Gatherer.

I did a lot, a lot of writing tonight.

Peterso can testify, I have a lot, a lot on my mind.

But it got lost to cyberspace

(this is perhaps fortunate for those of you reading).

If you don't mind, I'm going to jot down a few notes

that I remember about the gist of the post that wasn't.

They won't make much sense, these notes.

Though they might sound familiar.

They're like a theme.

I'm a gatherer to my core. Outwardly it is expressed by how I like to understand people, have them feel understood, and have them be understanding towards others. I like enfolding. Inwardly, the gathererness is expressed by a deep desire for the integration of all the pieces of my life. All I have are parts-- only a picture with this person or that, in this place or that, during this phase or that.

"[INFPs] great passion is to heal the conflicts that trouble individuals, or that divide groups, and thus to bring wholeness, or health, to themselves, their loved ones, and their community."

Gather:

To gain by a process of gradual increase

To collect into one place; assemble

To pick up and enfold

Integrity:

The state of being whole, entire, or undiminished.

All around me there are pieces and there is brokenness and I become better acquainted with how ill-equipped I am to make things whole. The "healer" label of the INFP, a subdivision of the "idealists," is really quite misleading. Because though I have a deep seated affinity for the big picture, for how all of this ends, and though am enthralled by the Healer I celebrate this season, who came, undiminished to put pieces together, I have very little idea of how to "fix" things or even how He'll accomplish it. I just really want to.

Jesus washed Judas's feet. He's well acquainted with serving people who threaten or even just question "the" way of life. But he knew what I often forget-- people aren't the threat.

Logistically it might make sense to avoid this area or that, this demographic or that, for they are threatening, but God is ill-concerned with my "safety." He is the safety. The security that draws me out to what's difficult and different choices and lifestyles and people. He isn't threatened by different people or circumstances, and if I am, I'm doing a lousy job of allowing him to refine me into a follower that resembles him in the abandon with which he loves God and loves people.

I see protesters occupying and I see the Kingdom, where He cares, yes even for these.

I see people who live life differently and I long to meet in the middle, on common ground and I see the Kingdom, where life is about more than how I live it.

The Kingdom where

the poor in spirit have a place

the mourners are comforted

the meek inherit

the righteous-hungry (and not the self-righteous) get their fill

the merciful get it back

the pure see

the peacemakers are acknowledged

the persecuted triumph

Where life gets flipped upside down and pieces start to fit.

We Christians act giddy over and sing nice songs about this kingdom that we agree we look forward to and want to see here on earth but then we are surprised and can get downright defensive when God starts flipping things around, exposing our own pride and prejudice and beckons us to put it aside to see the pain and the poor and the people he loves regardless of nationality, income, political affiliation, accent, skin color, orientation, language spoken.

I don't look lost. But I was lost. I am lost every time I start living my life as if the favor was merited. I was gathered. I am gathered. There were 99 sheep doing life right-- going to church, being the church, earning the living, getting the job, keeping promises, telling the truth, revering God-- but the Shepherd goes after the 1. I was the one. I still am the one. And he still comes after me. Who am I to believe he'd meet me where I am, but not others?

Perhaps I'm doing life right. But there is so much in this life I could lose in an instant. So many reasons people wander. And still, he gathers.

There is such a thin line between me and "them," us and "they." There really isn't even a line, I just keep penciling it back in. He erases it with every new grace extended, undeserved to me.

Inwardly, I'm constantly gathering. Putting bits and pieces up on a memory board to create a more composite sketch of life as a whole. I spend time journaling or blogging, trying to put pieces together. I take pictures and put them out there and people, they get this impression that that Sadie has it all together.

It is true that I do everything I can to honestly put my heart out there and what you see is what you get, really. I don't wear socks with my boots and I will admit that freely and I mean it when I say that I'll get my wedding dress at Ross Dress For Less and I turn up the "Saturday song" by Elton John in the car with 3 rambunctious kids and we all scream at the top of our lungs and people stare and we don't care because that's us and we're enjoying this one life we get to do well. (Never to be extreme, however, there is always much regard for when it's appropriate to simmer down and be polite and speak softly).

