Hints of Failure Part 4

Part 4: Earthquakes and Turkey Soup

I went to see The Chariot when they stopped at Studio Seven in Seattle during their farewell tour in November. This was a momentous occasion for my husband and I. Our first date as an official "long distance" couple was a meet up at a The Chariot show several years ago. We've seen them about five times since. 

We mosh and thrash and scream, worshiping Jesus with the band. They jump off the stage onto our heads and hands. We pray with them and they invite us to eat with them after the show. We listen to their albums all year, eagerly anticipating our next joyous worship session together 

This show - the final show we'd share with them - was not like the others. 

More people attended this show than ever before. A beautiful sight.

As we waited and listened to the opening bands, I started imagining an earthquake and wondering what I'd do in the event one occurred in this crowded, stuffy place. Too many people, not enough doorways, I thought. But as soon as The Chariot began setting up on stage, my misgivings were forgotten.

---

Jeremiah and I spent Thanksgiving together, just us and the dogs. We cooked all the things we look forward to all year- a turkey, stuffing, rolls, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, green bean casserole, two pies, a cake - and ate as much as we could.

Needless to say, we had ample left overs.

The following day, we boiled the leftover turkey bones and made broth. With our broth, we made turkey soup. Again, we ate as much as we could.

We had ample left overs.

Our friend Kendal (who you read about in Part 1) is a culinary artist. I am not particularly fond of seafood, and the thought of eating anything besides fish makes me squirm. But when Kendal made seafood gumbo, complete with shrimp, clams, muscles, and octopus, I ate it up. And asked for seconds.

Being rendered essentially immobile by the breaks in his leg, Kendal has been reliant on others to cook meals for him; in particular, Jen. Though I know he is grateful for every bite (he has an unparalleled gift of gratitude), I also know it can be tiring to be the person stuck cooking and cleaning every day.

It was Jeremiah's idea to pack up our abundance of soup to The Keep, where Kendal and some other friends live. We had enough to feed all four friends who were home. And thankfully, they ate the chocolate cake we brought over too.

While they ate, we shared stories from our Thanksgivings. I found my mind wandering, taking note of the number of doorways and people in sight, again wondering what I'd do if there were an earthquake. My thoughts were jolted back to the present when Kendal began to catch us up on the state of his leg. He'd just gotten X-rays and a new cast, so we were eager to hear of his progress.

Turned out, there had been no progress.

Not slight progress. Not mediocre progress.

None.

Despite all the healing I could have sworn Jesus and I were giving, after a solid month of rest and immobility, there was no visible improvement to speak of. His leg was exactly the same.

I knew what I had to do.

---

Jeremiah is a musician. Most often, he plays the guitar.

For a year, he was the guitarist and vocalist for a band called Simon the Leper. We lived in The Yellow House with Simon the Leper's drummer, Jared Bugg. The band practiced in the basement of The Yellow House, and even recorded an EP there.

Simon the Leper broke up last spring. For nearly nine months, Jeremiah has been stuck playing guitar alone in our apartment, amp turned low as possible. As of November, Jeremiah was invited into two bands almost simultaneously. In one, he plays bass. In the other, guitar.

The bands have been progressing in parallel since their respective inceptions. Both began practicing the same week. Both named themselves during their third practice.

One of those bands, "A Friend," was formed by Jared Bugg. They practice in the basement of The Yellow House, where the drummer now lives. A Friend had their first show December 17. They played at Le Voyeur, a restaurant and bar in Olympia where Simon the Leper played countless times.

Le Voyeur is kind of a dive, though they have surprisingly delicious food and an excellent beer selection. We like the venue in part because the shows happen in back, and Le Voyeur patrons can choose to come watch rather than be bombarded with something they're not in to. Also, shows there are both all ages and free.

At least, every one of the dozens of times I've been there before to watch my husband and friends play a show, it's been free.

---

Thirty seconds into The Chariot's set, while I stood at center stage close enough to touch their vocalist, Josh, I had an anxiety attack. Overwhelmed, I tried to shove my way out of the pit but was unable to budge an inch in any direction. I turned to Jeremiah in a panic. His first instinct was to boost me onto the crowd so I could surf out. He was nearly trampled in the process, though. Instead, he shoved backward through the sea of thrashing kids and pulled me to a place I felt safe. 

From our safe place, we could hardly see what was happening on stage. We were separated from the worship we'd been craving, like wine-os with a new bottle and no corkscrew.  

We went to our car for a smoke, trying to tell ourselves we were still part of the show... We could hear   the band loud and clear anyway...

