But Later On, A Harvest

Endure hardship as discipline; God is treating you as his children. For what children are not disciplined by their father? If you are not disciplined—and everyone undergoes discipline—then you are not legitimate, not true sons and daughters at all. Moreover, we have all had human fathers who disciplined us and we respected them for it. How much more should we submit to the Father of spirits and live! They disciplined us for a little while as they thought best; but God disciplines us for our good, in order that we may share in his holiness. No discipline seems pleasant at the time, but painful. Later on, however, it produces a harvest of righteousness and peace for those who have been trained by it.  Therefore, strengthen your feeble arms and weak knees. “Make level paths for your feet,” so that the lame may not be disabled, but rather healed. - Hebrews 12:7-13

I'm sitting on the other side of a season in life that proved to be one of the hardest I had walked through in awhile.  Not ever, but in awhile.  It was a season of tremendous weight and stress and sadness.  I just wanted it to end.  Isn't that how it usually goes, when we walk through seasons like that?  We don't care what the lessons are to be learned.  We don't care about how it's making us better people, or shaping our character.  We just want out.  Now.  We want the pain to end, and we want our misery to vanish.  We want to run back to the season of easy, a time of peace, days spent coasting.  

In the thick of last year, I started studying the book of Hebrews with my women's small group.  There were lots of verses that were pertinent, but Hebrews 12 came to mark most of last year.  I tend to date segments of my Bible according to when they correspond to my life.  Psalm 32 is marked with "Summer '06", when I was in Russia.  Ephesians 1:17-18 is marked with "Fall '05", at the start of my junior year of college.  And now Hebrews 12 is marked with "January 2015," when I first started wrestling my way through these verses.  

I felt like a lot of last year was a season of discipline.  The good Lord was clearly trying to purge my character of a few nasty traits.  At times it felt like a crucible, and quite frankly, I was sick of the heat getting turned up.  But I came back to these verses, and I had to keep trusting that God was disciplining me for my good, even if I didn't understand it all.  And it definitely didn't seem pleasant at the time, but certainly painful.  

And the verse I started to cling to more than any other was verse 11: "Later on, however, it produces a harvest of righteousness and peace for those who have been trained by." 

Later on, however.  

An annoying little phrase.  It means not right now. Not overnight.  

And in a world that thrives on right now, that phrase "later on" doesn't sit well.  I live in a generation of instant fixes, immediate responses, microwaved food, and "rocket mortgages".  Later on feels like eternity to my generation.  

But on the other side of later on is a harvest of righteousness and peace.

For those who have been trained by.

Also annoying.  

Because I only get the harvest of righteousness and peace - even if it is later on - if I am willing to be trained by the discipline.  So, not only do I have to wait for the harvest of peace, I actually have to endure a season of discipline to get to it.

I wrote in my journal last year:

I really want the harvest of righteousness and peace, but can I get it without the planting season of discipline, of conflict and tension?  Can you get those things without experiencing their opposites?  That's what this season feels like at times, a season of discipline, of refining in me and purging sins of pride and critical spirit, lack of grace and mercy.  And the hard part is that the verse says "later on." Which means we still have to lean into the discipline in the meantime.  In the meantime, you don't get to exit.  In the meantime, you don't get to escape or walk away.  Because if I'm willing to do that, if I'm willing to be trained by this season, then on the other side of it is a bountiful harvest of righteousness and peace.

I really love the closing verses to that portion of Scripture, verses 12-13, which give a very simple command: Strengthen your feeble arms and weak knees.  

Translation: Buck up.

Sometimes we don't get a choice as to when the seasons of discipline and hardship come.  (Although, sometimes we do - especially when we do knuckle-headed things all on our own.)  But we do get a choice as to how we will endure them.  Are we willing to be trained by those seasons?  Are we willing to strengthen our feeble arms and weak knees?  Or are we just going to whine about it and look for the quickest way out, and totally miss the harvest on the other side of our pain? (Believe me, I did plenty of whining and crying and stomping my feet last year to Jesus about it all, so don't think I sailed through last year singing praises of gratitude.)  

I definitely didn't find it easy to say this in the midst of all that was last year, so maybe it's easier to say this on the other side of it, but I know I want the harvest of righteousness and peace.  So, I'm going to be about the business of strengthening my feeble arms and weak knees.  

