buddhist meditations and the church.

***Below is a blog post that I wrote last fall and simply did not publish. Just some thoughts about buddhists, about love and about acceptance!

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Around this time last week, Chris and I were walking along a silent sidewalk in search of number 2937. Two-nine-three-seven... one foot in front of the other, not quite sure where 2937 would lead us, yet unmistakably certain that we thought we knew what we'd find there. We approached a set of stairs with brochures leading the way towards a giant set of glass doors. One step inside, and we veered toward the left; it looked comfortable there. There, at a table, we inscribed our names on a piece of paper, surrounded by small figurines and informational pamphlets. We shuffled a few into our arms, and waited in the awkwardness.

A man approached us, a man of short stature in an ashy orange and deep red robe with one shoulder uncovered. He welcomed us with a smile on his face, a smile that suggested a hint of something that was not right. He asked us our names, and listened tentatively until his eyes couldn't stand it anymore--He peered down at our feet and it became painfully obvious: we were wearing shoes in his sacred place of worship.

To be honest, I had many expectations about what I would encounter at a Buddhist meditation. Chris had to attend a meditation for one of his undergrad classes, so I thought it'd be "fun" to tag along. Besides, who would send their boyfriend into the barefoot unknown alone?

In the past, I never would have done something like this. Why? Because my mind was filled with presumptions that going into certain people's worlds was simply unforgivable; Like stepping into the world of a Buddhist monk would taint my heart a certain shade of wrong. Then, I'd lose my grip on right; I'd forget who God is. Somewhere along the way, someone told me I'd fall into a slippery slope of confusion, and once I did, I might never be able to find my way back again.

But, you see, I learned a lot of things by going to a Buddhist meditation; it was nothing like I had expected. I had expected a man sitting on the floor, legs crossed, holier-than-thou, singing a song through the humming of his throat, eyes closed, with very few words. I had expected silence and a whole lot of awkwardness; many robes, and that Chris and I, in our not-so-fit-for-Buddhist-worship apparel, would stick out like a sore thumb.

We didn't stick out, and to my surprise, the monk was young, about our age, with a personality. I know, right? He talked about life, and the struggles people go through, and then, he told us that he goes to work every week. Let's be honest, that's the last place I pictured a Buddhist monk going. No temple? No humming? No pointing the finger that the new kids stepped on your "mystic" carpet with the soles of our shoes?

And then it hit me -- that the way I had mustered up various "expectations" about a Buddhist meditation was probably the way that a lot of people had micromanaged their thoughts of church, God, grace, Jesus, pastors, go crazy and fill in the blank. We all have expectations about how certain people might act towards us; how we are going to be treated in certain circles. We might think we have no business being in the midst of "goodness" (people don't know how "bad" we really are, and if they did, they'd never accept us!); that a preacher is too holy and could never understand the struggles of the not-so-blessed, and, I hate to say it, but that Christians might judge us. Who, Christians? Judge?

Let's face it -- we all have expectations that control what we do. Too often, our fears bind us in a cage that keeps us from getting to know people in their worlds and learning to loving them there. Letting go of expectations does not mean that we embrace all ideas as truth; we stand firm as ever, but we do it by choosing to see the world with a heart that chooses not to judge, not to live in a prison, and not to fear that which is different. And sometimes, just sometimes, it means sitting on the floor of someone else's world, legs-crossed, singing a song through the humming of our throats, eyes closed, praying like we've never prayed before that the truth of God's love--God's unconditional, stereotype-free love, would overwhelm us all.

What "expectations" do you have surrounding the church, God, Jesus, etc?
What fears do you have about things that are different than your norm?

Challenge yourself. What will you do about them?

choosing to be glad...

Somewhere in the midst of job interviews, career decisions, and countless conversations about "what is next," I have forgotten what the Lord spoke to me a few weekends ago at a Girls Beach Retreat I attended in NJ. I somehow managed to shuffle the Lord's still small voice beneath waiting for the phone to ring and a few emotional break-downs about my future. Allow me to explain.