When we went back into the venue, I stood at the back of the crowd, well outside the mosh pit. Jeremiah made it to the front again, crowd surfing and thrashing to the end. 

Hush, Listen, Obey

Your personalized health plan Part 1

"You believe God heals, right?"
"Yes. Of course. Absolutely."
"Yet you're still sick."

I was imagining having this conversation with someone in a church before laying hands on them a few days ago. In my imagination, I was the one asking the questions. But the moment the conversation ended, I realized that I was sick one.

Despite every effort, I spent my days off this week inconsolably ill and apparently un-healed.

"You're still sick."

"Apparently... What now?"

Appearances aren't always what they seem. Sometimes, when it appears we're not getting healed and God isn't responding, it's because He's inviting us into some good quality alone time with Him.

Now, seek God's voice. Not healing, or a Bible verse, or stuff to do.

Listen. 

Stop what you're doing, tell yourself to hush, stop asking questions, and see what you hear. 

Sometimes our efforts to get healed...

Make better doors than windows.

Keep in mind, our entire being is an antenna designed to tune in to God's frequency. It's not always our ears that do the hearing.

Then, do as directed. Or for you, maybe it's as you imagined. Or as you feel compelled.

God wants you healed. He's already made it so. He's not preventing it. Pray. Keep praying and don't stop. But while you're at it hush, listen, and obey. It's a plan with such potential to be simple.

Simplicity often comes in retrospect, though. Let me tell you, that conversation I nonchalantly posted up top seriously screwed with me.

A lifetime has lead up to that conversation; I'll start a few years back to bring you up to speed.

By age 19, I'd seen one man I prayed for daily pass away. The death he experienced, which took three months of unexplained hospitalization, I would not wish on anyone or any family. I'd spent ten years of daily prayer seeking the healing of that man's wife. She still has Multiple Sclerosis, it's still getting worse.


I tore my ACL and feared I'd lost my opportunity to play volleyball at another college.

So mid-prayer one day, I abruptly told God to fuck off. That I was never praying for anyone's healing again.

---
Part 2 will be posted later this evening. Thanks for lending me your eyes and hearts. Comments welcome!

Protest

Brainstorming alternatives to fighting fire with Fire

I learned recently about a protest being demonstrated at my husband Jeremiah's work. The protest has been ongoing for the past year at least (How am I just hearing of this!) and will likely not end while those participating work at the store.

I was let in on the details of the protest after tossing Jeremiah a t-shirt for work. Standard uniform is a t-shirt provided by the store and casual pants. He tossed it back and said "I don't wear that one." We were running late and there were no other shirts in his drawer. I was getting frustrated. He rifled through a pile of clothes shoved in his closet, found another shirt and put it on.

I looked down at the shirt in my hand and the shirt on his back. Same color, same back logo. "What the heck?" I asked.

"The one you gave me says 'Crew' on the front."

"So?"

Jeremiah, ready for work back before
joining the t-shirt cause.  

"So I don't wear it. I never have worn it. We're protesting them at work."

"Protesting what?"

"The shirts that have the word 'Crew' printed on them." I gave him a look that managed to both express my confusion and demand further explanation. "One of the store's core values is equality of staff. 'Crew' very clearly separates us from the other positions."

"So no one wears them?"

"A lot of us don't. We aren't trying to spread it around or recruit people or anything. Word gets around, some people care some don't."

I had an experience recently after trying to explain my thoughts on giving and tithing. My thoughts were met by a woman whose "been in ministry since she was saved." Of her responses, most notable were "You can't give to people and call it tithing. God defines tithing and giving, not you... Hopefully you have a Bible so you have access to the same verses as me."

I realized that the point I was trying to make - I give to people, not establishments - needed a lot more explanation than is reasonable on a platform like someone else's Facebook page. In parting, I explained that since I've chosen not to attend a church building, I tithe differently than she does. Though our expressions of Church are different, I am not omitted from tithing.

The interaction was incredibly fruitful for me, as it led directly to a conversation with Dad. As a writer, I find miscommunication particularly frustrating. As a life-long student, I find imposed teaching from strangers particularly frustrating. As a member of Christ's body, I find it particularly frustrating when the religious spirit comes along sewing separatism and disunity.

"I don't attend a church building, Dad. I'm under the impression this is a decision I came to with your guidance and blessing." In response, the details of Jeremiah's t-shirt protest came to mind. I noticed many parallel's between his protest against separatism at work and my protest against separatism in the Body of Christ.

"What are you protesting?" Dad asked.

"Religion. Is it wrong to protest?"

"Does it separate you from community?"

