Are You Suffering from Spiritual Stockholm Syndrome?

Another throwback on the topic of forgetfulness, this one from April 2010, just a few months before I really started living at a break-neck speed that put me in survival mode, where I started seeing my Father as the enemy...

If you watch The Amazing Race, you see that no matter how the teams start the race, usually the longer they go at their crazy pace, the more they forget everything but winning. They forget kindness, they forget love, they forget who they are, where they came from, and what they’re about. I wonder if they were allowed to slow down for 30 minutes a day to talk to their family back home if it would help them remember—remember what’s real and what really matters. But far from home, they forget.

My sister came to visit last week, and we had a great time in the city, but I can’t imagine trying to keep that pace of life up for very long. Fun for a day or a week, but continuing at that pace makes you forget. Yet, since she left, I'm realizing I've been in this race for a while now in one way or another.  I've been forgetting.  Again. Forgetting who I am and what I'm about. And I haven’t taken even 30 minutes each day to be reminded. I stopped talking to my Father regularly. Far from home, I forgot.

I read a Ted Dekker book recently that I wasn’t into at first, but I really can’t walk away from one of his novels without thinking about the human condition—my condition. The book was The BoneMan’s Daughters, and it was essentially about a girl who is kidnapped and in order to survive she assimilates to her environment and the ways of the one who holds her captive. Her father pursues to rescue her, but she treats him as the enemy. Far from home, she forgot.

It made me think about how we are all prone to Stockholm syndrome. Far from home, we forget. We lose perspective. We develop distorted alliances and pursue misguided ends. We need to let the Father remind us who we are, where we’re from, what we’re about, and who He is. We need to slow down and remember.

…we who have fled to him for refuge can have great confidence as we hold to the hope that lies before us. This hope is a strong and trustworthy anchor for our souls. It leads us through the curtain into God’s inner sanctuary… Hebrews 6:18-19

Signs of spiritual Stockholm syndrome:
1) Do you see God as the enemy, against you, just trying to make life difficult for you?
2) Are you too busy or distracted to spend 30 minutes a day to be reminded of what real and true?
3) Has survival or success or fun or other pursuits become more important to you than living for Christ?

Now life has slowed down for me, but I am still working on realigning what I know to be true, exchanging the truth for lies. I have to be reminded of what's real, who I am, who God is, and that I'm not just living to win or survive. There's more to life.

Forget Resolutions--New Years Tattoos, Anyone?

I'm starting this "throwback series" of blogs based on blogs I wrote in the past, to remind me of truths I used to know.  ...that I used to knooooww (now the song is stuck in my head).  

I originally wrote this June of 2008, but I've been thinking a lot about it this New Years.  I've been slowly awakening over the past several months after a two year soul sleep.  And as much as I want to live in the freedom and fullness that I once enjoyed with Christ, it's a struggle each morning to remember that's where I want to be when so many other things are calling out to me. I forget.  Each day I forget.  Maybe even every three minutes I forget.


We are a forgetful people. I've been thinking about our tendency to forget. I saw an older movie the first time recently, Memento. In it, the main character has a disorder that affects his memory. He can’t remember anything for longer than three minutes or so. But he’s got a very important purpose—He wants to find the man who killed his wife—the last thing he remembers. Of course, each morning when he wakes up he can’t remember his purpose or the new things he’s learned without leaving himself daily reminders. 

He tattoos messages on his body, he leaves himself notes, and he takes pictures to remind him of the important things so that each day he’ll know what is true, who he can trust, and what he should be about so that he won’t be deceived or distracted from his mission.

In a way, we all have this disorder—we forget our purpose, forget what we’ve learned, forget what we should be about. When we wake each morning, our first thoughts are selfish and we need to be reminded of what we know is true, reminded of what we learned the day before and the day before that. The distractions of life make us forget. We are deceived into thinking other things are more important. Then we waste our time and resources on pursuits that are meaningless. We need reminders.

John Eldredge makes this observation in The Journey of Desire, “I wake most mornings an unbeliever. It seems that during the night I slip into forgetfulness and by the time the new day comes, I am lost. The deep and precious truths that God has brought me to over the years and even just yesterday seem a thousand miles away.” He says he’s got a section in his journal of central truths he must return to each morning. 

What are the things you need to remember? What are you doing each day to help you remember?

“Only be careful, and watch yourselves closely so that you do not forget the things your eyes have seen or let them slip from your heart as long as you live.” Deuteronomy 4:9

I started my own list of truths to remember back then.  This New Years I'm making a new list to wake to. Here's just a few...

• I am loved!
• God's grace is sufficient for me
• God is actively working to transform me
• I was made to know God and make Him known
• This is not as good as it gets!
• Hulu is the devil  ;)

What's on your list?  Wanna get matching tattoos?

Navigating Life and the Canadian Wilderness

I used to be a blogger.

It’s difficult to write when you have nothing to say.  

When I write I usually like to have a point, to know where I’m going, and to say something that matters.  Otherwise, why read it?  Unless there is a lot of self-mockery.  That makes pointless things worthwhile, somehow.  Universality or something.

