identity

Hide it under a bushel? No!

/ Marissa / Leave a comment

Hello.  My name is Marissa, and I have God-given talents.  That’s easy enough to say.  After all, I am throwing God in there, so it seems spiritual, right?  But owning my talents, being confident enough in them to be willing to use them and share them with the world?  That is a much harder prospect for me.

Hi.  I’m Marissa and I am an artist.  Harder to say.
Hi.  I’m Marissa and I am a good singer.  Still Harder.
Hi.  I’m Marissa and I love to write.  Terrifying.

Why? Why am I so scared to share the things I love to do with the world?  Well, it makes me feel vulnerable.  Although I love art, I am certainly not the best artist in the world.  Not even the best artist I know.  Same with singing.  And writing- I feel silly even attempting a blog when there are brilliant women out there like Jen Hatmaker and Shauna Niequist who are saying the things I want to say more eloquently and to more people than I could ever dream.  My fears of not being the best- let’s be honest- of not being deemed passable or even adequate, have kept me hiding my light under a bushel.  My writing was confined to my journals, which even I was afraid to go back and read.  My art was kept as doodles, scrapped and thrown away before it was shared.  Or labeled as ‘crafts’ which seemed more acceptable.  My singing was limited to my car- even my shower seemed to public a venue.

But still, these were things I loved to do.  And as I did them, I realized that I felt more connected to God.  Even though I had never heard these disciplines spoken about from the pulpit, or written about in books on spiritual discipline, my soul sensed that these for me were avenues to my father.  And slowly (probably too slowly) God started calling me to take risks with them- to let others see.  It started with my art, a few years ago.  Then, over this summer, I led worship for the first time.  Then, a few months ago, I *gulp* started this blog.  And guess what?

The world did not end.

No one threw a rotten tomato at me, or even giggled at my untrained technique.

I had fun.

I got a bit more confident.  And a LOT more brave.

God has given us each gifts.  Ones that we use as a calling and vocation, and others that we use for joy, and to glorify God.  We live in a culture of perfection, we are surrounded constantly by images and videos of people at the top of their field.  I I think that seeing these virtuoso’s can make us afraid to develop our talent, to feel that it is paltry or insufficient in contrast.  But the thing is, only one person can be the best at something.   There is only one doctor in the world who is the best at removing a gallbladder.  But thinking that this means that he (or she) is the only person who should perform the procedure is preposterous.  Just as we need many doctors, the world also needs many artists.  Many writers.  Many runners and dreamers, and cooks, and inventors.

What do you love?  Are you cultivating a discipline of doing that thing on a regular basis?  Both for God’s glory and for your sheer joy of it?  If not, what is holding you back? I challenge you today, clear some time and go for it.  See what blessing you may gain from taking the risk….

Confession

/ Marissa / Leave a comment

So.

I haven’t posted on here lately.  I’ve been busy.  I have had sick kids, a work retreat, the list goes on.  But that isn’t the real reason.

The real reason why I haven’t posted is because I have spent no time with God.

Zero.

It wasn’t intentional.  It wasn’t as if I looked at my Bible and then cast my eyes aside and said ‘No, not today.’ Instead, it was much worse.  Days skated by without even remembering to look at my Bible.  Prayers, when said, were mentally noted in shorthand as I turned on my turn signal or drifted off to sleep.  I just missed spending time with God.

So why didn’t I miss God?

I did, on an elemental level.  A vague ache in somewhere in my chest, akin to an oncoming headache or the tingling of a limb that is starting to fall asleep.  But why wasn’t I more aware, more broken, by my disconnection?

I don’t have an answer.  Or at least, I don’t have much of an answer.

This much I know is true…

I the Lord do not change. So you, the descendants of Jacob, are not destroyed. Ever since the time of your ancestors you have turned away from my decrees and have not kept them. Return to me, and I will return to you,” says the Lord Almighty.
Malachi 3:6-7

When I am faithless, He is faithful. Though I forget, he never forgets me.   When I am busy, when I am shallow, when I am impatient, and unforgiving, and angry, God remains true.

One time in college I was driving to the airport.  It was a foggy, overcast, drizzly day.  Everything in my view seemed flat, gloomy and tired.  But as I sat next to the window in the plane, we broke through the clouds.  In an instant, we went from a dark, gloomy midday to glorious, golden sunshine.  It had never occurred to me that the sun is always shining. Above the clouds, each day dawns drenched with light.  It is our perspective that makes the changes, the clouds that block our view.  God is much the same.  He is ever faithful, ever true.  It is our attitudes, our faithfulness (or lack thereof) that affect our point of view.

So I will try to be more committed.  I will attempt to read my Bible, spend time with the Lord, mark gratitude and blessings.  All these are good things.  But I also must remember the most powerful lesson… God is faithful.  Always.  His attention towards me never wavers.  His call on my life remains true.