There is little I desire to hide because life is too short, I think. I might seem shy at first, but when you get to know me, you know me. There aren't skeletons and there's nothing pent up about to pour forth. The pictures and the posts, they are honest and convey a lot about how much I love this life I've been given. But every post, picture, conversation-- even the 2 hour long ones during which I sound so sure to be so struggling to make sense of the pieces-- falls short of conveying my whole heart. Much less His.

Inwardly, I can achieve the integrity I so desire-- or at least feel at peace about trying-- because it's me, and I can do what I want, man.

Outwardly, it's hard to see pieces-- excuses to not like this person or that, differences between people, problems people face-- because I don't know how to put them together. There is no memory board, no easy way to make a composite out of the pieces of life around me. And also, other people aren't my responsibility.

But I'm so drawn to them.

I'm a gatherer.

"...he calls them each by name and leads them out." (John 10:3)

Running to Stand Still

Well I finally took the Aladdin soundtrack out of my Arkie's cassette player.

This was after having worn out Elton John, namely "Candle in the Wind." The Marilyn Monroe version, if that saves my reputation at all. you know what, forget it, I also work out to Celine Dion's Christmas album, so just take the reputation with you on your way out.

Anyway, today I put U2's Joshua Tree album in and traveled back to September-- to the first couple of weeks after I dropped a quarter at the Goodwill checkout for that puppy, when I let the same 11 songs play on repeat in the background as I got to know the Owens kids and my whole new life phase.

It did eventually get old, that "goodwill music," as the kids now affectionately refer to U2's work. (My bad.)

It also, somewhere in there, became November.

And only as I listened anew today did the ironic lyric strike me as particularly relevant. Only as I allow myself to be flexible with the Journeyman timeline can I catch a glimpse of what God's doing on his watch. And by that standard do I ever see the ineffectiveness of my own pursuit for what it truly is.

She's running to stand still.

(The song itself is actually about heroin addiction in an Irish slum. Which is more disturbing? That I share lyric relevance with a heroin addict or that I let this music provide the ambience for acquainting myself with three young children? Again, my bad.)

I'm at a place of real peace. It has much to do with slowing down, letting this be a legitimate season instead of a thumb-twiddling wait for the connecting flight. Much to do with thanksgiving.

It's been the word of the year for me and it has yet to disappoint, thanksgiving. But along the way I've been newly challenged to think through fear of disappointment in the seemingly silliest of moments.

Crying over a baseball team? This girl has lost it.

I'm getting ahead of myself. That last line will make sense at the end of this, and you'll know I thought it first. It is silly. But they're satisfying, these safe moments of allowing myself to admit my concerns -- for each concern there is all the more reason to trust Him.

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{November 1st}

Driving north, I felt disappointed.

There was the loss of Game 6 on my mind. And I got stuck in traffic for nearly 2 hours on a 2 mile stretch, and I was sorry for delaying the fun for my waiting family.

At 8 a.m. that morning I was pumped to go, sure they'd win.

By 8 p.m. I was so ready to just be in Fayetteville already that all excitement seemed long gone.

I called my family and told them to start watching Game 7 without me-- Em asked if I was sure and I said yes, but something in me ached.

I was missing the game, but that wasn't it.

I was missing my family.

A pre-emptive feeling of losing part in shared moments.  Exacerbated frustration of not knowing what next year will look like at all. Missing the game with them felt a lot like counting the cost. I sat behind the wheel tallying up what I'll miss when overseas because you don't start construction without knowing you have enough to complete the tower*.

