My Uncomfortable Zone

I spent this morning teaching myself. I had a class of seventeen junior highers sitting in front of me, but every word was for my heart. We are studying the life of Billy Graham. Before he came to know Christ as his Savior, he wrestled with wanting to follow a God that would ask him to do what he didn't want to do: be a missionary or a pastor.

And after he finally submitted his life to Christ, God asked him to do that very thing.

I asked them the question that naturally came to my mind: why do we think God will do that? Why do we assume God is going to make us do something we don't want to do? And why does he sometimes do just that?

Submission.
Obedience.
To get us out of our comfort zone.
So we will trust him.

These were just a few of the answers of my students gave.

And before I even realized I was saying it, my heart just started pouring out. I told them how, if I were to be completely honest, living in a small, rural town in Iowa is way more difficult for me than living in Lisbon, Portugal. If I could have handpicked my life, it would have been living there. I felt fulfilled, passionate, and purposeful.

Here I feel small, insignificant, and sometimes just stifled. I desperately miss the diversity of color, the sound of a language that wasn't my first swirling around me, and coffee shops on every corner.

THAT was my comfort zone. This is my uncomfortable zone.

But God isn't about my comfort. And to be honest, I have to rely on Him in such deeper ways here. Do you know how much harder it is to trust God will provide as a farmer's wife than as a missionary? Much, much harder. God takes care of the missionaries (they are doing his work after all!), but will he take care of some man that just plants corn and raises calves?


Yeah, that's the ridiculous stuff that my "uncomfortable zone" has brought out in me. Ridiculous questions and fears that have shown me I know nothing about trusting God.

I don't know if my students will take anything away from the lesson, but I know I needed to hear it. As I wrestle through the loss and the hurt of knowing God chose to end what I so desperately prayed He would save, I have screamed inwardly at how horribly "uncomfortable" this pain is.

But God isn't about my comfort. He's about his glory. While I don't fully understand right now how this brings him glory, I think about the friends that have given me words of life and truth, because God led them, too, through the uncomfortable. And as they have ministered and testified to coming out refined, He is glorified. As they have honestly shared the anger and the verses that spoke to their hearts, He is glorified. As they express God's faithfulness to them, He gets the glory, and my heart begins to heal.

And as I choose to say, "Blessed be your name," He gets glory when Satan wants Him to get my bitterness.

So, as I sit in the middle of my uncomfortable zone, I am clinging to the truth that somehow this will bring Him glory. And that, that is reason enough to be here smack dab in the middle of this terribly uncomfortable zone.

"Even If"

Have you heard this? It's like someone took the words from my heart and wrote them in a song for me. I was trying to drive home when I heard it for the first time.

"I've stood on this stage night after night reminding the broken it will be all right, but right now I just can't.
It's easy to sing when there's nothing to bring me down.
What will I say when I'm held to the flame like I am right now?
I know you're able and I know you can save through the fire with Your mighty hand.
But even if You don't -- my hope is You alone.

They say it only takes a little faith to move a mountain. Good thing- cause a little faith is all I have right now.
But God when You choose to leave mountains unmovable give me the strength to be able to say
It is well with my soul.

You've been faithful; You've been good all my days.
Jesus, I will cling to You come what may because I know You're able, I know You can.

But even if You don't -- my hope is You alone."

One in Four

"Oh my soul oh--how you worry! Oh how you're weary from fearing you've lost control. This was the one thing you didn't see coming, and no one would blame you if you cried in private--if you tried to hide it so no one knows. No one would see if you stopped believing."

I am now one in four.

I prayed. I begged the Lord, "Please, you answered Hannah. You can answer me."

He answered. He brought life as only He can do. We rejoiced. Tears of happiness.

I filled my calendar with all of the milestones I remember looking forward to reaching the first time around: the day we would tell family; the day I'd tell my students; the half-way point; and THE day.

Then something didn't feel right.

Spotting.
Questions.
Fears.
Tears
Prayers.
Tests.
Blood.
Tests.

"I'm sorry for your loss."

And just like that, the life He gave to us He ripped away.

And I am now one in four.

Initially, I accepted it and even felt somewhat proud of how I handled it. But announcements started coming. Multiple friends and family have all shared their happy news. And I have sat in my chair covered in tears wondering, "God why did you rip away the life you gave?"

And I have felt like Martha, "Lord, if you had been here..."

If you had just made it stop.
If you had just protected instead of taken.
If you had....

but He didn't.

