October, 2008

In this Spiritual Formation major, we are being asked to read a lot and to reflect on what we read. We are also asked to reflect in our prayer time on certain topics. For me, reflection time tends to be a luxury. Prayers tend to be a list of points, rather than a time of dwelling and resting, so this has certainly been a challenge.

One of our more recent prayer assignments was to spend time reflecting on ourselves as God’s beloved. I couldn’t believe how tough this was for me. I spent a while resting in my position as God’s child. That was easy – seeing Him as my Daddy or even as a Mommy that I go to when I am in need of comfort, of sustenance, of a nurturing love. I go to Him for direction like I used to do with my folks. (Though with God, I probably take His directions more readily than I did my parents’!) I rail against Him when I’m frustrated even as I used to do with my parents when I was an angst-filled teen. I see God as dependable, loving, and consistently just – like I saw my folks and like I try to be as I parent my children.

But we were supposed to reflect on the idea of being God’s beloved. Though that term could be an adjective for a child, as a noun it typically applies to a lover or a spouse. Wow. Now this one was tough. Try as I might, I just couldn’t feel this one.

What’s really ironic is my name, Amy, means beloved. And when I was in college, I had a notebook (which I still use) that had a verse on the front: “Beloved, if God so loved us, we ought to love one another.” (1 John 4:11, KJV) I bought it because I liked a verse where God was “speakin’ to me”. The term beloved is translated differently in other versions, but I hauled out the old KJV concordance to find a few more verses to help me dwell on this thought. Deuteronomy 33:12 says “Let the beloved of the Lord rest secure in Him, for He shields [me] all day long, and the one the Lord loves rests between His shoulders.” I liked that one. I picture myself in a baby-backpack with my head asleep on God’s back. But that still wasn’t the beloved that the idea of a spouse conjures up. I had to go to the Song of Solomon to get that.

For my first twenty years of life this book was too embarrassing to read. Then through the twenties and those early years of marriage, it became a book of intrigue and longing. After five kids, it became a walk down memory lane. In fact to read it now exhausts me – the passion!! Needless to say I haven’t spent much time there of late. I decided to take a half-day to read it and try to picture myself as God’s beloved in the story, to picture His longing for me and to rest in thoughts of my longing for Him. Talk about tough. At first it almost seemed sacrilegious. But I know this book is often viewed as an allegory for Christ and His church, and I am, after all, a part of His church so I kept after it. Why is it easier for me to see this book on a corporate level rather than a personal one? Do I want to keep Christ at arm’s length? Don’t I want to feel myself in the same kind of tender embrace that I feel from my husband? Or is that just weird?

I tried to think of what made me feel loved by Mike. I remembered a few of those first times I felt deeply loved by him. Mind you, love was there from shortly after we began dating, but, admittedly, at that time it was largely hormonally driven. One of the first times I felt truly loved was in the first weeks after we were married. I had come home from China with parasites and carried the little critters into our wedded bliss. Combine those pests with the stress of putting a wedding together in six weeks’ time, and with the transition of actually marrying, and, well, it was enough to create more than a little turmoil in my intestinal track. I spent hours sitting on the throne and Mike would come in and sit on the tub across from me and just hold my hand.

Another of those first times I felt loved was about six months into our marriage. I couldn’t find my earrings. They were diamond earrings that Mike had given to me as a wedding gift. I was devastated. He was helping me search, turning every part of that old mobile home upside down. My mom happened to show up and asked what we were doing. Mike told her that we had lost my earrings and were looking for them. Afterwards I remember chewing on that. If the tables had been turned, I would have been sure to have noted that it was he who had lost the item, that I was the innocent party just helping out (emphasizing my magnanimous love and patience in the process). Never would I have taken blame on myself that I didn’t deserve. But here this man willingly did. He took ownership of my stupidity.

The amazing thing is that even just thinking about those times makes my heart swell with gratitude all over again. It fills me with a love that literal warms my gut and makes me want to throw myself all over Mike. Look out, Baby! (Oops! Maybe I should withhold that information…) Anyway, what I’m trying to say is that his sacrificial love creates within me a visceral response. I already knew I was loved, but when he does things like that, I feel it as well. So how do I keep that alive when I think about God?