The 6 (1/2) most important tally marks sat circled 'round a t.v. in Fayetteville and I'm not sure why I'm paying this cost I've been instructed to tally. I mean, I know generally why and I'm cooking up a great answer for an A+ application because the Lord's been gracious in confirming this calling at points along the way and I want so badly to convey that. But I don't really know-- I have no way of knowing-- what will happen, who I'll meet, where I'll go that will make this worth the cost.

Just a command to trust and a promise of trustworthiness.

This has never been a struggle for me before. But then I've never been a 22 year old grown up before.

Once I got moving on the road, past the 2 mile standstill, I did my best to make up time-- full speed ahead. I rushed and rushed and rushed only to get to Fayetteville and realize that in all of my rushing? It took me just as much time as per usual.

I took the appropriate amount of time. And I was disappointed by that.

There I was thinking if I could just speed the trip up I'd end up a little less disappointed by the delay on the outset. Only to find I couldn't do it. Bringing further disappointment. That's my fear-- disappointment.

Things won't just be better if I speed up to get where I'm going faster. And if I do rush to be to the "next" destination, I'll likely look back and see not that I made great time and beat the disappointment of delay.

I'll look back and see that I made appropriate time and failed to enjoy it, to make use of opportunities present.

I'm not a rusher. But I am a dreamer. Moments outside of the dream can seem so long, so unnecessary, so frustrating, disappointing. Much like every mile I climbed up the mountain to Fayetteville as I cried away the night of Game 7.

I made it to the house where Mom had great themed refreshments served and Dad had grilled ballpark hotdogs ready to eat. They hadn't started without me.

The Rangers lost a second series and we only got to see the last two frustrating innings because the tivo didn't record the way we'd planned. It was no one's fault and the hardest part was knowing that the stirring of frustration within me had little to do with baseball, really.

Disappointment. What will you do with it, Sadie? And how long will you rush ahead towards the disappointment that results from sped-through opportunities?

With Mom's help, I made a Texas Ranger tutu, looked baseball disappointment straight in the face and paraded around as the Unbeatable Spirit of the Texas Rangers. (With a bat for a wand, no less).

I listened to my sister belt out promises from a stage.

I delighted in teaching Truett to bat.

I sat by the fire laughing with my brother.

I marveled at Steph's ability to inspire creative use of time.

I shared my disappointment with Dad on the way home from McDonalds.

What will you do with it, Sadie?

I go to God, asking for the metaphorical equivalent of the tutu-- pride and hope for facing the fear of disappointment. And not just lost time and missed opportunities of yesteryear. In the face of losing the company of those I hold most dear. Also losing the comfort.

I go because I believe He's the sure source of confidence-- still providing when my own confidence, the kind I muster up into ridiculous ensembles, dries up.

"But the one who is rich should take pride in his low position, because he will pass away like a wild flower. For the sun rises with scorching heat and withers the plant, its blossom falls and its beauty is destroyed. In the same way, the rich man will fade away even while he goes about his business." (James 1:10-11)

* "If anyone comes to me and does not hate his father and mother, his wife and children, his brothers and sisters-- yes, even his own life-- he cannot be my disciple... suppose one of you wants to build a tower. Will he not first sit down and estimate the cost to see if he has enough money to complete it?" (Luke 14:26, 28)

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Awake My Soul

{excerpts from Shaun Groves', "Awake My Soul"}

Cathedral

Arches of reaching limbs

Crickets sing secret hymns

Over all of us.

Awake my soul to live this moment

Awake my soul, give thanks and hold it

Dear now

God is here now

Awake my soul.

Hush away the hurry

Put to rest the worry

Come to quell and quiet me

In this moment given

Slow and fully live it

Drink up all the passing peace.

Awake my soul to live this moment

Awake my soul,

give thanks and hold it

Dear now

Be here now

Awake my soul.

"Stand in awe,

and sin not...

and be still.

Selah."

-Psalm 4:4

There isn't much "still" about spending a weekend with boisterous boys.

There is, however, a lot of "awake."

This leads me to believe that being still-- this command long revered and chased after by Christians and non-Christians alike-- wasn't ever meant as the end.

