What is Real?

What is REAL?” asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. “Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?”

 

“Real isn’t how you are made,” said the Skin Horse. “It’s a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real.”

 

“Does it hurt?” asked the Rabbit.

 

“Sometimes,” said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. “When you are Real you don’t mind being hurt.”

 

“Does it happen all at once, like being wound up,” he asked, “or bit by bit?”

 

“It doesn’t happen all at once,” said the Skin Horse. “You become. It takes a long time. That’s why it doesn’t happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in your joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.”

 

“I suppose you are real?” said the Rabbit. And then he wished he had not said it, for he thought the Skin Horse might be sensitive. But the Skin Horse only smiled.

“The Boy’s Uncle made me Real,” he said. “That was a great many years ago; but once you are Real, you can’t become unreal. It lasts for always.”

 

The Rabbit sighed. He thought it would be a long time before this magic called Real happened to him. He longed to become Real, to know what it felt like; and yet the idea of growing shabby and losing his eyes and whiskers was rather sad. He wished that he could become it without these uncomfortable things happening to him.

–Margery Williams, The Velveteen Rabbit

Be Real

To thine ownself be true–what does that mean? What does it mean to be yourself, no plastic ways, no personas, but to be authentic?

I don’t have final answers about it, but it seems to me that being authentic is connected to aligning ourselves with the way God intended for us to live and I know  His design is perfect and beautiful, not self-serving or muddy. I think that to be authentic means walking toward His design, living in simplicity and honesty, not needing props to hold up our image.

An article here on Her.meneutics gives some food for thought:

…my entire life has been a struggle to get out from behind the faces I put on: I want to be perceived as having it all together, as being the perfect wife, as being an intelligent Christian woman, as being compassionate, kind, and inspirational. I have justified my slavery to these goals because they are mostly noble, but the method is entirely wrong. When rooted in a desire to be liked rather than in the spirit of Christ, each one of these “fruits” is an illusion, a fake.

This leads me to my second point about authenticity: It can only be had in Christ. C. S. Lewis wrote, “Until you have given up your self to Him you will not have a real self. . . . The very first step is to try to forget about the self altogether. You real, new self will not come as long as you are looking for it. It will come when you are looking for Him. . . . Christ will indeed give you a real personality.”

Lewis makes this statement as one who understands the deceptiveness and destructiveness of sin. Only God knows who we really are — that is, who he created each one of us to be. Sin leads us to construct alternative versions of ourselves, selves we prefer, selves that are more comfortable, selves that bring us the most glory. We may try to construct selves that will honor God, but even our best intentions will be perverted when working off a manmade blueprint.

In Christ, however, we become our true selves. God opens our eyes to our sins, to the self-deception, to the things in our lives that are not of him. Then he transforms us, conforming us to the only perfect human being who ever lived. In Christ, we stop operating according to the constraints of social expectations, personal insecurities, and lies. Rather than live in ways that are subhuman, we finally live in a manner worthy of God’s vision for humanity.

That is authenticity. It is a “human being fully alive” (Irenaeus). It is not built in a day, nor is it maintained easily. Like humility, realizing we are closer to it ensures that we will lose it. Yet the nature of authenticity is also good news. Because authenticity cannot be faked, because it does not, ironically, rest in our natural selves, our only option for being truly authentic people is to lose ourselves, casting ourselves on Christ’s mercy, joyfully acknowledging that Christ’s power is made perfect in weakness. The more we realize our desperate state and need of God’s grace, the more authentically human we will be.

What If I Miss My Life Calling?

My wise writer friend Dorcas wrote an article here that is both simple and profound. All of us can go round and round, wondering if we made right decision yesterday or last month, wondering how we should make the next decision, wondering What Is God’s Will.

Today’s decisions do make a difference for tomorrow, and we need to think about consequences. That’s part of wisdom. But being finite, we will go crazy trying to do all the mental gymnastics of “What if…”  God tells us to ask Him for wisdom because He knows we could never be big enough or wise enough to figure it out alone. My goal is to live so that His peace is the umpire, calls the shots, and I can make decisions based on whether He gives peace about it.

Until heaven,  no one can plumb the depths of the question about  God’s sovereignty vs. man’s free will. Meanwhile, His peace is perfect, and His wisdom is great. And His virtues are always the right thing to choose.

Maybe what we see as the big life decisions of career and education and location are actually the small ones. The big decisions are the ones that transcend every place and relationship and job — integrity and kindness, mercy and generosity, love and joy and justice.

