Cocooning

I struggle with where to begin this post. If you're new to my blog, you might need to check out the post titled The Gift of Godly Gab to get some background. In a way, what I have to say here starts there. In Godly Gab I reflect on the first real call on my life to "speak" and how that has played out over the years with regards to my writing, and also my public speaking platform for Walk With Me and Play With Me.

I closed that post with the comment that although I'm relieved that my stint with public speaking is finally over (because I'm hoping and praying that it's over), I'm also open to God's re-directing word on the matter.

Seven days after writing that, I attended a national conference in St. Paul, Minnesota called Women of Faith.

The entire experience was a burning bush.

To stand in the presence of God while he speaks is humbling, holy, and healing. But also scary. Not because God himself is scary to me, but because the places I must go inside of myself to journey in the paths God asks can feel frightening.

My heart feels like tissue paper, trying to be strong in a way that is not compatible with it's design. And so ultimately, I surrender to the powerful blow of God's holiness. I know that sounds weird, but there are just no words to describe being searched out by the Spirit and being known. Fully, fully known. And then being told to trust God and "go."

At the start, I hadn't even wanted to attend the Women of Faith conference. As the weekend approached, I was feeling overscheduled, busy, stressed out by the details of life. I thought one more thing on the calendar would push me over the edge. But Rich kept encouraging me, "Cheri, even though you don't think you'll find refreshment at Women of Faith, this weekend away with your friends might be just what you need."

I figured he might be right, but I couldn't get past the memory of the Women of Faith conference I attended two years ago. I felt over-stimulated by the long string of speakers (too much to take in at once) and the crowds and crowds of people that filled the St. Paul Excel center. Refreshing? No. It was not refreshing, I kept thinking. And I had sworn then that I would never attend another.

But the reason I broke down and went this year was because someone gave me tickets as a gift. The bearer of this gift described the opportunity as my "golden ticket." She must be prophetic, because I didn't walk away from this gathering with only one little word (as described in Godly Gab) but a tidal wave of words that washed over me with each new speaker, comedian, musician that approached the stage. The waves kept coming and the tears kept falling and the message was the same. . .

"Speak, Cheri.
Trust me with everything.
Embrace all of life's experiences, even the painful ones, because when you embrace life you embrace me.
Know it is your brokeness that I need and want to use.
I have dreams for your life that will not line up with the American dream, but they are the things for which you most long: community, healing, wholeness, Spirit, love.
I have searched you, Cheri.
I have searched you, and I know you.
Speak."

My soul said, "yes," while sitting in the nose-bleed rafters of the Excel center, and I knew immediately that I needed prayer. I grabbed my bag and headed towards the elevator to look for the "prayer room." My makeup was completely cried off, my face was flushed red, I was nervous, nervous, nervous, I could barely breathe. But somehow I put one foot in front of the other and made it to the room of volunteers.

Lies were flooding my head, daring me to turn around:

"Nobody is going to know how to pray for you, because you're not even sure what you need prayer for. "

"This prayer room is for people who have more important problems. Your fear about speaking is a stupid reason to ask for help."

"These women are not going to understand you or know what to do with you. . . "

I walked through the door anyway, and filled out a form (a form????) with my specific concerns. I couldn't write anything coherent. I scribbled phrases. . .

Spiritual hedge of protection
Direction
Support
Author, Speaker

Then I handed it to the room's facilitator. She thanked me, as if the form was "it" and I could go. I managed to squeak out, "Is there someone available to pray with me now?"

She looked around the perimeter of the room, and my eyes followed hers. There were about 6 pairs of chairs set up to face each other, and none of them were empty. Prayer volunteers had all found a match and were busy with heads bowed.

At that moment, a short, petite, blonde-haired blonde woman stepped between me and the facilitator with a sense of urgency. Out of breath, she said, "I'm here to help. Pray. I'd like to volunteer." The facilitator turned to me, a bit unsure of what to do with this out- of- the -blue prayer person. "Well, I guess the two of you can find some chairs somewhere!"

