God,
What the hell am I doing in this life?
It’s just too hard here.
My only moments of true freedom come in prayer, as I swim or
make art.
Otherwise, I feel shackled with the unending saddle of
everyday life.
I can not seem to reconcile my deep need to earn money with
my bodily struggle of fibromyalgia and where I seem spiritually called.
I can’t remember the last time I felt a sense of
accomplishment or valued.
I do believe I have ministry, but who, exactly, am I
ministering to?
Take this blog, for example. I am compelled to write,
usually twice a week, about my weak and vulnerable self. Sometimes people seem
to identify and I receive a few heartfelt responses. Mostly, I think it goes
unnoticed. Pretty much the way I feel.
My purpose doesn’t seem clear. At least not today.
Last week, it seemed full and rich. I envisioned being more
of a presence, your presence, at Oakbrook, the subsidized-housing complex from
where I draw Artsy Fartsy kids. I feel alive and purposeful when engaged in the
creative work for them.
Sunday, in worship, you led me to a passage in Jeremiah
(15:16-20):
When your words, came, I ate
them;
they were joy and my heart’s
delight,
for I bear your name,
O Lord God Almighty …
I sat alone because your hand lies
on me.
And you had filled me with indignation.
Why is my pain unending
and my would grievous and
uncurable? …
“If you repent, I will restore you
that you may serve me;
if you utter worthy, not worthless,
words,
You will be my spokesman …
for I am with you
to rescue and save you…”
I unknowingly flipped to the passage in response to ministry
about what it means to “stand in the light.”
A woman said she easily holds others in the light, but asked
what it means for her to stand in it herself.
I was immediately guided to the Bible and, as I have learned
from conservative Friends’ Bible study, simply opened to a passage. Jeremiah is
where I landed. The word repent struck
me as I know it to mean being repositioned, changing course. Standing in the
light is letting God chart our course and letting the rest fall behind.
Sunday the passage was speaking both to the woman’s
condition and my own.
When I hear God, I hungrily devour the words, which sear my
heart. As today, I often feel alone, yet I know God’s hand is on me. I do feel
anger (I do not know how righteous it is) at the condition of the world and
even in my own life. And, as Jeremiah, I feel unending pain.
So, what do God’s words in that passage to Jeremiah speak to
me? That I need God to change my direction, my attitude, my mindset. Everything. I feel a strong desire for
restoration particularly in my vocation. I must speak and write only with
integrity.
I am grateful for the opening of this scripture and
introduction to Jeremiah, whom I have never read. He is human and trusts God
enough to vent his anger.
Since yesterday, I have been rough around the edges, a
little fragile and emotional. I have not been very efficient at the studio, but
did manage to complete a new art project. It was how I intended to begin this
blog until my rant erupted. And, yet, it still fits. I had begun with the
following two paragraphs:
The wall of pain is up – literally. In prepping for the
March and April workshops on “Pain as Spiritual Teacher” I am co-facilitating
with my first yoga teacher and dear friend, Renee Groenemann, I opted to make a
more permanent wall than the one I did in paper and tempera early last spring.
I relish transcribing a personal but universal experience
into something tangible. The wall’s function is to allow one to walk through
with awareness and relate it to how they deal with pain. How did I encounter
the wall the first time? Did I run through it or stand at the edge, waiting to
enter? Did I enter willingly, reluctantly or begrudgingly?
Then, somehow, I
lost it. Must’ve been about contemplating that dang pain wall … again. I am exhausted
from re-entering it the past few days. While I am creating this for another
purpose, I understand its creation is also serving me. I can name my pain and,
even more than that, transform it into something interesting, bordering on
beautiful, and look at it objectively. I can touch it, walk through it, not
walk through it, re-arrange it, re-position it and play with it, prayerful it
will help others. That act alone transforms my own pain experience and takes
the edge off.
God was letting me address my wall of pain by standing in
the light, not a comfortable place to be, yet necessary.
• What would I like to
get off my chest and to God?
• [How] do I express
anger at Spirit?
• How has that been
transformative?
• What does standing
in the light mean to me spiritually?
• Describe the last
time that transpired.
whirling about in
a cloud of
creativity
happy, giddy almost,
to be facilitating
someone else’s
transformation
when my own shadow
emerged
dragging me down
into the my depths
where God shone
her flashlight
of truth onto
my weakness
nowhere I would
choose to go, but
somewhere I must
if I desire to grow
into more of who
I am
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