devil's snare

“God, I don’t trust you.”

That prayer banged around my head as I fell asleep Monday night. It bubbled up out of my heart. It was an honest confession I discovered through my attitude and actions over the preceding days.

It was a truth I didn’t want to hear. It was a truth that hurt to confess.

God asked me to wait for a couple of things. He promised it would be ok. It will work out. I just need to wait and be faithful to whatever he asks during this time.

But to be honest, my plans make more sense to me. My plans end with my pride intact. My plans come to fruition much quicker than God’s. My plans are under my control…and I like that. Control comforts me.

As Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone nears its climax Ron, Harry, and Hermione free fall into a black hole. Harry jumps first. The landing is soft. He calls the other two to follow. Ron jumps next. He and Harry banter about how lucky it is that someone provided a plant to break their fall. By the time Hermione lands next to them the tendrils of Devil’s Snare are securely wrapped around their legs. They don’t even notice until Hermione points their situation out as she herself struggles to safety. She racks her brain to remember anything she can about this plant. It likes the cold and the damp. Harry suggests fire to drive it away.

My anger was a soft place to land. It felt good to be mad at situations. It felt good to vent about things hurting me. It felt good to hear friends comfort me and validate my hurt.

I’m slowly learning to fight. I don’t have siblings, and my house growing up was pretty peaceful. I’ve never been a yeller. I feel deeply, but I struggle to name what I am feeling. Intense emotion scares me because I don’t really know what to do with it. It makes me feel out of control. For years I used the word “frustrated” to skirt around the fact that I was actually mad, or hurt, in a situation. I am learning to be more honest about how I feel. I am learning to do the hard work of discerning what I am feeling and why. I often find fear.

Part of this journey includes how I interact with God. Am I allowed to be mad at God? It seems like I should be grateful and respectful to God…not angry. What happens when I am angry with God? What happens when I am confused and hurting and God’s plan and timing are the reasons?

I think it’s ok to be honest with God about my feelings…even when they are negative.

I was upset with my roommate the other day. She hurt my feelings by scheduling something over part of some plans we made. I am generally annoyed when people don’t follow through on their commitments… if I had my way everyone would fall in line with my plans all the time… but that wasn’t the real issue. The real issue was that I was looking forward to these plans and our time together is short before she graduates. It took me a while to articulate to myself what the real issue was.

My brooding over this situation was a soft place to land. It felt good to be pissy and self-righteous. But I could feel God tugging at me. Asking me why I was really upset. Inviting me to light a fire and purge my pride.

She knew I was upset. Eventually we talked things out. I expressed how I was feeling…and why. She explained the choice she made and how she was feeling too. Nothing tangible changed after our talk. She kept her new plans and I respect that. Her choice was prayerful and I trust that it was the right one. 

I walked away from the conversation thankful that our friendship is such that we can be honest and understand one another just a little bit more in the process – I think she would say the same.

My anger with God, my pain in this time of waiting, is sometimes a soft place to land. It’s counterintuitive – I know that. But, at least being angry is active. It feels like I’m accomplishing something. That if I shout loud enough something will happen. I can sit and stew in this situation because it is a complaint I know well. It is one I cry out again and again. Somewhere along the way it became comfortable.

Like a two year old in the grocery store gripping a sugary cereal there comes a point when all I’m really doing is making a scene. I’m drawing attention away from the goodness of my Father who knows what is best and is present as I wait.

At some point I have to name the issue… “I don’t trust you”…and seek peace, even though it’s hard. I need to be honest with God. I need time to cry and process. But, I must also remember that soft place to land will eventually become toxic. I need that fire to shine light on the reality of the situation.

“I don’t trust you” wasn’t the last phrase on my mind before I fell asleep that night.

My final prayer was one of surrender…

God, I confess that I don’t trust you… my actions and anger show that. I want to trust you though. Please help me, I cannot make this happen on my own.

I was still pretty pissy on Tuesday. Just because I said those words the night before doesn’t mean that I was ready to really change anything. I hit snooze multiple times. I debated not going to school at all. I didn’t prepare for class and I was fairly annoyed with anyone who interacted with me.

By 2:20pm I was convicted. Somewhere amidst sermon illustrations and a prayer of thanksgiving for our very breath I realized that the way I was choosing to act is sin. God offered me the fire I needed – in a way only He can. God was present with me. But I was choosing to ignore the way out and sit on the plant that I knew would eventually strangle me.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione had a lot left to accomplish after they escaped the Devil’s Snare. None of it was easy, it took sacrifice and community and they had to learn many lessons over and over before they were done.

None of those things could happen until they named their soft landing for what it was and moved forward out of its clutches. 

depleted and filled

I wrote this last Monday...and didn't hit post...excuse the dated language. 

I reached this weekend depleted and scattered. The week was much less stressful than the previous two, but my focus was in a million places. I forgot to bring many moments and worries before God.

I watched a lot of movies and shows this weekend. There is beauty in art. I believe that God is over all the earth and that truth can be present anywhere – though it is not present everywhere. I find a lot of truth in Mumford and Sons lyrics. When I went to their show last summer my friend commented that I looked like I was at a worship service. In a way I was. Not worshiping them, of course, but reflecting on the way their words gave voice to my pain and hope as I sang along.