He gives. He takes. And through pain in tears I choose to say, "Blessed be the name of the Lord."

Because it takes faith to believe that. It takes faith to want to follow a God that can give and take.

Yet I know He hasn't asked of me anything that he hasn't already endured for me.

He gave his Son.
We took him.
We killed him.

"Oh my soul, you are not alone. There's a place where fear has to face the God you know."

The God I know loves me. He lost a Son for me.
Actually, He GAVE his son for me.

I am One in Four. It wasn't my choice. It would never be my choice.
He's the One who willingly gave his Son for me. It was his choice.

He chose the hurt I have experienced in a tiny, fractional way.

He chose this pain.

And He chose to endure it for people that hated him.

So I can endure being one in four because he's given One for me.

Being too "there"...

"Be all there...."

Have you heard that quote?

"Wherever you are, be all there."

Jim Elliot said those words. I struggle with them. I struggle because it's far too easy for me. It always has been.

I have friends in different walks of life that I consider amazing and truly great friends. But when time and distance separated us, it was easy for me to just accept it, and move on. Stop investing, stop trying, and be "all there" in my new place of life, making and developing my new friendships.

I don't know if that is what Jim Elliot meant or not. To some degree, I think that it is essential to be effective where you are. But more and more I realize that I wrestle with investing in friendships when it isn't "easy." I am convinced I have probably hurt far too many people in my ease of transition from one place to the next.

I don't like that about myself. I wish that I did a better job of hanging on. Thankfully, God brings people who are good "people collectors" into my life. They hang on much better than I do.

I am trying. I try to make calls, to send messages, to remember that it is important.

Maybe it's because deep down I really am just grieving the loss of those friends differently. For me, moving on and not maintaining those friendships feels easier than grieving and missing people that I know I most likely will not see this side of heaven. Deep down, when I let myself go there... and remember the times of laughing so hard we were crying, or bumbling through conversations in different languages, or all the adventures I have had with so many friends while I was single, my heart hurts. Those friends are irreplaceable. Those memories are incredible. And the distance... well, it's real.

And nothing makes it go away.

But just because it is easier doesn't make it right.

So I am telling myself, "Be all there.... but don't neglect or forget the ones that helped shape you into who you are there."

And with that, I am going to go send some long overdue emails.

Antennas and Humility

Last night I was just angry.

I spent all day removing bones and fat from sixteen pounds of chicken, cooking, cooling, freezing, separating the chicken, and making two huge pots full of chicken stock. All while trying to get a stubborn four month old to sleep longer than twenty minutes.

I finally was nearing then end of rotating the chicken in the freezer and was ready to sit down and enjoy my dinner.

All I wanted was to relax and watch mindless television.

Since we are trying to be thrifty and cable is ridiculously expensive, we have an antennae that pulls in a whopping two or three channels(maybe four on a super good day). I turned on the television and nothing would come in. I adjusted, readjusted, opened windows, and put that antennae in every sort of contorted way possible.

Nothing.

As the time passed, and it became evident that there was going to be no mindless television watching, I just began to seethe.

"All I want to do is sit down and relax! Come on! I have been on my feet all day."

My daughter awoke after being down for an entire fifteen minutes.

"Are you kidding me? I deserve at least thirty minutes without having to try to make her happy. I am exhausted!"

My heart grew more and more frustrated with life.

It's ridiculous, isn't it?

I have a husband and a child both of which I honestly thought the Lord would never give me. God provided money and food that I was able to spend the entire day fixing and preparing ahead of time. I am blessed.

BLESSED.

And yet I was heading fast and furiously into deep self-pity.

Over television.
Over my perceived "need" to relax.
Over antennas and humidity and chicken and naps.

I so deeply long to live in awe of the blessings God has given me. Yet I am so quickly caught up in my wants.

Lord, keep my eyes focused on the abundance of blessings you have given me. When I am tempted to believe that I deserve something I do not have, remind me of Christ. Remind me of the Love that gave up everything for nothing in return.

And, Lord, please forgive me for ever thinking that I deserve anything.

On Gratitude

I heard somewhere that the difference between envy and jealousy is this: Jealousy says, "I want what you have." Envy states, "I want what you have and since I don't have it, I don't want you to have it either."