This blog has been blank for a long time.  I haven’t had much to say that matters.  All my writing has been sort of rambling.  I’d get to the end and realize I have no real point.  If I don’t know where I’m going, I don’t want to get anyone else lost with me.  

Those who know me well know I tend to get lost (in the literal sense).  Frequently.  I have no natural sense of direction.  When I first moved to this area, I was constantly calling my friends to find out where I was and how I might get somewhere else.  So much so that they all chipped in and bought me a GPS for Christmas.  I promptly broke it and was back to calling them. 

But a strange phenomenon happened last week.  While co-leading a women’s wilderness canoe trip in Canada, I was given a map and told to lead.  And I got us where we needed to go.  All week.  In fact, my navigational skills might be considered stellar.  By some.

I spent a lot of time thinking about this.  I determined there were four things that led to my navigational success.

1. I consulted the map frequently.  I was constantly trying to match what I saw with what the map said I should see.  If they didn’t line up, I had to re-align myself until I got my bearings.  Sometimes this meant stopping for a bit.
2. I conferred with my friend and co-leader (Deb) regularly.  We helped each other figure out when we were off-course or reading the map wrong.
3. I trusted myself.  I didn’t second-guess myself, but maintained confidence in what I believed to be true.
4. I was entrusted with an important task.  The trip lead (Scott) didn’t carry a map.  No one in the group had a map.  That meant it was up to me not to get the group lost.  I felt I had a significant role to play.

When we got home, Scott had words of wisdom for each of us.  To me he said (something to the effect of), “keep your eyes on the map and you won’t get lost.”  I took it sort of literally at first.   But I know there was more to it.

Lately, my life has resembled my writing.  Rambling.  Uncertain.  Not sure of my point.  Trying not to get anyone else lost with me.

The truth is, sometimes in life it’s easier not to look at the Map.  Not to paddle. It’s easier to float in the middle of the lake aimlessly, feeling sorry for yourself for not going anywhere.  Sometimes it feels so good to feel sorry for yourself.  It’s so much easier than having a significant role to play.  Or trusting yourself.  Or conferring with friends.

You can sit there and tell others what they’re doing wrong.  Or blame.  Or make excuses.  Such a good time.

And then it’s not anymore.  You get stuck on a rock.

I’m not saying it’s not okay to be lost.  We’re all lost sometimes.  But there’s a difference between being lost and being stuck.  I’ve been stuck.  And it’s not such a good time anymore. I’m ready to move on. 

The beauty of a wilderness trip is that God can speak to you in new ways, showing you parallels in the journey for your own life. He’s showing me what I need to do... in four easy steps.  Ok, not four easy steps.  Four complicated, time-consuming, sometimes fear-provoking ways of being.

1. Consult the map frequently.   When I think of this, I don’t simply think of using the Bible as a how-to manual or road map, but rather staying centered in Truth... listening to God, being grounded on His love, comparing the reality of what I think with the truth of what He says instead of just going in the direction that seems right.  Frequently.
2. Confer with friends.  Community is so important.  Friends help me to see when I’m off course.  The isolated sheep are more prone to attack.
3. Trust myself.  Have confidence in who God says I am and in the good gifts He has given me to share with others. 
4. Believe I have been entrusted with a significant role.  God has designed each of us with genius and purpose to carry out His mission of reconciliation and restoration. He trusts me.

My point is (ha!) … I’m going to write more.  I’m going to paddle.  I’m going to stop feeling sorry for myself.  I’m going to be loved.  I’m going to love.  I’m going live free.  I’m going to live a full life, full in the fullness of God.

My response is to get down on my knees before the Father, this magnificent Father who parcels out all heaven and earth. I ask him to strengthen you by his Spirit—not a brute strength but a glorious inner strength—that Christ will live in you as you open the door and invite him in. And I ask him that with both feet planted firmly on love, you’ll be able to take in with all followers of Jesus the extravagant dimensions of Christ’s love. Reach out and experience the breadth! Test its length! Plumb the depths! Rise to the heights! Live full lives, full in the fullness of God.  Ephesians 3:14-19 (The Message)

This Tastes Bitter: The Taste of Self-Preservation

Those pithy sayings about the difficulties of life making us better not bitter are not meant for us bitter people, I think.  They may be meant for potentially bitter people, but more likely they’re meant for better people—to feel even better about themselves.  But I may just be bitter. 

I’d really like to be one of the better people, but in reality I think I often prefer to wallow in my misery.  Just for a while.  Just until I’m sick of myself...  I’m sick of myself. 

Perhaps my bitterness comes from a tendency to take myself too seriously instead of seeing the lighter side of disappointments with life.  Maybe I should change the tone of this whole blog and find my voice as a witty humorist who is almost 35, with no babies, no dates, no real job, no prospects and more student loan debt than I care to mention.  But somehow when I try, it comes off sounding desperate and pathetic.  Maybe that’s because I hear other voices—the ones of my contented single friends, or discontented married friends, or the better people telling me I shouldn’t be honest bitter.  Though maybe it’s just my own self-preserving voice.

