Buried Treasures

When I was pregnant with Jacob, I traveled with the GUPY team to the Dominican Republic. We spent time with some kids that were part of a camp. One morning we did a Bible Study on the parable of the talents in Matthew 25. A master gave 3 of his servants some talents (money). Each servant was given a different amount according to their ability and the master left for an indefinite time. The servant with the most talents invested his and gained double what he was given, so did the second servant. The third servant who had one talent went out into a field and burried his talent, afraid of the master. When the master returned the servants brought to him what they had done with his money. He was angry with the servant who buried his.

I was struck that day, not with guilt or fear of what happened to the lazy servant, but convicted by the Lord that I had buried my talent. At first I thought that what God was referring to was maybe a gift of intercession that He wanted me to embrace. So over the past few years I've thought about this many times. So, of course, I wanted to choose this path and made efforts to pursue uncovering this "talent." And, of course, the area of prayer has been my greatest struggle.

Over these past few years the Lord has been making a mess of my inner life. If you've read any of my recent posts, you know what I'm talking about. For my good and freedom from bondage the Lord has been breaking me, little by little, layer by layer. I've been going to counseling and have realized that I did not think God or anyone loved me, that I was not worthy of His love. He brought me through that dark tunnel to the other side of believing in His unfailing love for me. There has been so much freedom and growth through that experience. I'm such a different person for it.

Back to the talents. I still believed that now, with this new confidence in God's love for me that He would help to reveal this buried talent. Then, of course, pride got in the way. I was focusing so much on the action of intercessing and the fact that I failed at it most of the time and it was my job and..... This summer proved to me without a doubt that I am nothing without Christ. Here I was pursuing the wrong thing. Even though I didn't feel like I was really focused on it, pride was slowly creeping in. When I started to struggle with panic attacks, my efforts to pray and intercede for myself were continually thwarted. It was such an exhausting battle that I know I did not win. Christ was there for me, but I think the lesson for me was that I cannot do it on my own strength. I have to abide in Christ on a minute by minute basis. He is the intercessor, I can benefit from the blessing of listening and being open to being used by Him to intercess with Him.

In my counseling we've been uncovering who I am as a Highly Sensitive Person. Thanks to Jane, my counselor and Elaine Aaron, the psychologist and author who's researched this topic, I'm discovering who I was really created to be. I realize that over the years through pain from abandonment and fears of being alone, I've slowly buried myself in order to protect my heart. I've then trained myself to be what I thought the world wanted me to be, "a disservice to the world" as my friend Elaine Aaron calls it. I realized last night what the talent is that I've buried. ME!! As God created me to be. He created us all to be unique and to make up His body, the church. I've realized that I have learned to accept God unfailing love for me (praise Him!!), but I have not accepted myself or my temperment as a Highly Sensitive Person! That IS a disservice to the world and to God's kingdom. Not that I'm any better than the next person. This goes for all of us. God and I will continue to dig out my treasure, shovels in hand, and I will get blisters on my hands, a sunburn on my neck. I will get exhausted and thirsty, but oh the joy when we can finally open up that chest and see how God wants to use His treasure in His kingdom. I will toil for that!

"Take this Cup From Me"

These painful words were uttered by my sweet Lord in the Garden of Gethsemane, the night of His arrest. He knew that the time was coming for His crucifixion and was praying to the Father that this "cup" of wrath be taken from Him, not His will, but His Father's will be done. I don't believe He was afraid or even dreading the pain and suffering, but rather the separation from His Father.

I, myself, cried out these words about a month ago. I was experiencing some of the darkest hours of my life. It started out that I was just dizzy all the time. Then I started to worry about the dizziness and so began my self-diagnosis. This propelled me down through a black hole of panic attacks, one right after the other. I tried and tried to battle them through prayer and scripture. I would be all right for a few minutes, then another one would hit. My whole head would tingle, my arms and legs would go numb, my ears would start ringing. Ceiling fans and passing traffic made me dizzy, my vision was sometimes blurry and any conversation that was overwhelming (welfare, injustice, addictions) would overwhelm me and send me into a panic attack. The worse thing about it was that very few people even knew most of this struggle. I felt so much shame it was hard for me to even share it with my husband. I was so afraid of rejection and my pride was sore.

