Simple things and journeys

Simplicity.

It always seems to get the best of me.

Always slipping away from me.

Every time I think I can see it slips through my fingers.

Like sand held in the palm of a child’s hand.

Just when I think I understand, it’s gone.

It comes, but not for long.

A short visit,

Just enough to get the appetite whet.

Just enough to remind me of its beauty.

Of the freedom that lies within.

But that’s not how my mind is.

So I can choose to hate who I am,

Or I can learn to love the life I’ve been given,

Taking every advantage of the things that remind and drive home that simplicity.

The time has come to track this journey, to slow down enough to see what has really happened to and around me. This year has been full of beautiful things, but I have never stopped to appreciate them, to allow their transformation to sink in.

Yes, I’m torn in several directions. Mainly one that screams I need a job, I need a plan, I need a man and a future to move towards. Go, go, go, work, work, work. Try, try, strive. Like a hamster’s wheel that seals you into an endless fate of nonstop hurry and worry, never arriving anywhere but spinning your tires like trying to get somewhere by running down an up escalator.

The other quietly whispers the gentle need to slow down. To walk. Maybe even allow things to pass me by without reaching out to try and catch them, dragging myself along with the ropes that dangle off them. Time. Time to slow down, to process, to unlock what has been a mystery for the past year. To share and to talk, but most of all to listen. To entertain my questions and seek Truth. Humbly and honestly. Yes, there’s the need and desire to give back, to have something to offer, but what does that mean? This second pull is much gentler, easily overpowered by the culture that envelops me like a bark encases a tree. I can’t seem to escape. Yet I hear the faint whisper offering a different place. A different direction. A different life. One of simplicity. Of humility. Of contentment. Of joy.

But now the question becomes whether receiving these things is wasting the gifts I’ve been given to strive to become someone. To study and write and publish and earn a name, some sort of fame to be a platform, to honor God and say, I’m a faithful servant, look what I’ve done. I’m not sure what I think yet, and I don’t think I have to.

But I know that one is louder, but the other deeper, more beautiful, a life of selfless love. Contrary to the world. And that’s why its not nearly as loud. A diamond shrouded in a humble beggars sac, just waiting to be discovered by any who would dare spare the moment it takes, the risk of discovering reality, the chance to make a choice that  could reveal an empty sac. But those who care to dare to open it will find something priceless. Something perfectly precious. They’ll find Life.

You're not the boss of me

Jobs.

Companies.

Driving down the road, that’s all I see.

On both sides of the streets.

Hundreds.

Each with distinct employees.

Each employee with distinct dreams.

Will they ever be achieved?

Or will they settle for monotony.

Familiarity.

Pressure.

Closing in.

In on every side.

Side by side are pressure I put on myself and pressure from outside.

At some point I’ll have to decide.

What to do. Where to go.

But does that time have to be now?

My eyes ache from staring at the screen, browsing job openings.

What are my dreams?

What is happiness?

What is contentment regardless of situation?

Where is the balance between striving to realize those dreams and learning to be satisfied wherever life may lead?

I don’t know.

And I think that’s okay.

At least for now.

Culture.

It screams at me.

You need a job.

No, you need two or three.

But to what end?

If employment is simply a means to live, then to what end do I work?

Yes, I know that work is a good thing, a gift from God, but does that mean it consumes every part of me?

The motivation to simply make money?

It repulses me, in a way.

But it also makes sense in that making money enables me to serve the community.

A platform of relationships.

An opportunity to grow in areas that I didn’t know exist.

So pressure, press on.

I dare you.

But by the grace of God I won’t cave.

I’ll maintain the perspective that a job is a gift, and opportunity, not the boss of me.

You’re not the boss of me now.

And you’re not so big.

The Gospel in Everything

It’s finally sinking in, or at least I hope. I no longer have to blindly grope in the dark for some shadow of the Kingdom breaking in. I may not understand it fully, but maybe by the grace of God, I’m beginning to get it: What Travis meant by seeing the gospel in the end of a cigarette. What Liza meant by the redemption radiating from the table at Panera, the healing in relationships.