Ever since I relocated from Florida to Baltimore, the question from nearly everyone has been this: So what are you going to DO? I have never hated this question, and in fact, it has always sparked a sense of adventure and excitement as the Lord has led me through various seasons of my life. My response, generally, was that I was going to DO whatever the Lord led me to DO. I was going to GO where He opened doors, and I was going to LOVE the people around me. Hands down, that's what I was going to DO. Only this time, things seem different.

I am a college graduate, and I have no idea what the future holds. No classes to attend, or activities to "pass the time." I have been stripped from most of my comforts, and in my eyes, I'm not DOING anything right now. This could be a complete lie, but the majority of those around me seem to have some kind of direction in their lives. Me? I have never been more confused than I am now. This confusing has triggered a complete sense of helplessness in my spirit; one that reminds me that obsessing over and trying to control the details of my life is a job much too big for little ol' me. Go figure.

That was precisely what I felt the Lord saying to me a few weekends ago while I was journaling and praying at the beach. I was thinking about what it means to "be still," and why I had such a hard time with the "waiting process" (Read my previous post!) I tried to listen to the Lord amidst the crashing of the waves on the shore in front of me. Here is the "letter" that somehow became of that moment:

"Shel, you know that I am the LORD. Sure, you go through dry spouts, but you DO know that.
Perhaps your brokenness is not for YOU.
Perhaps it is because 'broken pieces will feed the multitude' and there's a multitude around you that is hungry.
You have wept to me about how the world is hungry, about how they need so much,
and like Christ was broken and poured out for many, you, as His servant and chosen one, must be broken.
Your perfectionism and plans bring glory to YOU, Shel, but I want the glory.
I need you to struggle through this so that others can see ME come through.
Stop trying to fix everything.
Be still, and let yourself be broken before me.
You know I won't leave you that way forever, baby girl.
I love you too much to do that.
But for now, I have placed you where you are, to be broken for a little while.
To wrestle, to yearn, and to invite the multitude of those around you into that process
Can you trust me?."

I needed to re-read this and post it as a sweet reminder that amidst the chaos, the Lord has not left me. He has a PLAN for me, and He knows exactly how He wants to use me here in Baltimore. Any talents, gifts, or abilities -- HE has given me for His purpose. The Lord does not operate on MY time table, but on HIS. There is a purpose for the waiting, and a plan for all of the things that I cannot see.

"So be truly glad. There is wonderful joy ahead, even though you have to endure many trials for a little while..." 1 Peter 1:6

Choosing to be glad. Thank you, Lord.

love,
me

waiting away.

Our lives revolve around waiting. We wait for the light to turn green, for the clock to strike six so we can leave our offices, for "mister right" to enter our lives and swoop us off our feet. We wait for telephone calls, for the latest gadgets, for birthdays, anniversaries -- you get the point.

Some of us despise waiting. It annoys us to have to wait in line, or to be served last. Some of us get so frustrated by the need to wait that we find ourselves "lashing out" at whoever will take the fall. "We should not have to wait," we tell ourselves, and in the process, we cling onto the notion that waiting is bad. Waiting is useless. Waiting has no purpose. We kick and scream, because, well, "we should not have to wait!"

Or so I thought.

I've never been one to be annoyed about having to wait in line, or waiting for a friend. But in this season of my life, "waiting" has taken on an entirely new meaning. It's like I'm waiting, but I have no idea what I am waiting for. Will I figure out where my "niche" is in this place? Will I find a job? Will I ever get over X, Y, Z? Who am I? You know, all of those fun questions that everyone loves to answer when asked. I am at a stand still, and my natural reaction is to lash out and try to do something about it. You know... fill my schedule with "things" that make the pain of not knowing less heart wrenching. Less obvious. Less lonely. I know that's not healthy, but it's all I know to do.

