February, 2009
I’ve been doing a lot of reading now that I’m back in school. No more shall my intellectual subsistence be three headlines and a magazine “novelette”. Seminary has already forced Mike into full-time reading glasses. (At least, that is what he’s blaming them on!) What has been interesting is which books and classes really appeal to me.
This past year it became clear to me that God wanted me to learn how to sit at His feet, to grow in being rather than doing, relationship rather than tasks. I came into this major where the emphasis is just that. But we still have a host of core courses. And I love them! I love studying; I love learning; I love analyzing and approaching Scripture with my mind. And I’m learning in the other area as well – approaching Scripture with my heart. But I have to work a lot harder to get there in those. In truth there are times when I think, “What in the world am I doing?”
I look around at the people in my major and I see all of these sweet, caring individuals. They all speak softly. They all speak encouraging words with smiles that never belie what they are truly thinking. (Not that they necessarily are thinking differently from what their face is telling, but I know what I would be thinking….) I see quiet calm individuals who have been relational all of their lives. I see people for whom being a harsh task master means they forgot to say “Please”.
At a recent class, one gal was leading the devotional. She had us close our eyes and picture Jesus walking into the room, beckoning to us to go outside with Him, and walking arm in arm with Him around campus. Then she asked us to listen and hear what He was telling us. This kind of exercise is still a little tough for me – a bit too “squishy”. I tend to prefer something a little more concrete. But I tried. And as I did, I heard a voice (not literally – for those of you other concrete types out there). It started telling me how I wasn’t fitting in and how I needed to change to a kinder, softer Amy. My feeling as I ended the exercise was one of feeling unloved, of feeling as though He didn’t like me and that I wasn’t good enough. And frankly, I was upset.
I understand if we are living in sin or something that we need to change. But if this is how we are made, if God is the one who wired us this way, why do I need to change? Is it that God doesn’t like me? Does a need for change always mean that? An old saying comes to mind: “God loves you just the way you are – and too much to leave you that way”. Is that just Christianese for “God loves you just the way you are – well, maybe not”? Do I need to undergo a personality overhaul to be a spiritual director? (Or whatever job this leads to?) And why is God calling me to learn in an arena that is so foreign to me? Was it God calling? Couldn’t I pursue a nice concrete Biblical Studies major and just take a few of these other classes as electives? Or would that allow me to distance myself too much from what God wants me to learn? And, God, do I really have to change? Do You not like me the way I am? I’ve been beat up my whole life for being too loud, too boisterous, too generous, too strong. Just too much. Do You think I’m too much too, God?
I was finally starting to feel comfortable again with this path when I went to a meeting where a group was looking to hire a director of spiritual formation. Unfortunately, they don’t feel a woman would fit the bill. Though the women of the group would enjoy it, the leader didn’t think the men in the group would be comfortable following a woman. I don’t quite get that. The group is looking for a godly person. Why does gender matter? I’m not out to change anyone’s theology and I understand the basis for many not wanting a female leader in the church. (I was raised under that teaching.) But this was not a church. Imagine if the leadership of that group modeled to the younger members that one can learn from anyone, that one should always be willing to look up to and pattern their lives after someone of a godly character, regardless of gender.
I began to question myself. Is this what I’m going to be up against if I pursue this field? Frankly, if it is, I don’t want it. I’m too tired and too old to fight this battle. And frankly, I don’t care that much. I have enough things in my life to keep me busy and happy. Besides, even if it is right, we are never called to push for our rights, but to be willing to surrender them for the sake of others. Yet I wonder. Am I wasting my time studying to be a spiritual director if the groups I hang with won’t let me be one? There are plenty of other things I could see myself doing. And if that route is going to be a daily battle of defending myself, forget it. I’d rather pursue something innocuous like being a teacher or professor. It seems most are OK with a woman teaching the Bible if it is teaching other women or if it is as an intellectual pursuit in an institution of higher learning. It’s when you go from the arena of intellectual leadership positions to that of relational/spiritual leadership that the gender questions are raised. Yet that is the direction I’m being drawn. Go figure. God – are You sure You are in this?