I have lived in an apartment all of my adult life (with the exception of when I moved back home before and after moving overseas). Now that I am married with a four month old baby girl, I am more than ready to be in my own home. It has not been fun or easy to try to calm and quiet a fussing baby because you fear the neighbors getting upset. We have looked and searched for nearly two years. We have put offers on two homes only to find out both homes have had major structural issues. We (maybe more "I" than "we") have spent hours online looking at homes. We have debated building, restoring a home, buying a mobile home, and any and every other possibility you can think of (including living out of a camper).

I am beyond ready to be done with homes. I have found that at times, my heart went from jealousy of people's homes, to envy. I didn't recognize it. It came in the form of self-righteousness.

"I can't believe they would spend this much on a home. They could have done so much more with their money. They shouldn't have spent it on this."

"I would never feel comfortable with a mortgage that high. They must be insane or ridiculous to think they can manage that."

Constant criticism of other people's personal choices, that I honestly know nothing about.

Why?

To make myself feel better about what I didn't have but wanted.

Now, as we get ready to purchase a home, I have heard comments from others that have made me burn with anger.

"Why on earth would you want that? You should build. You should move in the country. You should..."


And on, and on, and on.

It's humbling. Humbling to realize I have made the same mistakes. Humbling to know that we are doing what we think God wants us to do and not everyone wants to pat us on the back for it.

So I am challenging myself to stop it. Stop the comparisons, the self-righteous self-talk, and instead just be grateful. Grateful that God has given me what He has, and grateful that God has supplied for you what He has.

It isn't easy. We are far too proud of creatures to dwell effortlessly in gratitude. But it's where I aim to be.

Love

I never really thought things would end up this way.

All I did was say, "Ok, Lord."

But three years later my world is very different than what I ever thought it would look like. And I honestly couldn't be happier.

I knew going to Portugal was going to change me. But I never knew it would lead to being married and seven months pregnant. There are days when I look at my husband and I know beyond a shadow of a doubt he is a direct result of one act of obedience.

"Love, Erin. Just love."

I knew it was going to be a challenge. Packing my bags, getting ready to head off to a place where I had only visited two weeks to spend the next two years of my life, my mind would spin with thoughts of how I was going to make the most of it. How would I make friendships with people I wouldn't be able to understand? How would I really do it?

"Love, Erin. Just love."

It was always the answer. So mentally, I prepared myself to choose to love. Regardless of what I found when I truly dug in to the culture or really started rubbing shoulders with the people, I was going to love them. Even if they really didn't love me in return.

And something strange happened. My choice to love them, turned into a deep, heartfelt, genuine love. That, for most of the time, stopped feeling like work and a choice.

About a year into my time there, God started pushing me. I knew despite how much I loved it there, the Lord wasn't asking me to return. Something I truly didn't understand. Why wouldn't He want me to go back? I had invested time, learned as much as I could of the language, and I utterly loved it.

But He had other plans.

I remember very clearly the first time my now husband wrote me. I opened up the message at my desk in Portugal and read it. I sat in front of my computer for entirely too long thinking. I fully intended on blowing him off. I scanned things to find flaws. Searched and looked for reasons why I totally deserved better than him. Basically, I approached him the way I had approached all other single guys in my life: I searched for justifiable things that backed up my preconceived and selfish idea that I deserved something incredible.

And that's when the Lord spoke to me.

"Love, Erin. Just love."

And my heart started churning. What if I chose to love him and other people like him the way I had chosen to love in Portugal?

Yeah, but this was different, I would reason.

But I kept coming back to love.

What if I made the choice to love him?

And so I treated him the way I had treated my time in Portugal. I invested. I listened. I tried to understand his differences. I learned about what he did and what he was passionate about.

I chose love. With no guarantees that he was going to love me in return.

My husband and I laugh a lot. We laugh at how ridiculously different we truly are. He could live with piles of laundry on the floor and unmade beds and be perfectly happy. I stress out when there is a pair of paints on the floor. He doesn't get upset or angry easily. I am constantly apologizing for getting upset or mad. He is easy going. I want to get going. He'd be happy in the middle of the country with no one around for miles. I love the city.

And deep in my heart I know. I know that had the Lord not softened my heart and worked away at it in Portugal, I would have found a million reasons not to choose love.

And I would have missed out on so much.

Love, Erin. Just love...

My husband and I have often talked about the many times in our twenties when we were in the same place at the same time. We never met. I even had the opportunity to move to where he lives to teach. I didn't take it.

And we always look at each other and say, "It wouldn't have worked." I wasn't ready. God had to take me to Portugal to teach me to love. And I am so glad that He did.