Hiding Out in the Big Ugly Bus

Part of this season of hiding out has been greatly facilitated by my husband. When we got married my dad gave him an old school bus. Don’t ask why Dad had or needed an old school, he just did. And while I saw “old school bus”, Ty saw potential camper. So my husband set to work. He ripped out the seats, kept two to make a table and booth, built bunk beds that convert into a couch, and a Murphy bed for the two of us. So for the past few weekends we have loaded up and headed out to the lakes and rivers in our area.

I can’t say that I was a huge fan of the idea, and the looks we receive when we back up to an RV slip confirms my suspicions that everyone thinks that the Clampets have just arrived. It is a little painful to park the old girl next to the really nice RVs that are out there, you know the ones with slide out sections, a real refrigerator, built in cabinets, a proper number of windows, and a toilet that you don’t have dodge the raccoons to get to in the middle of the night.

To be honest, I really did not enjoy our first few times out. There is a ton of packing to do, and Ty never knows how long we are staying (it is completely dependent on how the fish are biting) so I am always worried there won’t be enough food or clothes. I had to figure out how to arrange and stow everything, and I really don’t like to cook in the first place, so how does doing it over a smoky fire any better? I don’t like fishing enough to justify paying for a license, and the past few weeks have been cold. But I grit my teeth and went anyway and hopefully without too much obvious annoyance at having my routine upset.

I kept telling myself, this is where your husband wants to be, and he wants you with him. I kept reminding myself to be a good wife, and not to kick up a fuss. And on each of those trips I would always find one moment that made it worthwhile, one conversation with my daughters, a few minutes with Ty, or all together where I would find something of value that we would not have experienced at home. But this time has been different.

For the first time, I found I had surrendered to the experience. I wasn’t just enduring it anymore and going through the motions so that everyone else could have a good time. I found that for the first time in a long time I was at peace, fully content to be in a moment of my own, just me and God listening to the water. I didn’t feel the pull of the things I was neglecting at home, or the conveniences I was missing from my comparatively modern kitchen. There was no rush, no hurry, and I realized that I had been given the freedom and permission to just be.

Not to be Emily the responsible mom, dependable wife, or even the eccentric artist. It was okay that I sat and watched the shad flashing in the sun, and just fine that I didn’t have a project going that needed my immediate attention. I could just sit and listen, but if that was too hard, I could just breathe. My husband and my God had conspired to make this moment happen for me, and had been for weeks now, but I had been fighting it because I didn’t know what else to do.

So if you are looking for me this summer, you will have to check the lakes and the rivers. My phone doesn’t always work here, and that’s alright. There’s an extra chair in the bus, or blanket to throw out on the ground if you prefer. If the fish are biting you can eat one for dinner with us, if not there is peanut butter and jelly in the bus. You might bring some bug spray and some sunscreen, because I probably forgot to pack mine. So come by and see us, we are hard to miss, just look for the big ugly fabulous bus.

Can I Come Out and Play Now?

Okay, so I have been hiding out the past few weeks. I intended on posting several things after the seminar, and I even took time to write them out. They are quite good really, they smack of all the great Christian jargon, catch phrases, and clichés that I would be expected to write. The tone is hopeful, optimistic even, and while there is a part of me that fully and one hundred percent believes what I wrote, there is another part of me that is just plain hacked off. I tried not feed this bit of me, hoping that if I just starved it long enough it would die, but no such luck.

The truth is I don’t like humiliation, and well, this last event was humiliating.

My pride recoils in anger every time I get anywhere close to feeling how much humiliation I felt that night. I can’t even begin to tell you how much I just wanted to pack it up and go home, shoot God the bird, and sarcastically scream at him, “Thanks for showing up!” before stomping out the door. Oh wait, as a good Christian teacher, I am not supposed to admit that, am I?

Over and over again, played through the scenario, wondering what did “I” do wrong? What could “I” have done better? Could I have planned more wisely? Promoted more effectively? Not stumbled over my words when speaking to area pastors? Did I say something wrong? Was I wearing the wrong thing? Is my hair too purple? Did my breath stink? Did I fail to pray it through? Did I miss the stop sign God must have surely sent before I did this embarrassing thing to myself?

And I still haven’t figured out one thing we could have done better. If we had to make the choices again today, we would have done the same things. They were the choices we know God was leading us to make. The confirmations were too clear and too strong to do otherwise. To have risked less or to have ignored what we all felt was his straightforward guidance would have been disobedient to the point of defiance.