So I remained in my inner turmoil, meanwhile trying to take care of my kids. I just wanted it to go away. I cried out to God, asking Him to in a sense, "take this cup" from me. But, it wasn't time. I finally went to my Dr. and we realized that I was reacting to my anxiety medication she had put me on in May. So, she had me stop that medicine cold turkey and start a new on the next day. If anyone has been on these meds. you know that you should not stop them cold turkey! My Dr. said it was going to be a hard week, but it was necessary, so I did it. Those first few days were horrible. I couldn't be around people. I wanted to hide in a dark room and never come out. I even prayed to God asking that He please take me, now. I didn't even want to go yard saling! That's when I know there's a problem!

There is one passage that carried me through those dark hours. Psalm 18. You should read it. God led me to read this passage one afternoon in the middle of one of my attacks and I just started sobbing. He loves me so much that He will part the sky and scatter my enemies when I call for help. He will scoop me up out of the dark waters because He delights in me. He will set me in a spacious place. What is a spacious place in the middle of chaos? Sounds good, doesn't it? For me it was knowing that God loved me and delighted in me no matter what. If I was committed to a Psychiatric hospital, God would still love me and delight in me the same as He loves me when I don't struggle. But I notice Him more when I do struggle. I needed Him. I realized how much I depend on myself to be in control. I felt so out of control and helpless. That brought me to my knees. And ultimately, because God is good, it all brought glory to His name. He was the only one that could have lifted me out of that pit and praise Him, He did. It wasn't immediate, but I was able to find comfort in the truth that He loved me despite my anxiety. Remember that great Psalm 23, the part that says: "God set a table before me in the presence of my enemies. My cup runneth over...." So, even though our struggles may not be solved He sets a banqet before us, He fills us to overflowing. If we just let Him enter that place with us and are willing to wait patiently for the healing that will come from it.

Ghost on the Water

Several months ago Vicky and I were doing a study on Mark 6:45-52. After Jesus had fed the 5,000 with five loaves of bread and two fish, he sent the disciples across the lake while he went up the mountain side to pray. After a while Jesus was walking near the lake and saw the disciples straining at the oars because of the wind and waves. He started to walk out towards them. He almost passed by them when they saw him. They thought he was a ghost and cried out in fear. Then, he spoke to them, "Take courage! It is I. Don't be afraid." Jesus then climbed into the boat with them and the wind died down.

This passage has hit me over and over the past few months. I've always been a big "feeler." If I don't feel loved, then I don't believe I'm loved, or if I feel too much hurt, I numb it out with busyness. The Lord is definitely meeting me in this area. I have, until recently, struggled with believing that God is present if I don't feel His presence. Of course the Bible promises over and over that He is always present. So, the hard part comes in when you have to believe the truth over what you feel.

This story in Mark depicts my reaction many times to God's presence. When the storms of life rock my boat, I tend to buckle up in fear and determination to fix things. The whole truth is that the Lord is always present. We may not sense His presence, but He IS there! If we look for Him, He may appear as a ghost, but if we cry out to Him, He will enter into our situation. He may not always calm the storm or rid us of our problem, but He is present there with us. Sometimes He may calm the storm when we invite Him into it. Other times He may want to show us His presence by simply comforting us or helping us steer the boat through the choppy waters.