–Dorcas Smucker

A Curious Blogger

The old grey donkey, Eeyore stood by himself in a thistly corner of the Forest, his front feet well apart, his head on one side, and thought about things. Sometimes he thought sadly to himself, “Why?” and sometimes he thought, “Wherefore?” and sometimes he thought, “Inasmuch as which?” and sometimes he didn’t quite know what he was thinking about.  — A. A. Milne

I’m most decidedly not an Eeyore, but blogging can carry its own kind of angst. I’ve learned to be pretty ok with what I put out here. I basically know what I can’t do, what doesn’t feel authentic, what isn’t ‘me.’ While I like to see the hit counter go up, that’s not what motivates me, because I’m not out to rope in new readers just for the sake of more eyes reading this. I don’t have the mod gushy, glossy lingo that lots of bloggers do, and I don’t care. It feels good not to have to prove anything. I don’t post pictures even though all the good bloggers do, because in this visual era, I like the challenge of trying to make words work for me.

There’s a lot of things I could write, but choose not to, because while I don’t have much (!) to hide, I value modesty, discretion, and mystery. I can keep secrets. I take joy in living a wonderful moment and savoring it in real time with real people without compulsively sharing it with the world.

I think it’s true that the blogging world has a gazillion narcissists (that’s a funny word to spell) and I don’t think that I blog just to talk to myself about myself, but neither am I looking for lots of dialogue and Q&A. I don’t ask readers for feedback, because I figure they’ll let me know if they care enough to say something. Although I really do love comments, even negative ones. Maybe someday I’ll want more interaction, but not now–even though my book needs publicity–because I don’t have the energy  to be an MC on a virtual stage.

But in describing my blog and its goals, it’s not fair or accurate to define it by what it’s NOT, and for a long time I didn’t know how to  verbalize what this blog IS. Finally, yesterday, I think I found it. It was when I was reading Mere Orthodoxy which referred me to Trevin Wax’s post about curiosity in a blogger that the penny dropped, and I said “Hey, that’s me! That’s why I blog–because I’m curious.”

I’ve seen some things, and heard a lot of stories, but I like to think that I’m not jaded, and that I still can be easily surprised, and that I won’t lose a sense of wonder about whatever’s around me. I want to keep asking why, and wherefore, and whither to.

I’m a pilgrim on a narrow road, with nothing to prove about myself, but now and then the exhort-er in me wants to say “Hey–look what I found! I wonder why–” to  other pilgrims. And I think that’s why I blog.

Announcing: Hope Singers Concert!

Everyone is cordially invited to a reunion concert by the Hope Singers at 7:00 pm on Saturday, August 20, 2011, at Martindale Mennonite Fellowship Center, 352 Martindale Road, Ephrata, PA 17522. The program will include information about Anabaptist International Ministries (AIM) and their work in Poland. Opportunity will be given for a free-will offering in support of this ministry.

Beginning in 2004, and every two years since then, the Hope Singers have traveled and sung throughout Poland. As an extension of Anabaptist International Ministries in Minsk Mazowiecki, Poland, the Hope Singers strive to bring encouragement to believers throughout the country and to bring an awareness of an Anabaptist presence in Poland. The choir is directed by Lloyd Kauffman of West Jefferson, Ohio, and includes about 30 singers from the US, Canada, and European countries.

The focus of Anabaptist International Ministries is pointing people to Christ and a lifestyle of wholehearted obedience to Him. Besides operating an English language school for all ages, the AIM team does private tutoring, Kid’s Klub, and Bible studies, holds weekly church services, and distributes the Seed of Truth magazine (in connection with Christian Aid Ministries).

For more information, please
~attend the above-mentioned concert,(and say HI to all my friends who are singing!)
~contact a board representative at homeoffice@aimpoland.org or 814-789-4394, or
~visit us on the web at www.aimpoland.org.
_______________________________

Yes, Lord

Yes, Lord. Yes, to anything You ask of me, anytime, anywhere.

When I was much younger, one of my aunts loaned us a recording of Ann Kiemel. The title of her talk was “Yes, Lord” and I must have listened to it about 500 times, folding the towels, mopping the floor, whenever.

Later, I found her delightful books. Ann’s books break the capitalization rules. They’re written in a kind of blank verse poetry, telling her simple stories of how she sang to taxi drivers and took children out for ice cream, telling them that Jesus loves them and together, with Jesus and love, they could dream and change the world.

