Hutchmoot 2017 Musings

{I am finally writing about Hutchmoot! About time, right? ;) For my friends who are still wondering what the heck I am talking about - part of me is too. *grin* Hutchmoot is a gathering of people who love story, art, music, and community. You can find a (somewhat) informative video over here. The best part is when Pete Peterson laughs at the question "What is Hutchmoot?" ;) Anywho, I hope you enjoy my ramblings as I continue processing the weekend.}

It's been a month now since Hutchmoot. At this time a month ago, I was sitting in a devotional time - letting the words of morning prayer in Every Moment Holy wash over me. I would go on to a session that encouraged me to create without fear, because my identity isn't in the art I make, but in the Risen King I serve. I would sit in sessions about grief and lament, about who I am in Christ, and about pursuing Him first in whatever other vocation I find myself in. I would grieve, weep, feel deeply the reality that I'll never be the girl I used to be. My pain has changed me. Yet, I was met with such sweet beauty because I walked away with the truth anew that Jesus loves me right here. Right now.

It's taken me this long to begin to realize that Hutchmoot awakened something in my heart - calling to my true self, the beloved daughter of His that I am - and somehow, I feel like I am more myself than I was before. I don't know if that makes sense or not. But, it's how I feel. Over and over again, I've come back to the thought that the Kingdom Jesus is building is true and real and beautiful and among us now. It is also in the not yet. There is a tension held here. It is a Kingdom unshakeable and it is the inheritance of the children of the King. This dispels a lot of fear that I've felt as of late.

While attending this sweet conference, I tasted the present, coming Kingdom in the long tables of warm, scrumptious food, stories of (at the time) stranger friends wafting as sweet spices, and deep laughter. I tasted it in my tears and grief - shedding off the old so that the new could come forth. I felt it in the embrace of a new friend as the sobs racked my body and the truth she spoke over me oozed over the wounds like warm balm.

On the first evening of Hutchmoot, Andrew Peterson took the stage to welcome all of us to the weekend. He shared that, in September, he visited Israel and had the opportunity to go to the Wailing Wall. He learned that Jews pray and weep at the wall because it is the closest place they can get to where God's glory used to dwell. They can't go up to the temple mount anymore because a mosque sits there. So, they press against the only wall left standing when the second temple was destroyed. They weep and slip little slips of paper containing prayers, hoping that, eventually, their Messiah will come. Andrew shared that he held his hands against the wall next to a Jewish man who was sobbing as he prayed. He said that he felt like, in a sense, they were asking for the same thing - that God's Kingdom would come to earth. As Andrew closed the illustration, he said that he also couldn't help but to feel like Lucy in The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe pressing against the back of the wardrobe, wanting to get back into Narnia.

Just a week before Hutchmoot, I told Jesus that I felt like there was a wall in front of my heart - blocking my perception of beauty. I told Him I didn't know what to do with it and asked if He would do something about it. After Andrew shared that first night, we had dinner. I shared with a new friend (who, I discovered, lives only an hour away from me! squeeee!) of the wall that I felt. Somewhere along the way, I wondered what would happen if - instead of being afraid of the wall, pushing away from it - I leaned into it...pressing in to the (sacred?) space I may find there.

So, with the help of my King and my new found friends, that's what I did. As the weekend continued, my heart woke up. For the first time in such a long time, my heart felt alive again. Even in the grief and lament, I saw cracks start to trickle down the wall - and buttery, warm light started spilling through. Something was happening. Something that is full of holy magic, beauty, and truth.

Hutchmoot didn't give me answers in neat packages tied with pretty bows. Normally, that's what I want. Somehow, though, this time - I appreciated the gift even more because it didn't tie anything up. Instead, Hutchmoot led me back to the King that I fell in love with 11 years ago now. It reminded me of a Kingdom coming that is unshakeable...immoveable. As Andrew Peterson says (and sometimes sings!) frequently, it reminded me that "the stories are true".

The wall is still standing in front of my heart. I'm still pressing into it. But, there are more cracks now than there were even a month ago. And, I see an army standing with me - pressing into the beauty of eternity found in the present of now. Maybe the wall doesn't fall on this side of the story - but the cracks keep coming, the light keeps spilling forth.

Aslan is on the move.