I cried for five minutes before being able to eek out a word. My prayer partner just started praying. When I finally found my voice, I told her the story behind my tears, fears, my reluctance to speak. And how this weekend was so clearly pointing me to God's desire that I speak. Contrary to my worry that nobody would "get" me, she "got" me. She heard me and responded to what I was saying with knowing and understanding. It felt God-appointed that we had been matched.

We finished praying, and I asked my intercessor's name. "Heidi," she said. "I'm from Moms In Touch."

"Thank you. For praying," I said. "It's uncanny that you walked into the room at the exact moment that I needed a partner."

She smiled with tears in her eyes. "Yes! I hadn't planned on praying today, but I felt God nudging me to help. I was practically running to the prayer room because I kept hearing God say, 'Hurry, hurry, get up there now.'"

Through Heidi, God was running to meet me. He was bounding to my rescue, anxious to love and hold me up. Even as I write this post, the image of God running brings tears.

Looking back on the weekend overall, I am still stunned at the powerful way my life was touched. It wasn't just one speaker that resonated with me, but ALL FIVE SPEAKERS ministered to me in flame and fire and the holy words of God.

The whole experience was definitely a rebirth of sorts. I feel blessed. Broken. Wobbly legged. Shy. Exposed. Startled. Timid. New.

Yes, God. I will go. I will not shrink back in fear and self-doubt into the comfort of self-protection. I have heard your voice, and I will go.

"Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil. Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me." (Psalm 23)

As a family, we're pretty low key about extra-curricular activities for our kids--partly due to money, partly because we don't want our lives to be overscheduled. Keeping up with school and church activities alone can often feel like too much! It's because of this feeling that we typically don't sign the kids up for any sports during the school year. We use the summer season to sign them up for classes they might enjoy.

Once school lets out, we encourage them to try new things and stretch their interests, knowing that eventually, as they grow older, they'll settle into one or two things that they "love."

This summer, Jennifer (9 years old) took soccer and skating. She's fairly athletic and does well with just about anything she tries. Even though she's good at a lot of sports, it's tough to tell what direction she'll go in life, which activity will be the one to spark her passion.

There is nothing more thrilling (and scary) than your daughter finding and following a dream. One day we were driving home from skating lessons, and Jennifer was sitting in the backseat of the car. . . quietly. I asked her what she was thinking about, and she blurted out, "I'm never going to have my dream!"

"Well, honey. . . what exactly is your dream?" I asked.

"I want to skate!" she said with a mournful sort of wail in her voice.

I couldn't help but smile. "You already are skating, Jen! You're doing it!"

"But I want to be a figure skater. I want to compete!"

"There's no reason you can't do that" I encouraged.

"But it costs a lot of money, Mom! And we don't have a lot of money!"

Dusk was settling in. I turned on the car's headlights.

"Yes, there is that," I said. "All big dreams require a lot of persistence and hard work. But we can take your dreams one step at a time, can't we?"

"Yes, but Mom. . . . ." she continued to wail, trying to explain that she had seen the movie Ice Princess, and the girls who were skating had parents who took out second mortgages on their homes, and/or dad's who worked two jobs just to support their children's dreams.

My heart was singing with the joy over Jen's ability to articulate a dream. At the same time, my heart was fluttering with fear. What if she's serious about this? I thought. Jennifer has a lot of ambition. She accomplishes everything to which she sets her mind, whether I'm actively supporting her or not. Where will we get the money to pay for a coach or ice time or any of that, if in fact this "dream" is more than a fleeting interest?

I put my fears to rest by telling myself that Jennifer is young, and that over time she will probably move on to different interests.

Several weeks later, Jennifer's skating teacher approached me at the end of class, and said, "Have you ever thought about getting Jennifer a coach? She picks things up quickly and she could learn a lot faster in a one-on-one setting. If she joins the Chaska figure skating club, she could also compete."

I felt excited for Jennifer--that someone would confirm her dream as a very real possibility. And also dizzy with fear. How in the heck could we pay for this?

Jennifer was dancing up and down, "That's what I want to do, Mommy! That's what I want to do!"