Obviously, I need to take time to dwell on the ultimate sacrifice – the cross. I need to carry that sacrificial love around in my heart. Colossians says that we are chosen by God, holy and beloved (3:12). We had nothing to do with being chosen by God. He chose us from before time. M. Robert Mulholland, in his book The Deeper Journey explains it this way: we are “chosen in love and for love…Being beloved is no more our doing than being God’s chosen ones. The unfathomable depths of our belovedness is revealed in the cruciform love of God in Christ.” (p. 119)

So this is where I’m camping out for a while, trying to understand this idea of being chosen. As a follower. As a daughter. As a beloved.

Like a rock,

The Submissive Despot

Amy Louise

Amy Shane

July, August, September, 2008 Unscheduled Time

July, August, and September, 2008

Last may, a psychologist friend said to me that “relationship is built in large chunks of unscheduled time”. That sentence has been both plaguing and intriguing me all summer.

I am the master of the multi-tasking. For years, I have organized the lives of seven people and multiple dogs. I knew the exact number of minutes between any two locations in the city of Bakersfield and knew where the cops liked to hang out for when I was a few minutes short of what was needed. The little one-inch squares on the pages of my calendar dictated my life. “If it’s not in here, it doesn’t exist.” I perfected the art of writing very, very tiny. Three years ago, when Mike came home to roost, we began using a seven-foot long white board to coordinate driving and activities. “I’ll trade you two tennis runs for one piano run.”

I was keenly aware that activities and the 11-minute drive to or from was not cultivating the relationships that I desired. I watched Abby finishing her senior year, recognizing that I had missed the proverbial boat. Oh, I knew my daughter and I had taught her some things. But did I really know her heart, what made her tick, her joys and disappointments? I had scheduled our relationship into nice tidy boxes; I had spent far too much time talking and not nearly enough time listening. And, as God gently directed my thoughts, I realized I had done the same to Him.

The love of and desire for God that I possessed earlier in life had been replaced by busy-ness, by duty, by empty activities. The passion had been edged out by a sort of rationalism as I had spent a lot of time talking about God, but little time sitting with Him. My joy was on vacation. There was another time in my life when I had felt this way. It was when we were living in China. I had cried out to God to restore that passion and He answered by sending us home where the next two years were spent walking with God and journaling as I listened to His voice. Somehow, three more kids and building a new house eclipsed what I had learned. Yet God has relentlessly pursued, and the desire to intimately know God burns ever stronger within. My only question was, “How do I get there?”

I’ve written before how God, in His mysterious ways, led us to decide to go to seminary with Mike choosing to pursue something in the pastoral field. For me, the path was also clear: don’t go the route of pure intellectual studies, but find something that will teach me to dwell at the feet of Jesus. My search led me to this major called spiritual formation (aka, Christian Formation and Soul Care; aka, Spiritual Formation and Discipling; aka, GROWING UP!). It is a study of the spiritual giants of the past, reading their writings, studying their journey paradigms, searching Scripture for the same. It’s a major where you are actually assigned to go on prayer retreats (!!!), to have times of meditation and journaling.

And it is excitingly terrifying. I (think I) could handle studying Greek, conjugating verbs, arguing about interpretations, exegeting passages, studying the cultural backdrops of various Scriptures. That’s all done in the brain. But to take a day to contemplate one of God’s attributes? From my heart? I just don’t know what to expect. And frankly, because of baggage from growing up in a denomination that taught that we alone held the true answers and no one else had anything else to contribute, I find I have many hurdles to cross before I can even glean the good that others may have to teach me. I enjoy reading what the Christian mystics wrote, but I have such a hard time with the term “mystic”, that it takes me longer to soothe my brain to prepare to read it than it does to actually read the words.

As I’ve set my feet to this adventure, I have found the distractions multitudinous. One was sheer exhaustion: I had spent over 10 weeks living out of a suitcase in the summer. Some were self-induced: a desire to have everything settled, a decision to do some remodeling after we moved in. Some were because I’m simply a mom – the kids had to be settled first before I could begin to think about my own desires. They needed those “large chunks of unscheduled time”. And some were of another nature: the first three weeks I spent more hours picking nits and full-grown lice out of kids’ hair and laundering over and over every sheet and blanket that we owned than I spent studying. All things combined were also why my newsletter was set aside for a couple of months. Lice or letters? Hmmmm, you choose.

