T.S. Tuesday: A Discussion on Whimsy and Dance

"At the still point of the turning world. Neither flesh nor fleshless;Neither from nor towards; at the still point, there the dance is,But neither arrest nor movement. And do not call it fixity,Where past and future are gathered. Neither movement from nor towards,Neither ascent nor decline. Except for the point, the still point,There would be no dance, and there is only the dance." T.S. Eliot, Burnt Norton

There is only the dance.

Today I awoke seeking meaning, seeking purpose, seeking the scheduled. I wrote a list a of 23 things I wanted do to feel more "on top of" my life, my job, my tick tick ticking time in Antigua.

I awoke frenzied for the familiar. For a routine. For certainty that I'm spending my time wisely.

And it's only been two days.

Don't get me wrong, I love it here. I think this way when I'm back in the States, too.

That's the problem.

I've been reading through Bob Goff's new book, Love Does, with a dear friend. Love Does takes schedules and predictability and throws them to the wind. Bob writes of a life "drenched with the whimsy of God’s love and the spontaneity of following where he leads when he says “Go!” 

Whimsy. Now there's a word that doesn't sit well with me. Intentionality, yes. Flexibility, yes. Even scheduled spontaneity I can handle. 

I didn't know how much of a problem I have with whimsy until reading this book. Every other line I read I find myself involuntarily exclaiming, "Yeah right"or "That's not possible" or "what about normal people?"

I bristle. I squirm. 

But it's good for me. To be reminded that God's love is bigger than my plans. For Bob Goff, whimsy and disorder and spontaneity aren't ends in themselves, but the means to a life of radical trust, engagement, and freedom. When I let go of my desire to control, to manipulate, and to regulate, I am free to lay my feet, my palms, my plans at the feet of Jesus. 

Bob Goff writes:

"I think God is more of a Half Dome traveler than a Hampton Inn Traveler. Jesus doesn’t invite us on a business trip. Instead, He says let’s go after those things that inspire and challenge you and let’s experience them together. You don’t need a lot of details or luggage or equipment, just a willingness to go into a storm with a Father who’s kicking footholds in the the steep sides of our problems while we kick a couple in ourselves too… 

Somehow in all of this, the terrain we navigate doesn’t seem as scary either, because when we’re on an adventure with God we’re too excited to be afraid and too engaged to be thinking of anything else.”

When we're on an adventure with God we're to excited to be thinking about schedules or task lists. We're too engaged to question how we spend our time.

In Guatemala they don't use the term "spend time" with someone, they say you "share time" with someone. Share time. Share life. Share a meal. Share a story. 

"Compartemos tiempo," my friends here tell me. We share time. 

That morphs the framework. What if instead of asking myself if I'm spending my time wisely, I asked myself if I'm sharing my time wisely, joyfully, fully? 

Why spend my time when I can share it? With friends, with strangers, with family, with God? 

I've thought of my time in Guatemala as being an exercise in spontaneity, uncertainty. An effort. An act of will to unplan my life. Something forced. Something controlled. 

But that's not what I want. I want to be on an adventure. I want purpose and engagement and, gasp, even whimsy. 

I don't quite know how daily life will look here (and believe me enough people asked me last week in San Diego that I think I rightfully find this uncertainty a bit nerve wracking). I don't know how many hours will be devoted to my new job, how many new friends I'll find to go salsa dancing with, or whether or not I'll take more language classes, but I do know Who I want to share my life with, and that is God. The author of purpose and whimsy and adventure. 

The One who leads us to adventures where "we’re too excited to be afraid and too engaged to be thinking of anything else.”

T.S. Eliot writes, "Neither from nor towards; at the still point, there the dance is."

His dance isn't characterized by movement--spastic flailings or graceful twirls--but by being. The dance just is. The dance exists in the place where God is. The dance is God. And there, at that still point, is where I want to share my time. 

God has led me this far--to the cobblestone streets and volcano crested-town that called to me from a place deep within my dreams. God has led me this far, and I am sure as shootin' going to find some dancing*. 