It always amazes me that the disciples had no idea who Jesus was, even after He had just fed 5,000 people with 5 loaves of bread and 2 fish. I often think, what was their problem that they couldn't believe the Lord could walk on the water to them, so they thought He was a ghost? But, here I am on the other side of the story. Jesus has already died to pay for my sins and has risen so that I may live in wholeness by His Spirit. Which, by the way, I have been sealed with since I accepted Christ. Meaning that the presence of God IS always near me, in fact, in me! So, who am I to criticize the disciples? I know the truth and have evidence of the miracles just as much as they did, and yet I still fail to believe. I still see my Lord as the Ghost on the water.

Thanks be to God that He is patient with us. We can ask, "Lord, help my unbelief..." and He will answer. He longs for us to call out to Him in the dark and in the light, to depend on His presence for security and guidance. He longs to ride out the storms with us and talk intimately with us on the quiet waters. Until we reach the other shore, He will be always present. Whether He's been invited into the boat or not, He's there because He loves us and He's waiting for us to call to Him. Stop trying to bail out on your own, it's extremely wearisome and lonely. Call out, even in doubt, He is listening.

Hermanos Y Hermanas

We just returned from an awesome week in Mexico City. There was a team of 8 of us, which included my big 6 year-old! From the moment we stepped off the plane I felt like I was home, I often do in different cultures. There was a little bit of chaos, uncertainty where to go and what form to fill out, different smells, sounds and people. Eliza started to cry and said, "Mommy, I want to go back to America." She changed her mind soon, though.

We stayed with host families of one of the churches in Mexico City. Our family had 4 kids and their apartment was half the size of our house! I was mostly impressed with the attitude of the believers there. They were so gracious and welcoming. They are a very personable people. We learned to call one another hermana or hermano, which means sister or brother. You shake hands and lean in for a kiss on the cheek with every person that enters the room or space you are in. You hear and say things like, "Mucho gusto!" and "Dios te bendiga" or God bless you, as you are hugging.


Most of all, I loved to worship with this church. Often we would sing the same worship song, in English and Spanish. They asked Marshall and his co-leader for the trip, Kenny, to lead worship. Often when they were done, the group would shout, "Autre, autre!!" or "more, more." It was incredible to imagine God smiling down on this group of misfits, uniting together across cultural, language and economical barriers. During each service they would have a time of sharing "gratitutes" or "words of thankfulness." Every time there was mention of either us blessing them or them blessing us and many tears of emotion along with it.

We ate a lot of authentic food, walked many miles to and from places, road the crowded subways, taxis, bicycle taxis and vans (without seat belts, I might add), climbed the ancient pyramids, dressed like clowns and led 2 kids clubs and toured the national palace and old cathedral downtown.



There were no stop lights or stop signs (the only one I saw was upside-down). There were pot holes as big as our taxi on the back roads and speed bumps every couple hundred yards on the "good" roads. You can't flush your toilet paper there. The water is randomly shut off. You can't rinse off your toothbrush or mouth with the tap water or drink it! There are little tiendas or stores every few houses, so you can buy a Coke or some candy anywhere.

All of these things describe our experiences in Mexico City, but the greatest one above all was experiencing God's presence with my hermanos and hermanas in Christ. The first night there the women of the church came to pray over each of us Americans, and the same with the men. As Norma was praying over me, I started to cry. It felt so good to be prayed over, even though I had no idea what she was saying! I felt the presence of God in it. Our last service together was full of tears as we all talked about how much of an encouragement and blessing we were to one another. Now that's how God intended our churches to be, reconciled to one another across barriers and encouraging and blessing one another in the Spirit!

Prejudice Unveiled

Webster defines prejudice: "preconceived judgment or opinion (2): an adverse opinion or leaning formed without just grounds or before sufficient knowledge." Several weeks ago a friend was coming over to hang out. She came through my front door asking if I could come with her outside. One of my neighbors was having car trouble and had asked her for a jump. She didn't know them, so asked if I would come with her.