So the last couple of weeks, I’ve finally settled in, reading about the contemplative life, what that means and how one achieves such a thing. In doing so, it has become very clear why most contemplatives were monks and nuns – motherhood is hard to integrate with that lifestyle. I had my first “large chunk of unscheduled time” (which I had to schedule in) contemplating my relationship with God. It was wonderful. Yet I know there has to be a way to dwell at Jesus’ feet and still get the laundry done and dinner on the table. I’m excited to learn more and yet I find I’m scared. I know I’ll have to set aside desires and I fear mourning their loss. I fear turning into some weirdo mystic type. I long to feel a deep joy again like I had earlier in life, a passion that burns in my gut. But to feel that again will mean realigning priorities and that is always tough. I also wonder what will happen to me if I give in fully, abandoning myself to whatever God has in store. I so hate being out of control.

Thanks again for joining me on this journey. I hope as I share all of you will be inspired to grow as well. And if you see me getting weird, feel free to hit me upside the head.

Like a rock,

The Submissive Despot

Amy Louise

Amy Shane

June, 2008 End of the Tunnel, Maybe

June, 2008

What a journey. I planned to go back to school after my youngest entered kindergarten. But with the sale of our family business and Mike leaving his job coinciding with Elly heading off to school, my desires were left on hold. We began searching out our options for the next job or ministry, the next location, the next everything. Last fall, I decided to look again at my schooling options and we finally decided to put our home on the market. If you’ve been reading these newsletters, you know where that took us. Straight to Limboland.

Frankly, God and I have very different ideas of what constitutes an efficient use of my time. I spent a lot of time prepping a house and moving out for a rock star that apparently was stoned when he made us an offer. We spent a ton of time and energy prepping a rental house for us to use only to realize 20 years of smoking permeates even the struts in the walls. The only good thing to come of it all seems to be Limboland motivated us to move a little more aggressively.

I began the process of applying to a grad school in the L.A. area where we found a house. We plowed ahead, happy with the choice. Well, almost happy. There was something still missing that I couldn’t put my finger on. On a whim, I looked at the website of another seminary. There was nothing that drew me immediately, but I found my heart kept wandering back to it. Something about that site was calling to me on a subconscious level. It was unsettling.

The result was that May found us in Denver, meeting with a psychologist who gave us personality/career type tests and doing counseling under a counselor who should have been labeled a soul surgeon. (Go to www.restoringthesoul.com if you dare.) Between the two we found ourselves asking ourselves “Who did God make me uniquely to be?” “What are my interests and my deepest desires?” “What is motivating to do what am I doing now?” A lot of these questions I’ve been processing this year anyway, but in May Mike and I had three weeks to dwell on them deeply, lingering with God in a way that I had not done in a long time.

I kept reading about “walking beside still waters and having my soul restored” and dreamed of what that could mean - not that I really felt my soul was in shambles, but more just a yearning. In Proverbs chapter four, the phrase “above all else, guard your heart” kept popping out at me. I began to wonder just what guarding meant – was it proactive or defensive? I checked out Matthew Henry who described it as maintaining “a holy jealousy of ourselves”, keeping our hearts “from doing hurt and getting hurt”. Others describe it as taking care of your thoughts or watching your mind. But when I checked out the Hebrew, it Strong’s says the word can be positive (to protect or maintain) or negative (conceal). The psychologist spoke to me of finding Sabbath rest and contentment, of having joy.

Finding that rest would prevent “getting hurt”, but what about the positive, pro-active side? I dreamed about delving deeper into my heart and soul and truly understanding how God made me and then protecting, maintaining, and nurturing what I find. Being conservative and simultaneously a female leader has caused me a lot of angst, not really knowing where I fit in the church. This is just one area where I’d love to find peace and rest.

All year the siren call of God has been luring me away from busyness and to a deeper relationship. And my heart and soul long for it deeply. But I was stumped as to how to get there. Although I loved the seminary in LA, when I’d talk to people and when I’d read their website and literature, all I was getting was their emphasis on the intellectual, even though I realize there’s more there than that. The other seminary’s website spoke of searching your heart, “becoming a better you” as you follow God and grow spiritually. As I reflected on these things, I realized I already know how to run down the path of intellect, of study, of performance. The area I need to spend time in is this area of being, of growing in the intangibles. And I needed time to rest and reflect on these things.

