The Death-March of Self

"I am the vine; you are the branches. If a man remains in me and I in him, he will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing."
Those words have been ringing in my ears for a month now. Because in my own mind and when I'm feeling full of myself, I know that apart from Him I can do quite a lot. I guess it depends on how you define "something." I can create a flurry of activity that keeps me from quality time with God. I am extremely good at making THAT happen. I can generate what folks will perceive as productivity and performance and quite competent work. I am able to multi-task like a fool.
What I read in John 15 though, is "apart from me, you can nothing of lasting value for the Kingdom of God." And what I have experienced lately is "apart from me you can do a lot of things, but you will wear yourself out in the process and be no closer to me in the end."
I have fought off the Lord's advances like a child fighting sleep. You've seen it. You know the child likes sleep, needs sleep, and will be grumpy and dissatisfied without sleep. And you know what a pill that kid will be unless she just gives in and relents to the rest.
It was easier to avoid Him than to face what He wanted to do in me. But we all know that avoidance doesn't really work with our relentless pursuer. I told Him years ago that He could have me, and He intends to hold me to that. I have avoided solitude, and prayed only for general things like other people and little problems that crop up; and I have tiptoed around the one big beast that infects my thinking.
I am a performer. Not in the bright lights-on-stage kind of way, though I do enjoy that. But in the "I must do things perfectly so that other people will recognize my awesomeness" way. And of course, that twisted mindset just sets you up for a series of failures. Because for everything I do well, there are 12 things I completely drop the ball on. For everything that I do apart from God, I am left with a sense of empty victory that drains my spirit. It creeps into my job, my marriage, and my worship. I had hoped the Lord had instilled in me a drive for excellence, and that all of this could somehow be used as a gift from Him. (isn't it awesome how we can lie to ourselves!?) By labeling my need for outer perfection in performance as "excellence," I have spent years wearing myself out and rarely relying on His creativity, inspiration, and His sustenance for my soul. Apart from Him, I can do quite a lot that other people can recognize and applaud. But it's really not FOR Him. At its best, it's maybe ABOUT Him, but most likely FOR me.
We all worship at the throne of Self. We all have the one thing we'd rather the Lord not mess with. The thing we'd rather not cleanse, and that we can defend to the point of exhaustion. As my pastor said, the thing we get defensive about is the thing that the Lord wants us to lay down. I get extremely defensive when someone questions my ability in an area in which I feel I am doing well. When people underestimate me and my "abilities," I turn inside-out.
But the time has come to make the sacrifice at the mountain of God. To lay down this need for acclamation, multi-tasking, and perfection. The make my stand at the foot Sinai and let the Lord visit me, as He did with the people of Israel just before giving them The Law--the ways in which they were to LIVE. They cleansed themselves before the Lord so that He could truly direct their steps--so He could lay out His plan and His way before them. I must consecrate this area of my heart and set this twisted thinking before Him and let His holy presence burn it up.
I don't know how to live apart from this sin. I don't know how to give up the drug of affirmation. I hardly know how to be still and know that He is God, as stillness is unnatural for my kind. This sin thrives in busyness. It feeds off activity. It gets a buzz when there is a task to be done. I'm not sure where to go from here, but the death of this beast is imminent. I broke this week and cracked under the pressure of expectations at work. I wanted to scream at the universe, "I'm JUST ONE PERSON! I CANNOT DO EVERYTHING! I CAN ONLY DO WHAT I CAN DO!!!!!"

When I cracked, I thought at first that it was sadness seeping in, like a flood of depression--or worse, my grip on sanity. But this week I realized that what I'm experiencing is the beginnings of this sin seeping out. It feels a lot like sadness, as this sin has been a constant companion for as long as I can remember. It's dying, and that's just never fun. There's a reason Jesus calls it taking up a cross to follow Him. It's a death-march of Self. Kicking and screaming, we're marching up Golgotha. I'm going to leave it there and wait for the Resurrection of the Shelley He created me to be. You're allowed to watch, but just don't clap when it happens. Praise the Lord.

Wherever you go...

I have been absent from bloggy-land so long, I nearly forgot my password! Tragic, to be sure. I have a load of blogs rolling around in my head, but just haven't felt inspired to set them out before you in "print."

I've been thinking lately about that phrase, "Wherever you go, there you are." I was so restless and eager to GO somewhere at the beginning of summer when I realized that I spent the first six months of this year within a 100-mile radius of home. That's fairly bizarre for me. It seems that life just sort of rolled on like a steam train without me, or ahead of me, and I struggled to keep up and catch up to it. I kept seeing things go by in a blur without feeling any connection to how I could "jump on."

Finally, in July, I was able to get out and about a bit, with a much-needed quiet respite at the beach, and a whirlwind "friends and family" tour to Georgia and Alabama. (thanks all!)