Because later on?  

A harvest.   

When Doors Open

I stood just inside my apartment, my ear pressed to the door, straining to listen to the noise coming from down the hallway.  This deep, profoundly sad wailing came from somewhere within the building, the sound traveling through my paper-thin door.  It didn't sound frantic, it didn't sound traumatic or urgent - it just sounded so mournful.  So out of place, so distraught. 

It went on for at least a good 10 or 15 minutes, and with each passing moment my curiosity was growing stronger and stronger.  What on earth was this noise - and who on earth was it coming from?

I finally couldn't take it anymore, so I mustered up the courage to walk down the hallway to investigate. 

I stood outside this unknown neighbor's apartment door, silently staring at the threshold, wondering what on earth to do, as the crying would not relent.  For the longest time I couldn't even discern if it was a man or woman, it was so guttural, so other.

Through the sobs and moaning and the groaning, I heard the fumbled words, "I just want to kill myself."

My mind went into overdrive, and it was then that I started to get a little desperate, wondering what on earth was happening on the other side of this door frame.  In a matter of seconds, my mind quickly ran through the scenarios - is there anyone else in the room with her? Could I make out any other voices? Do I need to call the police? Is this person in danger? Am I in danger by even knocking on this door?

I debated for what seemed forever before I finally decided to just knock and be brave enough to deal with whatever was on the other side of the door.  I knocked.  No response.  I knocked again.  The crying didn't relent, and quite frankly, I don't think the person could hear me.  I finally rang the doorbell (which is an insanely obnoxious noise, one that makes me cringe, which is why I had avoided ringing it up to this point).  I heard the crying soften.

And then the door opened.

Standing before me was a young blond-haired woman, mascara and tears streaming down her face, cell phone in her hand.  Hair a mess.  Clothes disheveled. 

I simply asked her if she was okay.  I told her I had heard her crying and I just wanted to make sure she was alright.  In a matter of minutes, her life story spills out, in fits and starts and ragged breaths.  She was in the midst of a panic attack when I found her, thus the uncontrollable crying.  Her dad has terminal brain cancer.  Her mom is in drug rehab.  Her boyfriend of six years cheated on her and was currently off on vacation with his new girlfriend.  The poor thing was just a mess.

And my heart broke. 

In the time since then, I've had an occasional encounter with this girl.  We'll call her Kate for the sake of this story, even though that's not her real name.  And it seems every time I encounter her, I'm catching her at her most vulnerable moments. 

For awhile now, I've wrestled with what it looks like to be a Christ-follower in this apartment complex.  The entire building is nothing but studio apartments, which basically amounts to a whole lot of people who want to live alone, whatever their reasons.  This is a group of people who are not looking for community, not looking to make friends.  If they wanted to make friends and wanted community, they'd be finding themselves at apartments elsewhere in the city that create those kinds of dynamics for their residents.  My apartment complex is not one of those places. 

So how do I make sure my neighbors know Jesus?  How do I love neighbors who aren't looking to be known, aren't looking to meet other people?  That has become my prayer - Jesus, open up the doors and provide the opportunities to interact with those around me. 

And he has quite literally opened doors. 

Just the other night, I came home late after attending a simulcast of the IF: Gathering, maybe 10:30 or 11:00.  I pulled into the apartment complex parking lot, and I noticed Kate's car in the lot, lights still on.  I figured maybe she had forgotten and left them on.  As I walked by her car, I noticed her car wasn't running, but she was propped up in the driver's seat, passed out, her head tilted back against the headrest. 

I tapped on the window (parallel deja vu maybe to knocking on her apartment door?), and got no response. I tapped again.  No response.  I finally just opened the car door.  Her eyes slowly opened, clearly a little dazed. Tears and mascara streaming down her face, just like the first time I met her.

I asked her if she was okay.  She sat there for a moment, as if it took effort to collect her thoughts, and then for those thoughts to make it from her brain to her lips. 

"My dad died," she said.

And my heart broke all over again. 

Turns out her dad had died several weeks ago now, the pain obviously still fresh.

As I stood there, I couldn't help marveling in some small way.  Hadn't I just been praying in recent days that I would figure out how to tell my neighbors about Jesus, praying that God would open doors for opportunities and moments? 

I guess he took those prayers seriously. 