Mike also spent time thinking about who God made him to be. When we were first married I told Mike that I had sworn I would never marry a) someone from my hometown, b) a farmer, c) a pastor. Mike had moved to my hometown after college, so I let God off the hook on that one. A little later in our married life, I realized you can take the boy off the farm but you can’t take the farm out of the boy. So God snuck in another one. But I stood my ground. I repeated loud and often that God wasn’t sneaking in the last one. Unfortunately, I think my resolve squelched my husband. As I finally looked at his heart, I saw a man who loves to come alongside of others, encourage them, mentor them, journey with them. I saw a man full of mercy and compassion with a strong love for the Lord. I saw a man with a pastor’s heart. Mike recognized it as well. God, 3. Amy, 0.

By the end of our counseling, we had made the decision to move to Denver and we began the application process to Denver Seminary. Only instead of me going full-time, it’ll be Mike. And though I will be studying some, my focus is going to be on dwelling, resting, and drinking at God’s well. The last month has been full of house hunting and getting said house ready (thus the lateness of this letter).

I guess our next step is to continue this faith leap. Frankly (excuse my French) it scares the crap out of me. I know how to perform in a classroom. I’ve barely got a clue how to “be”, how to dwell in relationship with my Lord. I used to think I knew how to do this, but the further down this faith path I go, the more I realize I’m a pathetic mess. And speaking of mess, my friend spoke to me the other day about how living by faith always makes life an adventure, but the real excitement comes when you give God permission to “mess with your life”. This walk of faith goes beyond simply trusting, into a realm of releasing the conditions that you put on God, putting all of your dependence on Him alone. Such messing scares me. It’s scary because God doesn’t call Himself a safe God. But He is Good and it is that to which I cling. “Though He slay me, yet will I trust Him.”

Yet the questions linger. What if we get started in seminary and then He throws us back into limboland? What if we finish seminary and after all that He moves us back to limbo, no closer to any goal that we thought we may have had? We took a step of faith and bought a house in Denver without a rock star or anyone in sight to buy our old one. What’s He going to do with that? I know it is trials that develop faith. Am I willing to give Him free reign? God’s goal for my life is Christlikeness. What’s it going to take to get me there?

Like a rock,

The Submissive Despot

Amy Louise

Amy Shane

May, 2008 Fly, Abby, Fly!

May, 2008

Spoiler: sentimentality ahead.

It’s a day when every mistake you’ve ever made comes floating back to haunt you, causing you to wonder if any one of them will prove fatal. I spent the week rehashing every lost temper, every impatient word. Memories of being too busy, too tired, too distracted, too pregnant pricked. The only redeeming thought all week was just to look at my beautiful daughter and, seeing how wonderful she turned out, to realize that I must have done something right.

I spent the last 17 and a half years encouraging independence, and sometimes I wonder if I went too far. My Abby really didn’t need my opinion anymore – she learned to think for herself. She didn’t need my advice – she had learned to surround herself with lots of godly counsel. She didn’t want my hugs since words, not touch, is her love language, and words of praise and encouragement were coming from every direction. I keep telling myself she actually does need all of those and more, and in a few years she’ll come to realize that herself.

Actually, the last three weeks, Abby has suddenly become sentimental. As the realization that she was about to leave home has descended upon her, her independence has done an about-face: she’s been hugging her siblings, taking Anna out to lunch, wanting to just sit and talk. I was soaking it all in. And then it came.

Thursday night she graduated, her exuberant spirit drawn in multi-colors on the top of her graduation cap. She gave a speech, walked across a stage, and suddenly my job as it was known is done. Friday she had her last piano lesson (all those years of driving!!!) followed by an open house where she virtually floated, playing the perfect adult hostess. Saturday morning dawned early as she and her dad packed into a car to drive off to her summer job a thousand miles away. From there she will continue another thousand miles to college at Wheaton in August.

As I gave her my final hug, my heart was ripping out of my body. I released the balloons from the previous night’s party and released Abby as well, hoping and praying that she would fly as high as those balloons, floating with the wind of the Spirit into her future. How could I be so happy for my daughter, for her as she enters into her future as an adult, and yet so sad at the same time? My joy was intertwined with my sorrow to the point that I couldn’t focus for several hours. It was much, much harder than I had expected. And at the same time, I’d not have it any other way.

On the internet news later that day was the photo of a mother sitting by a pile of what had been a building. She sat on a little three-legged stool, clutching a photo of her daughter who was missing, presumably under the collapsed building near Chengdu, China. I wept as I looked at the photo, realizing the crushed dreams of that poor mother. In a country where most families are allowed one child, to lose that child, on whom the hopes of four grandparents and two parents rest, is unimaginable.

