Beauty on the Backroads

Stories of grace for life's unexpected turns

expectations

When the world doesn't end

The world didn’t end on Friday; that’s old news now, so it seems Christmas will come after all, and most of us will live to see 2013.

Oak Tree on snowy Fields at Sunset

Andreas Krappweis

A new year. Full of promise.

Except that while people were watching and waiting for the world to end (or not) on Friday, my husband and I were dealing with another blow to what we thought was the plan for our family.

I had been awaiting a second interview for a promising, exciting job, which was not a sure thing by any means but which gave us hope that maybe we could move and get out of this financial, spiritual, emotional rut we’re in. On Friday I got an e-mail and instead of anticipating a second interview, I found the door slammed shut with the words “we are not able to offer a position to you at this time.”

After the initial shock, Phil and I have rebounded and regrouped a little but we still find ourselves lost for direction.

And this is so not where I wanted to be. Especially at Christmas and on the cusp of a new year.

Today, on Christmas Eve, I am painfully aware of my condition.

Poor.

Needy.

Broken.

Helpless.

Empty.

And not unlike God-become-flesh, fullness of God in helpless babe, as the songs say.

How, on earth, could Almighty God become a helpless, dependent baby?

The answer resides in heaven.

And though I am all of the above, I have hope.

Tonight our church serves communion as part of its Christmas Eve service, a service our family has never attended because we’re usually home in Illinois by now. And I am so looking forward to it because of this:

“Jesus fills us with more and more of himself in the Eucharist to free us from being quite so full of ourselves in the rest of life.” — David DeSilva, Sacramental Life

Or as John the Baptist said of his relationship with Jesus: “He must increase, I must decrease.”

I don’t know what the new year holds for us, and maybe that’s a good thing. I spent most of this year clinging to expectations and recovering from disappointment when they went unmet. This year, I pray my expectations will consist of one word: Jesus.

“And he will be our peace.” – Micah 5:5

Limping into church

Last week, two days after minor outpatient knee surgery, my husband limped into church with his knee bulging with bandages.

He drew quite a bit of attention, including questions like: “What’d you do?” and “Get in a fight?” and, my personal favorite, “She kick you?” (Yes, all 5’4″ of me kicked my 6’0″  husband hard enough to make him limp and send him to the hospital.)

They were concerned and like family, that sometimes comes out with humor. Even this week, people asked about his knee.

Funny, isn’t it, how easy it is to ask and answer when the wounds are physical.

The same day people were asking my husband about his knee, I was spiritually and emotionally limping into church, carefully preparing an answer to the “how are you?” question that was honest yet not overwhelming. Because frankly, I’m not fine. Or good. Or okay. But I say those things to protect myself from an all-out public cryfest.

Because if I answered honestly, I’d be a puddle of tears, and I might not stop crying. And you might hear me doubt God. And wonder if He’s there. And question whether He’s good. And lament our lot, for now.  And for some reason I think those things aren’t appropriate for church.

Am I the only one who puts on an everything’s-fine face on Sunday mornings?

My husband’s recent surgery and church attendance make me wonder how many of us there are. How many of us are limping on the inside but walking tall on the outside? How many of us are feeling not quite right and need some rest but don’t feel like that’s a good excuse to miss church or Sunday School? How many of us are desperate for someone to really ask us about our internal wounds and at the same time scared that if they do they might regret it? (You can’t see me, but I’m raising my hands yelling, “Me! Me! Me!”)

This isn’t the first time I’ve wondered this.

And I still wonder what to do about it. Do I just let it all out? Do I admit that this is definitely NOT how I envisioned life after seminary? That even though I’ll be a pastor’s wife someday, I’m not all that happy with God right now?

I have people who know these things; people I run to when I just need to say, “Life sucks!” But I feel like a fraud when I appear to have it all under control on Sunday mornings. Because I am so. not. in. control.

I have not lost faith. I won’t lose faith. Because Jesus has changed my life in incredible, impossible ways. He means too much to me to give Him up.

I am wrestling, though. Wandering in a desert that seems to be without end. Clinging to the slimmest of margins. Trusting in what looks impossible by human standards.

And that’s not always pretty.

So, accept my apology for putting on a happy face when I feel anything but happy. Forgive my feeble attempts to convince you I’m fine when I’m not.

Teach me how to let you in so I don’t feel like a fake. Help me to show you my wounds without shame.

And let me do the same for you.