Like a rock,
The Submissive Despot
Amy Louise
Amy Shane
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
January, 2009
January, 2009
I remember when I first heard about the discipline of fasting. I was in college and read Richard Foster’s Celebration of Discipline. I was intrigued because he was advocating stuff that belonged to “the other team”, things I had never learned about growing up. That book was the catalyst to help me pray with more than a laundry list of requests. It was then that I also began to journal. And I began to incorporate fasting with my prayer time when I felt the need.
At first, my fasting was mostly for a specific request – something I wanted or needed intensely. (Usually I needed direction in something I was considering. And dates. Getting a date was almost always on my prayer list in those desperate years.) I wasn’t perfect in my motivations, but I was learning. I also fasted when I just wanted to feel closer to God. I would be feeling distant, and after searching my heart for known sins and coming up empty, I still would feel a lack in my relationship with God. So I would fast and pray to ask God to renew my feelings of desire and love for Him.
Why fast? Often I found fasting seemed to increase my spiritual sensitivity. God would remind me of sins that needed dealing with. I would have my clarity in my prayers. And I seemed to just be more “in tune” when reading the Bible. Most of the time I find I need to have more time for reflection during seasons of fasting (whether it be for one meal, one week, or 40 days). I need to clear some space and have more time to journal. My journal time is consistently where I learn the most as I process what I hear the Spirit saying through the Word or through others. I’ve known others who process best when running or when hiking out in the woods. I love talking to God when I run, but if I want to remember what He impresses on my heart during that run, I’ve got to write it down.
This fall I had a strange thing happen. There is a couple here undergoing huge trials. I barely know them, but got wind of it and felt compelled to pray for them, so I emailed the guy to tell him I’d be praying for them. What was weird is that, instead of praying a few times, God would not let this one go. I was waking up multiple times at night with them on my mind. (To put that in perspective, know that for the last ten years Mike has done most all night duty with our kiddos. I sleep through cries, vomitings, fevers, whatever.) They were on my mind when I’d go for a walk, at meal times, every time I turned around it seemed I was thinking of them. So I prayed. And prayed some more. And more.
And then the effects of the bad economy started to affect many of the ministries we love and support. People – friends – were being let go. Budgets were being cut. Normally tightening the belt can be a healthy thing, but many of these groups were already running lean and mean. The next thing to be cut was ministry itself. These are tough times for everyone, but for groups such as these whose livelihoods often depend on others’ surplus or, at least, on others feeling generous, it is especially difficult. So, added to the couple on my prayer list, were these ministries, often weighing my heart in a way I hadn’t felt in a long time.
The weight got so pressing I finally, around Christmas, decided to start the New Year with 40 days of prayer and fasting for this couple and these groups. I thought maybe I’d write this newsletter near the end of those forty days and be able to tell how well it went. Instead, it was probably the most difficult time of fasting I have ever done. Yes, the couple’s health issues improved some, but not without much pain. And the ministries are still barely surviving.
For myself, I had trouble carving out time to journal. In fact, instead of journaling more, I probably did less than I had in a year! I had trouble concentrating in prayer. My sister came into town right before I finished the forty days and she asked me what had changed during the fast. I had to tell her pretty much nothing had changed. Sure, I prayed more than usual, but I kept feeling like it wasn’t “connecting”. One ministry is asking for prayer (with or without fasting) every Tuesday for the year (which I had wanted them to do) and the day after my fast ended I even missed the Tuesday prayer time. It was frustrating. It was bizarre. I wanted to write my newsletter, but wasn’t sure how to even write about it. In Scripture, fasting and prayer go hand-in-hand. Or you can pray without fasting. But it doesn’t direct us to fast without prayer.
