From "I am" to "Who am I?"

This is going to come as a real shock. Are you sitting down? I keep a journal. Yes. I know, it's crazy. Me, a writer, keeping a journal. And a blog. And a professional site. And about six thousand Word documents full of gibberish. It's like it just keeps flowing out of me and I can't stop it.

But the journal is more of a place where I write prayers for the day, thoughts about the bible, and concerns for my friends, family, and circumstances. Yesterday I was flipping through the journal just to see what has happened over the last six months, and I realized a very disturbing pattern.

Almost all of my prayers start with the same phrase.

I felt a little disturbed by that realization. First of all, it's GOD who calls himself "I am." Why am I spending so much time in my prayers saying those words about... me? 

Still, I tried to shake off the creeping feeling, and just opened my bible and tried to forget it. Then I opened to 2 Samuel, where I read a prayer of David's...

"Who am I, O Sovereign Lord, and what is my family , that you have brought me this far? And as if this were not enough in your sight, you have also spoken about the future of the house of your servant. Is this your usual way of dealing with man, O Lord?  What more can David say to you? For you know your servant..."

David doesn't start his prayer with "I am," but instead, with "Who am I?" Sure, it's just an extra word and a question mark, but it changes everything.

If I come to God with the phrase, "Who am I..." it puts me in a posture of gratitude. If I come to God with the phrase "Who am I..." it puts me in a posture of questioning, of asking, of arms open waiting for an answer. "I am" is a statement of certainty.

But who am I to be certain?

And who am I to tell God who I am?

He knows, because He made me. He knows, because he loves me. He knows, because he is. 

Chicken Check-In

While on the road to St. Simons for Christmas, Patrick and I listened to an audio recording of Seth Godin's book, Poke the Box. I know, I know... we're way behind the power curve on Seth Godin, but still—I was so inspired by his encouragement to be a starter. Why not initiate change, projects, and innovation? Why not poke the box and see what happens?

But he also mentioned something that made me stop in my tracks. Godin said that every morning (or was it once a week?) with his staff, he'd conduct a "chicken check-in" where people could voice their fears and concerns. He'd ask two questions: what are you afraid might fail, and what are you afraid might work?

So here goes.

What are you afraid might fail?

I applied to graduate school in December. I didn't tell many people, because the truth is I'm afraid I won't get in. At Vanderbilt's MFA program in creative writing, only six students are accepted every year. I had to submit a 25-page manuscript, my abysmal GRE scores, and a heartfelt personal plea for acceptance. I'm afraid it will fail.

I'm afraid I won't ever actually sit down and write a book. There's this longing in my heart to write a story about family, faith, war, and the difference between generations that I just can't seem to bring myself to start. Actually, I start it every day in a new, blank word document and never get past page three. What if I never do it?

I'm afraid if I have children, I won't enjoy being a mom. But I want to have children.

What are you afraid might work?

Next week, I'm heading to Blue Ridge, Georgia for a mini writers retreat with three other Atlanta-based writers. Together, we're going to send out a bunch of pitches to national magazines. I'm terrified because I think it's actually going to work, and I think this year, I might just have a story in a magazine that's sold in your grocery store.

This past weekend, I started in my new part-time gig as a Harding Academy lacrosse coach. While it may seem random to those of you who haven't known me longer than three years—I grew up playing lacrosse in middle, high school, and college. Now, I have a chance to pick up a stick again—and I think it might actually work. I might actually be a really good coach.

Okay. Your turn. I'd love to see a link to your "check-in," or just leave a comment here about what you're afraid of.

What, are you chicken?

Saul, the king who never took action

Last week, I shared with you a post about Saul—and how, on the day of his coronation, he hid in a big ol' pile of baggage.

But that was just the start of it. Saul's life was one characterized by profound fear, insecurity, and inaction. And though it's easy to sit on a couch with a cup of coffee and shake my head at Saul—tsk, tsk, tsk— it makes me wonder. 

As a child, I always thought that we were to look to David as an example for how to live and how to have a heart that yearns for God. But now, as an adult, I'm wondering if we should look to Saul. Not for direction, but for an example of how my life might look if I succumb to all those same demons.

