A Mess and Collection of Thoughts and Reflections this Snowy Morning

I have sat here staring at this blank page for the better part of thirty minutes, trying to gather and collect my thoughts, trying to come up with something cohesive to write that adds to the beauty not the static in life. Words were scarce, not because there is nothing to write about, but because I now realize how different the things that fill my heart are... there is no cohesive way to write all of the things I want to write; at least if there is, the picture of how they come together is yet to be made clear. So for lack of better ties and transitions, I present each piece as a separate, and perhaps in the end they will tie together as so many pieces of my life tend to do as I simply step out (in this case type out) in faith. I call this collection "Morning Reflections"

I. Ferguson, MO

My heart is burdened this mourning, heavily. Grief consumes me in many parts as I think about the reality of events unfolding in our streets. While Michael Brown may be what sparked these reckless acts of violence and demonstration, the actual cry of the situation runs much deeper; the roots stretch deeper and bring forth pain known for generations. It is the voice of the oppressed crying out for justice. I pray my brothers and sisters would hear me when I say the point of these cries and outbreaks, the restorative peace and healing has very little to do with Wilson and Brown (though hear me that that does matter as well). No. This is about a deeper need for systematic restoration. These cries are deeper than one instance. They are about a system of oppression that has existed for generations; a system in which if you are a young black man you are 21 times more likely to be shot than your white counterpart; a system in which 1/3 black men can expect to go to jail in their lifetime;  a system in which a rich CEO can smuggle millions and get a slap on the wrist and some fines, but a young person born on the streets selling drugs is sentenced 5-10 years; a system in which abortion clinics target lower income and minority based neighborhoods; a system that continuously breaks treaties with our indigenous populations when it proves lucrative for our business, wants, and desires.  Regardless of what you believe justice to be in the case of Brown vs. Wilson, the fact is indisputable that there is in existence systemic injustice that needs to be addressed. I believe if we are wise, these tragic, horrific, awful events (from the bloodshed of this young man and thousands unnamed just like him to the rioting and violence and damage) will lead to deeper conversations around the actual issues. Perhaps we will learn to sit with the other, with those not like us, with those holding a different perspective and reality. Perhaps we will seek to understand each other, the plight of those different than us and, as the proverbial saying goes, learn to walk in their shoes...and deeper still learn to walk with them. 

II. Keystone Pipeline

I learned last night that the Rosebud tribe wasn't even notified when this was happened--they learned from it on the the news. I want to be sarcastic and hide my pain, saying "just another broken treaty for the US government, right?" but the cry runs deeper. I will not allow that statement to be made in a dismissive manner. It is 2014 and the oppression that we put on our indigenous populations when we first moved to this land CONTINUES TODAY. And you know what breaks my heart? No one seems to care. It has become normal. 

In both of I and II as I pray the verse that continually comes to me is Ecclesiastes 4:1 

Again I looked and saw all the oppression that was taking place under the sun:

I saw the tears of the oppressed—
    and they have no comforter;
power was on the side of their oppressors—
    and they have no comforter.

The grief that consumes my heart today in these matters is overwhelming. Already in this coffeeshop I have shed tears, and will continue to as I pray and intercede for justice, restoration, and hope to fill our land. 

Nope. Deeper truth exists in me. While the above is true, deeper still this is what I want. I want my brothers and sisters to give a damn. That's what I want. And I know there are those that do. I know I am not alone in this. I have talked with churches, with organizations, and with individuals who care and are doing something. But what saddens me is it is not the majority, because if it was these things would cease to happen, or at least lessen. And that angers me. In life coaching I learned that anger is a demand for something, and my anger a demand for justice and action, and true brotherhood. 

And as I type I am convicted. Of the ways I have not loved, not advocated, not stood with. I am reminded of a Maya Angelou Quotation "I did then what I knew how to do. Now that I know better I do better." This is all we can do. As we encounter truth and learn, we can do better. Today I know better, so I am doing better. Tomorrow I pray will be better still, and so forth. 

III. I have a lot of really good things happening in life. 

In the midst of this grief over world events, I am reminded of the good things in my life. I spent last night loving on a sweet baby girl that is the offspring of two of my very favorite people. I just moved into a beautiful rental home with two dear friends. I have amazing friends supporting me on this journey of restoration and recovery. I have a job that pays the bills and I enjoy. I am 18 months out from graduating with my doctorate (that is... if the dissertation goes smoothly ;). I have the most beautiful nieces and nephews.  I get to spend my New Years in Cambodia loving on children coming out of trafficking and prostitution, loving on the slums, loving on women coming out of the industry, and being loved on by those I love--all with one of my best friends. I am in recovery and daily being transformed--while I encounter my own personal grief, I find that grief is leading me to joy and wholeness. 