So I write this time as an appeal on behalf of those who are serving God by serving others. Please join me in prayer for them. Have your computer remind you every Tuesday this year. Pray that God’s word will continue to go out. Pray that they are able to continue helping others in the name of Christ. For some of these ministries, even their survival is in question. Pray for those that they are trying to reach, that their hearts will be turned to God. Just pray. Give. Serve. Volunteer. And then pray some more.
And be thankful that, no matter how this year goes, we know Who wins in the end.
Like a rock,
The Submissive Despot
Amy Louise
Amy Shane
I remember when I first heard about the discipline of fasting. I was in college and read Richard Foster’s Celebration of Discipline. I was intrigued because he was advocating stuff that belonged to “the other team”, things I had never learned about growing up. That book was the catalyst to help me pray with more than a laundry list of requests. It was then that I also began to journal. And I began to incorporate fasting with my prayer time when I felt the need.
At first, my fasting was mostly for a specific request – something I wanted or needed intensely. (Usually I needed direction in something I was considering. And dates. Getting a date was almost always on my prayer list in those desperate years.) I wasn’t perfect in my motivations, but I was learning. I also fasted when I just wanted to feel closer to God. I would be feeling distant, and after searching my heart for known sins and coming up empty, I still would feel a lack in my relationship with God. So I would fast and pray to ask God to renew my feelings of desire and love for Him.
Why fast? Often I found fasting seemed to increase my spiritual sensitivity. God would remind me of sins that needed dealing with. I would have my clarity in my prayers. And I seemed to just be more “in tune” when reading the Bible. Most of the time I find I need to have more time for reflection during seasons of fasting (whether it be for one meal, one week, or 40 days). I need to clear some space and have more time to journal. My journal time is consistently where I learn the most as I process what I hear the Spirit saying through the Word or through others. I’ve known others who process best when running or when hiking out in the woods. I love talking to God when I run, but if I want to remember what He impresses on my heart during that run, I’ve got to write it down.
This fall I had a strange thing happen. There is a couple here undergoing huge trials. I barely know them, but got wind of it and felt compelled to pray for them, so I emailed the guy to tell him I’d be praying for them. What was weird is that, instead of praying a few times, God would not let this one go. I was waking up multiple times at night with them on my mind. (To put that in perspective, know that for the last ten years Mike has done most all night duty with our kiddos. I sleep through cries, vomitings, fevers, whatever.) They were on my mind when I’d go for a walk, at meal times, every time I turned around it seemed I was thinking of them. So I prayed. And prayed some more. And more.
And then the effects of the bad economy started to affect many of the ministries we love and support. People – friends – were being let go. Budgets were being cut. Normally tightening the belt can be a healthy thing, but many of these groups were already running lean and mean. The next thing to be cut was ministry itself. These are tough times for everyone, but for groups such as these whose livelihoods often depend on others’ surplus or, at least, on others feeling generous, it is especially difficult. So, added to the couple on my prayer list, were these ministries, often weighing my heart in a way I hadn’t felt in a long time.
The weight got so pressing I finally, around Christmas, decided to start the New Year with 40 days of prayer and fasting for this couple and these groups. I thought maybe I’d write this newsletter near the end of those forty days and be able to tell how well it went. Instead, it was probably the most difficult time of fasting I have ever done. Yes, the couple’s health issues improved some, but not without much pain. And the ministries are still barely surviving.
For myself, I had trouble carving out time to journal. In fact, instead of journaling more, I probably did less than I had in a year! I had trouble concentrating in prayer. My sister came into town right before I finished the forty days and she asked me what had changed during the fast. I had to tell her pretty much nothing had changed. Sure, I prayed more than usual, but I kept feeling like it wasn’t “connecting”. One ministry is asking for prayer (with or without fasting) every Tuesday for the year (which I had wanted them to do) and the day after my fast ended I even missed the Tuesday prayer time. It was frustrating. It was bizarre. I wanted to write my newsletter, but wasn’t sure how to even write about it. In Scripture, fasting and prayer go hand-in-hand. Or you can pray without fasting. But it doesn’t direct us to fast without prayer.
