Yoga + Pentecost = Namaste

For a long time now, I’ve wanted to join a yoga studio. But I’ve always been a starving student, or a missionary, or whatever. Now that I’m working again, Robert and I decided we have enough wiggle room for me to sign up with the new studio in town, YogaWorks. I was afraid that having a yoga membership wouldn’t be all I had dreamed (why am I always afraid of being disappointed?), but it has turned out to be amazing! I feel strong, my body confidence is way up, and it’s a fantastic stress reliever. After attending for a week there as a guest, Robert decided to sign up, too! So now it’s also a fun and healthy thing for us to do together.

Since September, I’ve been going through a the Ignatian spiritual exercises using a book called Journey with Jesus. Every day I ask myself “examen questions” and one of them is when I sensed Immanuel, God with me, in the previous day. It’s interesting that the most consistent time of sensing God’s presence has been during yoga. I wonder if that is because in a challenging yoga class, I must be totally “in” my body–I can’t disconnect or detach. (I just read a line by Dallas Willard where he states, “our body is a primary resource for the spiritual life.” Huh!) And that integrated activity, where I’m using my mind and my body, somehow becomes an almost spiritual exercise. I find the same to be true when I’m in nature–again, it’s a time when I’m not “checking out” of my body, like when I’m working on a computer or even so consumed in dealing with students at work that I can’t address my body’s needs like thirst–or even needing to use the restroom!

I was thinking about all this the other day, and remembering a piece I wrote last year for my Master’s thesis project, Telling the Treasure: Reflections, Essays, and Anecdotes from a Backslidden Mystic. It’s called “Namaste,” and it’s about the Holy Spirit and a little about yoga, among other things. Since Pentecost Sunday just passed, I thought I’d share the piece here on Eeper.

Namaste

“God in three Persons, blessed Trinity…” or so the old hymn, “Holy, Holy, Holy,” goes. I’d sung those words a thousand times before I started to think about the three persons of the triune God as, well, three persons. There’s God the Father, of course, and God the Son—that would be Jesus—but what of the third? The Holy Spirit, or as some Bible Belt folk might say, the Holy Ghost. It wasn’t until halfway through my year in Norway that I heard someone really emphasize the importance of viewing the Holy Spirit as a person. For me, that changed everything.

Jan, a guest lecturer in our little discipleship school (and the rapping prophet I’ve written about elsewhere), reminded us of what Jesus said about the Holy Spirit. He called the Spirit the helper, the friend, the teacher, the comforter, and the one who leads us into all truth. One who plays these roles more logically falls into the category of a person, rather than some ethereal force—although I suppose the Spirit is that, too, if we think of the way she (or he) hovered over the waters before the dawn of time. Jan encouraged us to think of the Holy Spirit as a person, and to address the Spirit as such, praying to him as we might to Jesus, asking to guide us, to comfort us and be a friend to us.

And really, it is Jesus we are addressing—the Spirit is the way that Jesus chose to come and be present with each one of us until the end of time, when we will all live in a new city fresh out of heaven, where God will dwell among us in whatever holy and terrifying and joyful and astounding form that will take.

When I was fourteen, I attended my sister’s high school graduation, and the valedictorian’s speech ended with the saying, “Yesterday is history, and tomorrow is a mystery, but today is a gift—that’s why it’s called ‘the present.’” Though now I would cringe at the use of such a cliché, I remember thinking at the time that it was clever, even profound. For some reason I remembered it the other day, and I thought about how Peter preaches in the book of Acts that the Holy Spirit is a gift. I’ve found that is partly because it is the Spirit who helps us get on in this daily life of ours, whose presence with me in the present is as much a gift as my husband’s is, when he sits with me and lets me cry or talk or merely sigh many heavy sighs.

In the Old Testament, the presence of God is something awful (or awesome) and indescribable—smoke on Mount Sinai, an unbearable glory in the tabernacle’s Holy of Holies. The presence of God is a desert shrub on fire, burning without being consumed. It is a cloud in the wilderness, swaddling the liberated Hebrews as it leads them onward. It is something to be feared and something to be desired.

To Be Born Over and Over Again

I have another piece up on The Equals Record! You can read it here. It’s about change and dying to old seasons of life and being born into new ones. I hope you enjoy it.

Also, in June the first print publication of Equals will be released, and will include a story by me! I’m so excited to be part of their inaugural edition. Equals is doing such a cool thing by gathering really brilliant women from all over, from different walks of life and different belief systems, to talk about what matters to us. If you’re interested in Equals, check out The Equals Record, their online spot, and also you can head over to their Indiegogo campaign and pre-order the book that’s coming out in June!

