A Foothold.

"Do not give the devil a foothold"  Ephesians 4:27

I was wrestling.  I mean wrestling.  Wrestling against myself, against my words, against my will, against my attitude, against my behavior.  Everything inside was a tangled mess of tight rubberbands waiting to snap.

It was Friday night.  I came back from helping set up for the Women's Kick Off Brunch at church.  What fun it was with the ladies!  And by the time I got home, I was angry and angst and fighting... myself.  The devil knew the Lord was going to use me, and so he grapsed for a foothold.

Bikes went in and out of the storage shed, Mark working away with me doubting and questioning and wanting to throw things.  I wanted to be mean, be angry, be what I felt inside.  But I didn't know why I felt the way I did, and I knew it wasn't him, so I tried my best to hide my turmoil, but I'm sure tension was still his intuition.

Saturday morning, much the same.  And all weekend was full of church emails and texts, and my (oh my shame!) grumbling...

The devil had a foothold.  He took one edge - turning me against myself, and then to my husband and my ministry, and coiled me in knots.

For the Lord was going to use my story to encourage and challenge others to pursue him.  And until sitting in the church pew Sunday morning, I didn't realize all my uncharted and unaimed against was only because of him.  Because he used his warfare weapons to gather footholds in my heart.

It was Saturday morning that a quick blurb video was shown of me talking about a sect of women's ministry, encouraging a flock.  It is this week that Bible Studies begin, and I facilitate/teach one at this church for the first time...  It's this week that the devil took a foothold to turn me against myself, and most of all, my (by meaning, His ministry with my physical presence) ministry.

"Do not give the devil a foothold" forces Ephesians 4:27.  So I clamor for armor, now that I can Label It Satan, and take my stand against the devil's schemes, without his foothold.

Knees & Buns

I am sitting here, on buns with crossed knees.  And thinking, yes, still thinking, about "Knees & Buns."

Now, unless your name is Bekah or Kate or anyone else that has an obsession with Shauna Niequist (you can google "Knees & Buns" and read the chapter online), you have no idea what I'm talking about.  But, if you are Bekah or Kate, or a writer of any means, you know exactly what I'm talking about.

It's about the war of writring.  About actually sitting and straining and pumping words through your fingers.  It's about battling the fear of starting, about couraging against fear of being wordless or wisdomless, and throwing arrows at doubts nailing them hard and fast for deliverance.

My friend Katherine posted a quote I captured grasped:  "An essential aspect of creativity is not being afraid to fail" quoted Edwin Land.

I am afraid to fail.  I am afraid to start.

Most of my life, I've been a writer.  From Young Authors Conference in third grade to my English teacher's reviews in eighth grade, to detecting and composing a research book in sixth grade writing to an 200+ page novel in eighth grade.  My mom, my teachers, my writing friends were my editors, and I wrote away.  I mailed letters to authors to ask about their journey as a writer, and shadowed authors in high school to glean from their world.

People used to ask when I would publish, and I never wanted to.  At school age I was interested in the joy of writing, in college and recently, the art of writing.  In times of hardship, the processing of writing.  And in random days, the fun of writing.  But publishing, thats whole different sphere... that's intimidating.

Over the last five years, I have thought more and more about writing, and its unique presense in my life, and what it means to me.  I've started thoughts for books, then wrote a chapter or two, then pushed it away.  I've said the words, "when I have time to write" so many times the words at this point seem still allusive, and I like them that way.  Because it demands nothing of me.

To write is to give my soul.  It's to ask for wisdom and put it into words.

I don't want to write to just write, or write to simply entertain.  I want to write because I feel I have something to say, called to gift and challenge it to others, and know there is wheat to glean in their hands.

But then I freeze again and stare at the wall.  Because now I have time to write.  Because it is time to write.  Because it is time to courage the demands of fear and discouragement, the ones that tell me I have nothing to say, or that I don't know how to say it.

So today I sit on my buns and cross my knees.  Still frozen, for it's easier to write about writing, than to write.  It's easier to talk about writing, than to write.  Its easier to think about writing, than to write.

