectedly, I wonder what the heck hit me?

So, what DID hit me?  I’ll tell you.  Somewhere around the six to eight-week mark, just as I was finding a groove, the debilitating headaches hit.  Three to five days at a stretch.  Roughly every two weeks.  Breaking through the medication.  Breaking through the prayer.  Breaking through my best attempts to hold them down.

Then my schedule hit.  A week of training, here.  A commitment at the school, there.  Extra hours at my real job.  Extra hours at my mommy job.  Extra hours at my volunteer job.  I couldn’t keep up with the writing.  I couldn’t keep up with the practices.  I couldn’t keep up with my life.

Then my weight hit.  Between the lack of time and the lack of energy and the lack of motivation, I gained another five pounds—the scale continued inching its way back up insidiously, creating both panic and despair in my mind and heart and spirit.

Then sickness hit.

Then financial strain hit.

Then self-pity hit.

Then DEPRESSION hit.

And that is how, in the course of pursuing JOY, I found myself face to face with my old nemesis, once again held captive by his evil minions.

The enemy, he is sneaky, is he not?

And yet so predicable.  If, that is, you are paying attention.

Which, as is apparent, I was NOT.

Enter: This month’s practice.

Gratitude.

I wrote about gratitude this past Thanksgiving on Live Like You’re Loved.  I wrote about my malignant inclination toward grumbling when the now and the not yet did not line up.

But this is different, I want to say.  That had to do with unfulfilled dreams.  This has to do with the  continual, relentless slamming from the enemy that God somehow sees fit to allow in my life under the premise that it is good for me.

*deep cleansing breath*

Where was I?

Yes.

Gratitude.

The remedy.

To depression.

To self-pity.

To resentment.

To entitlement.

To all that is ugly within me.

A simple thank you.  Repeated.  Again.

And again.

And again.

I need this.

I want this.

And yet I fail, every time.

Ann Voskamp testifies:

…life-changing gratitude does not fasten to a life unless nailed through with one very specific nail at a time.

And I realize it is no wonder gratitude hasn’t stuck.

I have not yet been willing to crucify.

Lord,

I need you to suppress these cancerous cells that grow within my spirit.  Come, with your gentle nudge… with your yellow highlighter… with your still small voice…

And help me see.

And in seeing,  help me be changed.

May my heart be filled to overflowing with the gratitude that is due you.

Regardless of what must die within me in the process.

Amen.

I pray that your holiday was blessed with the powerful reminder of Christ’s ultimate sacrifice, and God’s ultimate triumph!  For such things, we ought to be, as his followers, irrepressibly joyful and overwhelmingly grateful!

Which leads us, albeit a week late, to this month’s practice: Gratitude and Thanksgiving.

And is it not fitting to turn toward thanksgiving THIS week, after we have just observed the width and length and height and depth of God’s love for us?  Above all else, shouldn’t this past weekend make our hearts overflow with a steady stream of gratitude?

It should, indeed.

But what about next week, or even the end of this one, when the glow of the resurrection has faded  and the sounds of celebration have grown quiet as we all return to the busyness of our lives?  How do we keep within our hearts the impact of the suffering, death, and resurrection of our Savior upon our lives in the face of our day to day living?

We practice.

We consciously and deliberately meditate upon God’s gifts—in this case, his MOST PRECIOUS GIFT—and we consciously and deliberately thank him for them.

And we repeat this process.

Frequently.

In all that I have read and experienced to this point in my life, this practice, paired with last month’s practice of God’s presence, seem together to have the greatest potential to completely rock our worlds and cultivate intimacy and peace and union and faith and JOY exceedingly beyond what we could ever ask or imagine.

But it takes practice.  Especially if you’re like me, and your mind tends to gravitate toward what is perceived to be lacking versus what is in obvious abundance.

And so practice, we shall.  A great place to start is with Ann Voskamp’s challenge to count One Thousand Gifts, which is also a great book to read as we begin this new discipline.

And we’ll talk more in the days and weeks to come about both the practical application and the anticipated impact of this practice!

Blessings to you—

He is risen!!!

Lord,

remind us—in our busyness, in our stillness, in our chaos, in our quiet—of your gracious, tender, sacrificial love for us.  May we never, ever, forget the gift of the cross.

And may we be ever grateful for it.

Amen.

I certainly am a wonder.

So what tugs and pulls and yanks at my attention today?  Perhaps a lack of caffeine, which I meant to take care of on my last trip downstairs and forgot because I wasn’t, well, you know—paying attention.  Perhaps it is the insanely unseasonable weather we are enjoying here in the Midwest—the sun, the scent of blooms, the warm breeze, the call of birds from out my window-encased room.  Perhaps it is my desire for connection that keeps me pulling up my browser and scanning Facebook, email, Twitter.  Or perhaps it is something more…

Perhaps it is the tentacles of depression I sense slowly wrapping around my ankles and pulling me from behind.  Or the vice grip my head has been held in for the last five days.  Or the 38 hours of clients I have packed into my “part time” schedule this week.  Or the taxes that still need calculated.  Or the birthday gift for my daughter that needs finished this week.  Or…

Does it ever feel like there is just always SOMETHING?