Aha! I can't protest religion by creating separatism and disunity. Doing so would undermine and omit me from my core values. I find Jeremiah's t-shirt protest seriously profound because, if done differently, they could easily create the very environment they are protesting. Instead, their tactics have generated unity between 'crew' members without sewing separatism with employees in other positions.

On the whole, I haven't sacrificed community with anyone by not attending church. I should note, I do go to church if someone I care about building relationship with invites me. To refuse an invitation on the basis of protest would be anti-social and separatist. That said, genuine relationships with the people around me are the foundation of my community. When relationships start to get trivial and fake, I know I've exceeded my circle of influence and need to refocus my energy. When I accept a church invitation it is to build relationship with one or two particular people, not to beef up the number of people in my circle.

There is potential, and at times I have, chosen anti-social behaviors due to my religion protest. Intentional living is key to building community. When my intentions are gray, I find it inevitable that I'll miss my mark. If my intentions are to live in community with others free of religion and full of Christ, I must make intentional decisions to act in ways that foster my intentions rather than undermine them.

I know many - most of those in my church community, actually - who've chosen to omit weekly church building attendance with similar intentions. If we can truly claim that our decision is based on our intentions, we must begin asking ourselves how to sew seeds of unity and community lest we embrace the separatism we've abandoned.

Participation Part 1 - From busted to better than Ever

I went to Reality, a church place in downtown Olympia, last Sunday. The experience gave me renewed perspective on two stories I'll share, and provided opportunity to co-labor with Papa for healing.

I don't typically go to places that call themselves church. Church is a who, not a what or a where. But this was an exception; an act of obedience to a series of undeniable words from Papa, which I will compile and share in part two.

The sermon, given by Paul Jones, an elder at Reality, was a kickoff to Advent (no surprise there). Titled "King of Faithfulness," the sermon launched from Psalm 98 and Paul discussed the cycle of pain, patience, and promise that humanity has experienced from Genesis on.

Basically, humanity experiences pain, then must patiently endure until God makes a promise and the pain ends (That's a extreme paraphrase, folks. The full sermon is available for a listen, if you need more detail and accuracy). That cycle is illustrated throughout the Old Testament, and we can see it in the world today.

Vocalist and Drummer participating with audience to sing
"The Fly" Dec 1 at Le Voyeur. Photo by Winter Rain X

So what breaks that cycle? According to Paul: participation.

Now we're getting somewhere.

Paul, using Psalm 98 as a reference, explains the cycle is broken because God participates. "He has remembered his love and his faithfulness," says verse three.

"If you're an underliner, take out your pen and underline 'remember.' If you take one thing from tonight, take this: God remembers," said Paul. "Remember" in this case doesn't indicate that God forgot, and has suddenly recalled his love and faithfulness. Rather, it indicates action; to remember is to act upon his promises. In other words, God participates. God is participating in our lives.

Givers 1.2 - To Walmart, and Beyond!

Provision is hard for me to ask for. Hard for me to expect. Because I fear. Fear that I'm being greedy, or prideful, or unworthy or lazy. But I am learning to trust Papa with my needs. I'm learning the importance of receiving as well as giving. That provision isn't just about money, food, and the various physical needs I tend to focus on (though Papa wants us to trust him with these). Our spirits need communion with Papa, and with people. Need to worship, to serve, to love and share. Here's a story about provision beyond the physical.

Givers 1.3 - To Walmart, and Beyond!

Jeremiah and I don't frequent Walmart often. The whole environment kind of freaks us out, to be honest. But on this day, we bit the bullet and made a trip. We needed the cheapest possible white t-shirts to decorate, and Walmart was our last hope.

We squinted under the florescent lights and made a beeline for the men's underwear section. Our mission: packaged undershirts.

We found our bounty, hastily decided on the package that contained the most for the least, plucked one pack of each size, and made another beeline for the register.

One register was separated from a cluster of open registers and a crowd of people. Twenty or so unused registers buffered us from the commotion. Our relief was immense as we stepped into line behind the man being rung up.

The woman checking and bagging products looked to be in her 30s. Short, curly, dishwater blond hair. Nothing stood out about her, except the expression of misery on her face. I was slightly offended by her poor customer service. She didn't say a word to the man ahead of us, except to inform him of his total. She didn't smile. She hardly looked up. The man rolled his eyes slightly and left without comment.

Before I could decide how to respond to this woman's attitude, I heard Jeremiah say "Hello, how's your day going?" His words were bright and sincere. Even my frustration dissolved into an honest desire to hear her response.

"Not well." She said quiet but firm.

"I'm really sorry to hear that," Jeremiah said. "Would you like to talk about it? I'd be happy to listen."