We went over and introduced ourselves. I was sad to find out that these neighbors had lived there for several months and I was just now meeting them. The guys were wearing baggy pants and one guy had a "doo-rag" and some heavy gold chains. Their step-dad came out and he didn't look much older than them, in dred-locks. We started talking with them as they were using the jumper cables. We found out that both of the younger guys were in the army and were here on a respite. Almost immediately my opinion of them changed, improved. Then as we walked back down to my house, my heart was saddened. This small interaction revealed the prejudice in my heart.

Why was it that once I found out that they were in the army I was impressed? It was hard for me to admit, but I had just assumed by the way they were dressed that they were "gangsters," high school drop-outs. I never would have shared that with anyone else, because I didn't even realize I was thinking it! I was pre-judging them based on their race, clothing and where they lived.

Another time I had found a chair on the side of the road that my friend Vickie helped me load onto the top of my van. When I got home, I was trying to pull it off by myself, of course. A young man came by and asked me if I needed any help. I hesitated and then said no because I was afraid he would ask me for money after he helped me. (which has happened before). He insisted on helping me as I almost dropped the chair on my foot and helped me carry it up to the porch. I didn't make eye contact because I was expecting the question. But he very politely said, "you have a good day, ma'am." And he walked away. I was both shocked and thankful for his kindness that I yelled out, "thank you so much!" Why did I assume that he wasn't doing this out of kindness, but for gain? Because he was a young guy walking through my neighborhood? Again, prejudice unveiled.

I'm so glad that I live where I do. Living here keeps me aware of these prejudices. Over and over the Lord has shown me His deep love for all people: drug dealers, prostitutes, addicts, the homeless. As He has unveiled the ugly prejudices in my heart, I've asked Him to replace it with genuine love and compassion for all. We have no idea the pain and struggle that people have been dealt. So who are we to label and categorize people? God is not asking us to be naive and put ourselves in dangerous situations. But He is asking us to cross barriers by building relationships with our "neighbor." If we are living out of His Spirit we would be compassionate towards all people and accept them as individuals, even if/when we do get burned.

It's easy for us to say to a drug addict, "Just stop using." Or to a family on welfare, "just get a job." But we don't know their struggles or their story. Why do we look down on the poor, when we are poor ourselves. Why are our struggles more "acceptable" within the church? It could be said to us, "stop being a workaholic" or "stop making money your god" or "stop striving for significance from people or your stuff." We all have deep struggles and God accepts us all. The ground at the foot of the cross is level, sin is sin. God does not love us any more than the drug dealer just because our sin might be more acceptable or unseen by others.

Living in Glenwood is a constant reminder to me of God's grace. His grace for my judgmental heart and His grace for the lost. He longs for us to extend that grace across the barriers of prejudice. He longs for reconciliation among His people. That's what He's about! Thankfully! Pray that God would reveal prejudice in your heart. At the grocery store, at the park, at church. Believe me, it's there! Then ask Him to replace it with compassion, He longs to do that! Get to know some of the people that you are prejudice towards. You will be surprised and your heart will be changed.

Panic 101

Hi, my name is Diane and I have an anxiety disorder. At least, that's what my doctor calls it and maybe it's temporary. Why does that matter anyway, though. It doesn't make me any less of a person. It sure does mess with my image, though. I find it very difficult not to wear the shame of this sickness. There's so much stigma attached to this disease that it's hard to see it as a sickness and not a failure.

I first started to experience the panic attacks after I had been going to counseling for several months. I know that opening up wounds from the past can sometimes trigger this response. I started on a medication because my counselor encouraged me to. It really did help me to clear my head enough to work through some hard issues and learn the triggers to my anxiety. One of my struggles was wondering if I didn't have enough faith in God to help me through this struggle. Did I really need to take a drug? But I truly respect my counselor and Dr., so I took their advice.

About two weeks ago my whole scalp and face started tingling almost constantly. I of course reverted to my old struggle of a closet hypochondriac and started to self-diagnose. It didn't look good from my point of view. But, of course, I'm a closet hypochondriac martyr, which means I don't go to the Dr. or tell anyone, I just "suffer" through my symptoms quietly. Yes, there you have a small glimpse into my psyche.