*sigh*

And yet, God is present.

And while I don’t know exactly what that means for me in the midst of chronic pain and chronic depression and chronic busyness and chronic strivaholism—I know I sure as heck intend to find out.

I sat this past week in four days of training at Ashland Seminary on how to best position people to experience God’s healing presence.  Coincidence?  Of course not.  And was it a coincidence that in the middle of those four days of training I came down with a headache so bad I’d have gone to bed for days had I not paid several hundred dollars to be there?

Of course not.

But here is the question: Was that God, or was that the enemy?

The long and short of the answer is that it doesn’t matter.  Either way, it serves as an opportunity to draw closer to the Lord and to be refined and remolded into the image of his Perfect Son.

But how does one do that when in debilitating pain?  This was my question through those last two days of training.  As I tried to sit in the experientials and “soak in God’s presence” for an hour every morning, when all I could hear was my body screaming at me with a violent urgency to make it stop.  As we talked about emotional healing for the wounds created by sin—by our own hand or by the hands of others—and I wondered how on earth you apply this material to a client who’s deepest wound is hurt and confusion over an ailment that goes unhealed and prayers that go for years unanswered.  As I sat in class excited about the material yet apprehensive about my own experience of it—THIS was what I wondered:

Can I really feel the joy of God’s presence in the midst of this pain?  And if it is true that I CAN, how on earth do I even begin to get there, when I can’t focus on anything but the pounding in my head and the grip of pain and tension it has on my entire body?

There are more answers than I know what to do with.

• Stop resisting the pain.  Pain + Resistance = Suffering.
• Invite the Lord into the pain and focus on his comforting presence with you there.
• Observe the pain from an objective point of view, in order to learn from it.
• Praise God from within the pain, in spite of the pain.

Yes.  Yes, I see the possibility in these answers.  But there is a key element of resistance these answers somehow fail to address:

I.  DO.  NOT.  WANT.  TO.  BE.  IN.  PAIN.

Physical pain.  Mental pain.  Emotional pain.  Spiritual pain.  It matters not the variety.

I do not like pain.

And yet this is what God has for me—PAIN.  But, as I wrote last week on Live Like You’re Loved, I can either persevere under trials, or I can protest my life.

Pain is a trial.  Depression is a trial.  Anxiety is a trial.  Emotional eating and serial weight gain is a trial.  Life is full of TRIALS.

We can persist, or we can protest.

I know what I wish were my response.

But unfortunately, if you were to take a good, hard look at how I live out much of my life, you would mostly likely mutter under your breath, “Methinks the Lady doeth protest too much…”

Surrender.

*Ugh*

Surrender is, once again, the key.  Laying down the weapon and exiting the fight.  Yielding to the circumstance.  And yielding to its Author.

Some days, I think I can do this.

Other days, well…

It’s now 3:30PM.  I’ll let that speak for itself.

Please welcome again (belatedly as I was out of town and without internet all last week!) my friend Jenny Smith, as she uncovers for us some of the Surprise Gifts of Joy!

I was walking with a friend and in circles at the church gym. Not a very exciting time—the scenery never changes and thankfully neither does the temperature. There are three of us who walk, all very different personalities, and the conversations in the morning can go in many directions! This week we were talking about spiritual gifts, and Laura was sharing how she had to be careful because she’s realized that when she starts thinking she needs to have a more loving attitude, typically it’s a symptom.

Do you know the definition of a symptom?

According to Wikipedia, it’s a departure from normal function or feeling which is noticed by a patient, indicating the presence of diseaseor abnormality.

She went on telling me how love is a fruit of the Spirit, a naturally by-product of a relationship with Christ. When she stays close and connected with Jesus, love flows through her on people regardless of whether they deserve her love.

The symptom is when she starts realizing she needs more love, it’s a departure from the normal function of her spiritual life. Joy is exactly the same. Many of us joined the joy project because we wanted to pursue joy this year because we realized we weren’t feeling joyful.

We may not have realized it, but realizing joy was missing is a clear symptom to get our attention.  The good news, is once we realize the lack of a joy is a symptom, we can ask for the remedy from the Great Physician.

Joy as a spiritual fruit, a gift to us, is a naturally by- product of spending time with Jesus. Lorie has been showing us several different spiritual practices we can work into our lives. The trick seems to be finding the practices that resonate with our own hearts.

• I have one friend who listens to music and feels a pull right to the throne of God. I listen to music and nothing happens, well if I decide to sing along I realize how bad my voice is.
• Another takes her Bible sitting in silence, listening for God to speak. Gently turning the pages and listening intently, for His voice. I tried it and on every page all I could think was, “is that you or me?” Didn’t quite work for me.
• A friend I highly respect has a chair in her closet, and she kneels down by the chair day in and day out to pray. She pictures God in the chair. My closet is so little (and disorganized) I would be afraid to even try this one.

