To My Coworkers

I have an eavesdropping problem.

In all fairness, it's almost impossible NOT to eavesdrop in the break room at work.
[For those of you who don't know, I work at the local bookstore a few hours a week. Extra cash + adult conversations + a reason to wear real clothes = sanity.]

On Saturday, I was actively trying NOT to eavesdrop. I had only a thirty minute respite from the chaos of weekend retail work, which included a children's choir loudly performing in the middle of the store, so I wanted to sit in peace and read my book. Two of my coworkers struck up a conversation, though, and I was unfortunately positioned in-between them.

It started as a general conversation about social media - which platforms they use, how often they log on, who they like to keep up with.
And then the conversation turned to the type of Facebook friends that annoy them the most.
It went something like this:
"Ugh, I have so many friend who are religious now. They used to drink and cuss with me, but now their status is always something like, 'Hello Tuesday! I'm so blessed!' or "So thankful for this Monday!'"
"I know. And I'm over here like, 'My life is a shit sandwich!'"
They laughed, and then kept joking about all the things that are inevitably going wrong in their lives.

I didn't say anything.
But here is what I wish I'd have said:

"Y'all ... I can't handle those Facebook friends either. I get where they are coming from - they are working hard to cultivate gratitude, a legitimate discipline. But when all they offer to the world is their mustered-up goodness, it can be offputting. That's "religion" all right ... sickeningly whitewashed.

Let me tell you something. I believe in God, but you know what? Sometimes my life is a shit sandwich too. My cars break down too (ALL. THE. TIME). I get burned by friends and family too. I experience paralyzing loss too. My house falls apart too. My kids can be little hellions too. Customers make me want to simultaneously cry and punch a window too. I feel lonely too. My marriage can be a hot mess too.

Here's the only difference between you and me: while you are fighting to subsist off the shit sandwich that you're often served, I'm over here feasting on the Bread of life.
Turns out, shit isn't satiating or substantial, and I'm thankful for an alternative source of sustenance. Following Christ does not insulate you from painful circumstances - in fact, it often ushers in suffering. It also doesn't make those circumstances perfectly easy to swallow.
But I sit at the Table with Christ. God intimately knows my hardships (large and small), many of which are my own making. God knows not just my circumstances, but the (very) shitty condition of my heart. And through it all, through my suffering and refining, I am deeply loved. I am valued, cared for, fought for, sung over, befriended and wholly known.

If you want to go get a margarita and cuss up a storm, give me a call. I'm your girl. We can talk (and laugh) about all the things that are hard to bear in this life. And I hope you'll give me the chance to tell you how perfectly you are loved."

Grace for the Process

I've been reading through Job this week.

Honestly, this is one of the only times I've read through this book during a season of stability. Normally, I turn to this book as an act of desperation, when my own calamities (admittedly very mild compared to those that plague Job) leave me looking for a word from God. It works for me. Chapters 38-42 are quick to put me in my place, leading me to renewed repentance and trust.

But I'm seeing it with different eyes this time around, perhaps because I don't feel the need to superimpose my own sorrow on the text. I can see Job's story as his own.

Around chapter 10, I was starting to get mildly annoyed with Job. I understand his grief was immense, his suffering was vast. But, at this point, he seems to have cast himself as the protagonist in a Shakespearean tragedy, declaring "my eye will never see good again" (7:7). He is stuck so deep in the mire of his circumstances that he wishes he had been stillborn: "Why did you bring me out from the womb? Would that I had died before any eye had seen me and were though I had not been, carried from the womb to the grave" (10:18-19). Kind of dramatic, eh?

With the sour taste of Job's attitude in my mouth, I then read this verse in James:
"Behold, we consider those blessed who remained steadfast. You have heard of the steadfastness of Job, and you have seen the purpose of the Lord, how the Lord is compassionate and merciful" (5:11, emphasis mine).

Wait ... what?!? The steadfastness of Job? Did James and I read the same book? Job clearly succumbed to the temptation of despair - shouldn't that disqualify him for a descriptor like "steadfast?"

What at first seems problematic opened up to me as a promise. Job despaired, but his life was not characterized by that despair.
My attitude in any one moment does not define my life. The failures of any one season do not comprise my legacy.

God has spent the last few months opening my heart-eyes to a lot of ugliness that exists in me. More than normal, I'm acutely aware of my failures, temptations and apathy. And, if I allow it, this depravity-acknowledgement can be discouraging.

That's why I'm thankful for this spoonful-of-sugar lesson from God. The spirit-refining medicine that God administers is important and ultimately kind, but can be oh-so-difficult to swallow. It was good to be reminded that who I am in this moment is not who I am. The heart snapshot of today is not permanent, and God has great forward-looking grace with me. And I need to have this grace with myself too. I do not excuse myself, but humbly admit I'm a weird, lumpy piece of clay in the hands of a brilliant potter. 

I hope this reminder is a soul-salve for you too. Your anger, your dismissiveness, your lack of self control, your fear, your depravity in its various forms; these do not define you. They are an indication of your humanity, but remember that divinity is at work in you. Have grace and patience for the process!