A Distraction? Or An Opportunity?

dis·trac·tion: 
noun  1. a thing that prevents someone from giving full attention to something else.

In a culture obsessed with accomplishments and performance, the word “distraction” has taken on a negative connotation. Distractions are things to be avoided, to be overcome. They keep us from our work, from our goals. They detract from something more important. And in many instances, this is the case. The drivel that keeps me captivated to Facebook, or at the very least keeps me entertained enough to avoid my work, is definitely a distraction to eliminate.

But not all “distractions” are bad ones. Take for example a phone call from a distressed friend, or an invitation to get coffee, or a conversation at the store. They could be things that get in our way, slow us down, and keep us from accomplishing our tasks for the day efficiently. But they may also be invitations from the Lord to follow His plan for our day (and lives as a whole).

Do not misunderstand me, some of us need to work on good old-fashioned self-discipline to finish the tasks at hand. A distraction can be just that—a distraction, which keeps us from more important things. But something or someone that we could at first consider a distraction could actually be the main event, and our sense of drivenness or our desire to set our own agendas could be the true distraction to what God has put in our path.

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Adulthood's "Rusty Tools"

It’s funny: I always imagined when I was a kid that adults had some kind of inner toolbox, full of shiny tools: the saw of discernment, the hammer of wisdom, the sandpaper of patience. But then when I grew up I found that life handed you these rusty bent old tools—friendships, prayer, conscience,  honesty—and said, Do the best you can with these, they will have to do. And mostly, against all odds, they’re enough.

—Anne Lamott, Traveling Mercies: Some Thoughts on Faith

As a child, adults seem to have special powers. In elementary school, high schoolers seemed so grown up, so wise. And then you find yourself walking through the halls of the typical American high school, with the relationship drama, destructive pranks, and sophomoric arrogance—perhaps not so grown up after all.

I remember a moment of realization in high school that I was now the age of those teenagers I had once looked up to. I was now the person on the stage in the high school play, or leading worship with my youth group, or helping at summer camp. And remembering my perception as a 10 year old of those so seemingly grown-up teens, I struggled to know if I had been so grossly mistaken or if the maturity levels of teens had dropped precipitously since my days in elementary school.

Considering the repetition of this sentiment, I’m inclined to believe that it’s the former. When we’re young, we think those older than us have discovered the secrets of life or have some sort of insider knowledge. But then we grow up and realize that part of becoming an adult is figuring it out as you go along, without secret knowledge, sometimes without knowing where your next step will take you.

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Re-Learning Our Prayer Voices

I remember how, every time she would pray, her tone of voice would suddenly change. She was lively and boisterous, full of laughter, certainly not quiet—but as soon as she began to pray, her voice would become hushed, shy, reverent. For months when we gathered for Bible study in my tiny Belizean apartment, I would stop her in the middle of her opening sentence and tell her to start again as if she were talking to me. Eventually she began to catch herself.

Some of us have our “prayer voices.” Others of us revert to Thee and Thou and archaic phraseology we would never utter elsewhere. We use big words or repeat phrases we’ve heard scores of times, without thinking about their sense or how painfully Christian-ese they sound. Even if we have no trouble speaking up in a group, we grow anxious at the thought of praying aloud.

We walk always in a tension of God’s holiness and closeness as Christians. He is holy and above all, worthy of our awe, our fear, our open-mouthed silence. But He also calls Himself our Father, and has drawn us close to Himself through the work of Jesus, inviting us to be His beloved children and heirs of His Kingdom. Almighty God has stooped low to reach to us. This is the mystery and wonder of our faith.

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A Morning Prayer

Growing up, we rarely read prayers. Whether or not the adults around me intended this message, I thought scripted prayers were somehow less sincere and meaningful. It was as if to be genuine, prayers had to be extemporaneous.

Fast forward to my years in college, when I found myself sitting in the pews of an Anglican church plant. The services were structured with liturgy that has been used for hundreds of years, and I prayed prayers which have remained largely the same for generations. Quite the comical change of habit, isn’t it?

It was at this church that I discovered that sincerity does not necessitate spontaneity. Pre-written prayers and liturgy can be meaningful worship and bring us to the presence of the Lord. I also realized that echoing prayers written by others gave me words to pray during a season in which I was so emptied I didn’t know what to pray. Their words gave me a voice to cry out to God in honesty and in faith.

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Joy on a Cloudy Day

It’s a gloomy sort of day in New Hampshire. Thick clouds blanket the sky, casting the world into dim gray. A chilly fall breeze dances with the leaves of my dying flowers, as their baskets sway gently. The kaleidoscope of light thrown onto my desk by a small candle draws my eyes with much more power than the computer screen on which I’m attempting to write this blog post. It’s one of those days—a harbinger of fall (which I love) and of another too-soon-to-arrive endless New England winter (which I do not love).

And on this gray autumn day, I’ve been thinking about joy.

Some of us will experience exhilarating mountain-top-in-the-sunshine joy, the sort which wells up within your soul until you feel you may burst open with the fullness of it. But I think for most of us, “real life” is much different than this, and our joy is more…quiet, subtle, simple, perhaps even elusive. This sort of joy can slip through our fingers if we aren’t awake to it, ready to embrace it.

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