The Great I AM

I am burned out.

It’s not because I have been “living in the red” with my work, time, schedule, etc.

It is emotional burnout.

It is from the steady stream of my friends moving away and my close community dwindling down to a handful far smaller than I’ve ever have had since arriving in China. It’s from a string of medical crises of friends and being too far away to give hugs and walk with them daily. It’s from the wave of change forming in the distance right when my footing was almost secure from the last one.  

My felt pain has been delayed and I have not known how to walk through the grief or the aftermath. All of my go-to ways of dealing with the overhwhelmedness of life—physical rest, writing, meaningful conversations with friends, etc— have not brought me to a place of refreshment.

I returned to the US a few weeks ago tired and sad and stuck. I thought that somehow being “home” – away from the physical source of the pain and stress and having the space of no expectations would bring the rest and refreshment my heart needed. But, after nearly three weeks in the US, I am still tired and sad and stuck. Maybe, I just need more rest, more time, more of what I have tried already. Maybe the big family vacation planned over the Christmas holiday will fix what is breaking or broken inside…

Sunday morning, with my Rabbit Room mug full of coffee in one hand and journal and green Stabilo pen in the other, I tried to process some of this in “writing prayer.” Out came words of praise and thanks for life-giving conversation with life-long friends the evening before. But then, words of frustration, maybe even hopelessness (only faintly tinged with the remembrance of Promises), came tumbling forth. Then, a list. A list of things I think might help. My default solutions. The things I have tried before or thought I should. The list produced a glimmer of hope, but not enough to sustain. A half-page of green scribble and I capped my pen with a sigh.

A few minutes later, I was on my way to church. A place where I grew up, familiar, but not altogether “home” anymore. So many faces I don’t recognize and so many years and changes and valleys I have not walked with that Body.

The worship team began to sing a song I have never heard. It was beautiful, partially because the man’s voice reminded me of one of my favorites: Mac Powell of Third Day. And the lyrics were powerful in that moment, like a crescendo.

Then, familiar chords. One of the worship songs I play over and over and over at home….

I want to be close, close to Your side, So Heaven is real and death is a lie
I want to hear voices of angels above, Singing as one

Hallelujah, holy, holy, God Almighty, the great I AM
Who is worthy, none beside Thee, God Almighty, the great I AM

I want to be near, near to Your heart, Loving the world and hating the dark
I want to see dry bones living again, Singing as one

The mountains shake before You the demons run in fear
At the mention of the name King of Majesty
There is no power in hell, Or any who can stand
Before the power and the presence of the great I AM

~ "Great I Am" (Jared Anderson, New Life Worship) ~

And, my heart came home into the presence of my Abba God as He spoke gently and started the process of pouring refreshing into the deep places of my heart.

I AM. Present. Always now. In this moment. My God is not just a God who holds the future in His hands and has good plans for me. He doesn’t just work in the tomorrows, the next weeks, the next opportunity for a retreat, or when this current situation resolves. He works in the now, right in the middle of my every day, right in the middle of my journey in the valley. He doesn’t just meet me on the mountain to bless and restore me once I have climbed to the top. Nor does He merely prepare me a feast once I have reached a certain mile-marker along the road. He meets me in the valley and prepares an abundant table for me during my struggle.

He did not wait until our big family trip to lead me to soul-rest. He didn’t require me to share my heart with six friends or write fifteen pages or schedule a personal retreat before He allowed me to experience His presence. He didn’t just drive me up to the edge of the green pastures, open the door and give me a shove, leaving me to figure it out on my own. No, He pursues me in the valley, in my struggle, in my need, before I have done anything. And, He invites me to come journey with Him. He gently reminds my heart that I am not alone, not on my own to grope my way through the darkness, hoping that some activity or prayer or direction I eventually choose will be the gateway. He tells me once again that He is taking my hand and will walk with me into the Rest He has for me. Surrender and follow—that is all I need to do. 

And, as my heart was surrendering to this beautiful Truth, Abba gave me another amazing gift. The healing hug of a dear friend. She came right up behind me as the song was ending and wrapped her arms right around and didn’t let go until I had completely melted. We stood arm in arm, enjoying the presence of God and each other together. What a wonderful gift! 

The Great I AM. His goodness and faithfulness and care for me takes my breath away…once again.