But now that I'm back, and taking stock of the year, I realize that it's just ME that I'm restless with. Wherever I went, there I was. Frustrated and undisciplined, numb and no-longer-contemplative, going-through-the-motions of life in a flurry of activity.

I don't want to be busy for the sake of having things to do.

I want to DO things that are the things I'm supposed to be doing. I want to be involved in creative projects that further the Kingdom of God. I want to be prayerful and thoughtful and engaged with God in a way that inspires me and brings glory to His name.

I am the Vine, you are the branches. When you're joined with me and I with you, the relation intimate and organic, the harvest is sure to be abundant. Separated, you can't produce a thing. Anyone who separates from me is deadwood, gathered up and thrown on the bonfire. But if you make yourselves at home with me and my words are at home in you, you can be sure that whatever you ask will be listened to and acted upon. This is how my Father shows who he is—when you produce grapes, when you mature as my disciples. John 15:5-8, The Message

That's all for today. Just needed to let that one out of my head.

In Memoriam, Tinkerbell Giles Jones

I meant to write this post months ago and tuck it away for the day it was needed. I didn't. It hurt to think about.
Last Wednesday, July 8, my dear little Tinkerbell went to doggie heaven. She was a special part of my life, and I wanted to write down some memories...
Tink had two litters as a mommy for a breeder. Two of her puppies actually came to live with ladies that I worked with at the time at Central Church. I got her in a round-about way, as our receptionist had adopted her, but it wasn't working out.
I used to think Boston Terriers were odd looking, but when I met Tinkerbell, her sweet little face and big brown eyes just melted me. She was mine.
We bonded while watching the 2000 Sydney Olympics. I desperately wanted to name her "Sydney" since Tinkerbell would not have been my first choice, but I thought it might give her a complex to be renamed at the age of three. "Tink" ended up sticking, and more often than not, she earned the nickname "Stink" or "Stinker." It was her only flaw, though pronounced. :)
The first week or two she was tentative. Disinterested in toys and only mildly interested in food or cuddling, I wondered what I had taken on. I must have grown on her though. As a single gal, it was nice to have something to care for and happy to see me come home.
My parents graciously became her adopted parents when I had to travel, and I joked about sending her to "Camp Giles" for vacation. Tink was happiest when being petted, and Mom Giles was eager to please in that department. We won't talk about about the turkey and table scraps that she received at Camp Giles... She is pictured here with my parents' dog, Jazzy. What's the opposite of "Mini-me?" Jazzy was her "Mega-Me" I guess.
Tink was a great walker, depending on the weather. When I lived close to Freedom Park, we would often take early evening strolls to and around the park. If it was hot, she would stop in a cool patch of grass, roll over on her back, and stretch back and forth to cool off. She always drew attention...whether folks were excited to see her because they had had a Boston, or the few folks who were afraid of her (she was 20 pounds, people!!) and backed away because they thought she was a bulldog.
Tink was always cold indoors. Like a little old lady. At my Jefferson Drive house, I put her pink flower-shaped pillow right by the heating vent. Sometimes I thought she would crawl right in it if I'd let her! I pulled out a jacket I had for her last Fall for our camping trip, and she pretty much wore that every day around the house.
You can see from the picture why we called her "Count Tinkula."
The best moments were when she would cuddle in the crook of my legs on the sofa. In her last year or so, we developed a morning routine. I sat on the sofa, drank my coffee and put on my makeup while I watched "Good Morning America." She would always snuggle up next to me and finish her morning nap. Those last few mornings were especially hard, as I knew our little morning time was coming to a close.
Delightfully, we found a boy a few years ago who had always wanted a Boston Terrier. He must have a thing for brown eyes. :) Jerod loved the Tink, too. Last Wednesday was a pitiful day for both of us.
I will remember the way she would find a patch of sunshine streaming into the house and curl up there. I will remember how excited she would get when she realized that she was included in a road trip. I will remember that sweet face, the love she gave, and the sound of her nails on the kitchen floor when she was dancing around eager to get a treat.

We loved her so. I just hope Jesus is giving her some head scratches for me. Saying goodbye was one of the hardest things I've ever done.