So I write this time as an appeal on behalf of those who are serving God by serving others. Please join me in prayer for them. Have your computer remind you every Tuesday this year. Pray that God’s word will continue to go out. Pray that they are able to continue helping others in the name of Christ. For some of these ministries, even their survival is in question. Pray for those that they are trying to reach, that their hearts will be turned to God. Just pray. Give. Serve. Volunteer. And then pray some more.
And be thankful that, no matter how this year goes, we know Who wins in the end.
Like a rock,
The Submissive Despot
Amy Louise
Amy Shane
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
December, 2008
December, 2008
Growing up in my church we had just 2 rites – baptism and communion, and only two special seasons – Christmas and Easter. I guess there could have been three, if you counted June, the season of potluck dinners which usually accompanied weddings and graduations. Nothing else on a religious calendar was noted. Anything that smacked of liturgy was shunned. Although I had heard the term “advent”, I never knew that it was something one celebrated until I got to college. It was there I learned about Advent, Lent, and Pentecost Sunday, among other holy days. I also learned that tuna noodle casserole was not a sacrament.
I never quite “got” Lent. Why fast just because the calendar says it’s time? I always felt fasting should be done with a purpose – to show repentance, to show dependence or to demonstrate a purity of heart when presenting a request, or simply to draw closer to God. I still believe this, but have softened some in that I now understand the desire to focus one’s attention and heart and can see how some may want to do this in preparation for Easter. Lately, I find myself wanting to focus my heart and plan to use fasting as a part of the process this upcoming year.
Advent was a season that, once I learned about it, I wished my church celebrated. Early on in my marriage, some books were published about Advent and incorporating it into one’s family worship. I always wanted to do this, but somehow continually managed to miss the first Sunday because it came so close on the heels of Thanksgiving, it always caught me unaware. This Christmas was no different, with the first Sunday squeezed between the turkey and Mike’s and my finals. I kept thinking I’d make it down to a Michael’s store where I could buy the fixings for a wreath and do double-time on the candles, but it never materialized. After finals I entered panic-mode, realizing I had not purchased even one gift and time was passing me by. Christmas came and went, but I feel like I missed out by not preparing our family.
I remember, as a kid, waiting during Christmas break for the arrival of our cousins. We’d be so excited we could hardly stand it. It was the same waiting for the birth of each of our kids. You spent so much time planning, preparing, anticipating. And when the baby finally arrived, you felt like you already knew them. The joy was unparalleled.
Elly was that way this year, helping to decorate the house (while we wrote papers), and growing in anticipation as each day passed. Then came the realization that her cousins were also coming. As their arrival drew nearer, her enthusiasm was palpable, her joy, literally about to explode. The day before their arrival, with finals in the rearview mirror and all of the gifts and goodies finally prepped, I at last had a day to look around me and enjoy the moment. Elly’s joy was contagious, pulling my attention from the urgency of the immediate to the imminent ecstasy of that which awaited us: the ARRIVAL. The cousins finally made it and I noticed Elly’s happiness was about ten-fold my own. I realize age may have something to do with it, but I began to wonder if it didn’t have something to do with the proportionality of the energy we put into the expectation.
My mind naturally wandered to my anticipation of the Christ child’s arrival. Would celebrating Advent help me to prepare my heart in a way that my joy overflows? Would putting myself in the shoes of those 2000 years ago help? Can I, can you imagine belonging to a people that knew they were unique, chosen of God? And then feel the despair of thinking that God had seemingly abandoned us? Clinging to hope, every young girl longs to be the chosen one to bear the messiah, the one who would rescue her and her people from the tyranny of the repressive regime which has taken over your country. Taxes are unbearable. Only a false peace of endurance and passivity exists. But there is one hope. A distant, far-fetched hope in a God who has turned His back. Some go about their business, casting it aside as a fairy tale. Others wait, daily reflecting on the promises of old. And finally – Finally! – he comes. Oh, the joy for those who, because they had been looking, recognized him for who he was.