And then I come across books, like Sue Monk Kidd's "When the Heart Waits," that advocate for the waiting process, as if it is some kind of great and wonderful season that purges the "dark holes" in us and thrusts us into the future, transformed and new. I am not angry with her book, or with her for that matter. Her book is so powerful and distrupting to what I thought my heart was doing right... so much so that I have made it through a mere 34 pages in the past three months. Nope - not mad at Sue, just mad that I am still waiting.

It's not fun.
It feels chaotic, and boring, and confusing.
Sue assures me that it is necessary.
Sue assures me that I shouldn't be afraid of the "pause."
Sue assures me that waiting is not "doing nothing."
Waiting is doing something. MORE than doing something.
It's letting God speak to you; it's being still, and resting in what you do know.
It's letting go of control. Admitting that you cannot do it all.
Did I mention it's not fun?

Nope, not fun at all.

Yet here I remain.... waiting away.

is there hope beyond suffering?

All I could hear was heavy breathing; heavy breathing that told me that things were not as they should be. My mom repeated the petition of her heart that God would just take him, my uncle Eugene, and alleviate him from his suffering. But all we were left with was deep, heavy breathing.

It all happened so quickly. A routine appointment for back pains brought about the news that no one was expecting: you have cancer and it has spread rapidly. Two months was all it would take, the doctor said. Two months and it would all be over, and as we listened and watched the depths of these painful events unfold, we couldn't help but feel broken and in pain ourselves.

This morning may have been the last time that my uncle will ever hear my voice. The phone was lifted to his ear, and he waited to hear me... Hi uncle Eugene, this is Shelly, and I am here for you, I said. That's all I could say, because before I knew it, the tears began to pour out from my eyes, uncontrollably, and for the first time in months, I felt something other than simply 'numb' and 'indifferent.' I felt helpless, and weak, and in need of God's strength and love more than ever.

I listened to his heavy breathing, and to his deep moans of suffering and pain, and my heart broke into pieces. Perhaps this is what God meant when He said that we are to "rejoice with those who rejoice and mourn with those who mourn." No words would have had the power to remove his pain, and so there I remained... weeping and praying, each deep breath reminding me that life and death are out of my control. Pain and suffering are inevitable, and that sure is an easy thing to say, that is, until you are the one who has been engulfed by it.

I don't know why this is happening, but I do know this. God is a God of LOVE and PEACE and PURPOSE. I believe it breaks His heart to see suffering as much as it breaks ours. But the beauty and reconciliation that can arise from our trials, our tears, our heartache, and our pain... that is what God is after. He is after our hearts, above all else, and like a caterpillar must struggle its way out of a cocoon before she can become a butterfly, flying and free, so must we..... struggle, and weep, and endure the suffering of this life.

Join me in praying for God's hand in the life of my uncle and for the rest of my family who is struggling to see HOPE in this trial -- especially for his daughter, my grandmother, and my mother.

someone "gets me"

Ever feel like you just want someone to "get you?" As in, you explain how you feel about something, or what you're passionate about, but no one else quite understands? They try to understand, and they may pretend like they understand, but deep down you know there's a disconnect?

In completing Day 4 of my "90 Days with the Beloved Disciple" study, I learned something that speaks to the many times in my own life that I have grumbled those very words that 'I feel like no one gets me.' Somewhere along the line, I began to internalize the idea that the pains and struggles that I had experienced were unique only to me. "Everyone else seems so happy," I would convince myself. And when I finally began to seek healing for some of those pains and figure out what I am truly passionate about, that disconnect became even greater. Unfortunately both inside and outside of the church, the idea of giving your life to love and serve the lowly seems a bit "extreme" and what many would deem "unnecessary." I have a dear friend who explains it best when she says, "I am in a Christian community, and I have chosen to give my life to serving these inner-city kids. Most people just look at me like I am crazy, and they tell me to get a 'real job' and help out on the side. I just wish someone got me."

This morning as I was praying through these thoughts, I realized for the first time that God gets me. Revolutionary, I know. The God of the universe knows what it's like to experience pain, loss, and separation because He experienced the death of His child. Makes my pain of being separated from those I love in West Palm Beach seem a lot smaller, I suppose. The God of the universe knows what it's like to feel misunderstood, because since creation, He has been trying to get the attention of His people and speak to them about who He is. Imagine what it feels like to spend thousands of years trying to convince people that you are good and that you can be trusted. I know I would have given up a long time ago.