How are you sharing your time?

*Both literally--salsa, merengue, bachata--and figuratively.

Saved By Semantics

Today I am crazy excited to share that I have post up at one of my favorite sites, Burnside Writers Collective--on the rotating home page, no less!  

"As much as I’d like to think I was smart enough to market God to myself, the truth is that it happened not by my own intelligence or trickery or marketing skills, but in yet another Fit of Unwarranted Compassion that I can neither explain or claim as my own."

Please check out the full article, Saved by Semantics: A Conversation with Love, and join in my journey to discover the God of Love, the God who IS Love. 

And, if you like what you read, please pass it along the interwebs. I will be back to my regularly scheduled blogging when I return to my new life in Guatemala next week. 

Thanks for joining in the excitement!

T.S. Tuesday: Recovering What Was Lost

In his fabulous book on vocation called Let Your Life Speak, Parker Palmer writes, "Before you tell your life what you intend to do with it, listen for what it intends to do with you. Before you tell your life what truths and values you have decided to live up to, let your life tell you what truths you embody, what values you represent."

I first read these words fresh out of college, at a time when I was slowly recovering from a deep depression/crisis of self after an eye opening and even traumatizing study abroad experience. Horrified at the poverty and injustice I saw throughout Central America, I thrashed from angry to hopeless to numb and back for months after my return.

But I don't count it as a waste. In fact, the very darkness that threatened to envelop me provided the space and silence to actually learn to listen to what my own life was speaking to me. To tune my ears to my true self. To see the values and truths I embody when expectations are thrown out the window.

Out of the darkness, out the rubble, I learned to hear God's voice. I learned to listen to my own voice and learned to gauge and discern my own responses, my attractions and repulsions. Out of the silence I found life. I found hope. I found a job that brought me more joy and purpose than I could have ever imagined. I found a church that fed my soul and helped me to experience God as a personal, present, powerful source of Love within me.

I had learned, to some extent, to let my life speak.

But now, after a year of burnout and tears and agonizing over whether or not I should leave the job that had once brought me so much joy, I find myself at loss for what I really want.

While trying to survive burnout, to end my job well, to live up to all of the responsibilities I had taken on, I somehow forgot how to listen to my own life. I find myself here in Guatemala, fulfilling a long time dream, and yet I still feel hollow, like I've become a stranger to myself.

These last few months I have written, I have banked on, what I think God would or should be telling me instead of what I really hear.

And I've been calling it trust.

I haven't really been hearing from God. Not like I used to. I've been remembering what He told me. I've been rewriting His past promises. Is this being true to myself? How can it be bad to remind myself of God's character, voice, and promises? When does it become untrue? When am I feeding the emptiness, the expectations? When does anchoring myself on the past become an excuse not to listen for His voice today?

In his poem East Coker, T.S. Eliot writes, "There is only the fight to recover what has been lost

And found and lost again and again."

I am fighting to recover what was lost--my joy at work, my sense of purpose, my ability to hear from God, the patience to listen and discern what my own life is telling me. In the clinical sense, it's a journey to overcome burnout and depression; in the spiritual sense, it's a journey to recover my true self, who I am in the eyes of God who loves me. 

As of right now, I don't really know what I want. I know what I am SUPPOSED to want, but I don't know what I REALLY want. 

I SHOULD want to blog.

I SHOULD want to connect. 

I SHOULD want to hear from God.

I SHOULD want to help people.

I SHOULD want to spend my time wisely and be a voice for the voiceless. 

I SHOULD want to do something about the poverty and injustice I see around me.

But really I want to disconnect. I don't want to care or get involved or commit myself to anything. Just because I am no longer crying everyday or agonizing over my decision to leave, doesn't mean I am healed. Doesn't mean I am myself again. 

I take heart in T.S. Eliot's words, that it's a fight to recover what was lost and found and lost again. It is a journey.  It is a process. And this time I know the Healer. 

So in the next couple of weeks, this blog may be a little silent as I visit friends back in the States and also take some time to listen--to God and to myself.