Do I really get it? Do I really get to begin tasting it? The beauty of reality is slowly beginning to hit. Gradually, like the condensation slowly forming on a towel enveloped constantly by steam as it seeps in and eventually it becomes wet. Not all at once, because maybe that’s not the nature of life. Not all at once because it may crush with the power and sheer magnitude of beauty and truth crying out from every facet of life. So slowly. I will continue seeking and simmering as the sum of reality slowly saturates my being, as it seeps in. Like they slowly pour the milk foam into a mocha, the slowness making it all the more beautiful, creating the perfect lines and warming designs that characterize the cup. If it were dumped right in, it’d be all muddy and messed up, not as stunning as it should be, as it would be if it were done right: slowly. As much as I hate it, I’m beginning to appreciate it, savor it, recognizing the radiance and radical beauty reality produces when it percolates slowly. Ruminating grows into reality.

Everything present in this life some way reflects God’s perfect reality, a glimpse of what should be. It astounds me. No wonder they use certain words in the Bible, certain metaphors for what God’s kingdom breaking in is and how life is and will be restored. So let me explore this beautiful depth. Like a diver daring to dive into the uttermost depths of the darkness, dying to see what the presence of light begets, revealing a radiant beauty most are terrified to travel to that depth to see. And with due cause, for without the light, the darkness presses in and depresses even the most vibrant of lives, draining the daring determination of any who survive.

But not so with the Light. Its presence presents life in an entirely new way. The light shines in the darkness and the darkness has not over come it. The darkness has no choice than to succumb to the perfect revealing power of the light, exposing things as they are, scars and all, but also exposing how redemptions is reflections in some way or another through it. Beloved and lover. Child and Mother. Sister and brother. Each present in broken relationship now, but never robbed of the reflection it represents of the Kingdom of God. To him the darkness is not dark at all.

For so long it’s all I’ve seen: the presence of darkness and brokenness and the absence of light. But that’s not true reality. Reality is the light breaking in with power and restoration. And now that I can slightly see, with glimpses, as a small child peering through a sheet, I pray for eyes to see and grace to take part in ushering in this Kingdom, in all its glory.

This week.

I’ve been out of the bubble and into reality for less than a week and the brokenness could easily be overwhelming. Just the conversations I’ve overheard and the magnitude of people who have been hurt. It’s dark and disheartening, dreary and discouraging. People are slowly dying dangerous and degrading deaths, physically, emotionally, and spiritually. It seems like the darkness is closing in and its paralyzingly depressing if that’s all there is. Because that means there is no hope. Hopelessness that says darkness is stronger than light and the light doesn’t stand a chance in the fight. Instantly KO’d in the ring, the hopelessness sings in victory, gleaming arrogantly with biting mockery of the light.

But that’s just it. That’s not it. That’s not it at all. Yes, after the fall brokenness entered in and our sin tainted all good things. But the story doesn’t end there. Goldilocks doesn’t get eaten by the three bears and Red Riding Hood escapes the claws of the wolf. Not because they deserved safety, for they did all things wrong. But because grace is not what you deserve. Salvation is offered freely to all who would take her in. And she ushers in with her redemption and restoration, a light that can’t be overtaken by darkness, but one who destroys it with its mere presence. As it presents itself, broken things are redeemed, impure things made clean. It doesn’t mean perfection on earth, necessarily. But it means the presents of hope, love, peace. It means I get to take part in imparting a part of that peace and hope. I get to usher in restoration and redemption. I get to usher in the Kingdom of Heaven.

To Write

It’s January 2, 2015 and I’ve learned a lot of things this past year. I’ve learned I can’t count on my discipline for anything. I’ve also learned a release for me is writing. It opens my eyes to who God is, to who I am as a human being, being tossed to and fro by the waves of wonder and doubt. It helps me sort it all out, tasting what it is to have understanding, even revelation, although it takes sometimes months for what I wrote to really sink in. But writing is like singing for me. I don’t excel at singing, so writing seems safer. Comes easier. Makes me freer.

So I’m not one for New Years resolutions; I think they’re lame, but here I go anyway. I’m going to step out and say: I, Laurel Dispenza, resolve to write at least one thing a day. And I pray that the Lord uses it to draw me in and teach me and all those who stumble upon these writings along the way.