I don't know what comes next in the story.  I know that so long as God keeps providing the opportunities to step into this girl's life, I'm going to keep stewarding them.  Even if I don't always know what's on the other side of that threshold.

Because what I want for Kate to know more than anything else is that Jesus is wild about her.  And I want her to meet Him, to know him, to find that he is everything that she is searching for.  For her to open that door some day and to find Jesus standing on the other side, not just me.
           
   

Why I Said No to Social Media

There are generally four acceptable ways of getting in touch with me:
1) Email
2) Phone (Although, that can be questionable some days, as I don't always carry my phone.)
3) US Postal Service
4) Showing up on my doorstep, in person.

You'll notice what this list does not include:
1) Facebook
2) Twitter
3) Instagram
4) LinkedIn
5) Basically any form of social media (minus this blog, which I don't really count because it's not actually all that social.  It's more of a one-way street, and I get maybe three comments a year.  I don't think that really qualifies as a conversation or anything resembling "social".)

Around this time about 5 years ago, I began exiting social media.  Goodbye, Facebook.  Goodbye, LinkedIn.  I was never on Twitter to begin with, so that was easy.  Instagram came on board later, but then I would eventually delete that one as well.  Nothing cataclysmic had happened to warrant the exodus - there was no bullying, there was no massive and public breakup with a boyfriend, there was no privacy breach, nor any other dramatic reason that sometimes warrants people deleting their accounts.

I just simply knew me.

I knew what I was becoming because of social media, the ways I would obsess over whether I had any notifications or not.  The ways I would scroll through page after page, looking at the highlight reels of my friends' lives and wondering why I didn't have what they had.  The ways my insecurities would rise to the surface and threaten to choke me.  The ways I would feel the pangs of jealousy take root when I would see friends getting engaged, only to stare down at my own ring finger and see it empty.  The ways I wanted the whole world to see me, a desire rooted deep in narcissism, but in the next breath I wanted to retreat and hide because I didn't want the world to know anything about me. (When I turned 24, I was very anti-posting my birthday on Facebook, for whatever reason.  But then when hardly anyone remembered my birthday and or sent any birthday wishes, I got super annoyed and had a serious pity party. I have never claimed to be totally rational.)  The ways I would waste time and precious brain space obsessing over all the wrong things.  So, yeah, I knew me.

I know me.

And I knew social media wasn't worth the exchange I was making.  I also didn't care to have so much information out there in cyberspace about me.  Granted, it was self-moderated information, but it was out there nonetheless.  (So maybe there's a little bit of the thought of Big Brother hanging out there as well.  But then I have this blog where I'm willing to spill my guts?  Also makes no sense, I know.)

Do I think Facebook and Twitter and all of that is evil and of the devil? No.  Do I think they are going to be the death of society? Maybe.  Maybe at least the death of our ability to actually have a conversation with another human being in the flesh and instead of on a screen.  I've always equated social media and our culture to the frog in the lukewarm water.  We've been so accepting and so enamored with social media that one day I fear we will wake up and find that we just died a long, slow painful death, just like that frog in that lukewarm water.  Do I think I will never, ever, ever, ever have a social media account again?  No.  Who knows what reasons may arise in the future that might warrant opening an account.  I can't really even fathom what those reasons might be right now, but I'm not ruling out the possibility.  Do I think social media has no place in our lives? No.  It has a place, and I see the value in it for businesses and non-profits and organizations, a means of connecting with a world, your customer immediately at your fingertips. 

But for now, I know me.  And I know me and social media don't need to mix.  So, I won't even attempt to hold up the façade I would surely work so very hard to create if I had a Facebook account.  It would be a charade.  And I'm not a big fan of charades.  I'll spare myself that misery.

Should you find you need to reach out to me or talk with me, spare yourself the hassle of searching for my Facebook profile.  Your searching will be in vain and your search bar will come up with "No results found".

But you're always welcome to find me in the flesh, and have a conversation with me that involves eyes and ears and spoken words. That's my kind of social media.           

Some battles don’t need to be waged. We don’t have to consume the lives of others through social media. And when we do, we should keep in mind that we’re only seeing a small slice, often the best slice. People post about the good times, that fun family vacation with the loving husband and angelic kids. Chaos might have broken out minutes before or after the photo, but that Kodak moment is what everyone sees. - Kim Cash Tate, "Social Media Heart Check"