Waves of Change

In the past two years, the amount of change in my life has been incredible. More than ten close friends have moved away (that’s just the women, not including their husbands and kids!)—some to different cities, some to different countries. I have changed churches. New people have moved into town, into our community. A baby was born…make that two. I took on a new role at the company and revamped my schedule. I am in the process of transitioning to more training and consultation and less home therapy. I decided to write a book. I moved into a new apartment. I have met a couple of new friends. I have entered my late thirties. By the end of December, I will have spent about four months away from home this year. 

Recently, I learned that a family will likely be leaving our community soon and perhaps the country not long after that. This past week, I heard confirmation that the kindergarten I have worked for on and off for five years is moving, or maybe even closing.  

As I was sitting in my antique chair with the mandatory mug of latte in one hand and a tissue poised to catch any runaway nose-drips in the other, I reflected on all this change in my journal. My navy blue felt-tip pen revealed thoughts and feelings that I didn’t know were hidden inside.

…Again…still…my world is rocked…but not quite yet… It all really just makes me want to run away. In recent days, a sabbatical has sounded really inviting. And I have found myself wondering what life would look like if I moved back to America. At this point, honestly, I don’t love my life here. I love China-life and I love working with kids, but it’s not enough. So much of what I love about China is gone—moved away or changed. I don’t like this season, if that is, in fact what it is. It is not fun to live in the aftermath of big changes while seeing another huge wave of changes forming in the distance. It may swallow me. I may drown. Fear. Bracing. Running. But, it’s like running in a bad dream—using so much energy and trying so hard, but your feet and legs are not taking you anywhere….

Just then, an image popped into my mind. It was the first summer my family spent a week at the beach in Delaware. I love playing in the ocean! One of my favorite things to do is to dive into a wave just before it breaks. If you time it just right, the wave ripples down your back and shoots you up on the other side. I enjoy the natural back massage and the power with which the wave moves my body. It’s exhilarating to have “harnessed” the mightiness of that small part of the ocean.

Well, that summer (or maybe it was just that week), the waters were rough. Try as I might to harness the might of a wave to give me a back massage and propel me upward, the ocean refused. It propelled me all right, but downward and upside down and all around. It did give me a massage, in a way, as it pounded and dragged my shoulders, hips and knees on the sandy ground. By the time I would find my footing and stand upright again, another huge wave was towering over me. I had just enough time to get another lungful of air before the ocean tumbled me like a ragdoll once again. Eventually, I was done “playing” in the ocean and, just plain exhausted, slowly made my way to shore to rest my weary, bruised body.

That’s what all this change has felt like—getting tossed around by events mightier than me, finding my footing after one tumble just in time to brace for another. No wonder I got sick. I often feel my stress and my deep emotions first physically (maybe not first, but at least it’s the first time I am unable avoid it). This cold forced me to stay home and slow down enough to find out what was going on under the surface.My journal entry continues: 

As soon as I wrote “swallow”, God’s promise from Malachi 3.6 came to mind: “I the LORD do not change; therefore you, o children of Jacob, are not consumed.” I can memorize that, meditate on it, repeat it when I’m down and mentally assent to its truth, but living in the reality of it in everyday life in another story. How does this promise make its way deep down into the “knower” of my heart? Step by step. Hour by hour. Day by day. A process. Keeping myself available to the means of grace—Scripture, God’s voice in the quiet, community, creation, my camera lens, writing…

It seems the sneezing, body aches and fatigue was a gift, actually. :o)

And so, as difficult as it is, I refuse to run away back to the shore, to the façade of safety. I will continue to keep my feet in the water, diving with all I have into each moment God has for me, trusting and knowing He is there. His presence never leaves me behind and never fails to heal the bruises. He is the God who goes with us into the storms and the death-valleys, giving peace that doesn’t make sense. I choose this moment to believe. I am held in the hand of the Shepherd of my soul and I will not be consumed.  

The Bench

The city is turning green! New leaves everywhere are bursting forth from their winter hiding places and breathing new life and color into this concrete jungle. Last week, on a walk, I came across leaves growing in this unexpected place and it struck me as funny. Obviously no longer a favored place to rest weary bones, it brought me much-needed rest for my soul. I smiled and even laughed out loud as I spent about twenty minutes photographing it. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did!