We knelt in a circle, each fingering a friend's prayer-request card. One by one, we prayed for the items listed. Then came Janet's turn to pray.
"Father, I thank you that we're not supposed to know about each other's burdens. I thank you that we're not supposed to pray for each other's struggles. We're just supposed to encourage each other by smiling as when we pass on the sidewalk."
My soul screamed.
"Father, we are
so far from Thee!
Is this truly
what You have
called us to do?"
I could barely contain my sobs as each girl picked up the theme, ignored the prayer-requests, and prayed for light-hearted smiles, good times, and impersonal feats of encouragement.
After the prayer meeting, Janet stopped me. "I need to speak to you in private." I obliged her. "Listen," she was shaking with anger, "I don't ever want to do that here again. It's wrong to pray about things like that. It makes me uncomfortable and it makes everyone else uncomfortable. Nobody should pray for things like that."
Things like that. Hmm. What were we praying for? Someone's battle with greed? Another's struggle with lust? No.
We were praying for spiritual growth. Praying that we would know our God. Praying that we would find great spoil in His word.
I was dumbfounded. How could anyone say such a thing? Pray such a thing? Didn't "bear one another's burdens" come screaming out at her in the midst of such a prayer?
I piously spent much time examining the Word. Seeking wisdom for "solving" this problem. Seeking...something with which to refute Janet's philosophy. But, to my consternation, the light of God's perfect Word wouldn't shine into my neighbor's heart. Wouldn't reveal something with which to convict Janet of her sin. What was wrong with the Book? Wasn't it supposed to purify?
The mirror
reflects only
the person
looking into it.
Only reveals
the emptiness
of the face
standing before
it's illumination.
Only exposes the
barrenness
of my own life.
Not the folly
of another's.
Oh, in philosophy, I'd tell you any day that we're supposed to be bearing each other's burdens. That we need to quit playing games, quit wearing masks, quit hemming and hawing about the truth of God's word. But all such philosophy is vain conceit. Empty mockery of truth.
If we live by the Spirit, let us also WALK by the Spirit. How do I walk? How do we walk? Sadly, we must admit that we coast through our days with glib, hi-how-are-you-I'm-fine-thanks-have-a-good-day "encouragement" for our brothers and sisters in Christ. Fellowship? Well, the latest movie was good. Except, of course, for that one part. Classes are going well. Oh, and yeah, before-I-forget-my-God-was-good-because-He-gave-me-an-A-on-the-test. Every once in a while we get a glimpse of how fellowship should be. An intense time of prayer with someone who is hurting. A sleepless night praying for someone's salvation. But those aren't the norm. Why? Is it the pain? The sacrifice? The...pride?
Is it any wonder that such a shallow culture eventually reveals itself in honest prayer? Contrary to my typical blogs, I don't want to present any answers or wave any quick fixes before your eyes. I've done that long enough.
I want to know
what you think.
Want to know what
the Lord is doing
in your soul.
Want to know
the real person
behind that mask.
Want to bear
your burdens
and so,
fulfill the law of Christ.
of a recovering perfectionist
2 am. Still awake, I lay in the hospital bed, counting the little holes on the ceiling tiles. Dizzy. Numb. Tired...and a little (no, a lot) grumpy. Week two of my stay in Barge. "Busy semester, can't afford this time off. Lord, my GPA's gonna die. I'm gonna die!" The pain wrenched me into a tight little ball. My senses swirled, rising and falling, soaring and crashing. Pain. Screaming. Nurses running. More pills. More pain. Screaming louder. A shot of medication to knock me out. Senses slipping into blackness--again. "Why? Why me? Just take me home, Lord, please!"
6 am. Nurse Friendly shoved a thermometer in my mouth, "Boy, you sure scared us last night!" Too friendly for 6am. Satisfied, she leaves me with my thoughts. I try to read my Bible, but my eyes can't focus on the printed words. Frustrated. Angry at me, at my complete incompetence. A whole week gone by, and I still can't read the Word. "Why am I here? I can't even spend time with You! What are You doing to me? Why? Please, I'm listening."
Exactly. That's the point. You're listening. Did you ever listen before?
"Yes, of course! Well, I was busy, but...."
Busy. Did you ever slow down? Did you ever take time to think? To really pray?
The semester reeled in my head. 2 plays. Rehearsals every single night of the semester. Flawless GPA. Music lessons. Yes, I (Miss Everything-about-me-must-be-perfect-Type-A Personality) probably earned my stay in the hospital; at least that's what my mother told me. A rapidly growing lump in my abdomen. Stress may have helped bring it on, the doctors said.
Probably. May have. But I knew the ugly truth. It wasn't just stress. It wasn't just "Type A." I hadn't been eating. For quite a while. I looked in the mirror and saw a cow where most people saw a skeleton. Of course, I didn't tell anybody that. They would've killed me. But I had to be perfect! So I...quit eating. At first it was because it was convenient. With 4-5 hour rehearsals every night, I had to have some time to study. So the GPA stayed up and the weight started shrinking. And loved it. I was making it work. Yes, I could be perfect. I, Stephanie Anne Geter, could be super Christian extraordinairre.
Tears fell. Yes, I've earned my stay here. My "perfectionism" isn't a good thing. What a novel thought. It impresses everyone else. But not my Lord.
11 months have passed. I had surgery and a few more unpleasant hospital stays. But I'm recovering....from the perfectionism, that is. People often ask me when or why I became so joyful, so exuberant about life. It all goes back to that moment when the Lord took everything--all my strength, all my talent, all my ability--and showed me that He alone was worth living for. That even if I had to spend the rest of my life in that hospital bed writhing in pain, He is good. That my GPA didn't really amount to (pardon the colloquialism) a hill of beans.
I'm still recovering. Still learning to rest. Learning that it's ok not to be perfect. That I'm not supposed to be Superwoman. Learning that His love is more than enough for me. That life is not about me.
So, I know this blog has been less than perfect. It's rather long. Maybe confusing. But, hey, who ever said I was supposed to be perfect, anyway? I just had to let you know: 1. I am not perfect, and 2. When everything else is gone, He is still worthy of worship. Praise His holy name for dumping me upside down and making me weak enough to need Him!
Hence was born the unusual marriage of ideas you may have noticed in my blog:
rest. cease from striving.
be exuberant.
one necessarily depends on the other.