Christmas is certainly a celebration. Yet because Jesus has already come, for us it is more a time of Thanksgiving rather than anticipation. Our day is still to come. A repressive enemy has taken hold of this world. The economy is in shambles. In some places, peace means simply surviving to see another day. In other places, it is a false peace, that of comparing one’s lot to those around you who have it worse. And in still other places, peace is nowhere to be found. But there is still one hope. A hope in a God who has restrained his hand. Some choose to ignore, content to have food in their mouths and shoes on their feet. Others wait in anticipation, daily reflecting on the promises of antiquity. Some day He will come again. Oh, the joy for those who, because they saw their entire life as an Advent season, because they had been looking, will rejoice at His arrival.
As you enter 2009, make it a Year of Advent.
Like a rock,
The Submissive Despot
Amy Louise
Growing up in my church we had just 2 rites – baptism and communion, and only two special seasons – Christmas and Easter. I guess there could have been three, if you counted June, the season of potluck dinners which usually accompanied weddings and graduations. Nothing else on a religious calendar was noted. Anything that smacked of liturgy was shunned. Although I had heard the term “advent”, I never knew that it was something one celebrated until I got to college. It was there I learned about Advent, Lent, and Pentecost Sunday, among other holy days. I also learned that tuna noodle casserole was not a sacrament.
I never quite “got” Lent. Why fast just because the calendar says it’s time? I always felt fasting should be done with a purpose – to show repentance, to show dependence or to demonstrate a purity of heart when presenting a request, or simply to draw closer to God. I still believe this, but have softened some in that I now understand the desire to focus one’s attention and heart and can see how some may want to do this in preparation for Easter. Lately, I find myself wanting to focus my heart and plan to use fasting as a part of the process this upcoming year.
Advent was a season that, once I learned about it, I wished my church celebrated. Early on in my marriage, some books were published about Advent and incorporating it into one’s family worship. I always wanted to do this, but somehow continually managed to miss the first Sunday because it came so close on the heels of Thanksgiving, it always caught me unaware. This Christmas was no different, with the first Sunday squeezed between the turkey and Mike’s and my finals. I kept thinking I’d make it down to a Michael’s store where I could buy the fixings for a wreath and do double-time on the candles, but it never materialized. After finals I entered panic-mode, realizing I had not purchased even one gift and time was passing me by. Christmas came and went, but I feel like I missed out by not preparing our family.
I remember, as a kid, waiting during Christmas break for the arrival of our cousins. We’d be so excited we could hardly stand it. It was the same waiting for the birth of each of our kids. You spent so much time planning, preparing, anticipating. And when the baby finally arrived, you felt like you already knew them. The joy was unparalleled.
Elly was that way this year, helping to decorate the house (while we wrote papers), and growing in anticipation as each day passed. Then came the realization that her cousins were also coming. As their arrival drew nearer, her enthusiasm was palpable, her joy, literally about to explode. The day before their arrival, with finals in the rearview mirror and all of the gifts and goodies finally prepped, I at last had a day to look around me and enjoy the moment. Elly’s joy was contagious, pulling my attention from the urgency of the immediate to the imminent ecstasy of that which awaited us: the ARRIVAL. The cousins finally made it and I noticed Elly’s happiness was about ten-fold my own. I realize age may have something to do with it, but I began to wonder if it didn’t have something to do with the proportionality of the energy we put into the expectation.
My mind naturally wandered to my anticipation of the Christ child’s arrival. Would celebrating Advent help me to prepare my heart in a way that my joy overflows? Would putting myself in the shoes of those 2000 years ago help? Can I, can you imagine belonging to a people that knew they were unique, chosen of God? And then feel the despair of thinking that God had seemingly abandoned us? Clinging to hope, every young girl longs to be the chosen one to bear the messiah, the one who would rescue her and her people from the tyranny of the repressive regime which has taken over your country. Taxes are unbearable. Only a false peace of endurance and passivity exists. But there is one hope. A distant, far-fetched hope in a God who has turned His back. Some go about their business, casting it aside as a fairy tale. Others wait, daily reflecting on the promises of old. And finally – Finally! – he comes. Oh, the joy for those who, because they had been looking, recognized him for who he was.