Then I read further down the list of headlines and saw another one about the death of Steven Curtis Chapman’s daughter. This incredibly gifted singer, who has blessed hundreds of thousands with his music and thousands more with his pro-adoption ministry, now was facing the most painful thing ever: the death of one child, killed accidentally by another of his children. The horrific magnitude of their pain grabbed at something so deep in my belly that it made me feel ill the rest of the day. I, along with multitudes, listened to the radio stations playing his “Cinderella” song, inspired by his little girl, a song about taking advantage of what time we have because so soon they will be gone. I cried a little while driving. Then I came home and allowed myself to weep like a baby.

How blessed I am to be releasing my daughter to a bright future of living for Christ instead of what these dear parents are facing. As I sat and thought about this, I was reminded of another time a song sent a skewer of conviction into my heart. It was when I was pregnant and didn’t want to be. I don’t remember why I was upset, maybe it was just hormones or maybe it was swollen ankles, but I was driving along spewing off all of my frustration to God. Alone in the car, I yelled, asking Him if He even cared. I drove along quiet for a while and then punched on the radio, bringing up a song I had heard many times before. Apparently, though, I had never heard it before.

It was a song by Twila Paris and it described her releasing her baby back to God after it had died, either through miscarriage or through stillbirth. I realized He was showing me the alternative and found myself crying so hard I had to pull over where I begged God’s forgiveness.

Motherhood has been this way for me – embracing it one moment and being frustrated to the point of wanting to chuck it all the next. Thankfully, God is there to walk with me when I’m experiencing the latter, bonking me upside the head when I need it, reminding me of His gentle graces. The graces that show up in my children. In my Abby.

God bless you, Abby. Keep holding His hand as you now walk and someday as you fly. You’ll do well. Go with grace and joy. I am so proud of you.

Like a rock,

The Submissive Despot

Amy Louise

Amy Shane

April, 2008 Loosening

April, 2008

I was at a concert the other night where a friend of mine gave a little talk on the topic of binding and loosing, taken from the book of Matthew where Christ tells his disciples that what they bind on earth will be bound in heaven and what they loose on earth will be loosed in heaven. Though I have heard many interpretations of the exact meaning of this phrase, a new application of it gave me goose bumps. My friend was referring to a gift that had been given to his ministry and how that gift had “loosened” them to do what God had created them to do.

Unfortunately, I missed the rest of what my friend said, because immediately my mind started racing. Who or what was I binding? Who or what do I know needs loosing? How exactly does one bind or loosen others? I began to think of my husband and kids. Was I binding or loosing them? What about friends? Ministries? And how does one go about loosing a child? Can one be too loosened?

I began to think of how I could help to “loosen” some ministries. Where could I give that would allow them to be more of what God created them to be? This week, I received a couple of copies of an email going around about the economic stimulus package and asking people to reconsider how they might use it. Since it was an unexpected source of funds, why not use it to bless someone or some ministry, the email suggested. Use it to “loosen” something that God wants loosed, help someone become more of whom God created them to be.

Money is one thing that binds ministries and people, but there are other things. I’ve been especially conscious of the role of my tongue in that process this season. These last couple of years, God has been showing me how I need to study my kids (and my husband, and my friends), listen to their hearts’ desires, help them develop their gifts and talents and help them learn who God made them to be. I tend to be quick to judge and not very fast on the verbal support. Like many moms, my first answer is an emphatic no or a nebulous maybe, rather than an honest look. If it costs me time and energy, it has a dismal future.

For example, I have seen how God has given Abby a creative mind. I’ve always considered myself creative, but my creativity is within the box of an analytical mind. Abby is creative without bounds. Where I’m creative in order to come up with solutions, she’s creative just to create. She’s big picture, not details. She’s drama, not behind-the-scenes. She’s a prism waiting for that beam of light that allows her to explode with color.

