God-incidences

The pop-psych phrases to explain the Holy Spirit are truly everywhere: "There is a reason for everything", "If it is truly meant to be, it will happen", or "When a window closes, another door opens".

Okay, that is a lame opener, but trust me when I say that I have worked and re-worked this idea in my head while out of internet range over the long weekend and the only conclusion I came up with is that I'm undecided.

I understand that there is a group of believers who think that "winning the lotto" in life is really none other than that immense feeling of ecstasy one gets when their will is aligned with God's will.  When one is truly doing something that lightens their heart and furthers the kingdom of God... what could be better?  For this group of people, one can achieve this sense of overwhelming joy through much prayer, soul searching, and discernment.

Then there is the group of us who, contrary to these people, deliberately walk (or in my case, run) away from God's will for our lives and yet, coincidences (God-incidences) still manage to happen.  We don't pray about it, we make rash decisions; we don't discern it, we make up our own minds and then simply announce what we've decided.  And yet... despite the vast differences, God beats us to it.

If you ask me why I went into nursing, I truly wish I could tell you a tear-jerker or inspirational story about how nurses saved my life and thus, I wanted to return the favour to the universe.  Or that my grandma was a nurse, and my mom was a nurse and so I fell into a career saving people's lives.  But my story is different.  Radically so.

(In a paragraph or less...), I was raised high church, met some friends from a slightly lower church, went on retreat with said friends.  Attended an ordination of the xx type in which two xx's were being ordained to slightly lower church, cried through the Gospel, cried through the sermon and felt this indescribable sense of pull on an internal organ that beats... a lot.  Made sideways move to the slightly lower church, studied unofficially for two years the ways of slightly lower church, took jobs in said church to learn more about it, went through three onion layers of discernment with said church... all to get a resounding yes (paralleled to the Gospel that one cried through years before).  Packed life belongings in car, drove 45 hours, and enrolled in ordination-stream schooling.  For reasons unwritten here, dropped out of said school, went into hiding from the church and so-called "calling" and in the process, thought it wise to enroll in a two-year, completely secular program.  Two year secular program graduated me as an RN and here I be.

After finishing nursing school, I had no intention of practicing nursing.  So much so that I chose to specialize in a field that is extremely hard to get into so that when I couldn't get hired, I could find the motivation to work through my "issues" with God, the church and the community, pick up the pieces and my dragging feet and return to that immense sense of pull that I felt years ago while attending an xx ordination.

Where is this going, you ask?

To pay bills and student loans, I took on a full time administration job on the university campus.  What was originally supposed to be a month placement turned into two... then three... then six.  Getting pressure from the parental units as well as my employer at the admin job, I started applying for positions within the specialty I graduated with distinction in.  At first I was hired as a casual, picking up a few hours here and there, but nothing overly significant.

On one of my shifts, I found myself as the only RN on the floor who was comfortable playing with a 3 yr old boy whose family had all been killed in a car accident and whom no one had told this horrifying news to.  All the services that would normally be consulted while we waited for extended family to drive across the country to get the child were "off duty" as it was a weekend, so I figured I would sit with him for a bit.

Monday morning, I got a call from the manager of the unit I was a casual on and I was asked to submit my resume for a full time position on the unit.  I had an interview on Thursday and the following Wednesday, I found out that the job was mine if I would accept.

As I sat there waiting for the late manager to show up for the interview, I was actually quite nervous.  Don't get me wrong - people are always nervous for interviews...but I was nervous because if I got the job, I would have a really hard time putting and describing God in a simple and understandable way.  So, after years of not being able to pray, I pulled my phone out of it's case and read the prayer that has been taped in there... the prayer of St. Augustine (as seen in a previous post)... "Oh Lord my God, I have no idea where I am going, I cannot see the road ahead of me..."

It obviously was not a coincidence that I was on the unit the day that we got the 3 yr old... nor that my phone rang Monday morning requesting my paperwork.  Nor was it a fluke that I was now sitting here for an interview for a full time position, merely months out of school.  No doubt I had no idea where I was going or where the road was leading. My only option seemed to be to leave it with God and if this was where I needed to be, then I trusted that things would come together... doors would open... things would happen for a reason.

Then I got the job!

So here I am, trying to rationalize this all in my head.  Trying to figure out why I, along with communities of believers, prayerfully discerned that I was called in one direction and now I find myself blindly stumbling in another, completely different direction.  It's not a coincidence, that I'm sure, yet perplexing just the same.

I cannot deny that God is here.  Of that, I have no doubt.  What does raise question in my mind is why.  Why would I, along with a whole community of believers, discern one thing and yet... things are lining up nicely in a camp far, far away from one's "said calling"?  How can that be?  It puts to shambles the whole belief that we can pray and discern where our lives are supposed to be and meet God there.  Because clearly, God just goes where do anyway.

I think.

That, or my logic is faulty and I need to go back to the drawing board.

Feeling Vulnerable

So I had every intention of writing a post when I got home about the concept of "God-inicdences" as my eastern friend calls them... more commonly known as coincidences, but not.  This spirited friend does not believe that things happen by random chance or coincidence, but that God and the Holy Spirit very much have a say in it.

However, then I got home.