Tinkerbell Giles Jones, 1996 - 2009

Justice Project update

Well, I had such hopes for the Justice Project that our fellowship was undertaking. I have had some mixed emotions with it since. My experience with the whole endeavor has seemed to be thwarted from every side. Neither of our people that we were given to work with and get to know has a working phone. And it's not like they live around the block so I can drop by at random times to check in. It's an hour round-trip...to knock on a door that no one answers. Our small group has spent some time in the neighborhood and have "adopted" some other people to some extent, but it hasn't been much more than some painting and eating and hanging out thus far.
One of our ladies landed in jail before we could form a relationship with her. We were unable to visit, and wrote letters. She seems in the most need for some friendship and support, but she's never home...and again...has no phone. The other lady has not been available up to this point yet, either.
Since March, when we started this movement, my work schedule has been spinning out of control. In addition to the classes I was taking through May and some new job responsibilities, I have had precious few weekends that were not already spoken for. I feel barely capable of handling my own home and responsibilities.
I believe in the Justice Project. I know that I'm too busy. How to clear the time? So much of what keeps me busy is not optional. I'm just purely frustrated right now. I need to pray that the Lord makes clear the path to help me walk into an obedient use of my time. What good am I to Him or anyone if I don't have time to help others?
I have known for years that ministry is not easy. It's not a walk in the park. It's dirty and challenging and doesn't play fair sometimes.
So, here I sit. Tired, defeated, and still hopeful. If we aim at nothing, we'll hit it every time.

At Last...

Well, I took a blog-break. Sometimes you don't have much to say or the desire to say it. That's ok, right? :)

By way of update on the fish tank...Science Fair "sold" me on the idea by touting its possibility for enjoyment and relaxation. I'm still hopeful for those aspects. Thus far, it has been stressful and dramatic. It seems to be now barely easing into the realm of maybe-fun.

Our clownfish got the ich. It's a protozoan disease whose name translates into "fish louse with many children." Delightful, no?

So, the clowns are now in a quarantine tank (in the ever-so-cluttered office room) as J tries to treat them. This whole month has been a never-ending battle with water levels, disease, and mysteries to solve. J has been on the internet trying to sort out fact from fiction regarding saltwater environments. These fish eat frozen food!! And he feeds our crabs little shrimpy-looking things with tongs! Who knew?

The goby (bright yellow fish pictured) seems to have quit jumping over the back into the filter area, and the wrasse has no one to um...ha-wrasse right now, except occassionally the goby, which might explain the jumping.

It's like we started an micro-alien colony in our living room.

I love Science Fair

We love to watch "Lost." There is a character on the show named Sawyer (also goes by LaFleur, Jim, James Ford) who loves to give people awesome nicknames. I came up with my own for Jerod the other day. His new nickname is "Science Fair." I called him that jokingly, but it is sticking. Last Saturday, I awoke to find him sitting at the kitchen table with all kinds of vials of colored liquid testing the water from our new aquarium. Understandable, since we thought we might hit up the local fish store's gigantor annual sale that day. The best thing was though, instead of "Good morning, sweetheart" I got a full run-down on our nitrate levels and was asked to analyze a color chart against a vial of yellow water. What shade of yellow? was of imminent importance.
Now, friends, there was no coffee in my system yet. I was still stumbling trying to remember what day it was and why I was out of bed. There was no need to be analyzing nitrate levels so early for ME. But, I remember...this is the stuff he's passionate about. After I mumbled "Good morning to you, too" I yawned and pointed at the color I thought the water was. And was greeted with another five-minute lesson about how we need to do something or other to level things out. I nodded and mustered all of my wifely interest as the sweet elixir of morning flooded my mug.
So, Science Fair and me had a great day...we hit up the fish store and spent some time there...ate Thai food, and went to a concert for his favorite band in Columbia. It was Science Fair's birthday weekend.
So, I never thought I'd say this sentence...but I do love a Science Fair.

Fish tank pics coming soon. We have our Nemo-fish!!! I think their names are Rose and Bernard. We'll see.

The longest hour...

I just heard a call-in segment on the radio about "the longest hour of your life." It prompted a bit of thinking back on my part. I'm going to go with "the time I thought I might lose an eyeball" story. (don't worry, I won't get too graphic)

It was the first night of two weeks of summer camp in 2005. I was basically the camp coordinator...the person who is over the staff and activities for about 200 people, and the one running around behind the scenes all day making sure everyone is where they're supposed to be and doing what they're supposed to be doing.

It was late Monday afternoon, and several of us on staff were in the camp office prepping for the late-night activity, which included a marshmallow roast over a campfire. Unable to find wire hangers at Wal-Mart (what the heck?), we settled on a roll of 14-gauge wire that was about the same size as coat hanger wire.

While clipping off lengths of the wire, the loose end sprang back from the roll and popped me right in the eye. YIKES!!!

As everyone turned to look at me, I could see the stages of panic go across their faces... OHMYGOD! what do we do next? where's the nurse? how are you feeling? can you see? But I really got scared when they all became surreally calm. Two or three people around me started the "you are going to be fine...don't worry about it...we are going to get you fixed up..." etc. They were being a little too reassuring, which clued me in to the fact that it must look pretty bad. That, and when I asked if it was bleeding, they said, "Yes, but it's not that bad..." and I could tell they were being nice and not entirely truthful.