I suspect self-preservation will be my downfall.  Or the reason I never quite get off the ground.  It is the reason why I’ve removed my last several blog posts, the reason I’m scared to risk, the reason I don’t love fully, and maybe even the reason I’m bitter instead of better.  It’s safer.  It’s the reason I am satisfied with a superficial self rather than my true self.  I wonder what would happen just in one year if I could live my life without self-preservation.

I can’t.  We can’t.  Not fully. We all wear fig leaves of some sort.  But I imagine.  I imagine who I could be if I didn’t hide from God and man.  Mark Sayers says this is true holiness.  “Holiness is not about pointless and impossible perfectionism.  It is about becoming the people we are meant to be.  It is the ultimate discovery of our true selves.  Each step toward holiness brings us closer to becoming who we really are.”

Being sick of myself is often the thing that makes me want to trade in some self-preservation for a taste of holiness, a taste of God’s work of restoration in me and in the world.  But then, if I did that, I might forget why I’m bitter.  

Post-Grad School Angst

I feel let down. It seems I still haven’t found what I’m looking for. After investing three years of my life (and finances) into grad school, I’m now wondering if it all wasn’t just some siren song calling to me to greener grass just to dash me on the rocks. I guess this is what they call the divine discontent. Holy frustration that leads me to the truth that my hope has been misplaced. Again.

I don’t regret going to grad school (of course I haven’t started paying back my loans yet either). I guess I just thought it would be different on the other side—that I would be someone else maybe. And I am, in some ways. But life is still hard and confusing, and I’m still not who I want to be. I thought I’d be perfect by now. How disappointing.

I hear this is a common feeling for post-graduates. Maybe it’s common for anyone who has worked hard to get something or get somewhere only to realize it’s still not enough. It reminds me of what my professor said, that frustration is built into our lives on purpose by God to lead us to him—our Source. It’s part of the curse. To lead us to freedom and rest and true hope (Romans 8:20-21). We won’t find what we’re looking for until we look to God.

And yet before I get there I always seem to have to spend myself trying to avoid the curse, mad at God for not giving me what I want and irritated that he’s more concerned with what I need. Until I’m exhausted enough to let him work.

“Thou hast made us for thyself, O Lord, and our hearts are restless until they find their rest in thee.”  St. Augustine

Until Then

Death loss
is not what I thought, not what they taught. Yes, it’s grief
and tragedy. It’s sadness and sympathy.
But not so much over
your death
as over

your life

that I didn’t know,

that you never showed,

that maybe no one knew,

not even you.

All your greatness, hidden by shame.
All your heartbreak, hidden with blame.
All in ashes. Only worn out jokes and guitars remain.
Nothing risked, but all is stained.

I wonder if now you see clearly, and what you would say
now that you see, and who you would be
now that you’re free, and how things would be different
back then if you had not been

hidden.

But I’ll see you again.
Until then
I miss you, Dad. I always have.

Deep Calls to Deep

I prefer to write about innocuous truth. You know, then I don’t have to get naked.

But perhaps the truest thing about us is the most personal, the most vulnerable—our desire to connect and be known. I tend to be pretty ambivalent about it, really. But then at times, I am ambushed by that desire so powerfully that I have to confront it. Last night was such a time.

Often for me, like last night, it comes after spending time in community when no true knowing has taken place. Conversations about food, the economy, and the weather are paramount. And we all remain unknown. And safe. And then boom. Suddenly I want to do something self-destructive and reckless, like an angsty teenager. I feel unsatisfied and restless.

I wonder, if we could all just learn to recognize and name that longing, a longing for intimacy, how much senseless tragedy would be reduced. Would there be less drunk driving, less affairs, less eating-disorders, less suicide? Probably not. Because awareness doesn’t fix the problem. We’d still be unsatisfied—we’d just know why—we’re not getting our deepest need met. So, what do we do with the problem of deep desire?

There’s the obvious choice: repression. Don’t feel, don’t desire. Keep busy. Self-preservation. Seems to be the thing in our culture. I even feel weird writing this because I’d rather play it cool or make a joke—that’s how my family has dealt with it. Laugh it off. But then, the truest thing about you dies.

Then there’s the option of trying to get that need met in counterfeit and harmful ways, or trying to force others to meet that need for you. Addiction. Manipulation. Come to think of it, that’s my family too. And this is what I have seen most often in the therapy office. The aftermath of it, that is.

To be honest, I don’t even think most of us know how to connect or be known. It’s freaking scary—to be known. Most of us opt out. We push people away or hold them off in so many ways, but mostly we just don’t know how. What if we all confessed that we have this deep desire that’s not being met? Would it be okay to talk about? Because if we start talking about our deepest desire, there’s a chance we might begin to feel known.

But it seems to me that this desire can be so deep that I could eat and eat and drink and drink and never get enough. I think we have to learn to live with this desire—to let it be the symptom that tells us we are alive and part of the struggling human race, and let it lead us to the recognition that we are far from home. It is a homesickness that touches us when things are not as they should be, or when it feels like home here. In pains and pleasures, the deep calls, reminding us of the truest thing about us. And really, the call is to risk being known now, as we are, naked.

"Deep calls to deep in the roar of your waterfalls; all your waves and breakers have swept over me." from Psalm 42