Seasons of Pain.

“We can ignore even pleasure. But pain insists upon being attended to. God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks in our conscience, but shouts in our pains: it is his megaphone to rouse a deaf world.” 

― C.S. Lewis, The Problem of Pain

Pain.

I've been thinking a lot about my pain lately. In recent weeks, I'm beginning to accept that the pain I have walked through these past few years has changed me. The losses of relationships, both romantic and familial, both from death and from choice, have marked me deeply. Sometimes, the wounds still hemorrhage, leaving dull , deep aches in their wake. 

I admit that I have medicated my pain. I have tried to ignore it. I have lived my life as though nothing happened, as though everything was fine. The only thing that got me is depression and anxiety. I've learned in this journey, pain cannot be ignored. We can try to ignore it, but we will fail.

That's the thing with pain - it's a dynamic force that snaps us to attention, even as we crumble to a heap on the floor from it all.

And, if we let Him, God uses this pain as a tool. He takes the things that were meant for evil and uses them for good. He takes the side effects from living in a broken world (broken relationships, death, and a plethora of other things) and brings redemption. I'm finding, though, that this redemption does not always look the way I want it to or the way I think it should.

The truth is, I've been afraid of the changes that have come from my pain, afraid to acknowledge that I am not the person I was two years ago when all of it began. Over the past few weeks, though, with the help of my counselor, I've started questioning my fear.

"Is it a bad thing that the pain has changed you, Miranda?", he asked.

Ah, my knee jerk reaction is yes. Because I'm scared. Because this is new, different, foreign. I am quicker to be silent where perhaps, once, I would speak. I am slower to go back to the familial relationships that broke me, drawing a line where there once was none. 

I am able to better sit in the pain of others because of walking the deep waters of my own pain.

Is it a bad thing?

No.

I'm just scratching the surface of this, just beginning to form my thoughts into some words. This past season was on purpose. And this current place is on purpose.

I don't have much family that I keep in touch with. I am in a season of being alone here in this great big world. (I'm using the term alone in the sense of biological family - parents, grandparents, etc. not in reference to community - I have a stellar community that I am so grateful for.)

The second question that has started coming up is - what if Jesus wants me here, "alone", to be just with Him for this season?  He does that all the time in the Scriptures, inviting the disciples to come away with Him and rest. I can't even dream of the redemption that could come out of that, if I would only come.

This place is strategic. Richard Foster writes in Celebration of Discipline, "Jesus calls us from loneliness to solitude."

There is something to this. In the solitude, we are postured to hear Jesus. We are postured for the silence to come and do the heavy lifting that we try so hard to avoid. We are postured to find that the answer to these painful longings are ultimately found in the One who is familiar with suffering and who has caught all of our tears.

And, this....this is where the deeper work of healing begins.

Sojourn.

The pipe broke in the bathroom
and then we couldn't stay.
Water covered the floor;
they worked hard to take the liquid away.

It seeped down deep
and the ceiling tiles fell in the basement.
HVAC equipment roared,
and you could've sworn that maybe the house was a spaceship.

The flood was unwanted,
an untimely Christmas gift.
Gift? Am I sure of such a thing?
Indeed, for this pipe burst is teaching me of sojourning.

A kind mentor has opened her home to me,
for as long as I need.
At night I lay my head in a bed -
and I miss my own.

In some strange way,
this is reminding me,
that this world is not my Home.
I think of Another who felt the same sentiment.

Although He was the King of the Universe,
He bowed low - coming as an Infant.
He had no bed, no place to lay His head,
just a manger and maybe some straw.

The theme continued on,
a Nomad with no true home.
Yet in His life and death and life again,
He made it so we could be one.

Where He is
is my True Home.
Even though a pipe burst
has me on sojourn.

Contend.

There is much on my heart these days. I'm not always sure what to do with it. Much of the time, I find myself talking about it or thinking about it more than I go to the One who knows better than all. In all of these situations, I am processing it out. Trying to make sense of it all. The question remains though - will any of it every make sense, really?

