Triangular Peg in a Square Hole

It’s hard to change churches. It’s like changing families. Actually, it is changing families.

It takes a while to see where you fit into your new family. Are you the crazy aunt? Or the uncle who tells really long stories, over and over again?

What if you don’t fit in at all? What if it is God’s purpose for you to not fit in and take up the status quo? What if His purpose is for you to stand up and point to truth…even if it is at your very first Life Group Meeting, and it’s about a taboo-in-church subject?

I will admit I got angry as we watched a video about sharing the gospel in compassion and truth. I started to blame my recent change in my menopausal support supplements. At almost 51, that can be a risky endeavor, like kicking a hornet’s nest of hormones that trigger irritability. But I prayed.

I know better than to let anger get the best of me. I have been a professing Christian for almost 30 years. Yep, I know better. So I prayed, asking Father God to quench my dander.

I don’t like feeling this way. Especially in church. I don’t want to miss out on anything that God is trying to teach me because I am blinded and stopped-up by my emotions.

As one of the speakers in the video shared what he called truth, his hypocrisy was becoming more and more apparent to me. But I kept praying, asking for calm and clarity.

The video ended, and the group facilitator began speaking. What she said didn’t trigger my outburst. It was the lack of the real truth of God that she wasn’t coinciding with that stirred me. It was the “missing it by that much” that I heard myself addressing. Even a slight deviation from God’s truth is so not good. And oh so damaging.

After the meeting, I felt so much remorse for speaking up. I wanted desperately to make new friends with my new family. I prayed, asking for forgiveness in the car on the way home.

God reminded me of a time when I didn’t speak up. Of how He convicted me for staying quiet while non-truths were flying around the church room. And I knew better.

Then He asked me, “Do I give you wisdom, which you ask Me for, for your own enjoyment?”

Ouch. Ouchy of the most high ouchies. Please forgive me, Lord, I asked, as I brushed my teeth, and got ready for bed.

I checked my phone before I plugged it in to charge for the night. There was a message from someone who had been at the Life Group that night. Uh oh.

The messenger thanked me for speaking up. This person also struggled with the way the church treated gay people. She had struggled with it for a long time, and thanked me for speaking up against the hate and ostracizing, and for pointing out that every person on earth needs the saving grace of Jesus Christ.

I showed the message to my husband, who I had been lamenting to about my bad behavior. We high-fived each other.

My self-imposed remorse was instantly lifted. Also, I remembered other people in the group telling me their views, which are similar to mine.

Will I make friends in my new family? I super hope so. It was heart-breaking to leave my beloved family behind as we moved from Austin to Nashville. But my new church family are some of the most genuinely kindhearted people who are devoted to God. I strive to be like them.

I actively and fervently pray for every request in my new family, as I continue to do for my old church family. We are all the Body of Christ, His Beloved Bride. Geography has no bearing on that.

This new season of being used to speak out in truth is hard. But I know my God will help me in it. I may never completely fit into the new family, like a triangle in a square hole. But that is God’s purpose.

With God’s help, I will try to always champion truth, because that is what is called of me. I want that “well done” from the Master far more than I want the satisfaction of being well-liked.

Hindsight is 50/50

Hindsight is 50/50

I don’t always learn from the past. Though, I wish I did.

I carry around with me daily, in my heart—well, it is my heart—that God performs miracles, so I should have big huge gleaming faith all the time.

He healed my heart of a giant blockage. I felt the healing, and I saw it on extensive expensive scientific medical tests. There is no doubt. The blockage was there. We asked specifically for God to heal it. And then it was gone (as was evident in a heart catheter procedure done the next day). Healed.

So why do I fret and ache, and bring anguish on myself when a difficult situation arises?

That’s not practicing 20/20 hindsight, is it?

I have been hearing about having faith is not just faith in God, but faith in His character.  I heard it in the book I am currently reading by Max Lucado, Anxious For Nothing. And I read about faith in a newsletter from a faithful missionary I have the honor of supporting.

God’s character. I KNOW God is faithful and good. I know that about Him. So why do I fret? Am I thick-headed as well as thick-hearted?

As I have learned in my 20+ years as a follower of Christ, when trouble comes, cover with the Word of God. (BONUS TIP: Look for the verse that jumps off the page or screen at you…that’s the work of the Holy Spirit directly for you.)

Today’s verse for me (and hopefully for you too):

Psalm 138:7 New American Standard Bible (NASB):

“Though I walk in the midst of trouble, You will revive me;

You will stretch forth Your hand against the wrath of my enemies,

And Your right hand will save me.”

Getting to the Ballpoint

I have an obsessions with pens.

The top center drawer of my vintage 1960’s teacher’s desk in my home office barely slides closed due to its overabundance of ink pens. I have to shuffle the packages of Pilot Razor Point pens in 8 colors, with the jumbo highlighters in every perceivable highlighting-friendly color, just so I can close the drawer.

There is also wide variety of Sharpies, in varying point sizes and colors, mixed in with promotional pens from hotels, banks, and businesses. 

Promotional pens are my least-reached for pen. The ink flow is usually uncertain. That kind of unreliability should be avoided if possible.

But one of my favorite pens is of the promotional variety. I carry it with me in my handbag. It came from the escrow company, with which I signed a large stack of forms to sell my home in Austin, in order to purchase my beautiful cozy home in Nashville, Tennessee. Perhaps the good memory makes it a favorite. It’s more likely because of its smooth bright blue flow of ink from a medium point felt tip. 

The Mickey Mouse coffee cup on my desk holds my other favorite and most used pens: the Uni-ball Signo Retractable Gel Pens, Medium Point, multi-color pack. Purple, green, blue and a few other colors with a dash of black ink mixed in, to give them a more grown-up, serious impression. These pens also have a cushioned grip. Comfortable and consistently dependable. But, sadly, they are no longer available for purchase. Perhaps, I will have to opt for plain blue or black ink to replenish my stock in the future.

Mixed among these favorites are a couple of purple ink pens, of various make or model. My favorite ink color since I graduated from pencils to pens in the seventh grade. Do pens signify adulthood to me? Possibly.

When it is time for me to write, whether it be novels, letters, or any manifesto of creativity, such as this here blog even, no pen is used. I type. Directly into my computer. There is a pen to the right of my keyboard, possibly for comfort, but not for use with my work.

But still, my obsession with pens is so strong. 

I suspect my real fascination with pens stems from my childhood determination to improve my penmanship, which was uneven and sloppy (so said my third grade teacher). And I think it morphed into an outlet for personal expression, and even an avenue for creativity.

I am consciously trying to thin my herd of pens, as well as other items in my home. I just have too many. If no ink flows readily from any pen, I force myself to say goodbye to the untrustworthy writing instrument, and then toss it in the garbage. (Should it be recycled?)

A failed pen never sparks my joy.