She looked at him for a moment, her eyes welling with tears. After a deep breath she said, "My best friend died a couple days ago. I just, I loved her so much. The police are opening an investigation for murder. I'm just so heartbroken."

Jeremiah and I glanced behind us. No one was in line. "Since there's no one waiting, would you be ok with some prayer?" I asked.

"Absolutely. And it wouldn't matter if there was a line," she said. Strength was returning to her voice already.

"We would like to lay hands, if your comfortable with that," Jeremiah offered. She was, noting that she was Seventh-Day Adventist (I think this was to suggest that laying hands was familiar to her, but I don't know much about Adventists.) With a quick peak at her name tag, he confirmed her name. "It's Susan, right?" We clasped hands across the counter, and prayed for several minutes. Someone walked up and paused in our line briefly, but decided better of it and walked away quietly.

Several tears and goosebumps later, we looked up at each other with relaxed lips and blushed cheeks. Susan walked around her register hugged us both. "Thank you brother, thank you sister," she said in turn. "God always knows exactly what we need before we even ask." We hugged again, and waved each other away with blessings.

Cupcakes and beer: an unexpected, Spirit-filled Communion.

Alberto and Miah, giving the mash a whirl.

Last week, Jeremiah (Miah) and I found ourselves in a cupcake bakery downtown Olympia, helping a friend brew beer. What a communion it turned out to be.

We helped our friend, Alberto, sanitize and clean his supplies, peel labels off old beer bottles (which we've been "helping" him collect for a few weeks), and lent a hand whenever the brewing process required lifting and pouring. We learned more than our heads could contain. Alberto has been a home brewer for seven years, and has a beautiful understanding of each ingredients' purpose in his recipes.

Once the initial work was done, we had to wait for our 8 gallon pot of future beer to reach boiling temperature. We waited, and waited some more. And it still wasn't ready.

Generally I hate waiting. But when communion strikes, waiting becomes the best part.

Miah and I brought beer. Alberto and his girlfriend brought pizza and left-over cupcakes (SO many leftover cupcakes). The couple who lives above the bakery brought Catch Phrase and a delicious, traditional Russian cocktail. We broke bread and passed a good hour or two in fellowship.

Glowing bladders and fiery words from God

Thursday, some things went down. 
Unplanned. 
Undesired. 
Completely awesome and I can't wait for it to happen again. 

Jeremiah's band, Simon The Leper, had practice Thursday afternoon at The Yellow House. This means that our friends Winter and Esa (STL's bassist) came over. While the band shook the walls of our basement, Winter and I had a chat. 

By "chat" I mean, a thought provoking and heart felt conversation. We spent some time catching up, it's been a good week or so since our last chat. But for the most part we shared struggles we've been facing and spoke truth into those struggles. 

Some issues I noticed we and our male counterparts shared (which I will describe brief and vague because it's not the enemy I care to focus on in this post): unexplained bouts of anger, random spirals into despair, intense moments of self-doubt, and barrages of the poverty spirit. 

"We are a piece God uses in His plan. God is not a
piece we use in our plan." - Winter Rain

Winter has also been dealing with a bladder infection since April. It is now, I'd like to point out, September. She and Esa are battling some demonic strongholds in and around their house, which are leaving physical marks like cuts and bruises. Jeremiah and I have established Gates at our house, with the purpose of allowing the spirits of God and Man to pass, but blocking anything else. Interestingly, Winter had to fight with herself to come over; couldn't convince herself to get out of her car and cross our street until Jeremiah walked up and said hello. 

We talked for probably a long time, but it was one of those God-filled conversation that don't exist in time, so I completely lost track of the clock's existence. By the end of the conversation, Esa had joined and we'd determined the issues at hand were to be conquered. Jesus has conquered them already, that we knew. But it was time we step into our place of victory next to Him and conquer them too. 

We decided to pray. We discussed specific areas we wanted to pray into. Depression was a big one for all of us, so we wanted to be sure and speak Joy. We also wanted to get Winter healed. We've laid hands on her a three or four times, and though we feel pretty good afterward, the infection has persisted. As of the past week, after her third round of antibiotics, it was intensifying drastically. Gates needed established at their house, as well. Why we hadn't done that yet? Frack if we know. 

Jeremiah walked into the living room just as we were about to launch in. Our initial response was to lay out the game plan for him, but I hesitated. "What if we don't tell you and you pray according to how your led?" I asked. My tone was humorous, in the way we try to cover up honesty with joke in an attempt to avoid looking foolish (or is that just me?). "Are you down to pray prophetically?"