one is not the loneliest number for those who are in Christ

Charlie has been addicted to Iceland for two weeks now. The whole country. He loves the music, the landscape, the culture, the whole package. He would fly us all there tomorrow if he could. Being the most rational, reasonable person I've ever met, he is confronted with many mental obstacles as he assesses the possibility. Not remembering this steady part of my husband, I have been determined to add my voice of reason to his. Total bummer for both of us.

What these conversations sparked in me was fear. Panic, almost. A desperation for him to be content in his unexciting job and predictable life. To stop dreaming and start trudging. The past two weeks, I have pulled out all the stops. Until today, when I finally stopped. I started crying when I thought about leaving, and I was amazed at what God showed me when I started praying about why.

Charlie and I have taken trips to Europe together before. And they have been a little bit terrible. Our reunion in France ended up in a devastating break-up. He drove off into the French countryside and I was literally left crying in the dust. Alone. In Spain we had some great times, but there was a shadow of fear following us the whole time. I self-protected, and in doing so I walled myself off from Charlie. Alone.

This morning I suddenly wondered: what if I chose my loneliness? That seemed like a very church-like thing to ask, but I decided to go with it. God immediately showed me it was true. I wanted to be alone, to be the martyr, to suffer. That's a familiar, albeit miserable, place for me. Alone and suffering.

What if I chose not to be alone? What would that have looked like? Again, the answer came quickly: To stay in relationship with Charlie instead of walling off in bitterness. To stay in relationship with Jesus instead of walling off in fear. What if I hadn't self-protected?

Then it hit me.

To feel alone is not the same as being alone.

My feeling of aloneness didn't change the fact that I was never alone. And I will never be alone. Jesus was the only person who was ever truly alone. Only he knows what that feels like. It must have been terrible for him. I feel really sorry that he had to go through that, being actually separated from God, not  just feeling like it. He suffered the most. And his pain wasn't just from a feeling.

And then the kicker: he experienced true aloneness so that I would never, ever truly be alone. That's the truth, the fact. It's a hard-won reality for me. Precious. A precious promise that he secured for me on the Cross. I will never be alone. I have never been alone. Even though I've felt alone, I wasn't. And that is precious. Because it also means I will never be alone. Not here, not in Iceland, not anywhere.

You hem me in, behind and before, and lay your hand upon me. 
Such knowledge is too wonderful for me; it is high; I cannot attain it. 
Where shall I go from your Spirit? Or where shall I flee from your presence?
If I ascend to heaven, you are there! If I make my bed in Sheol, you are there!
If I take the wings of the morning and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea, 
even there your hand shall lead me, and your right hand shall hold me. 
If I say, "Surely the darkness shall cover me, and the light around me be night,"
the night is bright as day, for darkness is as light to you.

I had never realized that I had let my feeling of being alone become my ultimate reality. I have been calling God a liar, saying that I was alone, utterly alone, and that he wasn't with me. I feel so sorry for not having given weight to the great and precious promise, the costly assurance, that I have never been alone and forsaken, and never would be. I treated it like nothing.

It has been my fear of being alone and belief in the possibility of this that kept me miserable and running before, and now clinging to my safe life here and fearful of the future. It guided my thoughts and decisions. Now that I know 100% that it is not true, that I truly could go anywhere and Jesus could be just as close and present, I feel less bound and enslaved.

Within my fear paradigm there were only a few options for the path my future could take, and they all lay within about a five-mile radius. For the rest of my life. Which sounds a little boring, but safe. Now, since I know my my aloneness is not at stake, that no matter where we go or what we do, or what Charlie decides or does, I will never be alone, a lot more possibilities open up! I feel so much more free.

Charlie's dreams of traveling or moving had threatened to bring about the one thing I feared most in the world. The past two weeks I had been doing anything I could to stop him from wanting it, to squash his desire for adventure and convince him to be content. But he didn't stop, and I'm glad because otherwise I'd still be enslaved to a lie. I'd be believing the Devil. And bound to a life of boring predictability.

I feel more free now to follow Jesus wherever he leads us. Less scared of the word "adventure." Calm knowing I'm safe in him no matter where I go. Totally assured of his presence. There is no such thing as "alone" for those who are in Christ. It is imaginary; it does not exist. It is made up. I am almost laughing at myself imagining I was ever alone! Silly!

I can do anything! Go anywhere! Have adventures! Have fun!

Off to revel... :)

Tuesdays with Lacey

Charlie has started getting interested in photography again. I call this an answer to prayer. My husband is so creative, so talented, and so enthusiastic about the things his heart loves, and I am excited to see what comes of it.

A good date night tonight made me want to learn the art of Italian cooking, or French...the finer things in life. I have realized lately that somewhere along the way I decided that if something wasn't functional it was irrelevant to my life. Which meant everything pleasurable, fun, those gifts of God simply meant to be enjoyed, became either extinct in my life, or got categorized as chores.

This is, yes, as depressing as it sounds.

However, the repentance for this is just a barrel of monkeys! Seriously. What does repentance look like for making everything into a chore? Enjoying each task. Singing through it. Relaxing sometimes. Resting. Sipping a homemade pumpkin spice latte and spending time with Jesus. Um, awesome. What does repentance look like for ridding my life of the frivolous and only pursuing the "functional"? Doing things just for the (heaven) of it. Reading a book for its own sake, not as a means to an end. Researching not just the most efficient recipes, but the most decadent ones too. Savoring a piece of chocolate. Sitting. Just sitting.

God made things into gifts. I can bless my family by allowing joy a place in our home. So for date night I bought an expensive bottle of wine ($10 instead of our normal $3 or $4). I didn't force my husband to talk about serious things. I intentionally avoided the subjects of budgeting and scheduling which drive him crazy (in the bad way) on date night. We went to a movie. Didn't discuss anything deep the whole time. Normally I would see that as a waste of time. Tonight, it was fun. Enjoying it together was an end in itself.

Charlie says he thinks his style of photography has changed. I asked how. He said he would like to take pictures of normal scenes. Not close-ups of objects that are just meant to impress, or abstract lights and shapes. He pointed to our living room. Piano against the wall, booger sucker and toys on the ground, stools and chairs pulled away from the table. Lived in. Loved. Home. And I think both of us have changed in the same way these past few years. We are learning to appreciate the normal. We don't need to be thrilled or excited all the time. Sometimes it's nice. But not always. We don't have to go somewhere exotic or do crazy things to get the good photos, the best memories. Our cherished place is here.

I don't mean to sound like a Hallmark card, but I've realized recently that this is the stuff life is made of. I keep waiting for my chores to end so that I can relax and enjoy life, but I've been deceived - I've made everything into a chore, and so they will never be done. I need to enjoy the living room even in its comfy mess, I can appreciate the process of making a meal instead of rushing to be done so I can get to the dishes, and then the tidying, and then bed, and then...I can live right now. In this photo. In this memory. Because they're all I've got.

This post is starting to read like Tuesdays with Morrie. It's time for bed, which as I'm also realizing, is not an obstacle to my productivity but truly one of life's great pleasures.