And I was convinced that if we stepped out there on faith, believing and trusting God to show up, the night would be a tremendous success, or at least a respectable showing. And maybe it was, who knows? I just had a hard time seeing it when I looked at those 1492 empty seats – and for our faithful friends who did show up, thanks for filling those last eight.

The good spiritual part of me still wants to call the night a success. We were obedient to the point of sacrifice. We did step out on faith and we did do our absolute best to do what God had called us to do, but there is an oh-so-human part of me that wants a reason and a refund for all the time, energy, and money we poured into it. I want some vindication for what feels like a wrong. I want to know why it feels like even God didn’t bother to show up to a party thrown on his behalf.

So in essence I have the two parts of me wrestling with how I should feel about this. Should I stand up and shout, Yipeee! if my heart isn’t in it? Do I give and sulk because my pride was hurt and I have to admit to everyone who asks that Splendor and Holiness was a colossal failure if we go by the numbers? Am I operating in faith or denial when I tell say that something good is going to come out of that night and there was reason that I am just not privy to right now?

The answer is yes. I deal with my humanity, and I don’t deny the validity of my feelings and disappointment. I have even let myself pout a bit, and I told God I am mad. And that’s okay because I was being honest with him on issue he already had figured out, but in the end I will stand up and say – I serve a big and holy God who loves me and loves the fact that I will follow his leading. I will declare that Splendor and Holiness was a success because I was faithful to act on the words and gifts he has placed in my care. Something good will come of that night, and I will celebrate it even more because I know the cost it took to get this far, and when God does move on our behalf we know the depth and height of his blessing and goodness as never could have known if we had never felt this pain.

God and I are making up, and like the kid who was sent to their room for throwing a fit, I am cracking the door and asking, Can I come out and play now? Because even if I am mad, hurt, and disappointed with what Daddy chose to do, it hurts more not to be in his presence.

Sorry to have been away for so long

I feel like I need to apologize for slipping off the grid for the past couple of months. It seems that life has been conspiring against me when it comes to the blog. As many of you know, our last event was not what we had hoped it would be, and after months of preparation I found myself completely drained – emotionally, spiritually, and mentally. On the heels of that, we were faced with a series of deaths and one horrible accident involving a family member.

In so many ways these past two months have been a time of sifting. We have been reexamining Pagus, what it means to us and where it should go. Our personal lives have been turned upside down as we have dealt with grief and loss, and in the midst of everything we have been presented some unique opportunities that are being explored and prayed over. It would be so easy to overlook all the good things that are happening among the disappointing and the devastating, but we are striving to keep our eyes fixed our Lord and press on to the places He is calling us.

It would be equally easy to avoid the uglier facts of what has been happening and present a “good Christian” façade to all of you who may not be close enough to know what has been happening. However, one the reasons we started this blog was to share the process, and to deny the heartache and tears will be found along the path God leads us would be equally wrong. Life isn’t always pretty. There are tough things, painful things, that we experience and there is value in the knowing. So we have decided to share, not to be negative, or to discourage anyone from pursuing their dreams, but rather that each of you who hear our story may be better prepared to meet with the difficulties you may encounter on your journey.

Sometimes we need to share the facts, and we need to expose the emotions. We need to tell our stories because our stories are why we are who we are. In Revelation John tells us that the accuser is overcome by the Blood of the Lamb and the testimony of the saints. And testimony is just a fancy Christian word for story, my story and yours. And if I am to tell my story it has to include the emotions, the way I felt about what has happened in my life, it is all part of being honest. So in the next few posts be ready for a little honesty, a few raw emotions, and well, in short, a Christian who doesn’t always have it all together.

It took me awhile to get to this place where I felt like it was okay to share these writings. I worried that they would be misread and misunderstood, but in the end, I knew that I was trying to justify my own cowardice – and one thing I can’t stand is a coward, especially when it is me. I realized that I was worried that people would doubt my call and gifting to teach, to be one of the leaders of Pagus, if they saw exactly how “unspiritual” I can be, and then I realized who cares? Really, who cares?

I am not always spiritual, and my relationship with God is often expressed in ways that can make people uncomfortable, but it is a real relationship based on faith and trust. Faith that He is exactly who the Bible declares Him to be - a big God who loves me and desires that I walk in a real relationship with Him. Trust that He is secure enough not to be intimidated my honest questions, and strong enough to wrestle with me as I work my way through this thing called faith. It is a relationship where I can be me, with no apologies and no fear, He knows who I am, He knows my thoughts before I think them, and they don’t scare Him, just me sometimes.