And to my horror, I had been broken into (in to?); there is nothing quite like the feeling.

Last Christmas, even though we "don't exchange gifts", I received an autographed/personalized novel from a local news anchor that my godmother gifted me.  It had some coloured liquid spilled on it and as a result, is severely damaged.  As is my latest season of the favourite television show as the discs were sitting next to my book.

For my last birthday, I received one of those picture frames in which you can frame a number of pictures at once from two of my sisters - so that wherever my career took me, I could take my family with me.  One of the pictures appears to have been snapped off, thus breaking the frame.

But these are "things" and while some are more replaceable than others, I can find it in my racing heart to get over them.

What I can't get over is the fact that it appears to be an inside job.  In fact, I know that it was my landlord as the door wasn't tampered with, yet opened with a key.  I don't rent the whole house or even a floor... just a room.  And yet, for a reason unbeknownst to me, they felt the need to let themselves into my personal space, remove property that is clearly not their own, and trample on things of meaning and personal value.

It seems to be a feeling that I cannot get over.

As a victim of sexual assault, I very much understand the notion of personal space... of sacred space that is my own and is safe.  For me... that was my bedroom.  The door had a lock.  It was a space that I could return to at the close of each day to read, to write, to ponder, to celebrate successes or mourn losses.  It is the home of sacred things like the homemade Hope Chest that my grandfather made as a graduation gift before he passed away.  And the afghan that my Grandma knit as a gift to her eldest granddaughter... housing every shade of blue yarn she could buy because we were the only two people of that genetic descent that had blue eyes... none of her children or grandchildren with the exception of her and I... had blue eyes.  Growing up, we often marveled at that bond we shared.  "Angels have blue eyes" she would often say - when I either did something really great or ... really not so great.

It was my space.

I pay monthly rent and everything.

And everything.

I called my sister in hopes of having her talk me down and reassure me that I'm over reacting.  "It's just a room" or "Get over yourself! It's not like they let one rip while sitting on your blanket" or maybe "Why don't you spend the night in my guest room?"... but she's out of town and really, I just need to breathe and remember that I am okay; I am alive; Tomorrow is a new day.

It is truly a horrible and vulnerable feeling - none quite like it, actually.

As I struggle to see any God-inidence in the events of my evening this evening, I think I just need to curl up in the blanket of blue.

Servant or Friend

It is the story of my life that I am either two steps ahead of the group or two and a half behind.  The literal side of me wants to blame it on my Dad because from the age of 3, I would strive to match my stride to his.  His inseam was a gigantic 36 inches long... and I was barely 4'5" tall.  But, that story doesn't ever work because now that I'm "all growed up"... my inseam is a whopping 36 inches and yet I find myself falling behind. 


The humorous side of me says that it happens that way so that there can be a great roar of laughter when I finally catch the punch line of a joke. 


Whatever the case may be, I believe it might work to my benefit when it comes to spirituality because 9/10... someone has "been there and done that" before and often has wisdom they are dying to pass on. 


This past Sunday, I found myself as the sole musician in worship.  And normally, while music and singing is something that I am willing to do at the slight of a whisper, this week... I struggled. I knew the songs. I knew the tempo. I knew that the group would try to slow down the Sanctus.  I knew what to expect, or did I?


Growing up, we were encouraged from a very young age to "get involved" in the church.  As soon as I was old enough to be an altar server, I literally served every Sunday at 9am from that Sunday until I "retired" in my late (late!) teens.  From there, I moved onto other ministries within the church and never thought anything of it.  As the sermon reflected around the notion of no longer being God's servant, but God's friend, I struggled.  


When Sr. Mary wrote Servant Song, I think she understood that we were meant to servants; Mother Teresa was quoted saying, "God has no hands on earth, but our hands; no feet, but our feet..."

"What do you want of me Lord? Where do You want me to serve You?

I am Your song, your servant. Singing Your praise like Mary"

And yet, this week, I was challenged to be an equal... a friend. Someone who is willing to "sit down with Jesus over a cup of tea and "tell all""; I think it's easier to serve. 

It is easier to sit at a piano and play music than to sit honestly and humbly at the foot of an altar.  It is easier to fill the quiet with music or the sound of joyful service to another than to open up the gates. It will make me sound like a horrible and greedy person, but I really wish that Jesus would have consulted before he just walked in and said, "No, no... I don't call you a servant... I call you a friend" and before he implied that friends know the intimate details of one another.  

It is easier to be the sheep who follows a shepherd to the green pasture than to walk alongside a friend.  When walking beside someone, I am the person who is tempted to still go my way - and if the friend follows then the conversation continues and if they don't, then we head our separate ways for a bit.  

It is easier to scrub dishes, pots and pans, and clean the table than to sit in conversation with another. Easier to ensure that the kitchen is tidy after a common meal than to have another beat me to it.  Easier to create gifts, plan co-workers surprise birthday parties, and pass around homemade cards than it is to console them after they get disappointing news.  Truly - I am the person trying to make awkward jokes about a situation or the weather to simply brighten the office!

Then again, maybe I want to have my cake and eat it too?  Maybe I am truly struggling because somewhere deep down inside, I long for the day when I can pour a cup of tea, sit in the sunshine, and converse freely with a friend... as though no time had past since the last time.