The Community You Crave Isn't Real

Community. People crave it. 

No no, not THAT one!

They always have, but now it takes so much less effort to get a watered-down version at your keyboard that feels like enough. But "community lite" cannot be replicated in real life. In real life, it takes a lot of effort to maintain what you get online. And when people can’t maintain it, what do they do? They take off.  This can happen in a similar way within the church.

A church member we'll call Kyle (courtesy of Isaac's random name generator) gives up on his current church and--while complaining--blames them for not providing enough places for community to happen. Kyle blames the pastor for not fostering it enough when that's not his job.  It’s actually Kyle's job. So he lashes out at the very group of people brimming with community-potential instead of looking inside and discovering what community and relationships really are. WORK. And it may start within his own heart. But Kyle doesn't have time for all that and isn't willing to stick around and cultivate the meager beginnings of the community that is already there. (Because sometimes churches aren't good at "community" and they need help) He wants to just take off and go find one that already exists, the way he's imagining it.

But Kylerino quickly realizes that community takes work and work is hard. So he gives up community life altogether, as some do. It’s easy to love a podcast pastor or a church on TV because Kyle doesn’t have to deal with the people that are in it, he doesn’t have to serve alongside them. Kyle doesn't have to work at building relationships that may be hard. OF COURSE it's easier, Kyle! OF COURSE you like that better, Kyle! And when that pastor lets you down, you can just shake your head and change the channel. 

Just like we ARE the church and go TO church

We ARE community and are IN community 

WE ARE THE COMMUNITY WE SEEK

WE HAVE TO BE IT TO RECEIVE IT 

And often the work part comes first. 
It's a bummer Kyle, I know. 
Here's a coffee and a muffin, go ponder that in the corner. 

If you feel like Kyle, listen up. I'm throwing a hard truth atcha.  I know you want to feel support and be a part of a family and it's what we should want; but maybe you should be as/more concerned about fostering community OUTside of the church than INside of it. Including outsiders more than feeling included yourself. 

Kyle: I want to be fed
The Church: Feed other people 

Kyle: I want to be taken care of 
The Church: take care of other people 

You may be surprised where you find community. So come on back, Kyle, we aren't mad atcha and I hope you aren't mad at us. Let's figure this out together. If you're at another church, it's cool, just start serving and loving there. 

Let go of your idea of what community is and start BEing it. 
(BTW, I'm terrible at this concept of community so Kyle may as well be replaced with Courtney. God often gives me words that are WAY more for me than anyone else. Got it?) 

Mountain Mama: At The Base of an Unexpected Mountain

*guys, I don't know why the font/size is so messed up in this blog, it WILL NOT fix and I'm getting so aggravated that I'm just leaving it.  Bam.*

I wrote the following Facebook status sitting in the waiting room of Asher's neurologist's office, expecting bad news after yet another seizure:

Today is one of those days I'm tempted to say, "this day can go to hell."

But then I remember, "this is the day that the Lord has made" and I can't say it. Instead I have to choose to rejoice and be glad in it. In spite of it. In the midst of it. 

I can't, in my human aggravation, be so quick to say something that God made isn't good. It may not FEEL good, but my feelings don't dictate the truth.

Until my feelings line back up with the truth, I'll ride on the waves of His grace.

And then...the really terrible thing happened and my world just exploded and I internally lost it. It didn't even have to do with Asher, it had to do with my youngest and really it didn't even have to do with her. We had traveled to Cincinnati for a week of appointments for Willow who has some developmental delays. The last appointment was for genetics and it was the first appointment we left feeling a lot of hope. We got blood work done and drove the three hours home to wait 4-6 weeks for results. I was so prepared to wait. 

Days later, as I was waiting for Asher's neurologist to come into the room to discuss his treatment plan, Cincinnati Children's called and said unfortunately our insurance didn't cover the micro array test we wanted so desperately for Willow. I didn't realize until he said that how much of my hopes were pinned on that test.  I cried to the nurse in the neurologist's office who happened to walk in.  Then I dried my eyes and talked to the neurologist about how scary Asher's prognosis was.  I went home a different woman.  Something had shifted. I felt hope sucked out of my soul and it didn't make sense. Nothing made sense suddenly. 

What was the point of all of this?

A couple of days later, my friend Jen who felt my hopelessness asked, "you've hit a road block, right?" Those words felt right.  But I couldn’t understand WHY. She said saw me resting there in front of the road block waiting, but all I saw was a confused girl who stood still. I didn't WANT to rest! I was prepared to run.

Then, He gave me a vision 

I was running in the middle of a two lane road and keeping a good pace. The world was wide open and silent around me.