Perhaps sensing my fear, the teacher then added, "I know 'Club' is not as financially feasible an option as group classes, but there are a lot of benefits, too. Skating helped me pay my way through college!"

As we drove home that night, Jennifer was again in the backseat, staring out the window, quietly. I was having a silent, but chatter-filled conversation with God:

Thank you God for dreams! Help me trust you when you say you can make a way when there seems no way! Bless Jennifer's dream-filled heart!

If you're interested, watch this fun little video of Jennifer in her skating class, doing what she loves!

Before moving to Minnesota, I was involved in a small group biblestudy through a small Anglican church in the Chicago area. The leaders of our group were a retired couple, and we met in their home several times a month to read and discuss a shared book together. The mix of 10 or so people was interesting. I was the youngest one of the group (I think I was 28 years old at the time). Everyone else was in their mid-40's or 50's, married, and attending group as couples. I was in the early years of my marriage, but attended the group by myself. (Redeeming the Christian Soul through Healing Prayer wasn't a title that appealed to Rich at the time. Even ten years later we continue to be inspired by completely different things.)


I keep a photograph in my bible that reminds me of this unusual small group experience. It's a 3x5 with rosy-cheeked me sandwhiched between two older gentlemen. My hair was long, straight and stringy at the time, without bangs. And as if trying to emphasize how wrong the "no-bang" look was for me, I made matters worse by pulling my hair half-up into a tight barrette. The man on my right wore age spots like freckles and the roundness of his face was exaggerated by a well-slicked comb-over. Our leader, Dave, was on my left and he towered over me with his large build, wearing thick, over-sized, black-framed glasses.


It's not a "great" picture by any means. But, I keep it as a reminder of an important evening and a significant exchange I had with Dave. . .


Dave and his wife had a pentecostal perspective on things. They had a strong sense of God's spirit about them, and they were very enthusiastic about the way they saw God's Spirit moving world-wide. Through key friends and connections, they often provided updates on spiritual revivals happening overseas. And within our group they prayed fervently that revival would visit churches and communities in the U.S. Their way of knowing God and looking at the world was different from my own, but I respected the wisdom of their years, their earnestness, and their sensitivity to God's lead.


One evening, as we closed a lively discussion about the Holy spirit, Dave and his wife invited the group to pray for a fresh falling of God's spirit, and particularly that this gift would manifest itself in the ability to speak in tongues. Now, I don't know what everyone else in the group was thinking, but even as a "youngster" theologically I was not in agreement with the idea that "tongues" was a gift everyone was meant to have, nor did I believe that speaking in a "God-given" language was the main sign of Spirit in our lives. . . but I was willing to go along with anything. As Dave led the group in prayer, I sat quietly on a rose-printed couch with my hands cupped in my lap--open to receiving anything God might give.


The night's agenda had already gone long, and Dave's beseeching prayers seemed to go on forever. He kept encouraging those of us in the group to "just try saying something." But none of us did. It wasn't long before my mind was out the door and driving home. Although Dave and his wife's prayers were full of faith and fervor, I sensed that they were a bit discouraged when nobody in the group broke out into any Spirit-spoken "humma-lummas." And so finally, and graciously, they finished praying and let us go home.


And then something weird happened. I walked toward the front door, and Dave pulled me aside. He said with authority, "I have a word for you from the Lord." I was a bit shocked that he would have something specifically for me. I wondered if he was going to chastize me for not being open enough to God's gifts or his spirit. But, he simply looked at me through his thick glasses and said, "Speak."


"Okay," I said hesitantly, my eyes searching his, wondering if there was more. But, Dave didn't expound.


"Just speak," he reiterated.


I wasn't sure what it meant, but I sensed this "word" was important. At that very moment, someone in the group interrupted us and asked for a picture. It's the very picture I keep in my bible, with "speak" still whispering in my soul every time I see it.

Since that night, I have not been given the gift of tongues, but this "call" to "speak" has played out in my life in so many ways.

Sometimes "speak" has meant speaking up in a group of friends--especially when what I have to say is sort of "out there"--and my heart is pounding with nervousness about how my words might be received.