The two movies I watched this weekend – “A River Runs Through It”, and “One Day” – were beautifully made and convey themes of redemption, hope, and love. They tell stories of the human experience. They made me sad.

This past week I was privileged to attend some of the sessions of the Hunger Summit put on by Texas Hunger Initiative on Baylor’s campus. The last session I attended was a discussion on payday and title loans. This industry makes me mad. It preys on those in poverty and offers opportunity for cycles of debt that are crushing. It is a huge problem. There are people around the state and nation confronting this issue creatively and with great passion. They are empowering others to do the same.

Yesterday after church I went to a Q&A session with the founder of Jesus Said Love. I am so encouraged by the genuine love and faithfulness this team exudes as they show the love of Christ - with no strings attached - to women who dance in clubs around Texas. The sex industry is a visible expression of oppression and I learned yesterday that these women are touched by every metric of poverty. It is systemic. It is pervasive.

The world can be overwhelming and full of suffering. But God is present. It’s a weird tension. It raises all sorts of questions about evil and brokenness and love and hope. I know that God is good. I know that God is love. I know that one day this will all be made right and there won’t be any more suffering. Even now, the redemptive work of Christ’s life, death and resurrection is evident through the work of the folks at Jesus Said Love, those working to eradicate predatory lending, and so many more.  I am thankful for these glimpses of tangible hope and God’s work in the world.

I am the type that likes to do things. I like to meet issues head on and solve them. These systemic, cyclical issues are not something I can solve. It isn’t my job. I can’t do everything. But I can do something.

As my Sabbath wrapped up yesterday afternoon I made a commitment to pray this week. Last week showed me how quickly I forget to come before God when life travels at a normal pace. I had the urge to pray, knew I should be, but I couldn’t find the focus or the words. I asked God to guide me.

Throughout each day this week I am praying for my family, for my friends, for issues surrounding hunger/poverty, for the world, and for discernment about my role in each of these spheres. I am also reading Psalm 119.

We took communion at church yesterday. As I walked to front, ripped off a chunk of bread, dipped it in the juice and ate it, I asked God to fill me. I asked that my life be filled with the death and resurrection of Christ as I went forward into this week. I am not worthy, but I am asking God to teach me to live and to love according to my identity and membership in the Body of Christ. 

An update a week in the making: 

I feel that I did a poor job actually praying for all of the things I wanted to last week. The message at church two days ago was about prayer and abiding. I am thankful for grace as I stumble around and learn what it means to be in conversation with God as I learn to abide. 

no canning

I will never be able to cook what my mom cooks.

I can scour the pantry and fridge and find nothing. She can follow behind me five minutes later and produce a full meal from what she finds. It is always delicious. I am always impressed.

There is a running joke in the Andrasi House: mom isn't allowed to can.

The process of canning requires precise measurement and strict rule following on temperatures, ingredients and timing.

My mom rarely follows a recipe. Her instinct drives the decisions she makes in the kitchen. She is impeccable when it comes to timing all parts of a meal to finish cooking at the right moment. Even when she first  tries a recipe she makes substitutions and adjustments based on what is in the house.

When I call her to ask how to prepare something, her instructions are off the top of her head and usually a ballpark estimate.

Years of experience allow her to move with ease and roll her eyes when I ask if she is sure the meat is cooked enough. Has she ever given me food poisoning? No.

I may never be able to cook exactly what my mom cooks...but I am learning to cook how my mom cooks.

I like that better.

Last night I made salmon, cous cous and broccoli. My favorite meal. I have watched my mom cook it a thousand times. I've helped her cook it a thousand more. I have yet to get it right on my own. Usually I call her right before dinner and run through the process one more time. Last night I skipped the phone call and jumped right in.

The cous cous and broccoli worked out great. I had instruction for those:

http://www.amazon.com/Whats-Cook-Illustrated-Essential-Techniques/dp/1579653189

[I swear by this book. It is the best. You can buy it used for 1 cent. Just do it. I wish someone would pay me to say that] 

There is probably an entry in that book about how to cook salmon. If so, I didn't use it. I threw some seasoning on that I found in my cabinet. If I were at home in Austin there would be plenty of lemon pepper on hand - I'm still perfecting the art of keeping staples in supply.

I poured olive oil in a pan. Too much olive oil. I heated it. Too hot.

I laid the fish scale side down and it immediately began to crisp. I watched the raw pink fade to opaque. The bottom was burning before the top had a chance to cook. I removed it from the fire and covered it with a lid. That actually worked.

In the end the fish was cooked and it was pretty good - though not exactly like my mom's.

I like stepping away from a recipe, away from direct step by step instructions. It gives me a chance to explore and discover new ways to do things. I know some basic guardrails: if the fish is raw you can see through it, if it smells like burning you should get it off the heat, a lid transforms your skillet into a sort of oven.

I like having an end goal in mind and playing with different ways to get there. It's a little more fun, and I feel a little more accomplished when dinnertime finally rolls around. My timing and process get better with each practice round and perfection isn't reality.

No, I may never be able to cook what my mom cooks. But she gave me skills to get dinner on the table and play on the way there - and I'll take that over a box full of recipes any day.