So, I did call my Dr. because the tingling went on for days. I did actually have a good reason too because I had bumped my head really hard a day before the tingling started. I know from Web M.D. that not all concussions knock you out, so I wanted to rule out that possibility. Well, in meeting with my Dr. she had no questions about my possible concussion, apparently not a worry. But she went straight to talking about my medication. She pointed out that I wasn't taking enough coupled with a very busy and somewhat burdensome previous 3-4 months.

Like most diseases, this one is very debilitating. I feel both exhausted and ashamed. It's a very humbling sickness. Suffering through it makes me wonder, is it because of some sin? Am I ever going to get over this? Does it ruin my reputation? Then I want to explain myself away to make myself acceptable. I want to justify somehow.

This Sunday during service I just felt the Lord saying, "let go." I've been reading in Romans 12 about offering myself as a living sacrifice, acceptable and pleasing to God. Later on in Chapter 13 Paul exhorts the Romans to "clothe yourselves with the Lord Jesus Christ and do not think about how to gratify the desires of the sinful nature." The desire of my sinful nature in this case is to beat myself up, put on my cloak of shame and my mask covering up what's really going on inside. But Paul is telling us to offer ourselves as we are, this is our spiritual act of worship. God has already assured me of my belonging with Him. So I want to shed this coat of shame and clothe myself with Christ. Surely God wants to help me do this so that He will be glorified.

No matter if I struggle with this all my life, I am accepted as I am. Because of this acceptance I can "be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer." Praise the Lord that my acceptance does not depend on me! Praise the Lord that I get to offer myself to God as I am and I don't have to have it all together to do so. This is pure freedom!

Pedestal

For my whole life I've been on a pedestal of sorts. I'm a missionary kid, so there's one. Among the missionary kids I was always the "good girl," I never rebelled, so there's another. Now, I've married into the ministry, there's yet another.

What do I mean by pedestal? It simply means that people look up to me and think I have it all together, so that I have no room to mess up. I feel expectations and therefore put expectations on myself. One expectation I felt as an M.K. was that I was supposed to become a missionary. So many people were disappointed in me when, at a young age, I told them that I felt God calling me to live in the inner city. I fell off their pedestal, thankfully. In college some of my acquaintances didn't even know that I was a M.K. for my first year, I never advertised it. I hated being on that pedestal. I just wanted to be treated normal.

When Marshall and I first moved into our current neighborhood we got a lot of pats on the back from people in our church. We felt like the poster children of Glenwood. Not many people knew what a struggle it was for us. We didn't have a clue what we were doing and we felt very much alone. There was a very dark period for me when I could have skipped church altogether because my heart was NOT seeking the Lord or wanting anything to do with ministry. But, I still got pats on the back and would smile like everything was okay.

Now that Marshall is the director of outreach (or as some of the ladies from the women's shelter call him, "THE pastor") I feel the same type of "pedestal" pressure. Many times I put myself there, holding a standard for myself as a "pastor's wife." It's so bogus and damaging. We can't put people or ourselves on pedestals. Basically what we're doing is putting our hope in them. Any hope or faith not put into Christ is an idol.

Sure we can have role models, but we have to be careful not to assume that they have it all together. Instead, we need to pray for those that we might consider putting on a pedestal. We need to recognize that they will fail because they are human. We need to remember that anything good that comes from a person is from Christ. Seriously, if you have doubts that someone in ministry struggles, read more of my blog. I try to be very open about my struggles because I don't want to put myself or have someone put me on a pedestal any longer. Like my pastor says, "the ground at the foot of the cross is level." This means that we are all loved and forgiven the same, nothing we do or don't do changes this. The only person who should be on a pedestal is Christ, Himself. So, knock 'em down, friends! The pedestals, I mean.