And the most beautiful point of all is that if I look at David not as an example for me but as a foreshadowing of Christ—we see something even more beautiful. Even through all of Saul's inaction, carelessness, fear, and jealousy, he is continually and unconditionally loved by David. Saved by David. Honored by David. But that comes later.

Here's what I've seen so far:

1) Saul's son takes action because Saul is passive. In 1 Samuel 14:1-14, Saul's son Jonathan goes out on his own to attack the Philistines who were occupying Israel. But when he went, he didn't tell his dad. Why not? Because Saul was afraid, and Jonathan knew it. But as soon as Jonathan and his right-hand-man began killing and overtaking the camp, Saul rallied his troops and joined them.

2) Saul stubbornly keeps his own word—while disobeying God's word. In 1 Samuel  14:24-44, Saul makes up some crazy rule for his soldiers: "Cursed be any man who east food before I have avenged my enemies!" The ultimate battle cry for an infamously cowardly man. When his son eats (the one who just defeated the Philistines)—Saul nearly kills him so that he doesn't look weak in front of his men—so he can keep his word. Saul's soldiers, seeing how ridiculous, stubborn, and prideful Saul is being, stop him from killing his own son.

3)Saul follows the Lord... but only halfway. Then makes half-assed excuses.  When Saul is told to overtake the Amalekites, and to destroy them completely (and not to take any plunder or riches from them)—he almost follows instructions. In 1 Samuel 15, Saul overtakes the Amalekites, but brings home sheep, cattle, lambs, and even their king—alive! When he's confronted about his greed in taking all the plunder, rather than destroying it as instructed Saul defiantly says, "But I did obey the Lord, I went on the mission that the Lord assigned me. The soldiers took plunder, in order to sacrifice them to the Lord your God." Do you see what he did there? He threw his soldiers under the bus and said they were responsible for taking the plunder. Then, he tried to justify it, by saying they would make it all a sacrifice. What bologna!

4) Saul finally admits his fault. By the end of 1 Samuel 15, Saul is so beat down and called out on all his conniving ways that he finally admits it. "I have sinned. I was afraid of the people and so I gave in to them." 

All of this in a matter of a few chapters. And more and more I'm realizing that there's so much of me  in Saul—or so much of Saul in me. And I think, more than anything... I follow after Saul's passivity. I don't want to rock the boat. I only want to move forward if I'm absolutely certain that I'll be successful.

After all this time, I'm realizing that perhaps God isn't calling me to be David. Maybe God is trying to show me where I'm Saul.

Why does God reject Saul?

A Lesson in Half-Obedience: Hiding in the Baggage

"But I did obey the Lord," Saul said. "I went on the mission the Lord assigned me..."

Have you ever read the story of Saul, and wondered just what God had against him? As a kid, if you ever went to Sunday School and learned about Israel's first king, perhaps the teacher said something like this. "Saul was a very bad king, so God chose a different king—David."  But then you go on to read about David, and from the surface, David seems like an even worse king. Adultery? Murder? Does it get much worse than that? What did God have against Saul?

For me, reading through 1 Samuel is like learning about God for the very first time. I've been so fascinated by this story because Saul seems so well intentioned from the outside. But when I looked a little closer, and read the fine print, I realized: Saul was a man of great fear that was constantly looking for the approval of men. And what's more, Saul shrouded his insecurity in half-obedience to the Lord. 

Knife in the gut. I could so easily replace the name "Claire" in both of the sentences above. I am a woman of great fear that hides all of my insecurity by pretending I'm following the Lord, when really I'm looking for other people's approval.

Over the next few days, I'm going to introduce just a few examples of how Saul lived out his half-obedience.

[example number one]

SAUL HID IN THE BAGGAGE

... literally. In 1 Samuel 10, the prophet Samuel is surrounded by everyone in Israel, and they are looking around and trying to find Saul to put a crown on his head so he will be King.  Saul already knows that he's been chosen. But he's so very fearful that he literally goes and hides himself in a big pile of baggage (1 Sam 10:22).

The analogy is too good to pass up. Hiding in baggage?? Yes!  I totally do that. And I think we do it for two paradoxical reasons. First, we hide because we're afraid. And second, we hide because we want to be important enough to be found.