CicLAvia: All Bikes, No Cars, Yay!

DTLA minus cars

On Sunday Robert and I participated for the second time (Robert’s third) in CicLAvia, an event that comes around 2 or 3 times a year, shutting down a bunch of streets to cars and opening them to cyclists. Being married to a cyclist means events like this are a pretty big deal. Robert was basically in paradise–cruising around Downtown L.A., no cars in sight, just bikes bikes bikes! It’s such a cool feeling to pedal down a giant street downtown–that’s usually crammed with cars–between high rise buildings and feel like you’re on a movie set. Everone’s yelling and ringing their bells and it’s like a party on wheels.

Rob and I on the Gold Line on our way down to CicLAvia!

We met up with some different friends at our apartment at 10am and rode two blocks to the Gold Line station, where we took a short train ride to Union Station downtown.

The route went from downtown L.A. all the way to Venice Beach–about 15 miles–but we didn’t make it that far because there were SO many people this year (180,000!) that we kept getting in bike traffic jams, which kind of defeats at least part of the purpose of leaving the cars at home for the day. So we stopped in Culver City for lunch and then took the train back downtown.

We were gone all day, not heading back until the late afternoon, and I kept having the feeling of being a tourist in a foreign city–except we were still in L.A.! One of the best parts was when we got back downtown and hung out at Grand Park, newly remodeled by Robert’s company (it was the first project Robert worked on!). It was so fun to just hang out with a coffee frappucino, people watching and dipping our hot feet in the cool fountain.

It also kind of felt like a statement, being at CicLAvia. I never realized how unsafe LA tends to be for cyclists–people just don’t look and a lot of them are irritated by people on bikes. Now that I ride around our city of Pasadena with Robert, I see the other side of the coin. Cyclists are choosing a more environment-friendly, cost-effective, and healthy form of transportation, and a lot of times we are met with honking horns or frustrated drivers speeding up right behind us and then roaring past in a dangerous fashion. It’s all pretty frustrating and makes me wish L.A. was more bike-friendly, like Portland or Amsterdam. I think we are on our way, though!

Finally, it was a bit of a personal achievement for me. It’s hard to believe that only a year ago Robert was building me my bike and I was terrified of riding it. I remember we rode down the street to a parking lot where I freaked out trying to make turns and quick stops. Now I’m happy to say freak-outs are much more rare, and also my slow-speed balance has greatly improved, which really came in handy during all those bicycle traffic jams!

The next CicLAvia is in June. You should check it out!

Cooling off at the fountain at Grand Park downtown

Romance, For Real

Our dating days–romantic day in San Luis Opisbo

Before I got married, when I was in my 6 year stretch of singleness, I began to suspect that romance was overrated. Even with my single girl fantasies of being swept off my feet, I knew that what I really wanted one day in a husband were two things: good character, so he wouldn’t leave when things get tough, and a good friend who I have fun with in the day to day.

That said, my husband Robert did sweep me off my feet, and our dating days had plenty of romance and schmoopiness and seriously, a LOT of picnics. But now that we’re married, and often in sweats and glasses and just making dinner or reading books or watching Downton Abbey, I can say that I was right. There’s no way to sustain high-octane romance throughout our daily lives, and if there was, I wouldn’t really want to! It’s like how C.S. Lewis points out that the human body just can’t even sustain the excitement of being in love at all times. But I’m glad that Robert and I have chosen to stick it out with each other, to submit to this steep learning curve of marriage, and that we make each other laugh every day with our one-liners, goofy humor, and silly dances.

That said, in honor of St. Valentine’s Day, I’d like to highlight some of our most romantic moments of the past year.

1. Robert teaching me to ride a bike. This was quite traumatic at first—I knew how to stay up on a bike but stopping and turning were pretty scary. Robert was a patient teacher, and those first few weeks when I was riding around the city behind him, over to get frozen yogurt or to an outdoor concert, there was a joy in him I’d never seen before. He was finally getting to share with me one of his great loves in life—bicycles—and for me, I was redeeming part of my childhood, finally able to feel that unique freedom of being on a bike. (P.S. When Robert and I were just dating, I told him, “I will never ride bikes with you, in case that’s a deal breaker.”—that’s how great my fear was! )
   

   Riding in Sonoma, just a month after R. started teaching me!