Christmas is certainly a celebration. Yet because Jesus has already come, for us it is more a time of Thanksgiving rather than anticipation. Our day is still to come. A repressive enemy has taken hold of this world. The economy is in shambles. In some places, peace means simply surviving to see another day. In other places, it is a false peace, that of comparing one’s lot to those around you who have it worse. And in still other places, peace is nowhere to be found. But there is still one hope. A hope in a God who has restrained his hand. Some choose to ignore, content to have food in their mouths and shoes on their feet. Others wait in anticipation, daily reflecting on the promises of antiquity. Some day He will come again. Oh, the joy for those who, because they saw their entire life as an Advent season, because they had been looking, will rejoice at His arrival.
As you enter 2009, make it a Year of Advent.
Like a rock,
The Submissive Despot
Amy Louise
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
November, 2008 A Winter's Quiet
November, 2008
I sat with my feet up, sipping hot coffee and looking out my bedroom windows over our balcony and beyond to our yard which had been transformed into a winter wonderland. It’s been twenty years since I lived where it snows (excluding one freak snowstorm in Bakersfield in 1999 and one in 1994 in Inner Mongolia). All I remember are the chills. I had forgotten how the cold outside makes being inside feel warmer. And even though outside feels cold to us, snow provides a blanket of insulation to the cold earth, a time of dormancy in which the earth rests and simply soaks in the bit of refreshing moisture for its upcoming growth spurt.
I feel like my last eight or nine years spiritually have been a winter of sorts, one where – though busy externally – my soul has been almost dormant. Only recently have I even gotten hints that there is a spring coming, when the snow will begin to melt, bringing cool refreshment, the rays of sunshine penetrating beneath the surface layers. Things are stirring within.
I am finding that, of my classes, the one that uses my brain the most is the one that I like to dwell on. I can sit at my computer for hours, typing out thoughts and answers. But I am here to learn, not just the intellect-side of seminary, but also the experiential-side. And my classes that make me spend time in that arena are tough. Yet it is here that I find the stirrings deep, deep in my soul.
A frequent assignment in these experientially-oriented classes is to spend time listening for God’s voice. Not an audible one – but for His promptings internally. I don’t know why it is so hard for me to shut up and listen. (Those who know me can probably attest to the fact that this has always been an area of difficulty for me.)
While sitting in my “contemplation chair”, I find I can clean more fingernails, fix more hangnails, and clean more bellybutton lint than I ever dreamed possible. From that chair I remember every cobweb I’ve noticed, think through every bill that needs paying, and can solve all of the problems in, not just our household, but the entire world. However I am in a program of study where world problems and bellybutton lint are not at the top of the list. Here, we are learning a new way (for me) of approaching Scripture. I am learning how to do Gospel meditations – where one contemplates a Gospel story and pictures themselves in the story with Jesus, learning and trying to feel what one would have felt had they actually been there. Recently, I was mentally on a boat in a storm-tossed sea, getting pitched every which way, my head being jerked all directions like a bad roller coaster ride. I thought about the economy, all of the beloved ministries that we support which are all struggling with a lack of funds; I thought of the political mess our country is in – where people vote to give chickens bigger cages, but are gung-ho about booting a baby out of its secure womb before it is ready. And as I allowed myself to be caught up in the swirl of the sea, I heard Jesus saying, “Peace, be still.”
I am also trying to learn Lectio Devina, a method of Scripture meditation where one has a period of stopping and listening for what God has to say to me through that passage. It is different than just journaling what I learned, though there are some similarities. My problem lies in that I can write about what I’m learning, but to turn off my thinking and to listen is very, very difficult.