The nurse came up the hill after what seemed like two hours, but was more like 5 minutes. She covered it with a bandage and asked me keep it closed. My dear friend Amanda hopped in the car and we began the trek to the nearest hospital.

Side note: our camp was about 25 miles from the nearest town in any direction. Just west of East BFE, if you will.

I was praying, and felt a tremendous peace. I asked God to keep us all calm and to help us get where we needed to go. I was navigating us toward Lancaster, SC, with my good eye and trying to make conversation so I didn't start crying or freaking out.

Thankfully, the ER only had one person waiting. But, the assistant seemed to think that my bandaged, bleeding eyeball did not warrant rushing me right in to see someone. Instead, she started getting all kinds of information. I was trying to calmly relay my address, insurance info, and surgical history without screaming at the top of my lungs, "LADY!!! MY EYEBALL IS BLEEDING!!!! GET ME IN TO A DOCTOR NOW!!!!!!!!!!"

The funniest thing was that at one point she asked me a question that sounded like this: "Do you have a leeeving whee-yul?" I didn't know how to respond, since it seemed to be asked in a dialect of Southern I had not yet met. I looked to Amanda with my one good eye, hoping for a translation. She just shrugged. "I'm sorry?" I asked. "A leeeving whee-yul." She responded, as though perhaps she hadn't said the strange syllables loudly enough. Again, with the one good eye to Amanda...again, a shrug of confusion.

LIGHT BULB! A living will. "No, I don't have a living will." As I said the words, I could see Amanda smile with recognition. Now, I'm from Georgia, and have lived in Tennessee, South Carolina, and North Carolina, and have "people" from Alabama. I am no stranger to the Southern dialect...but that one really befuddled my noggin.

Back to the eye.

Finally, the doctor saw me...did a thorough check-up, and asked me if I was in any pain. The strike had happened in the white of my eye between the inner corner and iris. When I replied that I was not, he seemed confused. He said that it might just not have started yet, or I might be in a bit of shock, but that I would surely be experiencing some hefty pain. He prescribed one of the heavy-hitters in the pain meds catagory as well as some optical antibiotic.

We tracked down a pharmacy and spent two hours getting back to camp (we got lost). Miraculously, I never really experienced any pain, and only took the pain meds about twice. The biggest bummer was that I couldn't do any lake activities or go swimming and that I had to wear my glasses (no sunglasses in the SC sun) for the next two weeks. But I will take those "bummers" over some of the alternatives. I am still super-squeamish about eye issues and wear shades anytime I think there's a possibility of anything getting near my eyes! I am thankful for my sight, and need to get working on that leeeving whee-yul. And maybe spend some time in Lancaster learning the native language.

It can be a pretty long hour when you're wondering if you will have one good eye or two!

If I only had a heart...

I always wanted to be Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz. I loved her songs, her "little dog," her bright red shoes...but for years I seemed to identify with the Tin Man. Not so much because I was needing some oil in my joints, but because I was possibly missing a heart.
Being task-oriented and generally driven to perform and compete, I often missed the point of being in the world with others. Self-awareness tends to creep up on us sometime after high school, and we realize that we might not be the center of the universe. Self-awareness was not so gentle with me, however. I found myself at college having to face my selfish nature and smart, tart remarks...seeing them in the eyes of others and God in a mirror that reflected back something altogether disheartening.
Once I worked through a lot of awkward and confusing situations, I began to realize that I was wired quite differently from a lot of girls I knew. I am just not that sensitive to how others are treating me. I have a (somewhat masculine?) ability to compartmentalize my emotions. I don't wear my heart out on my sleeve. It's not that I'm unfeeling or lack empathy, I just don't show it the way a lot of people do. If someone's trying to give me the cold shoulder, I don't really take it personally.
It became kind of a joke among my college roommates..."Shelley's the insensitive one." Once they all realized that I was wired "funny," it made life a lot easier for all of us.
Thankfully, all of this self-awareness has come full circle. I marvel at what the Lord can do with with an argumentative, proud, and bottom-line personality. I believed for a while that I had no capacity to love deeply or to feel deeply, but it's not true. With Jesus' help, I am able to feel immense compassion and empathy toward others. I realize that I am a fixer, but that sometimes I need to listen. Full-time ministry and marriage both have a way of knocking off your hard edges and leaving something softer behind.
I feel it creeping back in sometimes, that black-and-white selfish hard edge. But I have learned that most opinions are best left unsaid unless you are coming to the defense of the defenseless. Tasks are never more important than people. The only way to show God's love...and to be His hands and feet...is to slow down a minute and take stock of what is really important in light of eternity. Competitiveness, sarcasm, pride, condescension, and performance are not Fruits of the Spirit. I want to be fruitful, not prickly. He's making me that way.