Unfortunately, sometimes I don’t have the patience for such creativity. Just get it done. Keep it simple. Don’t make me drive out of the way. I’m quick to shut things down. Like much of the evangelical church, I am more comfortable on the left side of my brain. But God didn’t make us all that way and there is a vast force of God’s people out there who are straining under us lecture-teacher-preacher types. They are groaning, wondering where they fit in, filled with drama, music (not hymns or worship, but music just for music’s sake), dance, and art. My daughter is one of them. She wants to lead a night of worship at church – one where drawings, art and photo exhibits, music, and poetry are used to worship. She wants to cover the floor with paper and allow the kids to draw expressions of their love for God. And I am biting my tongue through it all, curbing my instincts to just shut it down because it is outside my box. I’ve seen in the past how a word with no forethought crushed her. And I don’t want to do that again. I’ve been quick to dismiss her contributions and God let me know that my dismissive attitude was sin. He showed me that He made her that way, that what she has to contribute is not only valid, but valuable, and I and the church at large are better for it. I know that this night of worship that she’s putting together will be a blessing to many. I am so proud of her and all of her accomplishments. I want to be like a mother tiger now, eating alive anyone who dares crush her soul, her biggest advocate and cheerleader, ready to help in whatever way I can to loosen her, to set her free.

The last month has provided me opportunities to help Anna learn to appreciate her own gifts as well, to help loosen her so God’s grace can flow through her gifts to others. She is as detail-oriented as Abby is creative. Anna has a passion for ministry, but sees ministry as being for the bold and the brave which she is not. She prefers helping behind the scenes. (Though I must say, she was awesome when she was in drama on stage.) She is an organizer, seeing efficiency problems and correcting them. Because I am similarly wired, it is easier for me to cheer on her gifts (until she starts correcting my parenting deficiencies). The hardest part for me is when she comes up with an alternative solution to my solution. I have to be careful not to shoot it down just because it didn’t originate with me. Sometimes I do and I see how it hurts her to not even be heard. Anna is often down on herself a lot as well, feeling as though she had “lesser” gifts, that she would never be able to marry her gifts with ministry. I assured her most churches and ministries are in desperate need of organization, but it tends to fall on deaf ears. Or it did until this month.

An Edict from the Mom went forth at the end of last summer that Mom would no longer employ her own children and any employable kids must find a summer job. As we brainstormed ideas, I tried to keep asking myself “How is Anna uniquely Anna?” or “Who did God make Anna to be?” When we found out that Grandma needed help moving and organizing her new home, that provided a solution for the first month. Then we decided that Anna could go help my friend with a ministry called Women at Risk (mentioned in a previous newsletter). They always need volunteers, categorizing the jewelry, helping in the office, doing data entry and mailings. So that will round out the rest of her summer. Anna was practically beaming when we landed on this idea. She could be her own unique self and help out a ministry at the same time! What God had created or loosed in heaven had just been loosed on earth. And if they give her free rein in that office, loosing her even more, her gift will flow and will be a blessing to all, as she organizes the snot out of it.

Mike and I have also been looking at his gifts. Though I readily see his gift of encouragement, I often find myself slipping into forcing him into my expectations rather than letting him live out who God made him to be. When allowed to be who God made him to be, he flourishes, men are encouraged, and God is glorified. Though slow, I am learning. And what’s more, as I learn, I grow in appreciation for my husband and who he is. This last week, Mike also decided to “loosen” me. (Hopefully, it won’t be too much – we’d hate to see what a fully-loosened Amy looks like!!) It appears (“God willing and the creek don’t rise”) that I will be returning to grad school to get more training so that I can improve my knowledge of the Word and people helping me to be a better teacher through my writing and speaking.

So I guess I want to close with a question this month: Who or what do you know that needs loosing? And how can you be a part of that?

Like a rock,

The Submissive Despot

Amy Louise

Amy Shane

March, 2008 Limboland

March, 2008

Two and a half years ago, when our family business sold and Mike left his job there we made a decision to not make any decisions too quickly. Little did I realize that it would be this long. Finally, last fall we decided we were going to leave our beautiful home and move closer to the high school. The day after we put our home up for sale, the newspapers read “housing market tanks”. In the time that ensued, we began to rethink our decision, coming up with tons of options. Unfortunately, the more options we came up with, the more muddied the water became until by the end of January, we were totally confused. In the past, when I’ve been in situations like this, I have added fasting to my praying and God has always honored that, providing answers every time (though not always the answers I had thought I wanted). So this time around I opted for a 40-day period fasting and prayer to ask God to make our direction clear. Mike decided to join me. I began with high expectations.