Isaac Moments, Part II

/ Marissa / Leave a comment

Take your son, your only son—yes, Isaac, whom you love so much—and go to the land of Moriah. Go and sacrifice him
Genesis 22:2

I remember the first time I ever practiced Lectio Divina.  I was in a class and we were asked to meditate on Genesis 22, the story of God asking Abraham to sacrifice Isaac.  It was a time of my life when I was experiencing a lot of loss, and I remember myself being furious with God.  How dare he?  How dare he constantly ask us to give up our treasures, the people that we love, our tangible proof of God’s promises?  Why?  What kind of heartless, egotistical God would constantly require such sacrifice?  Why was he constantly stripping us of things that we cherish, relationships that we need?

For a long time after this experience, I just avoided the passage.  I just told myself that this was the Old Testament God (always a convenient excuse, yes?)  And that our God is different, he doesn’t take all that we love from us.  But still, in the back of my mind, a small ember of resentment glowed orange.

It wasn’t until I had children myself, that I found a new understanding of this passage.  For, as I wrote in an earlier post, parenting is terrifying.  Every day I am confronted with a myriad of terrors, I’m always reading about newly uncovered dangers to my child’s health, well being, psyche.    It’s enough to make me want to tape him up in a suit of bubble wrap, and force him to wear a helmet 24 hours a day.  But then again, that would make him that kid, and cause harm of another kind.  When God called Abraham to lay his precious boy on the altar, he is asking him to trust.  He is asking Abraham to put GOD first in his life, and to trust that God has a plan.  One that is ultimately good.  For us.  For our precious children.  For the world.

For you see, when I was reflecting on this passage initially, I missed one important point.  God provided a sacrifice.  Abraham didn’t have to murder his son in order to please his Father.  What was placed on that altar ultimately was not Isaac, it was Abraham’s expectations for his son.  Who he thought that Isaac would be, what he thought Isaac should be.  Abraham’s expectations of control, of pride, of success.  God asked Abraham to trust in God’s good plan, and the second Abraham was faithful to this call, a sacrifice was provided.  A new way, heretofore unseen, was given.

When we unclench our fists and ask for God’s plan, not our plan, to determine our steps, the sacrifice is complete.*  God isn’t taking away the things we treasure out of spite or ego.  Instead, he is inviting us into freedom.  Asking us to trust that life isn’t about us and our plans, but about a bigger, better plan, that we can’t even see or appreciate fully.  It takes the pressure off of ourselves to get it right, and places the expectation upon God to provide. Life becomes less about fear of what could happen, and more about a breathless expectation to see what will happen.

Selah.

*Just to be clear, the sacrifice I am referring to here isn’t the Ultimate Sacrifice, Jesus’ atonement for our sins.  Instead, I am referring to the sacrifice Abraham was asked to offer- to give up control and his sense of power over his own destiny, and to trust God to provide…

when it all gets stripped away…

/ Marissa / 2 Comments

Have you ever done the icebreaker activity where you tell someone a quirky fact about yourself?  Hi, my name is Marissa, and I can touch my nose with my tongue…  I have.  Hundreds of times.  It turns out, when you are in ministry, icebreaker activities kind of become a way of life.  I always viewed these as throwaway activities, ways to make others connect a name with a face, but not much more.  I never really noticed the power such statements have to create your identity.  Hi, my name is Marissa and…
… I read 100 books a year…
… I read the Bible cover to cover every year…
…I like to cook…
…I run a 1/2 marathon every year…
…I’m a volunteer at the library…
…I am the friend who shows up…
…I’m good at my job…
…I get things done…
…I’ve got it all together…

All of these statements were things that defined me.  I may not have said them all at a group icebreaker activity, but they were the things in my head that I thought of as ‘me.’ This was who I was.  And I had no idea how much I let these statements begin to define me until they began to be stripped away.  This stripping away process began (and pretty much was completed) the day my son was born.  A little blonde boy, with wide, innocent blue eyes.  Hungry for milk, and hungry for my time and attention.  And all of a sudden, I didn’t read 100 books anymore.  My rock solid quiet time routine flew out the window.  Cooking got a lot harder with a little one in my arms.  A 5K all of a sudden became a miraculous feat- a half marathon seemed like an impossibility.  I cut back my hours with the library, I could only be there for my friends at night and at naptime, I started feeling helplessly behind at work.  None of it seemed like a big deal at the time, but then, slowly, I began to run out of easy answers for my introduction games.

Hi, my name is Marissa and…
I am a mom of two.
My shoulder always smells like milk.
I actually can’t remember the last time I blow dried my hair.
I borrow books from the library, and then return them, overdue and unread.
I ran a mile the other day and I am pretty darn proud of that. 

In terms of the wow factor, underwhelming.

And yet, this forms another identity.  One that I am terrified of losing.  One that I know is inherently temporary.  In just a handful of years, I will no longer be a mother of toddlers.  I will no longer have such demands on my time.  Will I feel lost again?

Here is my TRUE identity, and one I would be wise to invest myself in…

Hi, my name is Marissa and I am…
a child of the most high God.
redeemed by the blood of Christ.
Impossibly thankful for this sweet time in life.
Gifted and equipped to serve God’s kingdom, in whatever way He calls me.
Blessed beyond measure.
Set in my life for such a time as this.
Still able to touch my nose with my tongue…