I am struggling. Normally, I am able to see at least a little past the struggle to contend with my emotions to keep pressing into Him. In the past, even in these places of contending and hard emotions, there has been a stubborn place that absolutely refuses to walk away from the Hope that is found in the Gospel alone - believing that there is no where else to go for life than Jesus. This is the first time I've felt this level of difficulty in the choice to stay with Him. It's possible that some of these feelings are rising from hormones (just being real, y'all). But, even still, for now this is how I feel. (Don't freak out, He's got a good hold on me - and He's not letting go, even if my grip on the hem of His robe is weak.)

I just feel like so much has been lost in this season. I miss the man I thought I was going to marry. I miss my grandma. I miss my family (or at least the concept of them). I miss feeling like my job has purpose. I feel like the deep hope I had for a family of my own has disappeared. I've been asking Jesus to restore it in only a way He can, I just don't understand how He can, you know? And, His Word says that hope deferred makes a heart sick. I'm feeling that, for sure.

I think the magnitude of it all is really just beginning to hit me. I hadn't finished grieving the first loss before my Grandma got sick and I didn't realize fully that losing my grandma would feel like I lost my family too.

While I feel much loss, I don't want to be ignorant of the incredible gifts Jesus has given in this season. In the absence of certain people + things, I've seen His provision in ways that I don't think I would've seen otherwise (just typing that makes joy trickle into my heart like Light).

But, I also am still grieving. It's crazy the amount of loss that can happen in a mere matter of months. The repercussions ripple like boulders thrown onto a pond, and there's no sign of it ending.

So, here on this Saturday afternoon, I'm praying for the grace to contend. To fight for the life Jesus died then rose again to give. Ultimately, that means, to stop resisting these really hard places and just to let Him fight for me.

This season will not be the end of me because death was not the end of Him. I am not my pain because He took it on. By His grace, I will trust His sovereignty, contend for hope, and see this barren tree bloom again.

(Also, just as a side note, I share about my life here and on FB because it's one thing that helps me to not feel alone in these emotions. If you have been journeying with me and praying for me, thank you so much. Friend, your "presence" has meant more to me than you know.)

Love Brings Death.

This has been on of the hardest seasons of my life. For multiple reasons. This season has been marked by the "death" of many things. And, no matter how you look at it, death is hard. For me personally, this has looked like the death of a relationship. The loss of which felt like a literal death at times, except I was still breathing.

Another "death" came in being hit with the reality that things are not how they used to be. This concept was marked by sitting in a hospital room watching my grandmother struggle to breathe. Never in my life have I seen my grandmother as weak as I've seen her in the past few weeks. It has rocked me in ways that I couldn't have predicted and reduced me to tears at the most unexpected of times.

In the midst of all this "death", God showed me something new a few weeks ago through His Word. I was listening to a teaching on John 11. And, within this story, Jesus stares death in the face and shows it who's boss. It's the story of Lazarus. The story starts out with Lazarus's sisters calling to Jesus, letting Him know that Lazarus was very sick, and this is where we pick it up:

"Now Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus. So, when He heard that Lazarus was ill, He stayed two days longer where He was." John 11: 5-6

This Scripture messes with my theology in the best was possible. Do you see it?

Because of Jesus' love for His friends, He stayed where He was. For two whole days. And, by doing so, Lazarus died.

This begs the question - what if there are times when death happens as a result of our Savior's love for us?

What if this season of death is a direct result of His love for me?

See - we know how this story ends. Before Jesus shows up on the scene, He talks to His disciples and lets them know that it is for their benefit that Lazarus died. Glory would be shown as a result. Yet, when Jesus arrives, met by the grieving sisters of Lazarus, you wouldn't know it. Martha straight up blames Jesus for the death of her brother. Jesus answers with this:

"I am the Resurrection and the Life. Whoever believes in me, though he die, yet he shall live, and everyone who lives and believes in Me shall never die. Do you believe this?" John 11: 25:26

It sure didn't look like it in that moment. But, with Jesus, death never ends in death. No matter what the "death" is. He is constantly at work. When Martha knew only knew death and life had not yet come for her brother - Jesus asked a very important question: Do you believe I am who I say I am?

Her response was equally as important: Yes, Lord.

Shortly after this conversation, Jesus speaks three words and death loosens its grip on Lazarus. I imagine that Lazarus came hopping out looking like a mummy.

What if His love brings death, only to get the glory when new life bursts forth?