The road sort of looked like this

I was wearing running clothes and I really looked the part. I was running and breathing correctly and enjoying the scenery. I felt fit and ready to run forever. I wasn’t winded, things were going well and then: 

It came after a bend in the road so I didn’t see it coming.  I stopped, put my hands on my knees and couldn’t breathe. It spanned across the entire road and stopped me from going further. Face red, sweat falling to the asphalt, I was heaving out breaths and had to lay on my back with my knees bent.  I was so winded and hot and exhausted suddenly.  That mountain came out of nowhere so I went from breathing easily while moving... to a full stop with no rhythm. 

When I was stopped I realized that I hadn’t been doing any of it in God’s strength.  I just talked about doing it that way and that wasn’t enough to sustain me for the long haul.  

He needed me to stop and rest at the base of the mountain and wait.  Not wait on Him to catch up, but wait on my breathing to settle so that I could see clearly.  (Hint: it took awhile). 

Jen said she felt like He was doing something on the other side of the mountainous road block and I just had to wait. Even though it hurt, it made sense. And in a strange way, giving myself permission to stop and wait was the beginning of catching my proverbial breath. It took the pressure for answers away.  *I* was deciding to wait. You might be thinking, but you didn't have a choice. To that I say, OF COURSE I DID! I could have-completely unequipped-tried to scale that mountain or start kicking it to knock it down or some other insane thing.  I could have fought and fought and fought with the insurance companies even more than I had or tried to raise the ridiculous amount of money for a blood test that maybe wouldn't tell us anything.  There are lots of things you can do to keep moving even when it doesn't make sense.  Because movement makes you feel productive and it makes you forget for just a minute how completely chaotic things feel.  But God wanted me to feel it for a minute so that I could let it go. 

I lay there and waited for the rest of the road to be ready. It's not that it was broken and God forgot to fix it.  More like I was broken so He needed to slow me down, stop me, make me wait and heal me. I visualized Him building things on the other side, fixing the road, making the broken places even, filling in pot holes...but really He was doing all of that within me as I rested at the base of the mountain. 

Flat on my back looking at the sky, I thought about Mount Moriah (where we got Zoe's middle name, which means "God is my teacher"). That's where God told Abraham to sacrifice his child; to give his long-awaited child back to His creator.  Abraham didn't understand,  none of it made sense, but he obeyed anyway.  Mount Moriah represents trust, obedience, sacrifice, and faith. Exactly what I needed in order to hand my children and their test results back over to our Creator. 

I had this instinct that he wasn't going to have me climb this mountain; I felt like He would obliterate it. He was preparing me and preparing the other side of the road and I just had to wait. The Courtney on this side of the road wasn't ready to be the Courtney on the other side of the road. Waiting was the tool God was using to prepare me. 

Over the coming days, suddenly I just didn't care about test results anymore.  In fact, I couldn't make myself care. It was freeing and it was wild. I spent the whole summer driving to hospitals seeking out answers and instead of giving me answers, God did the unexpected and removed the need to have them. He gave me peace that existed outside of those answers. I didn't even know to pray for that. 

And then...he started giving me answers. Ha! One of the tests (not the micro array) that insurance didn't cover was suddenly covered without anyone requesting it. Not only that (get ready for this) but unbeknownst to the genetics department, Willow's blood was sent out and tested so by the time they called to tell me that it was covered, they also had the results.  The test was negative. I laughed into the phone. 

Then we had a worship service at church that I walked into telling God, "I am not praying to receive anything, ALL I am focused on tonight is singing praises to you and worshiping your name." Two people prayed over my children--specifically Willow-- by name.  She started making some small visible progress the very next day. THE VERY NEXT DAY!

You may remember that I wrote a blog this summer called Walking with Willow on Diagnosis Road. Here is a small excerpt:

Every now and then The Lord gives me a phrase or a line.  Eventually it turns into a status or a blog or a poem. He gave me "Diagnosis Road" and I tucked it away in the note pad on my phone until I knew what it meant. After this day of staying away from the internet, He told me what it was.  He said:

"diagnosis road doesn't lead to a diagnosis, it leads to Me." 

Diagnosis Road was such an oft repeated phrase this summer for our family and then it hit me. 

Where is the mountain that stopped me?

ON A ROAD 

On...Diagnosis Road?
What?

That's the road I'm running on
I've been running on Diagnosis Road this whole time!!!!

Maybe God had to put the mountain right smack in the middle of Diagnosis Road so that I would stop and remember. Him. It's not about diagnosis, it's about Him. I marathon with Him I don't sprint ahead to diagnosis (or answers).

I knew then. God wasn't going to move this mountain, I was. 

In His strength. 

"Move," I commanded, and it did. I saw the road ahead and it looked just like the road behind. Only I was different.  I jogged up to Jesus, asked Him to order my steps and we took off, side by side. 

Then I learned why it was there in the first place. 

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