Reading time: 2 minutes Something strange has happened the past couple of days. I have felt peace. Specifically, peace pertaining to my singleness. It's not like the "I-don't-care" attitude I had in college or the always "wondering-when-marriage-is-coming" obsessiveness that seemed to dominant my late twenties. But peace. Yes, still mixed with some cynicism (it's hard to get rid of this) that maybe it's just easier to go this road alone for another 31 years. There is a question that still creeps into my mind every once in awhile, either asked by my counselor or just curious minds, "What is it that I want? What do I desire?" And for the first time in a long time, I can answer truthfully when saying, "Jesus." He has known me always, but I've known Him the past 23 years. He has walked the path beside me - hills and valleys - every step of the way. And when I'm tempted to quote Green Day by declaring, "I walk a lonely road...but it's only me, and I walk alone...", I know I haven't. There were only some paths I walked where I never looked over for Jesus' face. I know if I had, that I would have been met with kind eyes. Now, when thinking about those times I rejected His invitations, and went ahead of Him on my own, I see a different picture. One of me standing behind Jesus as He looks at me walking ahead of Him, determined to make it by myself. And those kind eyes are filled with tears. Yet, by His grace and because of His love, He kept coming after me. Always with me wherever I went and always ready with an invitation. I wish I could go back and tell myself to take Him up on all of His offers. To not be ridiculous and selfish, thinking I could do this life alone. But because I didn't accept those, it has made accepting the invitations of today so much sweeter. And I know, that whatever my next 31 years look like, I won't be walking alone. follow along.
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Reading time: 7 minutes This isn't the Easter I wanted, but perhaps it was the Easter I needed. 40 days ago, Lent began. A time to reflect and embrace the weight of sin and the fragility of life. I don't think any of us expected to be living in the midst of a pandemic while also continuously being reminded that we are but dust, a mere vapor. Death has felt more heavy in the past couple of months than ever before - literally as though it is lurking around the corner not caring who it takes next. But death always feels like that, doesn't it? Quiet, unseen. Until it isn't. When Christ died on the Cross those many years ago, the disciples were told it was coming. Literally, Jesus Himself told them what was going to be, but the day still came and shock along with it. This man they had put all of their trust into, the One they had left everything to follow, the man they believed would rescue them, still died. They watched with their own eyes from the bottom of that hill as He cried out His last words to the Father and later as the guards pierced His side. They wept and mourned, prepared His body for burial, watched it go into a tomb, with a stone rolled over the entrance. I wonder how long they sat there outside the tomb or at the bottom of that hill. As all the doubts came flooding in, the questioning of what just happened. He died. He told them it was going to be true, but they never quite grasped it. And now, instead of a saving, there was suffering. And then, quiet. The silent Saturday. Much of life today feels like the Saturday, because we live in the already, but the not yet. We are in the middle part of the story, each day closer and closer to when Christ comes again. I've always seemed to find myself in the "middle." Growing up, I was the youngest, but I always sat in the middle of the backseat. I was in the middle of ages of my cousins - no one quite my age, but always older or younger. In school, I found myself in the middle of friend groups - never quite in with this one or that. And now in the present, I often feel in the middle of friends who are beginning marriages or celebrating the birthdays of their children. And though we don't know the time or the hour, I'm in the middle of my own life. A childhood gone, but still much adulthood to be seen. I'm here, at an age where Jesus was getting into the groove of doing His ministry - and then the Lord told Him it was time. But His time didn't end, it just went silent for a Saturday. There are days where our silence, the desperation, the anguish, the troubles and trials of life, seems to last only for a little while, but then there are days it seems to drag on. One Saturday becomes another and another and before we know it, a year has passed. And I'm tempted to believe that in all of that time, God stayed silent. Quiet. Unseen. But we know by now that things happen even in the dark and darkness doesn't last. Saturday didn't stay silent then and it doesn't now. At the beginning of the year, I like to pick a word for the year. I don't think about it every day, but it does seem to shape the different seasons throughout the year - because God is funny and gracious like that. My word for 2020 - arise. Also at the beginning of the year, I quietly started praying for revival. For my church, for the world, but I think more than anything, for myself. Arise is defined as coming into being, to stand up. Revival is a reawakening, a restoration. I see now that I can't have one without the other. Only when revived will I then be able to arise. But if I'm to be revived and eventually