One of the aspects that attracted us to this seminary is their training and mentoring program. For your first semester (if one is full-time), each person goes through an introduction to the process. Then every semester thereafter, you have to fill out a long form working out a learning contract for both character traits and ministry skills. In the contract you write out the goal and the path to it. You choose Scriptures to meditate on, books that you may want to read to help you in a particular area or activities that you want to do to help you grow. Then you are required to go out and find two external mentors with whom you will be meeting weekly for the remainder of your studies. And you’re assigned a faculty mentor as well as a spiritual formation group of peer mentors that you meet with weekly as well. All of these meetings are to hold you accountable to the desired growth that you outlined on your learning contracts. It is a rigorous process, but it takes learning from haphazard to intentional.
One of the first areas that I want to work on in my learning contract I’ve already written about in these missives – I simply want to fall in love with Jesus more deeply. I want to understand His view of me as His Beloved. And one of the keys to this, I believe, is to spend time listening to him.
When I am talking all of the time, Mike gets to know me. But for me to get to know him, and for me to understand his love for me, I have to listen to him. This last year has been a walk in listening to the heart of my husband. Instead of assuming that I know what he thinks and desires, I have tried to really listen, to hear his heart, to see him as God made him, to understand him for who he is. For me to learn to love Jesus, I need to set up an environment where I have time to listen, to nurture a silence within myself. (Can one put duct tape over the mouth of one’s soul???) In publications, this is called “having white space”. It is the white space around the words on a page that allows the eyes to rest, to see the picture as a whole, to make meaning out of the words themselves. Somehow, I need to put white space in my life.
I suppose I’ll begin by putting literal white space on my calendar – whether it be intentionally unscheduled time or times of scheduled nothingness. Time where I can sit. Sit and be still. Then I will need to put white space in my life in my spirit – when I am sitting and being still, I need to learn to quiet my thoughts and listen. I am reading books that will turn my heart toward Jesus – books like Joe Stowell’s I Would Follow Jesus, and Leighton Ford’s The Attentive Life. And after writing last month’s newsletter on reading in the Song of Solomon, while doing research for a paper, I came across a study on the same by Hudson Taylor, one of my favorite missionaries, so that’ll be another source to help me dwell on being His beloved.
I’m hoping that this season of study in seminary will be one where I can enjoy the insulation of the winter’s snow, seeing it as a time to rest, to “be still and know”. And as the sun warms my heart I transition from winter into spring, as life and love and passion begin to flow again in my veins, that I will not forget the lessons of this season, that I will take those lessons with me in my heart.
Like a rock,
The Submissive Despot
Amy Louise
Amy Shane
I sat with my feet up, sipping hot coffee and looking out my bedroom windows over our balcony and beyond to our yard which had been transformed into a winter wonderland. It’s been twenty years since I lived where it snows (excluding one freak snowstorm in Bakersfield in 1999 and one in 1994 in Inner Mongolia). All I remember are the chills. I had forgotten how the cold outside makes being inside feel warmer. And even though outside feels cold to us, snow provides a blanket of insulation to the cold earth, a time of dormancy in which the earth rests and simply soaks in the bit of refreshing moisture for its upcoming growth spurt.
I feel like my last eight or nine years spiritually have been a winter of sorts, one where – though busy externally – my soul has been almost dormant. Only recently have I even gotten hints that there is a spring coming, when the snow will begin to melt, bringing cool refreshment, the rays of sunshine penetrating beneath the surface layers. Things are stirring within.
I am finding that, of my classes, the one that uses my brain the most is the one that I like to dwell on. I can sit at my computer for hours, typing out thoughts and answers. But I am here to learn, not just the intellect-side of seminary, but also the experiential-side. And my classes that make me spend time in that arena are tough. Yet it is here that I find the stirrings deep, deep in my soul.
A frequent assignment in these experientially-oriented classes is to spend time listening for God’s voice. Not an audible one – but for His promptings internally. I don’t know why it is so hard for me to shut up and listen. (Those who know me can probably attest to the fact that this has always been an area of difficulty for me.)