It's become that. If I could just get still for a moment, I'd be content. Be still, everyone, and happiness will rush over you. I get to thinking that that's the promise and, honestly, feel a little let down each time I do sit still and feel at best only a little anxiety.

I mean, I'm a happy person with a lot of life all around me and in me. I wouldn't even rank anxiety, fear up there on my list of struggles. But slow all that life down and there I am with past and future bustin' all up into the present with its "what ifs" and "you should haves" and I'm supposed to just sit there? And be happy about it?

I mean, I guess I'll do it because I'm supposed to and since disappointment of others is a ranking struggle, but surely He sees the charade, right? And if He does see through the happy to the deep down anxiety then how in the world is He satisfied by my effort to sit because I'm supposed to? And if He is satisfied with me fulfilling that requirement so check-list-ily even as my stillness is bombarded from both directions by the timeline that is my flying-by life-- if He is satisfied with a charade--then is this really a God I want to get still and knowin' about?

Also, what if your weekend, your month, your life just doesn't have room for still because you're responsible for stirring children?

For a booming business?

For stewardship of resources?

For cash flow?

For teaching new minds?

It's like we spend time trying to find a loophole to get out of the supposed "still" requirement and once we've convinced ourselves we've found the perfect excuse we start wondering what's so awesome about a God who allows such loopholes.

It's a letdown when you feel like you don't have the time to be the good Christian that sits still and ponders the supposedly awesome God* you believe in. It's an even scarier letdown when you do find the time to be still and feel far from the peace and happiness that should, supposedly, result from obedience to this long revered and chased after command.

*I say "supposedly" awesome God not because I don't believe He is awesome but because supposedly means "presumed to be true, but without proof" and sometimes our own hurried lives are all we have to go on in terms of "proof." Though we presume, believe He is worthy of awe, the hurry robs us of personal evidence.

Oh but I should, so I'll hurry to be still. As if it is the end to be achieved.

Robbing myself, really, of the real end.

Which is life.

Not the kind on either side of the present saying "should have" and "what if." Not the timeline.

Life.

Psalm 46 is a chaotic chapter of the Bible. He doesn't say "be still and get happy." The psalmist gives account of all the turmoil happening and ends it not with a promise of happiness but a near chastisement-- God saying "I've got this." I and not you.

A means to understanding this is to sit back and watch as I take care of what you'll entrust back to me. Remove yourself from the action and take moments to trust. Persevere in trust long enough to find me faithful in the action.

With so much emphasis on being still and the assumed, empty promise of happiness, I begin to miss the better, way more fulfilling side of the equation. The faithfulness in all of the action.

By all means, be still. He wouldn't have commanded it if it wasn't wise council. I do believe it is a mark of strengthened character to be able to sit and wrestle thoughts-- a strength I often can't muster up for myself.

It's not about mustering. It's about awakening.

I'm missing the faithfulness in action. There's going to be little comfort in knowing He's God while I'm still if I don't know him as God while I'm living the activity.

When I watch these boys wrestle on the green and skip rocks on the water I notice they certainly aren't still, but they also aren't hurried-- they're energized.

Hurried grasps for time, operates from weaning strength.

Energized takes advantage of time, operates from momentum.

Hurried is groggy.

Energized is awake.

Hurried lives a timeline.

Energized lives a life.

As creator of my every moment, God brings to each moment a strength I could not muster on my own. In sustaining each moment, he shows himself faithful. Gratitude for that faithfulness has the power to propel me-- it gains momentum, sustains me. Keeps me awake.

I'll continue to acknowledge God in the unsure, oft-bombarded moments of stillness.

But I want even more to awaken to the ways He acknowledges me in moments lived.

That I wouldn't be sitting anxiously before a supposedly awesome God.

That I would instead be struck standing, in awe at daily proof-providing moments of faithfulness.

Give thanks and hold it dear now, God is here now. Awake my soul.