So I am glad to be back, and I will catch up on what has been going in my head while I was gone. I have feeling we are in for one wild ride over the next year so strap in and hold on tight, because I think we just bought tickets for one killer roller coaster ride.

God, failure and the 'ouch' moment

American society seems to place a heavy emphasis on success.  There are championship contests: World Series, Super Bowl, NCAA Final Four.  We have indictors of success: large homes, fancy cars, big SUVs, expensive clothes.  But is success really defined by having the most, the biggest, or the most expensive?

How about failure?  If one does not have a Super Bowl ring, 3000+ sq. ft. house, Mercedes SUV, or Christian Dior, are you a failure?  Or do you have a different standard for measuring success?  Does God have a standard for determining success?

Would we consider  Moses, Solomon or Job a success?  What about Peter, Thomas, or Paul?  One could pick any person from the Bible and ask this question after reading about the individual.  Given the broad spectrum of people mentioned in the Bible, it would seem God has a very different standard for determining success or failure.

Saturday evening, Pagus presented the "Splendor and Holiness" seminar.  The Pagus Event Staff had worked to find and secure a facility based on their faith in God and purchased ad time from the leading, local Christian radio station serving the audience Pagus would like to reach.  The staff worked to create quality, professional looking promotional material about Pagus and the seminar.  The staff devoted several days to in-person contact with area churches instead of mailing the promo material.  The Pagus volunteer staff came Saturday evening to support the seminar by taking on the small but important jobs.  All was ready! Open the doors, let the masses come and bask in the presentation of God's Splendor and Holiness!

Cue the chirping crickets.

Pagus had scheduled, promoted, and planned for a successful seminar based on their belief in God's leadership.  Not as many people showed up as planned for; too many handouts printed, and a large venue filled with a handful of people.  One of the presenters, at 5 minutes after the scheduled start time, said "This is an ouch moment".  The director of the venue encouraged the Pagus staff to give the presentation since "every\thing was paid for".  The presentation was given and the stage with its red velvet curtain provided an impressive back drop for the volunteer videographers to capture the presentation.

Did Pagus fail or did God provide success?  From a human viewpoint, Pagus failed since the required number of attendees to break even did not appear, hours had been invested in feet-to-the-ground promotion, the radio ad did not produce anticipated results and the beautiful Broken Arrow PAC was wasted on a handful of people.

What is not seen is the number of people who will potentially be witnessed to by Pagus moving forward with what they believe is God's direction for Pagus.  What about the contacts made during in-person promotion?  What about the networking potential of the radio sales manager?  What about the pastors who expressed an interest in having Pagus speak at their church?  What about the potential for the video to touch people?

The potential for God to use each of us is unlimited because we cannot understand how He will take our perceived  failure and create success for Himself.  Let me throw out a Biblical example or two:  Job, Paul, Peter, Thomas.  As humans, we have difficulty with limiting a limitless God.  We like things to be solid, touchable, and definable.  All properties opposite of who and what God is considering He created the heavens from nothing just by speaking.

The Epic Tale of Eccentric Em and Amy Kiker-your-butt and the Quest of the KXOJ Microphone

It was a dark and stormy night, (okay, really it was a lovely spring day, but this just sounds better) as Eccentric Em and her faithful sidekick (otherwise known as a decoy), Amy Kiker-your-butt, made the perilous journey to the great city of Tulsa. Together they had vowed to conquer the air waves, vanquish the silence, and subdue the forces of darkness that threatened to leave the inhabitants of northeast Oklahoma bereft of the knowledge that Pagus would be hosting the Splendor and Holiness Seminar, April 9th at the Broken Arrow Performing Arts Center. It all would be possible with the mythic KXOJ Microphone!

The two began their great odyssey on their faithful steed. (Sure, it’s just a Ford Escort, but it is white and it is pretty reliable.) Their journey fraught with obstacles great and treacherous, but undaunted our heroes pressed onward unwilling to be swayed from their great calling that now defined their very existence. They faced wild beasts that darted before them snarling and snapping their warnings that two should not pass, but they faced those rabid rabbits with a courage that even Monty Python knights could not match. They fearlessly faced down those horrible machines of war that stood in their path, threatening to make them late or prevent their journey all together. They passed through fires and floods but would not be swayed from their cause. (Alright, so it was just some farm and construction equipment, and there was a small grass fire, I promise.)