arise , that must also mean I was restored from something. Death. Where death lurks, sin does also. The result of sin is death. There is no escaping either. Here in the middle, it is what is filling our lives. We become so accustomed to the middle, to sin, that we forget there is a "not yet." We sit in the sin, eventually entangled so much, that we then wish for nothing but darkness. We think that turning off the lights or closing our eyes makes it all disappear, but even in the darkness, in whatever tomb we find ourselves in, something, Someone, is stirring. Revival is waiting. Saturday after Christ died was silent, but we don't have to be. Not much, if anything, is said about that in-between, middle day. And while we don't know for sure what the disciples did that day, I'm sure there was fear, worry, loneliness, crying, anger even. Remember, the man they had put all their trust into was dead. They saw Him there, they saw the tomb! How else could this end but darkness and silence? With revival. With victory. With a plot twist that no one saw coming even though they were told so. And their story is our story. Even when it doesn't look like one we would have written. Like one where we live in a pandemic. One where we can't gather together as the church or with our families. One where our family members die and we can't be near them. One where friends get married and have babies and we can't hold them. Our story is one of a middle that is messy and hard and often full of things we wouldn't chose for ourselves. But the middle is the middle, it's the already, not yet. The middle is not the end. The middle is the silent Saturday, but we have also seen the resurrection day. The day where the Lord rose making way for us to rise as well. A Holy Sunday where the darkness gave way and light peaked in as the stone was rolled away. Sin's curse of death was broken and what once entangled us no longer needs to bound us. Let sin fall to the ground and weep over it. Not because you miss it, but because now you see how much it was keeping you from God. Let now what once entangled you be gone and in its place find roots that grow deep and wide, keeping you standing firm. Find in sin's place a new vine. A living vine. Instead of death and darkness, find reawakening and a new place to be. Don't remain quiet and unseen, death is defeated remember? Join the disciples in being overjoyed at seeing the Lord. What once seemed impossible was made possible in their sight. He was there again with them. And by His Holy Spirit, He is here with us now, in the already not yet. And by the promise of His word, He is making a place for us and will come again. Today, this middle, may not look how I want it to, but it's the one I need. To see Jesus be who He says He would be - resurrected King. Light. The Way. He is my revival and the One who calls out to me, "arise." May it be so. please share and follow along.
Reading time: 3 minutes Yesterday was Maundy Thursday, a night where we remember many of Christ's "lasts" here on earth. The Last Supper. A foot washing. A garden. A betrayal followed by a denial. All of it prophecy fulfilled. Jesus had entered the city on a colt, with palm branches lining the way. Now, He found Himself kneeling in a garden, exhausted after prayer. I wonder, would I have stayed awake if He had taken me to the garden? Or would I have stayed watched and looked at Him in bewilderment as He returned with sweat like blood on His face? When I put myself into the story, into the garden that night, I chuckle at the disciples as they sleep. Then want to kick their feet in annoyance and say, “You’re missing it! Wake up and look at your Savior! He is in great agony. For you! Don’t you get it yet?” And I turn, looking over my shoulder toward the entrance of the garden and see Judas approaching. Jesus tells Him to get on with it, a disciple draws a sword and at first I want to take one up alongside him. But I watch as Jesus repairs an ear, says He is the one they are looking for, and is led away. I take a step forward, thinking I should stop them. But then I remember that these things must happen. It’s how it’s supposed to be. There wasn’t another cup. No other will of the Father. There wasn’t another way. He was the way that last night in the garden, after He had washed their feet after dinner. He, Jesus, was and always will be the way. Today, Good Friday. We stand at the bottom of a dusty hill looking up at a Cross. Too many times I have not wanted to sit with the events we remember today. I have been one of many who want to immediately jump into the events of Sunday. To rush straight to the empty tomb, towards resurrection and the new light that it brings. Away from the death and back to the life - to the good part. But Friday is the day that we have placed the word “good” in front of. A day of death is where the good is found? Those two things shouldn’t go together, yet by one the other is found. I stand with those near the cross - holding both sadness and joy. For the cross of Christ is my bridge to God. Yet, It isn’t enough for me to simply sit beneath it’s shadow, my hands must pick up that blood soaked tree, that rugged cross. He died upon it once and for all, yes. But now, I pick it up in remembrance. Of a sin-filled, empty life that has been put to death. And just as I remembered Jesus in the garden yesterday, I remember Him today on the Cross. He is still the way. He, Jesus, was and always will be the way. Tetelesti. follow along.