But God never has. The pages of His Word are filled with stories of His relentless pursuit of you and me. Ask any follower of Christ and they will tell you that God's pursuit did not stop in the first century A.D. It is alive and active today, being manifested in both the spectacular and the ordinary places.

Even if no one else in the world does, God gets you. He is personal, and devoted, and a fighter. He fights for me every single day. I'm a bit stubborn, and selfish most days, but nonetheless He continues to fight. He fought for me as a child before I acknowledged Him, and through the many many times that I have rejected Him. And now, after years of striving to follow Christ, love God, and love others... I am reminded that I am not alone. God gets me. And even if no one else in the world ever does, that can be enough for me. And of course, for you, He will fight for you. You need only to be still (Exodus 14:14).

success!

For any and all who laughed at Chris and I when we opted out of a normal Sunday routine, and even a hockey game, to put together a book-shelf, you'll be happy to know that we did so successfully. No frustrations, or mishaps, or hair pulling (just kidding).... but really, look how excited Chris is [and please ignore all the move-in mess in the background!]:


He did an amazing job putting it together, and he even let me help.... a little :)


After about two hours, here is our finished product. Quite a steal for $30 at Target.


And of course, us, happy as can be to finally be finished. I love him :)

an "alexander" day

One of my favorite childhood stories is the story of "Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day." I love Alexander and I feel for him, because in this story, everything seems to be going wrong for him on this particular day. He wakes up in the morning with gum in his hair. His teacher likes someone else's drawing better than his. He skips number 16 at counting time, and to top it all off, his mom serves lima beans for dinner and there is kissing on TV! Poor Alexander is convinced that life would be better elsewhere, so each and every time something goes wrong, he thinks to himself... "maybe I'll just go to Australia."

I had one of these days yesterday. I set my alarm to wake up early, but hit the snooze button for over twenty minutes. I finally woke up and we were out of the coffee I liked; we only had some funky flavored stuff. I left the house and drove a half hour (in the snow!) to go to the DMV, and after waiting for over twenty minutes to be called, it turns out I had left my social security card at home and couldn't get my new Maryland license. Epic fail. I missed a phone call from a friend in Florida. The salt trucks drove by and splashed dirty residue all over my car on my way to Target. I ran inside, looking for a book shelf I had been searching for the entire week, and when I finally found it, I pulled it off the shelf and cut my finger in the process. I wanted to buy new sheets for my bed, but couldn't find the ones I wanted. After finding ones that "would do," I brought them home to try them out. They had a rip in them. So I jumped back into my car, not realizing I was wearing my slippers, and on my way down the road, a car pulled out in front of me and almost crashed into me. On my way into Target the second time around, I walked in the "exit" doors and nearly tackled two separate families without even realizing it. As I was leaving, I thought of Alexander and I mumbled those very words to myself.... "I hate Baltimore! I think I'll just go to Australia!"

Thankfully yesterday, the good moments I had far outweighed the chaos of going to Target in my slippers and bandaging up a bleeding finger in the middle of the store aisle. Yesterday, I got to spend over two hours with my college roommate and dear friend Stacie at Panera; our conversation was refreshing to my soul and that girl makes me laugh like no other! I found a bedspread for my bed, and put my world map up on the wall; my room is finally starting to feel like "my own." For the first time in a while, I got to sit down and really talk to my mom; it was wonderful. Last night, Chris and I were feeling "creative," so we bought the ingredients to make our very own pizza. Together, we made the most deliciousssss dinner, and of course there were chocolate chip cookies involved. We make a great team :)

That being said, Baltimore is not so bad. I imagine I'll have plenty more "Alexander" days, but I wouldn't trade those sweet moments with friends and family and Chris for Australia any day. I might spend a few minutes on expedia here and there, but at the end of the day, I know I'm right where I belong.