While sitting in my “contemplation chair”, I find I can clean more fingernails, fix more hangnails, and clean more bellybutton lint than I ever dreamed possible. From that chair I remember every cobweb I’ve noticed, think through every bill that needs paying, and can solve all of the problems in, not just our household, but the entire world. However I am in a program of study where world problems and bellybutton lint are not at the top of the list. Here, we are learning a new way (for me) of approaching Scripture. I am learning how to do Gospel meditations – where one contemplates a Gospel story and pictures themselves in the story with Jesus, learning and trying to feel what one would have felt had they actually been there. Recently, I was mentally on a boat in a storm-tossed sea, getting pitched every which way, my head being jerked all directions like a bad roller coaster ride. I thought about the economy, all of the beloved ministries that we support which are all struggling with a lack of funds; I thought of the political mess our country is in – where people vote to give chickens bigger cages, but are gung-ho about booting a baby out of its secure womb before it is ready. And as I allowed myself to be caught up in the swirl of the sea, I heard Jesus saying, “Peace, be still.”
I am also trying to learn Lectio Devina, a method of Scripture meditation where one has a period of stopping and listening for what God has to say to me through that passage. It is different than just journaling what I learned, though there are some similarities. My problem lies in that I can write about what I’m learning, but to turn off my thinking and to listen is very, very difficult.
One of the aspects that attracted us to this seminary is their training and mentoring program. For your first semester (if one is full-time), each person goes through an introduction to the process. Then every semester thereafter, you have to fill out a long form working out a learning contract for both character traits and ministry skills. In the contract you write out the goal and the path to it. You choose Scriptures to meditate on, books that you may want to read to help you in a particular area or activities that you want to do to help you grow. Then you are required to go out and find two external mentors with whom you will be meeting weekly for the remainder of your studies. And you’re assigned a faculty mentor as well as a spiritual formation group of peer mentors that you meet with weekly as well. All of these meetings are to hold you accountable to the desired growth that you outlined on your learning contracts. It is a rigorous process, but it takes learning from haphazard to intentional.
One of the first areas that I want to work on in my learning contract I’ve already written about in these missives – I simply want to fall in love with Jesus more deeply. I want to understand His view of me as His Beloved. And one of the keys to this, I believe, is to spend time listening to him.
When I am talking all of the time, Mike gets to know me. But for me to get to know him, and for me to understand his love for me, I have to listen to him. This last year has been a walk in listening to the heart of my husband. Instead of assuming that I know what he thinks and desires, I have tried to really listen, to hear his heart, to see him as God made him, to understand him for who he is. For me to learn to love Jesus, I need to set up an environment where I have time to listen, to nurture a silence within myself. (Can one put duct tape over the mouth of one’s soul???) In publications, this is called “having white space”. It is the white space around the words on a page that allows the eyes to rest, to see the picture as a whole, to make meaning out of the words themselves. Somehow, I need to put white space in my life.
I suppose I’ll begin by putting literal white space on my calendar – whether it be intentionally unscheduled time or times of scheduled nothingness. Time where I can sit. Sit and be still. Then I will need to put white space in my life in my spirit – when I am sitting and being still, I need to learn to quiet my thoughts and listen. I am reading books that will turn my heart toward Jesus – books like Joe Stowell’s I Would Follow Jesus, and Leighton Ford’s The Attentive Life. And after writing last month’s newsletter on reading in the Song of Solomon, while doing research for a paper, I came across a study on the same by Hudson Taylor, one of my favorite missionaries, so that’ll be another source to help me dwell on being His beloved.
I’m hoping that this season of study in seminary will be one where I can enjoy the insulation of the winter’s snow, seeing it as a time to rest, to “be still and know”. And as the sun warms my heart I transition from winter into spring, as life and love and passion begin to flow again in my veins, that I will not forget the lessons of this season, that I will take those lessons with me in my heart.
Like a rock,
The Submissive Despot
Amy Louise
Amy Shane
Saturday, November 1, 2008
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
Thursday, October 2, 2008
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?
The Submissive Despot
Amy Louise
Amy Shane
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