And so it comes together in the end. The reality of this walk with Christ is that it is a path filled with suffering, with heartache, with mourning, with aching and crying out for what could be, for what went wrong, for what is wrong. And yet it is also a path marked with joy... joy abundant, filled with good, good things and smothered in love. 

Oh you guys, I mean it when I say I am the least likely to be chosen as a follower of Christ, and yet he called me. He asked me and I said yes. I am messy and covered in mud and dirt, yet I bathe in the river of the one who can wash me clean. Until the day I die, I will remain a shitty prophet--encountering God in the places shit covers, and watching him plant gardens, turning that shit into fertilizer that springs forth growth. I will rejoice in slums, in brothels, in ghettos, in recovery houses because God is there. As Bono put it: 

"God is in the slums,in the cardboard boxes where the poor play house.God is in the silence of a mother who has infected her child with a virus that will end both their lives.God is in the cries heard under the rubble of war.God is in the debris of wasted opportunity and lives. And God is with us if we are with them."

 

I hope somewhere in these ramblings you found something to dust off and take with you. For today, this is my heart. This is what I have. This is who I am. 

If you read this, leave a comment. Would love to know you, where you are (physically, spiritually, emotionally...however you want to answer that) and who you are. 

In the meantime, may your journey, while laden with grief (because lets be real... thats the reality of this world) be filled with joy and hope, and above all love. 

I love you. 

AZ

Beauty For Ashes

I started counseling last week.

Years have been building to this moment in life; preparation for this season began years ago. Three to be exact. When I returned from Los Angeles the first time is when this season began; this season of deep restorative healing. I remember after nights of binge drinking I would awaken to hear the Lord speak "My mercies are new every morning." I would cry out in anger, wanting to take control, to fix the devastation and mess, to prove myself worthy of something beyond what I was living. In the midst of my broken, angry, hurting, un-understanding cries the Lord broke through to me and firmly whispered to my heart "I want you to sit in your mess and allow me to heal you."

That was my first step of surrender. I surrendered, on some level, that I was powerless to fix or heal myself. And so I resigned to the binges and to drinking, trusting that God would heal me; trusting that I didn't have to heal or fix myself, but that God would be faithful to see me through. I began to engage the faulty foundations that existed in my life, the faulty patterns, etc. I began to reconstruct my frame. I regained my voice and learned to stand up for myself. I learned that I have value and worth; that my viewpoint and perspective indeed do matter and are valuable gifts I offer to the world.

And then the time came when I was ready to confront my crutch, my rock and pillar that destroyed me, my love, my beloved…alcohol. And that revealed an even deeper lesson that I needed to learn.

17 years ago a reoccurring event began in my life that started a ticking time bomb within me. 14 years ago that bomb exploded. The best image I can use to describe my internal reality is this: Imagine a city, quaint and lovely. In the middle of that city a bomb goes off, creating a deep crater and covering the city in ash, paralyzing it from moving, from growing, from breathing, from living. This has been my life. This has been my living reality. Remnants of the beauty remain, but the people live among a sea of ashes.

I have this new theory in life. What is destroyed through relationship can only be restored through relationship.

My bomb was planted and detonated through relationship, a horrifically violating relationship. Rather than invite people into that crater, I blocked the world out and that part of me became ashes.

In my short three weeks on this journey of deep healing, I have learned that if I am going to heal, I have to let people into that ash covered city. I need people to come in, to sit, to touch, to experience, to explore, to help pull forth beauty from the wreckage.  14 years ago when that bomb went off I built a wall around that city; an impenetrable wall to keep anyone from getting in and any emotion from the wreckage from getting out. Thankfully addressing the foundations and starting to remove them has left those walls crumbling down.

It is the scariest thing I have ever done, inviting people into the wreckage of my life to sit, to touch, to speak, to love, to explore, to hold my hand, to meet my needs. There are days I want to bolt back into hiding, rebuild the wall, chuck the phone across the room, pull my hand away (and to be sure there are moments that I do). But that place inside of me is coming to life again. Through their love, their investment, my vulnerability and their fierce love in response, that crater is becoming a garden, and the city is beginning to be restored. There is a journey ahead to be sure, but my heart is coming back to life. I am coming back to life. I am beginning to experience life again. Emotions, feelings, colors, hopes, dreams, butterflies, all of the above. I am encountering deeper levels of who I am and finding that I actually quite enjoy myself. And I am risking everything in love, choosing love and willingly being vulnerable, knowing it may cost me everything, but choosing it none the less.

I am beginning to experience beauty for ashes. And its wonderful. Scary, dangerous, risky, exposed.  Wonderful. Joyous. Beautiful. Adventuresome. Delighting.

Today, I am alive, and awakening to deeper life. Absolutely stunningly breathtakingly wonderful.