Okay, so then I leap forward a distance and cross the mountains to dare to start.  But then the next Everest looms at me: what to write.  To write fiction?  Fact?  Life experiences?  Bible Stories? To write in blog form or novel form?  Bible study composition or inspirational literature?

My favorite authors are those who can write a novel with religion so delicate into it, that the poignancy of the Truth is so covered in fiction that you are entertained while challenged with such severity that reading for fun reacts to reading into your life.

Examples as such are: Lisa Sampson's A Quaker Summer and The Church Ladies.  And Charles Martin's novels with characters words I scribe into quotes.  Or Francine Rivers novels that begin with her theological questions and spin it into stories, woven with Truth.

I want to write.  It's time to write.  But it's a war to write.  It's a war for knees and buns, words and truth, and wisdom into word.  It's searching for the style of the language in my soul, and composing into an art form that pierces others.

For now, I am stuck in the war of writing, the discipline of buns and knees, and the will to brave the starting.

To Be Alone.

The scripture reads, "It is not good for man to be alone."  But I think this isn't just God talking about "man" as in the male species, needing a wife.  I think it is much broader.  Humans need humans.

The last couple of weeks have been unusual for me, with long days stretching out over time, and myself alone much of it.  Either with little babies or by myself.  And I find myself wilting as the days go by.  Needing the vigor of good friendships.  But my life has altered, and most of theirs have not.  My girlfriends are still off to work during the day, my Charlotte friends are out to enjoy city nightlife on the weekends and my out-of-town friends are still... out of town.  And my days find gaps and space of life with just... me.

So I pick up the phone and talk to Amy, our giddiness apparent across the lines.  Or gab on for an hour with Kelsey, connect with Kelly, or discuss life with Mark's mom... These conversations can make me jump with spark, excited to hear another voice.  But there is still something that lacks when you simply need the person side-by-side, physically, across the table or at a soccer game or walking through Target.  A phone call can only carry each person so far...

To be honest, sometimes I love my quiet. I spend Mondays cleaning and laundering and creating a meal plan for the week.  The quiet with the preparation is like gentle streams of water.  And pockets of this through the week, too, are my solace.  Working from 9-12 with a break at home for a couple hours afterward is like a gentle reward, relaxing and gaining back my energy.

But somedays, its just me.  Home.  And alone.  So today I wandered, created to-do list, and finally at 1pm took myself out to Dean and Deluca for coffee to actually get my brain stirred and moving.  There are things I need/should do, but my soul has just kind of shrunk in the quarters of being home alone the third day in a row.  So I mustered myself and just simply walking out the door felt bright and cheery and worth doing.

And it leads me here to ponder God's Word: it is not good for man [human] to be alone.

Kelsey and I were talking about it the very subject this week.  About young couples who disappear or singles who assume the want to.  Both of these are hurtful and can be harmful, to both couples and individuals.  We are called to community, to live as the Church, to bear one another's burden, to mourn with those who mourn and rejoice with those who rejoice.

In relationship, we flourish.  We laugh louder, we hug tighter, we discuss deeper.

Research shows that human beings have an innate need to physical touch.  Babies don't develop appropriately without it.  We need this touch to feel loved, to know we are connected.  How much more than as adults do we need people who touch our souls with their laughter, understanding, input, and presence.

Practical living shows it:  rather than sitting alone to watch a football game, people gather at homes or stadiums, for the coming together heightens the experience.  Rather than eating at home alone, women invite others in or meet for lunches or coffees for fellowship.  Rather than studying God's Word alone, we are enlightened through Sunday teaching or Bible Study and discussion with application.  Rather than runners preparing alone, they run Cross Country side by side to spur, encourage, and challenge each other on.

There is something about being together, in community, that is scriptural as well as practical.  I find myself with little to think about, little to write about, little to pray about if I hole up in my home.  But in the presence of others, all of these come to life, and I, too, feel alive.  And also prepared and full to be alone once again, and then to cycle again into community.

People need accountability, enjoyable events to attend together, a forward motion towards something bigger than themselves.

Being alone has its time and its space.  Its beautiful at times, trust me.  But being alone is not created for the human soul, solely.  We are created for relationship with God and others.  I wilt without it.  So I find myself looking back to the original Garden for words and wisdom in order to once again, bloom.