Not that we need more commentary on COVID-19 aka the Coronavirus, here's mine. I'm allowed to be aware during something that is labeled a pandemic. And so are you. But being aware does not equal panic mode. Cautious? Sure. But not fearful of our lives. When moments like this happen, it seems we go from 0 to 100+ in a matter of milliseconds. And the first time we see someone else panic, our mind goes to, "what-if?", even if only for second. Panic, begets more panic. And panic leads us to the world of worrying. A world that ever entices us to believe that things will spin out of control and never be normal again. As of writing this, there are over 140,000 confirmed cases of COVID-19 and over 5,000 deaths, in 135 different areas, according to the World Health Organization (WHO). While it may not be at the numbers of other sicknesses or diseases, those are still numbers to be aware of. Especially as they continue to grow. Again, cautious and aware. I get that there are lots of implications with "social distancing" and shutting down of schools and businesses. Kids are losing a place where they may get their only meals of the day. Single moms are losing work hours they may not be able to make up. Working parents, who may still have to work, have nowhere for their kids to go - and maybe no vacation or sick time left to take to stay at home. We don't want to be forced to stay inside our homes, save only for walks around the neighborhood. We don't want to do elbow touches or feet taps. It all seems really silly and like an overreaction. And it can be, until it's not. When you don't know whether the person that used the buggy at the grocery store before you sneezed on the handle or if the person coughing behind you at the pharmacy has seasonal allergies or coronavirus, I get it, it all seems a little too much. How about the friend you had dinner with that seems perfectly healthy, but was around an unknowingly contagious person only hours before? She starts feeling bad, gets tested, and is positive. Putting yourself and everyone else she was around in the coronavirus bubble. Social distancing doesn't sound too bad then, does it? It's not about punishment or dictating, it's about slowing down a sickness that has killed over 5,000 people. Men, women, parents, grandparents, daughters, and sons. I can't help but think about those people, some who maybe two weeks ago, felt the best they ever had. Only to come into contact with someone who was around someone else that was contagious and got deathly ill. Leaving this world. While it's true that we may never know someone who gets coronavirus, and we pray it stays that way, the circle is getting smaller. You know someone who knows someone that is in quarantine right now. Not on the beach quarantine, like it's a vacay. But stuck in their house. For 14 days. Some completely alone. We can laugh at the memes that cloud social media and joke that us introverts have been preparing for this our whole lives, I know I have. But, then there is reality. Deaths doubling by the day. And I stop to think, what is my part in this? What can I do? Be aware. I can wash my hands, stay a considerate distance away from people in public, cover my mouth when I sneeze (I've been doing it a lot lately, thanks allergies!), and pay attention to myself. Shouldn't we do all these things out of normalcy and consideration for others anyways? I would hope so. But now, we simply need to be more aware of doing it. Do I have all the answers? Nope. Does anyone at this point? No. When a pandemic spreads and panic ensues, it's hard to slow it down - both the pandemic and the panic, or else they wouldn't be called what they are or spread as they do. Will we look back on all of this and say we were overreacting? I think the families of those 5,000+ people would say differently. COVID-19 could also be a new reality for us, just as flu. And if that be the case, may the day come quick where we have ways to better catch and treat it. But also, may the day come quick when we no longer have to worry of sickness or death. Or of kids not being able to get meals and moms not being able to work. My job and yours now, is to be aware, but God has a part too. Saving and sustaining us, even in sickness and uncertainty. And because I know of what eternity holds, that also allows me to be aware but not panicked. Aware of sickness and death, yes, but also aware that this is not my home. My body is but a shell for my spirit - which will remain when my body does not. C.S. Lewis wittingly, but truthfully wrote, during the atomic age, words that are still true for us today, with the coronavirus and any other threat of mankind: In one way we think a great deal too much of the atomic bomb. “How are we to live in an atomic age?” I am tempted to reply: “Why, as you would have lived in the sixteenth century when the plague visited London almost every year, or as you would have lived in a Viking age when raiders from Scandinavia might land and cut your throat any night; or indeed, as you are already living in an age of cancer, an age of syphilis, an age of paralysis, an age of air raids, an age of railway accidents, an age of motor accidents.” Death is a certainty, as much as we try to ignore it with panic, or hoarding of supplies. But we cannot ignore it. May some of the sensible and human things we be found doing include: being aware, of ourselves and others, and remembering that eternity awaits us, for ourselves and others. Grace is something that continues to astound and leave me speechless. Free, unmerited favor. I know I'm undeserving of it, grace, but God extends it freely. And I've been reluctant to accept it. I know I have. I've held out a hand, but once it gets too close, I've pulled away. Thinking that a full dose of grace, or merit, is really only for others, not for me. I've lately been thinking of how I'm not deserving (and I'm not), so it must mean God is holding back (but He isn't). I've lived in this mentality for quite awhile that when things aren't good, that is just how they are meant to be. Or I don't have xyz like others do, because they are more deserving of xyz. Or the biggest one of all, I'm not meant for xyz. And xyz can be anything on any given day. Healing. A relationship. Peace. Joy. Money. Love. Friends. If I'm being honest, Jesus has felt far away to me lately. God, the Creator, is always there and I'm never without a sense of Him. Holy Spirit has always felt closest to me; my constant, indwelling, counseling, companion. But Jesus? My Savior. He's felt far. This morning, I felt Him whisper to me again. Breaking the silence that has felt more routine it seems, He told me to stop believing that what He does for others, He can't do for me. Because He can. And He wants to. And while I know I'm not meant for everything that everyone else may seem to have, I know I am meant to have Him. I'm not sure when I started believing that everything isn't found in Him. What a lie. He is everything. Alpha and Omega. Everything begins and ends with Him, including all of this life, that is simply in the middle. He isn't holding back, because He's already freely given everything. May I receive it. follow along.
Empty chairs at tables. A double bench on a patio. Thanksgiving and Christmas planning. Needing to pick up a bookshelf. A piece of cheese. These things have nothing in common, except that they are all things that made my loneliness palpable within the last month. . There are four chairs at my parent's dining table, we only occupy three. I dream of the third being filled one day. I sat on their patio while visiting one weekend for a quiet moment outside, longing for someone to be there with me as I sipped my coffee. We talked about Thanksgiving and Christmas plans. The holidays, the worst time of the year. A friend reminded me about a bookshelf that I'm getting from her and I thought of how it won't possibly fit in my two-door car, so how will I get it? Three pieces of cheese sat on the counter to top burgers. I wanted there to be four. This may be the most ridiculous one of all, as the man who may one day come could be allergic or, as tragic as this would be, despise the stuff. "'Tell me I’m not going to stay here,' she breathes into the phone. 'Just tell me this won’t be my forever.'" Hannah Brencher shared in one of her Monday e-mails. She was talking to a friend who was over being single. "Been there," I found myself saying. Which also happened to be the title of that week's weekly email. A friend who also gets this dose of honesty in her inbox texted me while I was at work asking if I had read it yet. I hadn't and she told me to wait until lunch or something to read it. Basically forewarning me that I would be a hot mess after reading it. She wasn't wrong, but at the end of it, I came away with a whole new perspective on my singleness. An "aha!" epiphany moment and a slap in the face all at the same time.