Right near the end of our fasting period, we had a couple that wanted to see our home, but the day before they were to come, another guy came in to see it. Long story, short, he made an offer and added about 6% over our asking price so that he could have it within two weeks, later agreeing to 30 days. A week later, after a second look, he added even more to the offer to buy our furnishings, from the artwork down to the pots and pans. He was a young guy, a rock star who, it was obvious, deeply needed God. We said yes, and began the process of sorting every individual drawer and cupboard, getting rid of excess, packing up personal stuff and leaving the rest for him as a turn-key. It was an incredible experience to look at every item I owned and ask if it were personally meaningful so that I would want to keep it or should it stay behind? I found when I thought about leaving it behind as a way to care for and possibly reach the buyer for God, I was ready to leave just about everything. Had it been just an anonymous face, I would have felt far more attached.

We began talking about how God had brought about this miracle – an offer over our asking price in a bad market. We were thrilled that our kids were direct witness to a real-life miracle as well. And when Mike began to think about moving into a (comparatively) very small house that he knew about, I saw why God had the guy buying our furnishings. A rental opened up next door to friends that needed grunt work but the owner was willing to work with us. Everything began to fall into place. It was a crazy month, but every bump was met with the knowledge that God has answered our prayers for clarity. People were talking about what God had done and praising Him. Two friends were challenged to begin incorporating the spiritual discipline of fasting into their lives. Others were simply encouraged and rejoiced with us.

The month ended with our moving into the rental the day before he was to come up and bring the money. Then he didn’t show. And no one could contact him. After a week of no contact, we were forced to the conclusion that he had taken us all for a ride, the rock star thing was nothing more than a possible way to hook up with his realtor or he simply enjoyed seeing what he could get away with. Mike had to leave for China, and I was left behind wondering “What in the world was that, God???” Was He trying to teach me faith? I had complete faith that He’d bring it to pass. Was He showing me how to let go of my stuff? I honestly don’t think I held it that tightly – it wasn’t that hard to let go! (Although, in a nod to total honesty, most stuff I figured if I wanted it badly enough, I could just buy a duplicate.) Was it that God reneged? Had I just witnessed the first instance of His unfaithfulness? Or was this just the results of living in a fallen world? I figured if it were that, God could overcome that fact if He wanted to. All I can say is if one more person says “It must not have been God’s will for this deal to happen” I will scream. Knowing my gut feelings, I’m surprised the Biblical character Job didn’t just haul off and smack one of his buddies. To me, to stick the “God’s will” bandaid on wounds just causes me to feel as though I am not being intellectually honest. I don’t mind recognizing God’s hand in things, in fact I rely heavily on being aware of His sovereignty, but to slap some platitudinal bandaid on without first wrestling through the issue is a copout, the result of giving up or not being willing to mentally deal with the hard stuff. (Of course, if I’m the one kissing the wound to make it better, it’s probably appropriate.)

I called my friend. After sympathizing, she said that maybe God was trying to force me to learn to live in limbo, that maybe Amy-the-planner-and-executor would have to take a back seat and wait in the grey fog for a while. Maybe even try to enjoy it. She said that maybe God didn’t want things clearer, that His purpose was not to have me figuring out what to do, but rather to make me Christ-like. Have you ever had a friend that can both simultaneously hug you and kick your rear at the same time? I used to like that kind of friend. This time, I told her to shut up.

Sometimes, after the wrestling, we find silence. Like Orual in Till We Have Faces (C.S. Lewis), I cry for an audience with the gods, only to find myself silent, on my face, because there is no human explanation.

So here I sit in limbo, with what seems to be unanswered prayers. We’re back to the muck and mire of not knowing what direction we’re going. We are still in the rental, but we might move back to our old home if no buyer shows up soon. And I’m waiting. Well, OK, I’m making all kinds of contingency plans while I’m waiting, but I’m still waiting. Waiting to fall in love with this limboland, waiting to see what Christ-like quality comes out of this. Just waiting. And maybe, I too will find, as Orual discovered, that God sometimes does not answer because He, himself, is the answer.

Like a rock,

The Submissive Despot

Amy Louise

Amy Shane

February, 2008 Speaking on Behalf of God

February, 2008

Many years ago, God used a sledgehammer to gently point out that my prideful attitude was destroying my marriage. Thinking back, it is a tribute to Mike’s patience that he even remained with me during those early years of our marriage. If you’ll pardon the expression, I was a witch with a capital B. On steroids. The thing is, I saw it as mostly mental – I only thought the thoughts. I didn’t actually verbalize them. Or so was my delusion. In reality (as I later realized), they seeped out like the unidentifiable stuff in the bottom of your vegetable drawer. The routing out of that hideous attitude was a grueling two-step process.

