Romancing the Park

There is this beautiful place in city park here in New Orleans. It looks like old Grecian ruins, with tall, regal columns in a circle around this huge fountain that once sprayed water from a large, iron fish sculpture in the center. I can imagine it now. It probably once hosted these glamorous parties, with lights all in the trees and everything illuminated by candlelight. It is dry now, and the “ruins” have never looked more authentic, since the whole place has been essentially abandoned since the storm, but it is still terribly romantic. It is probably my favorite place in the whole city. I go there to think sometimes, and I am imagining myself in that place now, even as I write this, sitting in the dry bowl of the fountain, admiring a sculpture that, if it was anywhere else, would be incredibly tacky and tasteless. This place always makes a dreamer out of me... it’s all very beautiful really. I think about that place not too far from here now because beauty always inspires me to love Jesus, or vice versa...and the things that I’m reading right now are causing me to love Jesus, and the petty annoyances that bother me have led to conviction that has led me to Jesus, and beautiful acts from beautiful people with beautiful spirits have caused me to love Jesus, and even love itself, in the form of a crush, or watching the beautiful marriage of one of your friends... all of these things turn me into a romantic... and it is there, I think, that I find my truest self... the girl who delights in a secret garden, and in finding love, and, ultimately, in the beauty of Jesus himself. The world suddenly becomes much simpler, and I am ten years old again, remembering how deeply I loved and worshipped Jesus back then. There were no complications. Jesus made perfect sense. Love never hurt, cut, or burned you. And now, as Bebo Norman’s “A Page is Turned” plays, life is simple and beautiful, and I am overwhelmingly grateful for salvation, and God’s bestowal of love upon this world that has the power to eradicate fear and inspire a deep response unlike anything else.

I guess all of this rambling is coming to no point in particular, other than to explain why there has been no writing for the past few months. I always have to get into a kind of “mood” before I feel inspired to write anything. Usually, it is evoked by rainy nights after everyone has gone to bed and the apartments are quiet, or by upsetting events. All great books center around complex characters and intense crisis, right? But this, this is simply the culmination, or denouement, of the past few weeks of feeling nothing at all, or frustration at what looked like dead-ends and inadequacy. I felt like I was hitting my head against the wall with the church. I was not cut out to be a Minister of Education. I don’t know that I ever even liked Sunday School, and I’m pretty sure that’s the quintessential job of the ME... to implement Sunday School, and then baby it until it grows and we all get so excited about it! But this is not my heart... a handful of people sitting around awkwardly and uncomfortably in steel chairs that make an incredible amount of noise against the tile or concrete, even if you just uncross your legs or bend down to grab a pen. The teachers always get burned out and then someone else has to get strapped with the task of entertaining eight or so people each week. Yuck. Why would I want to be the one to establish this in my church if I wouldn’t even want to go? So, while I’m busy fuming about this for a few weeks, wondering if I shouldn’t tell someone that there has been a terrible mistake made in placing me in this church with this role, I am simultaneously working on a mission trip that seems to be falling flat on its face, which, of course, only serves to reinforce what I have already been thinking. Plus, for one week after I finished my finals at seminary, I had been asked to substitute at the private school in Metairie for some high school students. This, of course, is an adventure, but I loved it, which only leads me (who loves change, did I mention that?) to go on a whirlwind of excitement about whether or not I should work toward becoming a teacher. The only problem is, I really have no special concentration in any one subject where I would be anywhere near adequate to mold young minds. Hmmm. This all sounds very exhausting, and it was. And, the counselor in us all will look at this and evaluate what was going on in my head, and suggest possible solutions... maybe I’m discontent with seminary (ok), maybe I should be a teacher (hmmm), maybe I...

I think, at the end of the day, what it really comes down to is that my prayer life was severely lacking. This is not the point in the show where Stefanie gets self-deprecating on her spiritual life. That’s tiring for everyone, and not the point. We are working towards revealing God’s glory and sovereignty.... So, I picked up this book called, “Fresh Wind, Fresh Fire” by Jim Cymbala of the Brooklyn Tabernacle. From the first page, I was hooked. His struggles and confessions of inadequacy mirrored my own feelings regarding the work I was supposed to be doing. The first chapter of his story greatly mirrors the chapter I am currently living in. I love the way he writes and looks at the church and loves both God and people. It is simple, but it is not formulaic. He does not tear down the church and turn it over and over, analyzing it from all sides and trying to use today’s reasoning to evaluate it. Seminary, in a lot of ways, essentially makes a jeweler out of you. You are trained to look at anything spiritual with this super intense magnifying glass and point out every little chink and flaw and inclusion in it that renders it less than beautiful and therefore, void of its full value. Suddenly, I am looking at everything a church plans, a preacher preaches, and a Christian says and docking points until I am completely disillusioned with anything. We’re even trying to chip away at God! This is all too much and it wears on your soul. However, I can be grateful for this only because it has now led me to the throne of grace (although it took me a year to realize what was going on and grow very tired of this way of thinking).

Other people have led me there as well... all leading to the same conclusion: more prayer. This past Sunday, Michael Allen, a man who undeniably walks with the Lord and inspires others to do so as well, was asked to preach, and his sermon could not have hit closer to home. His sermon centered around the ability we have and the frequency with which we put out the Spirit’s fire. I think he could have been talking about anything, but the love for Christ that he and his wife exude is enough to inspire you to change. At one point, he stated that God wants every cell of you... even though you cannot see each individual cell. I thought about this, which led me to zone out for a few minutes, and realized that this means much more than Jesus wanting my heart or my mind, or even my body, whatever that means. If Jesus wants every cell, that means every second, every thought, every movement. If we just say, Jesus wants our hearts, it is easy to say, “Well, I have accepted his salvation. I pray before every meal. I care about Him. I am happy when I read something about someone doing something good in His name. That’s as good as anybody.” No. That’s tepid, dry, tiring faith that exhausts us. That’s boring. No wonder our churches are declining, or, if they aren’t, people are literally falling asleep during the services. I can wrap my mind around the “cell” thing, because I start to realize just how much that means... all of it. Suddenly, that thought was a cell, and I know it wasn’t offered to Him. That moment when my friend did that thing and I was so annoyed, that was a cell or two that was not dedicated to the Lord. I really like that cell idea, but it means a lot more changes than trying to make myself sit down for a Bible study once or twice a week.

My friend Candace loves Jesus in the cell way that I’m talking about. Everything she does is beautiful because it is completely covered in love and contentment in the Lord. She is unhindered in accepting everyone because she has nothing to hide. There is no darkness behind her eyes, no secret she is afraid to tell. I think every cell in her body is dedicated to the Jesus that she loves. She encourages the work of her husband, her friends, her next door neighbor, and the guy at the grocery store because she is shedding cells that belong to the Lord. Is this sounding weird? I hope not. I hope it is coming across as absolutely beautiful as her life shows. She loves Jesus in the beautiful, unreserved way that I did when I was ten, but with a maturity that reveals she has weathered love that has cut and torn and situations that should have left dysfunction in their wake. But they have not. They have not because those experiences have been looked on and healed with a balm that comes from Jesus’ pure love.

A believer dedicated to prayer... it’s beautiful and simple. Like the secret fountain in the middle of the park. It seems ancient, but the beauty to inspire remains. It has been forgotten, but it ignites imagination to the person who discovers it. This, this is prayer... and I am looking for it to change everything!