I don't know where you are at when you are reading this words. You might be in the middle of a fantastic season. Or, you might be in the lowest of lows. Maybe you're grieving the loss of a relationship...or of your health....or that you are hurting, again. Hear this, dear Reader....

No matter what our eyes see. No matter what the circumstance. No matter the season or the level of darkness we find ourselves in. Jesus does not change. There is not a moment when He is not actively working to bring life from whatever death we are facing. He never stops redeeming. Nothing is wasted. Not even death.

I imagine Him asking us the same question that He asked Martha: Do you believe Me? Do you believe I will bring life out of this? Do you believe that I Am Life?

May our response be the same, even before He speaks the word to bring the end to this season:

Yes, Lord.

Refiner's Fire

There is a deep beauty here. A depth that I do not understand. The flames of my Refiner's blazing love burn all around me. Sometimes I wonder if my tears could extinguish the flame, but His love and grace blaze more fierce than the deepest of my sorrow.

I have asked for this season to be cut short. Prayed that the work could be accomplished in a shorter amount of time. That this wayward heart of mine would be molded in the heat quickly. Yet, all that comes is the knowing gaze of my Refiner - signaling clearly that is not His will. Then there is silence.

And, sometimes, it is deafening.

But, I am grateful for it. Even though the hurt is real, there is more running underneath, more happening than simply what meets the eye. A newness being birthed. Dross being burned away. Ultimately, the Refiner's chief joy is heating this fire again and again until He sees His reflection.

The reality is - it is impossible to be burned as long as the Refiner is close by. And, He promised to never leave. I am called to trust the loving grip of my Refiner's scarred hands.

He is at work here. He will accomplish what He set forth to do. And, the end result will be beautiful. For now, though, I give myself to the fire of His love and set my gaze on His beauty beaming from within the blaze.

Rise.

"Finally Pilate handed Him [Jesus] over to be crucified. So the soldiers took charge of Jesus." John 19:16

My eyes got stuck on these words the other day as my heart feasted on the Living Word of life. I poured over them - over and over again - eyes wide in wonder over the beauty of the Gospel found in these few words. Let's just remember Who we are talking about here...

Colossians 1 says: "He is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn over all creation. For by Him all things were created: things in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or powers or rulers or authorities; all things were created by Him and for Him. He is before all things, and in Him all things hold together." (vs. 15-17)

And, the soldiers took charge of Him? Are you kidding me? Jesus was the very reason those soldiers could even take their next breath. He was the reason their muscles and tendons held together. He was why they didn't turn into a puddle on the ground. For crying out loud, even in that moment, Jesus - beaten, weary, and bloody - could have turned those soldiers into said puddle without lifting a finger. All He had to do was speak a word...and the soldiers would've been broken on the spot.

But He didn't.

All of His might, all of His power - tempered into meekness as He allows the soldiers to lead Him away to a cross that was mine and yours. Doesn't it seem too good to be true?

Earlier that day, Jesus had a conversation with Pilate, it was rather one-sided, and it went like this:
"Meanwhile Jesus stood before the governor, and the governor asked Him, 'Are you the king of the Jews?' 'Yes, it is as you say.', Jesus replied. When He was accused by the chief priests and the elders, He gave no answer. Then Pilate asked Him, 'Don't you hear the testimony they are bringing against you?' But He gave no reply, not even to a single charge - to the great amazement of the governor." Matthew 27:11-14

Why on earth didn't Jesus answer for Himself? It makes no sense - even Pilate stood dumbfounded by the silence of the One called the King of the Jews. The reasoning stands the same as to why He let the soldiers take charge of Him...

Jesus didn't rise to His own defense when He was accused. For in His silence, He rose to ours.

He was willing to do everything needed to bring us redemption. We know how the story goes, right? Those soldiers took Jesus and nailed Him the the cross - leaving Him to drown in His own blood. But, the soldiers weren't expecting what would happen a few days later:

Jesus rose. He walked out of the grave, sealing our redemption forever.

Child of God, what is keeping you from resting in His love tonight? Jesus gave all for you - and He wants all of you.Won't you let Him have it? You won't regret it.

"He who did not spare His own Son, but gave Him up for us all - how will He also, along with Him, graciously give us all things?" Romans 8:32