Sunday I sat across the table from a friend while at lunch and I told her that August had sucked. It had. The end of July is when things really began to spiral and then just spilled over into all of August. It wasn’t fun. I don’t know that I’ve ever had quite a month like August was. She asked me what sparked it, what started the downwardness? I couldn’t tell her, because I’m honestly not sure.
July/August marks three months of counseling. Maybe it’s that I’m getting to those places where I desperately need to be, but don’t want to be. Those places where my emotions have been buried for so long, that I’ve never let anyone see them. They are starting to come out now. And that is scary. See, I’m a peacemaker. A 9 on the enneagram and avoider of conflict. Something else that means? For me, I don’t do vulnerability. I can look at every single relationship I have — family, friends, guys — and see that there’s only a certain level that I go to. Eventually, we get to a wall and I don’t want to go over it. I’ve never had a thing for heights and apparently never a thing for depth when it comes to relationships. I don’t let people see me cry, I stuff and bury emotions until they fester, and then I explode into anger. Does’t seem like a peacemaker at all. Because there hasn’t been any peace. Last week, I shared how I often need the reminder that God's words are true and wonderful. I know they are truth, but sometimes it's hard to live in that daily. Life throws a lot at us, it gets hard to focus on truth and light. I launched a poll asking whether you guys were in need of this reminder, that God's words are true and wonderful, or if you were obeying and praying His word. Overwhelmingly, most of us said we needed the reminder that God's words are true and wonderful. This space, Polished Arrow, is a place for simply choosing. A place where you can simply choose Jesus above all that life throws at you. A spot where you can come for encouragement and gentle reminders that God is here for you, no matter what decision you are in the middle of making or whatever stage and season of life you find yourself in. The other thing to know? That I'm right there with you. Because the words found here are stories, mainly my story, of how God has shown Himself faithful to me over and over and over again. Simply because? I choose Him. Is it hard? Most definitely. Yet for the grace and mercy He shows continually, it's worth it.
And this week? He showed me that through coffee. Which is just fitting, because well, I love that stuff. Written on one of the pages of my note-taking Bible, in Psalms, are these words: God’s Word is true and wonderful.
Last week was one of the worst weeks mentally and emotionally that I’ve ever had. I’ve mentioned here and there, but most recently on the blog, that I’m in counseling. The decision to go to counseling was one that I had been throwing around for about a year. In May of this year, I finally made the brave decision to go for the first time. There is a lot that comes with counseling. I thought holding everything inside was hard, and it is, but once I started voicing everything out loud and had someone responding with truth and light, I actually had to begin to process the things I was feeling. And when it comes to processing things, I’m one of the slowest people. Last week, I woke up one morning with a lot of things swirling in my head. There were some things that finally clicked from my latest counseling session, but I had to go to work. There was no time for me to process anything that was happening in my head. One thing escalated on top of another and I found myself deep in a tunnel of darkness. I talked about that dark tunnel recently. About how it easily pulls me in and there it seems my steps should be cautious, yet they are the opposite. In the dark is where I almost find myself running carefree. But, I know that eventually I will run into something. I know that I cannot thrive there. The darkness is only hiding what is in the shadows, masking it. And I know that the Light promises so much more, because there are no shadows where the Lord is. Yet, the light was so hard for me to find that day. And the next. Even the one after that. It wasn’t until the weekend that I slowly began to feel the darkness leaving and light surrounding me more. In the past, I would have retreated farther into that dark tunnel. I would have pushed all my feelings and emotions farther down, just hoping they would disappear. I would have stayed silent to myself, my friends, and God. I would have continued to believe that they didn’t care and that they were too busy to listen to my worries. I would have continued to build walls that only further isolate me. Not this time... Last week, my counselor handed me some fruit from a tree in her backyard. And I've been thinking about it all week long. I'm sure she plucked them from the tree and handed them to me only because I asked what they were out of curiosity. But, my mind has constantly gone back to those little green fruits that look like limes on the outside, but are like oranges on the inside. Whatever they may be, they are fruit. And when she placed them in my hand and told me to let her know what I thought about them, my mind was flooded with thoughts of how the Lord is growing fruit in my own life.
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