Do you see how different these three examples are? But in each case, God meets them there. As you look over all the different ways to practice the presence of God, you may be like me and have to try some of them out. One will resonate with your heart, and joy will flow as a naturally by-product of your time with God.

For those of you curious, my current practice is to take my Bible, usually very early in the morning and depending on the day of the month read a Psalm close to the date. Today was the 14^th so I choose Psalm 140. As I read the Psalm I’m looking to see if any verses apply to a situation in my life. I wrote in my journal: you have covered my head in the day of battle. (v.7) I’m beginning a six week Bible study, and I know there may be a battle.

Then I take my journal and pour out my heart. Normally, when I get up my heart is full. I feel filled up with the Spirit. My day reflects the time spent with Jesus.

What is working for you in this season?

Jenny Smith

Simply put, I would define this practice as the attempt to be aware of and attuned to God’s presence with us at every moment throughout every day.

Simple, right?

Riiiiiiiiggghht…..

Did you catch the AWARE part?  And the EVERY part?  And the OTHER every part?

Not so simple, unfortunately.  BUT, not impossible, either.  It just takes, um, well, you know—practice.

So if we are to practice this practice, the first thing we need to remember is that this is not something we can force—it is something that flows.  Jan Johnson writes, in Enjoying the Presence of God: Discovering Intimacy with God in the Daily Rhythms of Life,

…this is not something we do, but something God does in us.  It isn’t a matter of achieving God’s presence, but surrendering to God’s presence that is already within the Christian.  It’s more than a habit, it’s a fundamental way of living… This experiment in keeping constant company with God cannot be rushed because God is doing the work in us and we cannot hurry God.  We let go of the desire to perform and ease into this practice, knowing that intimacy is never instant.  We are embarking on a lifelong journey of welcoming the invasion of our soul by the Holy Spirit, so that moments with God are sprinkled throughout the day like manna in the desert.

To see and recognize this manna requires of us a certain amount of awareness, or mindfulness—the most recent and currently most popular expression of this concept of paying constant attention to that which is going on in and around us at a multitude of levels.  I defined mindfulness last week on my main blog as “a tether or anchor that keeps our attention and energy bound to the present moment, despite the wind or the current surrounding us that attempt to carry our thoughts and focus elsewhere.  I believe, for Christians, it is a practice both empowered by the Holy Spirit and imbued with the Holy Spirit—to be aware of ALL that is going on in the present moment, physically and spiritually, alike.”

If our attention is not rooted or anchored in the present moment—if we are worrying or planning or remembering or disassociating or fantasizing or numbing or escaping—we will miss what God has for us right there in that present moment, because our minds are somewhere else.  This is, I believe, one of the greatest tragedies of living in a culture obsessed with being entertained and distracted—living one’s life as if one is not even there.

Johnson speaks simply and eloquently to this issue of mindfulness in relationship to cultivating our awareness of God’s presence:

An awareness of God can flow through our day the way blood circulates through the body, replenishing it with nutrients and oxygen.  We pay attention to God, conscious that He may be speaking to us.  His presence begins to permeate our lives—through thoughts, feelings, dreams, activities, and in-between moments.

Practicing God’s presence moves His companionship beyond church gatherings, before-meal graces, and quiet times to infiltrate the ordinary moments of life.  Keeping company with God in this way transforms …daily tasks…into acts of worship because we know at whose feet we sit for the rest of our lives…

Paying attention to God’s presence is wider and deeper than thinking about God all the time.  It involves the ordinary activities of our entire being—feeling, sensing, listening, and moving in such a way that watering plants, playing volleyball, and walking on the beach take a rhythm of prayer.

So how might this way of living form within us?  Johnson describes the process as being a bit like planting a garden—the murmurs and titters we send up to God throughout the day become seeds that “help us begin to pay attention to a God who is always there.  They sprout as we let God’s presence satisfy the hunger inside us.”  In this instance, the moments we are already aware become springboards for greater awareness.

But what if awareness isn’t on your radar?  What if you go throughout much of your day without being aware of God’s presence or without your thoughts even turning in his direction?  This is where I find I sometimes need a little outside help and rely on prompts to bring my mind back to a point of focus—alarms on my watch or phone, reminders on my calendar, sticky notes on the mirror, the cupboards, the refrigerator, the computer monitor—any means by which I can “tether” my thoughts to the present and yank them back whenever necessary.

This is just the beginning, Friends, of a lifetime of practice.  We must be patient—with ourselves, and with the process.  Brother Lawrence writes that his first ten years of this practice were ones in which he “suffered much,” worried that he was not as devoted to God as he wished to be.  Did you catch the TEN YEARS part?  This takes time, and it takes practice.  And it takes this final reminder, straight from Johnson’s epilogue: we don’t pursue a spiritual discipline—we pursue God.

Lord, may our pursuit of you be our first and foremost objective.  May it be our first waking thought.  May it be our last breath before sleep.  May it be ever at the forefront of our vision throughout every moment of our day.

Show us your presence.

Show us your glory.

Show us your power.

Show us your love.

Show us your joy.

 Amen.