I could never quite place her accent, but it fascinated me, and I liked her stories and her raspy little voice singing little songs at any time. “Something beautiful, something good, all my confusion He understood…”

She grew up in Hawaii and never fit into that world, but her pastor dad kept telling her “It pays to serve Jesus” and she’d say “Why, Daddy? I’m nine years old and ugly and hardly anybody likes me. Why does it pay to serve Jesus?” Then her dad would say “Give God time.”

When she was a junior in college, she was asked to be an administrator at Cornell University. They’d never offered the job to someone so young, or to a woman. It sounded so glamorous, her chance to be somebody, but she felt God saying “No.”

I remember kneeling by a little couch and opening my hand and putting into my hand all the things that I really loved: my family, good health, ambition, dreams for a husband and a home. I put them all right there. ‘Yes Jesus, you can take anything out or put anything in that You see I need. Yes, Lord.I want to be your woman more than I want anything else in the world.’

But dreams are made from mountains, and her dreams led her through dark valleys. After the years she had been a teacher and youth worker and dean of women at Easter Nazarene College, she was a speaker and writer. She found herself unable to keep up with demands and said, “I can’t go on. I can’t be a dreamer. I’m just not cut out for this. I can’t handle the criticisms. People don’t even know me and they make judgements about me and it’s harder than I thought to change the world, and I’m not strong enough.”

At 3:00 in the morning, weeping in my little apartment, again I opened my hand. ‘Jesus, I give all of this to you. I just started out to dream for my neighborhood. I didn’t ask to be a messenger to the world. But Jesus, here it is. Here’s my future, here’s my loneliness, all the pressures, the criticisms, the books, the dreams. Take me again. And I will try to make Yes, Lord the continuing motto of my life.’

Ann has written over a dozen books but these are the ones I’ve read:
I’m Out to Change My World
Yes
I Love the Word Impossible
I Gave God Time (the story of her marriage at 35)
Taste of Tears, Touch of God (the story of many miscarriages and adopting 4 sons)
Search for Wholeness

I found her “Yes Lord” speech on the internet today, and loved how all the stories came back to me as I listened. Now, as an adult, I hear her differently, with more understanding and empathy, not so much with the wide-eyed wonder of a child. I know she put me on a path to living with a ‘Yes, Lord’ motto, and with His help, I intend to keep my hand open.

Yes, Lord. Yes, to anything You ask of me, anytime, anywhere.

God’s Slowness = Salvation

Because I have no original words right now, and because I want to share some amazing, wise words from someone else, I’m cutting and pasting part of Margaret Manning’s recent article in Slice of Infinity.

The piece reminds of a great John Piper quote I saw recently: Beware of hurry. Beholding glory begs for lingering. I know that I often miss seeing glory because of my rushing, and the loss is real.

More often than I’d care to admit, I find that I am in a hurry. Now, it’s not the typical kind of hurrying—rushing to get into the “15 items or less lane” at the grocery story, speeding through traffic, or running around juggling four or five tasks at a time. It’s more an inability to be present to my life as it is right now. So often I find that no matter the circumstances, I’m hurrying through, wondering or worrying, as the case may be, what is next.

Living in an efficiency-driven society doesn’t help the propensity towards hurrying through life. We live in an “instant” society, and our increasingly rapid technological developments only add to our impatience when things are not achieved instantaneously.

While technology has greatly improved many aspects of our lives, the ever-quickening pace of development coupled with my own propensity to hurry can be very repressive to the spiritual life. Perseverance atrophies like an unused muscle, and there is no space left for quite contemplation and reflection. Impatience fills my heart with disappointment when answers don’t come quickly, or interruptions slow my “perceived” achievement of goals, or the “improvement” of others doesn’t move at my break-neck speed.

From a human perspective—particularly for humans living in an “instant” society—it is difficult to understand why the Bible depicts the slow unfolding of God’s redemption; both of God’s promises to individuals and of the redemption of the world.

The long, slow, work of God is not to torment those of us who find ourselves in a hurry, wondering what’s next. Rather, the “slowness” of God is seen as a good gift [in 2 Peter 3:9, 14-15]. God’s seemingly slow movement gives ample opportunity to be present to our lives allowing the journey to shape us and mold us into the people we are designed to be. In addition, a spacious timetable gives more opportunity to grow in understanding the multi-faceted implications of God’s rescue—not just for ourselves but for the world.