The first came a few months after our return from living in China. Using a mental picture combined with an almost-audible voice of the Holy Spirit, God showed me what He thought of my proclivity for pride. The conviction was intense, the repentance pure. Then began the second step of the day-by-day retraining of my mind. Every time a self-exalting or others-bashing thought came to my mind, I had to capture it, confess it, re-focus and replace it with a God-honoring one. It was tough. At first, the thought-training came dozens of times each hour. Only sleep offered a respite. Slowly, I realized it was taking less time; instead of hourly, it was daily, then weekly. After about two years, I finally felt free of the beast.

And our marriage reflects it.

Unfortunately, just because you slay the beast in one area doesn’t mean it’s slain in all areas.

Last month, a women’s Bible study group wanted to invite my friend to come and present her ministry, Women at Risk (WAR). Unfortunately, the whole thing had come about very suddenly and on such short notice, she was unable to come. So they turned to me and asked me to come and present an overview to them in the 20 – 30 minute introduction time prior to the start of their study.

Most people who know me know that talking comes easily and that I could talk for a half hour even if I’m half-asleep. But this time it was different. I had taught Sunday School lessons a bazillion times, presented lectures for other engagements and presented them. When I speak about China or my children, it’s no problem – those are MY territory.

But this – this was my friend’s ministry. Part of my job was to show the women the need for this ministry, to show how WAR is helping to fill the need, and to whet their appetite for my friend to come present it more in full. The more I dwelt on it, the more panicked I became. I know my friend well, but the ministry aspect I have only recently come to understand. And I have lived a privileged life here in America – how do I, if I have rarely seen poverty or pain as severe as these women endure – how do I represent it to these ladies? What if I can’t present it well? What if they scoff at me since I have never visited the safe houses that I am supposed to be talking about? What if the women don’t want my friend to come speak and it was simply because my presentation was lousy? What in the world do I think I’m doing?

The “aha” moment rose slowly. This is what I should be feeling every time I’m speaking. Whether I speak to groups or my Sunday School, I’m representing God and His ministry here on earth. When I talk about China. And when I write about my kids or my thoughts in this newsletter. Holy cow. Do I know enough about His ministry, His intentions, His purposes? Do I know enough about the topic I’m teaching? Do I know enough about Him and His character to present Him so well that it whets others’ appetites to invite Him in, to linger with Him longer? What in the world do I think I’m doing? I prepared probably twice as much as I had ever done getting ready for that little intro talk.

Once I knew I had it ready, I began to relax. And that was my problem. My guard had gone down.

Maybe because I had just written last month about wanting to increase my mailing list for this newsletter, a new thought arose. Hmmmm. A whole room full of women who don’t get my newsletter. Maybe I could tell them a little about it. Maybe I could drop a hint I’d be open to other speaking engagements or something else as well. A little marketing never hurt anyone. Thankfully, the Holy Spirit was quick with His sledgehammer to intervene. Oh yeah. I was there to represent someone else. That meant my goal was to be as transparent as possible, so that only my friend’s ministry stood out. He brought a line from my favorite hymn back to mind: “…and may they forget the channel, seeing only Him”. This was not the time for marketing me. In fact, it wasn’t about me at all.

Arrrgh! How’d I get to thinking about raising my own stature again? Why does this pride thing keep sneaking its ugly little talons into my brain? I began to think about my other speaking situations. What had been my motivations in those? To exalt self or to exalt Christ? What about Sunday School every week? Do I try to turn the kids’ minds to God or do I want them to see me as the “fun” teacher? Are we not always supposed to be representing the One who gave us life?

God has taken me to task so many times on this issue. He takes me over a major hurdle in this area only to have me trip on a pebble. Will I ever become a polished diamond in His hand or will He forever have me in His dop, chiseling away at another imperfection? Is there any hope for us rocks this side of heaven? Oh, wait a minute. I forgot. He likes to work with us rock-headed, chisel-avoiding, imperfect things called humans. What a wonder.

Like a rock,

The Submissive Despot

Amy Louise

Amy Shane