And although they were armed only with Eccentric Em’s crazy good looks, rapier wit, and knowledge of arcane trivia, along with Amy’s springloaded hair that repels evil glances, harsh words, and general bad moods, her super sonic voice of happiness that infects the listener with glee until they have no choice but to submit to her will, and her voice of doom that shatters myths and illusions, they made their way to the forbidding City Plex Towers. There they scaled to the height of the 55th floor, using suction cups and spiderwebs to swing heroically to the dizzying heights. (Fine, they had and elevator. Okay, a lot of elevators.) Where Amy stood triumphantly surveying the city below and said, “Dude, we are so not in Kansas anymore!” And then covered her face with her hands and grinned.

It was there like the knight who guarded the Grail for Indy, but not nearly as old and without the really great armor, Ed Never-Short-on-Charisma Short led them to the Oracle, wait. I mean, Cool Caryn Cruise, who presented Em with the fabled microphone while Em tried to conceal her disappointment that there was no cookies . All stood breathlessly waiting to see what Em would do with such a treasure. How long had it hung there waiting for the right person to speak into its foamy cover and change the very course of history. Amy stood at Em’s back, doing her best impression of a coat rack, and Em took her place before the mike, and . . . spoke!

Em spoke in her best impersonation of a radio person, she spoke words that would fill the airwaves of Tulsa and its surrounding communities, she spoke words that would change history, and then. . . well, they were through. It took all of about fifteen minutes and was pretty painless.

Having completed their quest, Em and Amy spent a few moments basking in the glory of the moment. They looked over the grounds of ORU and found Q’doba where they ate a meal befitting for the conquering heroes. It was good day, one to be sung of around campfires, to lull little ones off to sleep, a tale to inspire those who lack courage, and to cause evil to tremble. It is tale to be remembered with awe and wonder, but it is just one of many tales of how the courage and valor of Eccentric Em and Amy Kiker-your-butt will make the world a little better place to be, and let you sleep a little easier at night.

Disclaimer (in case you need one)- Every day in my life is an adventure when I choose to think of it as such. Amy and I went to Tulsa to record the ad, and I was so glad to have the company! And while it wasn’t nearly as momentous as I may have told it, it was a momentous event for us. It was a day where we pursued our dream and call, and day spent in the company of a friend who loves our Lord. Thank you, Ed and Karin for making the day so painless and giving us a wonderful radio ad!

So here’s your choice for the day, is it an adventure or an endurance test? How are you going to frame it in your mind? What words will you use to make it different, better, and a bit more amazing? (And by the way, it helps if you imagine John O’Hurley narrating, it even makes laundry little more exciting or lot more like Family Feud. I haven’t decided which.)

The Merciful Headache

The headache is coming back. The one that makes me wish I could close my eyes and shut out the sights and sounds of this world, the one that turns my stomach and leaves me feeling as brittle as the fine porcelain. I have asked God why I must endure these bouts of incapacitation, there is so much more I could do if this blinding pain didn’t hinder my thoughts.

I could easily break into some deep theological discourse on the various Christian ideas on pain, but the truth is none of that really means much to someone who is in pain, physical, emotional, or mental, and I, like everyone else, desire only one thing at these times – relief. I want very simply and very profoundly for the pain to stop.

There is a temptation to rail at God for allowing me to endure this, after all I am in the middle of attempting to do what he has called me to do, but that type of existential angst is beyond me in this moment. For those of you who have never experienced existential angst, allow me share that it requires a greater expenditure of energy than these headaches will permit. So having asked for relief, sought it out and been left disappointed in pharmaceutical remedies, I am left with the task of endurance.

Now, I have studied various ideas of Christian philosophies on the matter of pain and why we experience physical ailments. Some schools of thought say that it is simply our cross to bear and we should endure with meekness and a mild spirit, perhaps which is beyond me, or maybe that is what God is teaching me. I am open to the idea of him teaching through any method he deem appropriate. Some schools of thought would say that I am suffering due to the consequences of sin, and in general I am in agreement. Pain and suffering are due to sin, but Jesus himself refutes the idea of sin being the cause of specific and individual pain in every circumstance. And as I have yet to experience the guiding force of conviction in relationship to this particular pain, I do believe that is it not this. So if it is God needs to speak louder.

Another school of thought would say that I need to examine the symptoms to understand the root cause. In this case, my head aches and the head being the symbol of authority would indicate I am having problems with authority. Well, I always have problem with authority but I am actively working on those issues. So once again I doubt that this is the cause or the cure for the knives that are gouging out my eyes from inside my skull.

Why am I still typing? Misery loves company, I guess. And it is a question that I would love to have answered. Why, when I need to be the most focused and on my game, does my head try to implode?