[because we're afraid] I hide in my own baggage, in my head because I'm afraid. When we begin to get fearful about the world around us and our calling as writers/ husbands/mothers/teachers/real estate investors/lead singers/whatevers, we bury ourselves deep into the old, heavy stuff that weighs us down and hides us from the rest of the world because it feels so much more comfortable in the dark. I'd much rather be back here, in the shadows, than up front where if I fall or make a mistake, people will see. The baggage (my past mistakes, what other people have said, the lies I believe about myself) allows me to keep a safe distance from any kind of leadership.

[because we want to be important enough to be found] After Saul hid himself, the bible says "They ran and brought him out... and shouted 'Long live the king!'" That must have felt nice!  He was so important, that even though he was hiding, the people wouldn't let him hide for long. They came and found him and put him in the spotlight. And that's what Saul wanted. Saul wanted to feel chosen and approved by the people. He didn't care that he'd already been anointed by God. For Saul, God's approval wasn't enough.

Are we any different? Don't we want other people to tell us that we have what it takes? Most of the time, when I hide away from fear—it's not even really from fear—it's from pride. I'm playing hide and seek so that other people will pull me out of the shadows all day long, saying "Claire, you have what it takes!" Goodness. What a JOY I must be to be around!

But here's the thing. God had already chosen Saul, and God has already chosen us. We do not need to hide. And we do not need to be found.

--

So today, what are you "hiding in the baggage" from? Are you hiding from real fear, or from pride—hoping someone will come drag you out and put you in the spotlight?

If you stopped hiding in the baggage, how might your life change... right this instant?

Lost and Found: the Servant Class

Did you tune into Downton Abbey last night? The Gibsons sure did! Patrick and I are hooked and have been since this summer. We originally thought the entire series would be like a never-ending Pride and Prejudice, but instead, we found an entire world full of great characters and interesting plot lines—with a whole lot of history thrown in.

What is it about this show that so fascinates us? If it's not the beautiful videography, landscape, and the architecture of Highclere Castle (pictured above courtesy of Wikipedia)—perhaps its the structure of a society so foreign to us—this world of servants and aristocrats. 

The world of the aristocrats seems glamorous, glittering and nearly perfect. But then we see the problems of money, jealousy, infidelity, and boredom set in and fracture the relationships within the Crawley family.

The world of the servants seems oppressive, dark, and at times undignified. But then we see servants who take pride in their work and their role in the larger story—and I wonder, would I have that same attitude if I were in their shoes?

With images of Mary's impeccable wedding gown and snippy Dowager Countess comments still roaming through my brain, I sat down this morning and opened up Eugene Peterson's book, A Long Obedience in the Same Direction. Ironically, the chapter I'm reading is titled, "Service." Here's what I read this morning:

Power breeds oppression. True, we have, in Western countries, abolished the institutionalized forms of slavery and all but eliminated a servant class, but the experience of servitude is still among us and as oppressive as ever. Freedom is on everyone's lips. Freedom is announced and celebrated. But not many feel or act free.

Evidence? We live in a nation of complainers and a society of addicts. everywhere we turn we hear complaints: I can't spend my money the way I want; I can't be myself; I'm under the control of others all the time. And everywhere we meet the addicts—addictions to alcohol and drugs, to compulsive work habits and to obsessive consumption. We trade masters; we stay enslaved. 

The Christian is a person who recognizes that our real problem is not in achieving freedom but in learning service under a better Master. The Christian realizes that every relationship that excludes God becomes oppressive.

The class structures of Europe, India, and yes, even modern America are wholly oppressive, not because the position of being a servant is inherently degrading, but because the relationships so often exclude God.

But when we get rid of class structures, and continue to exclude God, we are no better off. We are no freer than in the age of slavery.

Perhaps what I'm so attracted to in Downton Abbey is this small microcosm of what life could look like as a servant—cared for within the house of a lord.

What if my life looked like that today? What if I committed myself to be a servant to the Lord, rather than trying to build my own kingdom—my own Downton—all around? Would it bring me more freedom?

I think, by God, it would.