Saturday, March 12, 2016

Broken Together

Exodus 3:10-14; 4:1 "Now go, for I am sending you to Pharaoh. You must lead my people Israel out of Egypt.”  But Moses protested to God, “Who am I to appear before Pharaoh? Who am I to lead the people of Israel out of Egypt?”  God answered, “I will be with you. And this is your sign that I am the one who has sent you: When you have brought the people out of Egypt, you will worship God at this very mountain.”  But Moses protested, “If I go to the people of Israel and tell them, ‘The God of your ancestors has sent me to you,’ they will ask me, ‘What is his name?’ Then what should I tell them?”  God replied to Moses, “I am who i am" ...But Moses protested again, “What if they won’t believe me or listen to me? What if they say, ‘The Lord never appeared to you’?”

I was going through some old writings and found this that I wrote back in January of 2014.  It made my heart soften with remembrance and it amazed me that the Truth is still the Truth.  Even two years later.  I want to share it with you...

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1/11/14

Can I just say that I love worship practice.  I'll say it again: I. LOVE. Worship practice.  I love coming in when the sanctuary is quiet and dim, and I love the small talk as we set up, checking in with the worship crew.  Getting started by praying over the sanctuary.  Laughing when we totally screw up on a song and then trying again.  Then watching as the inevitable happens - we forget we are in "practice" and we enter the Presence.  I love these people.  I love this music.  I love my God.  So worship practice is pretty much as close to heaven as I will ever get here on earth.

In practice, the lie of perfection is so quickly squelched.  The masks are off.  We are loved and accepted for who we are - just a bunch of imperfect people doing our best to praise a Perfect God.  It's so beautiful.  And the grace... Oh, the grace!  The precious grace that is extended during these times.  We accept the face that the Mommy is late because her kiddos were misbehaving (that would be me, usually.)  That the guitar player is missing chord changes because he's had a really rough week at work.  That sometimes the leader's voice cracks because we've sung a high riff twenty time in a row so we can get it right and his poor vocal chords are spent.  

We can be ourselves.  We can be vulnerable.  We can be known.  Our offerings are broken and messy, but there is beauty because they are pure.

I wish it felt like this on Sunday morning...

Why is it that when the lights come up and the pews are filled that I all of a sudden feel so inadequate?  I mean, I know it's natural to be nervous in front of a crowd.  But I think it's more than that for me.  I've never minded speaking in front of a crowd.  I think it's something else.  Like I'm supposed to bring more to the mic than what I have within me.

Like I'm not enough.

A fellow worship buddy and I were talking today after practice about how he feels completely unqualified to fulfill the role he believes God has called him to.  He wonders if somehow wires got crossed and God got the wrong guy.  He even suggested another person to fulfill his role, sure that he was not enough for the task.  I just hugged him.  I wanted to remind him of Moses and his speech problem.  Of Sarah and her barren womb.  Of Rahab and her broken past.

...of Alyssa and her total lack of proper writing training... the fact that I feel like a fraud every time I sit down to write anything at all.

There are literally thousands of people out there, just in my lil' suburban community, who are way more qualified to do the thing that God is calling me to do.  So many experienced writers, published authors, skilled theologians, who do so much better at this than a goofy, quirky, messed up mommy of two, knee deep in school art projects, LEGOs and peanut butter.

So I'm discussing this matter with Jesus as I leave the sanctuary.  [Because I've been challenged. I've not just been to practice.  I've been to church.]  And it was one of those times when I could almost audibly hear the voice of Jesus in the room...

Lyssa... Your job is not to worry about the details or how everything will all fall together.

Your job is simple.
Trust and obey.

I thought about how I was going to try to tell my buddy that God's strength is made perfect in our weakness.  That Jesus' power held Peter up in a stormy sea.  All Peter had to do was take one step. Get out of the boat.  That's it.  That our job is to seek first the Kingdom and trust in the LORD with all our heart and lean not on our own understanding.

But the truth is... I needed to tell it to the mirror first.

The truth is, the longer I live the more I realize that nobody in the center of God's will feels equipped and worthy to do what God has called them to.  And I think that's the point.

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Yep.  Still there.  
The scenery may change, but the road is the same.  

Am I enough?  Can I do this?  The truth is no, I can't.  
But that's the beauty of the whole mess.  God take our crazy imperfections, our brokenness, our shame, our inadequacies, and makes amazing masterpieces.

And we look so much more beautiful when we are broken together.