I think it is a reminder. A reminder that I should never rely too much on my personal ability to achieve. In everything I must be on guard against arrogance and my skills. Blame the pain, and forgive the blatantness of the next statement, I am good at what I do. I can make almost anything work if I try hard enough, and I know how to go after what I want. It is a God given tenacity that I have and one I use to my advantage. The problem lies in the balance.

God has given me a gift, but it does not mean that I may use it apart from him. It does not mean that I can rely on what he has given in place of relying on him. It is not an easy balance to achieve, so occasionally, he knocks me down a peg or two and leaves me lying slobbering in the floor while he advances in spite of me. He removes the power I would be attempted to abuse from my hands so that I can, in full knowledge, lay powerless at his feet. Through the pain he is “leading me not into temptation and delivering me from evil” before I have the ability to recognize there was even a hint of danger. He knows my weakness, and he knows I am weakest when I am operating in my strength. It is then that I am most likely to turn loose of his hand reach for those things I can do myself.

He is never a big fan of my self reliance. He knows it get me into trouble, and like a good Daddy he would rather prevent it than bail me out. So I am going to accept today’s mandate, find a quiet spot and lay my head down, pray that he is taking care of all things I am going to have to let go today. He knows I am out on a limb with deadlines and obligations, it didn’t escape his notice. So I will have to trust that he knows what he is doing, a fact easier said than believed when a thousand little jack hammers are making mush of your brain.

Who am I?

Who are you? This was the question asked as I shared about the upcoming worship seminar, Splendor and Holiness. It was a strange question, but an appropriate one. Who am I? It is one I would be asking if someone approached me and said they had something to teach me about this faith that I have known from childhood. It is one I have asked as people have stood before me on stages, behind podiums, and across tables and spoke, they claimed, on behalf of God.

There is something in me that rises up with a challenge anytime I hear someone teach, and one I appreciate in others who dare to consider my words. My faith is sacred and something I guard tenaciously, carefully sifting through all outside influences, checking their references and vetting them thoroughly before allowing their words to settle in my heart and mind.

And so here I was, being pinned like a bug with my own question, a mirror of my own skepticism, and it was most uncomfortable even as I respected the questioner’s reserve. Who am I? Or really, and more precisely the question was, why should I listen to you?

How I wish there was some tidy way of summing this up without sounding like an arrogant twit. If there is I haven’t found it. It sounds pompous to site degrees, and even a bit hypocritical, especially since I am far too aware of the number of buffoons who hold multiple degrees. If you know my story but not my heart, I can come across as a pretty dubious character. If you look at circumstance and cold facts, I am not terribly impressive, and I say this not out of some sense of false modesty but based on some rather bitter facts.

It is painfully funny how unaware we can be of our own flaws, and typically not who I am. I tend to over analyze everything, beginning and ending with myself. So I as I was confronted by this question, one I know intimately, I realized that all this time, for decades now, I have been asking the wrong question. The question is not who am I or who are you. It doesn’t matter. And as much as I hate to admit it, the truth of it reverberates through my heart and soul.

So let me tell you why you should listen to the things I shall offer at the seminar. I am nobody, an absolute nobody who for some crazy reason known only to God, has been given a message about hope and grace. A message that he allowed me to live out, to know intimately, painfully so that I may never forget. I speak not from a place of lofty academic summits, but from those times when the truths I gleaned from books and gathered from the mouths of learned men became a reality. I share not a story about a person who pursued God, but of a God who pursued a person, a divorced mom who had no right to speak in matters moral or ethical. I speak as one who was shown grace and the knowledge of redemption.

The message I bring, if I dare use the word message, has little and everything to do with me. But to say too much of myself is like glorifying a microphone for receiving a voice, for what is more important a bit of metal doing what it was designed to do? Or the one who designs and uses the device for greater purposes? I know I am more than a mere utensil, but with each breath I become more aware of how great he is. This is the message I bring. There is a God who adore us, adores you, and he desires to be known by you. He wants to redeem every wound, every heartache, every miserable experience you have ever known. He wants to transform them from your deepest hurt to your greatest weapon. He created you to know him, and when you know him, worship is the only response to this amazing God.

Who am I am? I am someone who messed up their life beyond all human hope of repair. I was someone who lost everything and could see no way out until he showed up. And we he appeared, when he revealed his love for me, I got lost in the chase and caught up in the pursuit. I fell in love and was loved in a way I had never known.

So why listen to what I have to say? Because the wonders of his love are too great to be contained in one life, one small existence, they must be proclaimed. Because maybe when you see him in my story you will find he was there in the middle of yours all along.