Excerpt from ‘Strangers and Sojourners,’ V

[Anne, after nearly 60 years, is aboard a boat back to England. She’s talking with an elderly gentleman enroute and they’re swapping stories about their lives.]

He asked: “Were you happy there? There in the mountains?”

She was taken aback. “I suppose it depends on what you mean by happiness. I’ve known moments of ecstasy. There were many, many joys. There were years of desolation and blindness. Years when I prayed to die. But life doesn’t let you do that, you know.”

“I know.”

“Life always asks us to forgive in the places where we’ve been most hurt.”

“Most abandoned?”

“That too. Just when you think it’s over, when there’s no hope, there’s some great surprise. There’s always more. And then you realize that we humans understand practically nothing about all this. All this we live in–as if it were ordinary.”

“Nothing is ordinary.”

“Yes,” she said, and fell silent.

“You were happy then?”

“Yes. I was happy. But not with the kind of happiness most people want. It went much, much deeper. I can’t describe it. It was the feeling that just grew and grew over the years, a current underneath everything, a feeling, a form, a hand that was on my life. A sort of fierce, fatherly love that demanded everything from me but hid itself from me. It had given everything. It wanted total trust in return.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. It’s strange.”

“Like always being alone, but not alone?”

“The feeling was abandonment. It was emptying. No strength. No power.”

“You seem to have survived in good condition, for all that,” he said.

“It made me stronger. I gave everything, you see.”

“When everything’s given, nothing is lacking.”

“But not in the way we want.”

“Right. Not in the way we want.”

“Not in the style to which we would like to grow accustomed.”

“Precisely, Madam.”

“Later, after the worst of it, you begin to understand that you’ve survived. You grow old and you find yourself able to take a walk with a stranger and sojourner and speak with him of the sea.”

~from Strangers and Sojourners, by Michael O’Brien, Part 3, Chapter 34

Excerpt from ‘Strangers and Sojourners,’ IV

[Nathanael and Stephen, grandson and grandfather, are talking about Jonah MacPhale, a cheating townsman.]

Stephen: “I’ve told Jonah MacPhale to his face many a time what I think of his practices. It’s like water running off a loon’s back. He just laughs and calls me a good old mick. But I don’t believe you can give up on people, write them off, you know, like so many do.”

[Then Stephen tells a story about the fighting when he was a young man in Ireland.]

Nathanael: “But it was war. Ireland and England were–”

“War? Oh, yes. Men are always at war with one another. But it doesn’t make it right. You see, when I looked down at that face as they were carrying him off the mountain, I saw something that scarred me for the rest of my days. His head was all busted, but I saw.”

“What, Grandpa? What did you see?”

“I saw my own face.”

“Huh?”

“I looked at his broken face, and it was my face. Do you understand, lad?”

“No.”

“I pray you’ll never have to.”

They sat side by side, unable to move.

“All my life, I’ve despised Jonah MacPhale,” said the old man. “But you see, I was wrong. Each of us chooses one form of betrayal or another. Some betray people. Some betray truth. We kill or steal or twist things up with a gun or a word, and all because we’re frightened little creatures. I can’t abandon Jonah to his fate. He is me, if you can understand, boy. And someone has to be there if his soul ever opens up long enough to ask why or cry for help.”

“You’re too good, Grandpa. He’s a rotten, corrupt sort of person.”

“I’m not good. And it may be he’s not yet doomed.”

~from Strangers and Sojourners, by Michael O’Brien, Part 3, Chapter 32

Excerpt from ‘Strangers and Sojourners,’ III

[Anne’s sister Emily came to visit from England. They’re catching up after twenty years of living in separate countries.]

Emily: “When I left the Party I was an empty shell. Then I met a good man, and he loved me. His love healed me. And that taught me everything. It’s why, I think, Anne, that the world can only be saved person by person, one by one. It’s the slow way but the true one.”

“You must miss Colin very much.”

“Yes, very much.”

She faced Anne, touching her own heart. “But you see, I have him here, always.”

Anne looked up at the mountain.

“I too have a good man. He loves me, my husband. But I’m not healed. Can you tell me why?”

“I don’t know why. But I know this: the healing begins when you abandon your demands for love and choose instead to give love, no matter what the cost. Madness, isn’t it? But a madness that works.”

“Perhaps for some, Emily.”

“No. For everyone. But first you have to forgive. Can you forgive Stephen for failing to love you as you wish?”

~ from Strangers and Sojourners, by Michael O’Brien, Part 2, Chapter 20