Tomorrow is Sunday.
Can I challenge you?
Leave the mask in the parking lot.  Bring your honest, broken self to worship tomorrow.  Be real. Be you.  I promise, you are not the only mess.  

Because I'll be there, too.



















Wednesday, March 9, 2016

My Spirit Animal

I used to think my spirit animal was a wolf.  I'm fiercely loyal to my pack. Once you're in, you're in for life.  Mess with my tribe and you're gonna get my razor sharp teeth in your hind quarters.

But lately I feel more like a mama bear coming out of hibernation.
A post-hibernation mama bear.
Is that a spirit animal?

I always see this poor sweet thing on the Discovery Channel and feel such a deep sense of empathy for her...

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Mama Bear is coming out of her cave, baby cubs crawling all over her like a jungle gym,  She's been snuggling in her warm, dark, relatively quiet beds with her tiny cubs for months.  She's enjoyed peace and tranquility within the walls of her soft, safe family cave.  

Wasn't Advent, like, yesterday? Where's the Christmas tree?  Why is there not a fire in the fireplace?
Where's my fuzzy blanket and my hot cocoa?  Somebody sing "Silent Night" right now!!

And then... the birds start chirping.  The cubs are growing restless.  The cave feels less warm & snuggly and more hot and stinky.  And the sun!  Ugh! The sun is out so. Much.
The mama bear must face the truth.  Her Long Winter's Nap is now over.  It's time to -pause to brace one's bearself- go outside.

Don't the birds know that spring isn't officially here until March 20th?!  It's like they don't have an iCal app on their phones at all. Ugh. 

Spring.  BLERG.

Mama Bear stumbles into the bright sunlight.  "Ugh. I'm so fat!  Why am I so fat?!  AND hungry?!  Darn you, nature and your cruel irony!"  Her cubs sprawl and squeal all around her. "Annnnd they're hungry too.  Awesome.  I need a nap."

Seriously WHAT. THE. WHAT.  I'm a house.  I don't remember eating ALL THE FOOD IN THE WORLD.  Why is this happening?!?! I need a snack.

Mama Bear tries to get her four legs under her and start the search for food, but has to simultaneously keep the babies from getting stuck in trees and falling off cliffs.  And why oh WHY is the sun so bright?! 

Time to exercise.  In the actual outdoors.  Go for a walk or something.  But it's like I'm a newborn baby dear.  I trip over nothing and look around to make sure that my neighbors didn't see.  And as I'm looking around, protecting my dignity... I trip again.  Am I a toddler??? What is the deal?!?!  And walking WITH my little people... forget about it.  They are seven blocks ahead of me and some stranger is looking at them and thinking "what kind of mother would let those poor children walk down this street all alone?"  I'M RIGHT HERE, YOU JERK, I'M THE ONE FALLING OVER MY OWN SHOES BREATHING LIKE I'M IN A MARATHON, TRYING TO CATCH UP WITH HUMAN GAZELLES!! 
I hate everything.

Eventually Mama Bear captures food (some other poor soul who left their hibernation that didn't want to) and the cubs are full and for a few brief minutes... their full bellies make them rest.
Ahhhhh... Nap time.
Mama rests.  But not completely.  She must continue her vigilance over her cubs.  She keeps watch as she makes peace with the sun, the birds and the incessant noise of squirrels.  

Now I'm sweaty, tired and I must sit down.  But nope. It's 5:00. And I'm a mom.
Dinner.  Why oh why does everyone demand dinner EVERY. SINGLE. DAY!  
And hey, look at a calendar, you crazy animals and for the love of everything stop chirping and scampering all over my house at FREAKING FOUR THIRTY IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT!!

Cubs are up.  Joy.  Mama wants to growl at the world.  It's too cruel.  Then the babies start frolicking and discovering.  They play-fight with one another, they try to eat a flower, they attempt to chase squirrels ...and she remembers the joy.  Her strength starts to return and the Long Winter's Nap is slowly melting away and blooming into the energy of Spring.  

Breathe it in... Ahhhh. I have to admit, Spring smells so good.  It makes me sneeze a little, but it's totally worth it.  Hey! My forsythia bushes are blooming!  And my yard is not a shade of "deep depression brown" anymore, it's kind of ... green! And oh yeah!  Easter is coming!! Yay!  
And BASEBALL!!! WOOT!!!

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So yeah, I think Mama Bear is my new spirit animal.  Mixed with Salvador Perez.  And a little newborn baby dear  ... and some Michael Franti.

Oh, someone please draw this.

...but seriously, how did I get so fat?!?!