"Speak" has also meant "write." And through the discipline of writing, God has been healing me of generational/life wounds that tell me I have no voice, nothing important to say.

And within the last few years, God's call on my life has brought me to the speaking circuit as a platform for Walk With Me and Play With Me. Sharing my personal stories in the public arena has been fraught with personal battles that make me want to run the other way. But, I sense I am being obedient when I say, "yes." And so I go where the opportunities arise.

It's amazing how one little word from God can move through the layers of our lives over time, changing, shaping and re-creating us. One little word!

It is with a sense of relief and thankfulness that I sense I am finally coming to the end of my public speaking journey. In what new directions might God be calling, leading? For friends and audience members who lovingly argue that my speaking journey is NOT over and that quitting would be wasting a gift, I like to say. . .

"Well, I'm pretty sure I'm done. But, I'm also waiting with open ears, willing to let God speak."

Few people know that they have the power to bless life. We bless the life in each other far more than we realize. Many simple, ordinary things that we do can affect those around us in profound ways. --Rachel Naomi Remen

This week has been a whirlwind of work. I've been bogged down with long nights waitressing, the daily demands of family, and a growing "To-do" list for a Faith & Friendship event at church. For the past six months, I've been on a committee of women helping to plan a special evening for women: speaker, special music, appetizers, dessert.

Although I love our church and the women with whom I'm working, there've been some bumps in our ability to agree and get along.

It started off beautifully. . . decisions were arrived at quickly, we seemed to share a vision for what this women's event could be: elegant, relaxing, fun, faith-filled, encouraging. But then there were disagreements about what beverages should be served. And there seemed to be highly charged opinions from two different sides. We revisited discussions about beverage choices for several weeks before one side reluctantly defered to the other. (I realize now that it wasn't without harboring unspoken resentments. . . )

A week or two after this beverage debate, a major rift occurred at church regarding a youth leader's resignation (which many suspected was truly a "firing"). And various responses to the "resignation" triggered a whole slew of emotions from congregants. Discord grew and ultimately some people left the church. Several of these people, unfortunately, were also on our planning committee. And the bumps we had experienced earlier in our planning process were re-visited.

It was terribly sad, and hard for me to be patient--waiting for the mud to settle. (I'm not sure the water is clear even yet.) But ultimately, my heart for the church and the good things going on there, have kept me true to my commitment as a member. (At the same time, I support those friends and families that needed to leave, because I know God speaks to and calls us each differently.)

This week, however, emotions and frustrations related to our event-planning process have once again flared. I'm sure most of it is because we're down to "crunch time," and stress levels are high. I'm trying to keep things in perspective:

Our church, and the church around the world, will always be messy, mixed up, imperfect.

It's the very humanness of people that compels me to both love and "hate" community-life. I'm just hoping that the more I learn to accept people for, and not just in spite of, their "impossibleness" the more I can learn to love myself. . . and even God. Because from my limited perspective, I think there are times God can feel impossible to get along with, too!

There was something I read on the church in Yancey's Disappointment with God. He said, "Look at the people in the pews of any church. Is this what God had in mind?" His point being that God took a huge risk when he decided to send the Holy Spirit to take up residence in us. Because we're so obviously human, and so many times our own faces get in the way of the face of Christ that God wants the world to see.

Yancey goes on to quote Frederick Buechner who "marvels at the folly [of God's plan] 'to choose for his holy work in the world . . .lamebrains and misfits and nitpickers and holier-than-thous and stuffed shirts and odd ducks and egomaniacs and milquetoasts and closet sensualists.'"

I just love this description of the church!! We can all find ourselves in there somewhere, don't you agree? And yet, despite how dorky and dumb and misguided we can be, Yancey reminds us of Paul's words in the Bible. . . . "the foolishness of God is wiser than men." Somehow, even with all of our quirks, questions, failures, and foibles, God's work is still being accomplished!

For the remainder of this egomanic, lamebrain week (and yes I'm referring to MYSELF here) I'll hold on to Paul's words, praying that God's graceful work in my life will prevail!