2. Bungee jumping for Robert’s 25^th birthday. It was supposed to be a surprise, but once we were halfway there, Robert somehow guessed, “Are we going to hike to the Bridge to Nowhere and bungee jump off of it?” Pretty much worst surprise ever, because he wasn’t even that excited (now I realize he was just trying to process the fact that he’d be jumping off a bridge in a few short hours, whereas I’d had months to mentally prepare for it). We hiked 5 miles to a completely random bridge in an otherwise deserted canyon, and we jumped off of it. Because of my weight class, I was one of the first to jump—even before Robert, which elevated me to badass status in his eyes. (Yes!) It was the first time bungee jumping for both of us, and sharing something new and crazy and exciting is definitely romantic! Even if your jump is less than graceful, as you’ll see from my legs over my head in the video below…Here’s my jump:

   And here’s Robert’s jump:

3. Celebrating our one year anniversary at the Korakia Pensione in Palm Springs. I already wrote about our trip here, but it really was such a romantic place. Candles and lanterns and fires everywhere, heated pools, and the sexy Mediterranean/Moroccan aesthetic. It’s a longtime dream of mine to travel to Greece, thanks in part to the Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants movies, and this is the closest I’ve been. It felt like an escape, and the morning of our anniversary when we read new vows to each other was pretty special.

Entrance to the Korakia hotel

What were your most romantic moments this year?

Happy (late) Valentine’s Day! And even though it’s blog-cliché to say it, love the one you’re with.

Marriage vs. The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey

“I’m going on an adventure!”

About a month ago Robert and I took a little weekend vacation in Palm Springs to celebrate our one-year wedding anniversary. On the morning of our anniversary, we wrote each other new vows, now that we had the perspective one year on this side of marriage offers. It was a very meaningful time, and I thought I’d share part of what I wrote to Robert. I’ve been hesitant to share this, but then I realized how refreshing and encouraging it is every time I read someone else who is being slightly honest about marriage.

So here’s what I wrote to Robert, as sort of an introduction to my “new” vows. I’ve adapted it slightly for this blog:

When we designed our wedding invitations, we chose the quote: “To love would be an awfully big adventure,” from J.M. Barrie’s Peter Pan. I think this was prophetic, and I think we had no idea what we were saying. And maybe we had more of an affinity with Peter Pan than we realized—we were both absurdly resistant to growing up.

I wonder if maybe we were thinking “adventure” as in the kayaking/hiking tour in Kauai we did on our honeymoon, or maybe like backpacking in South America. But I recently read The Hobbit and that reminded me of the real meaning of adventure.

Adventures are tough, and uncomfortable. A good portion of an adventure is tedium, or practicalities. Adventures are often quests, moving toward some deep-hearted goal. And adventures involve fighting off forces of evil in skirmishes and battles, and sometimes being plucked out of a despairing situation by someone greater than ourselves. Friends are important, too, on an adventure, as is receiving help when it’s offered, and heeding wisdom from those who have been on the road before.

The front of our wedding invitation

The adventure of marriage fits this bill exactly. But I confess, once that became clear (in the early weeks after our wedding) I was much like Bilbo the hobbit. I didn’t want an adventure that much. I’d rather be comfortable and safe, thank you. But here I am, one year later. And, like Bilbo, I now hope this adventure shapes me into someone who is brave, and a loyal friend; someone who uses her wits and whatever else she’s got to make it through; a useful partner and maybe even in an odd way, a hero.

Also similar to our favorite little hobbit, I’ve found that the true joy of an adventure is not the daring feats of courage, but instead grows out of the mundane moments of the journey. The companionship that marks our days—the little jokes, the learning the other, and the increasing freedom to be ourselves—are the treasure I cherish as our own adventure of marriage unfolds.

Not Your Average New Year’s Post

I had trouble getting into the reflection and resolution dance this New Year’s, and I think I know why—last year kind of sucked. And with friends posting statuses and my favorite blogs writing posts reflecting on 2012 and resolving to make 2013 the year of fill-in-the-blank, I’ve been feeling less-than. I’m usually a contemplative gal, but I’m simply not far enough away yet from 2012 to have any kind of perspective that would allow me to do a “Year in Review” type of exercise. I’ve been feeling a bit trapped, to be honest: 2012 towering behind me as a solid mass of exhaustion and disappointment, then 2013 looming ahead, shrouded in mystery and—my cynicism tells me—not the good kind of mystery.

We tend to have this magical thinking about New Year’s, and this year, I’m not buying it. Just because the calendar flips to January doesn’t mean I’ll suddenly get the drive to be a thriving freelance writer or the personal growth to be a thankful and patient person. January will be just like all the other months—slogging along toward where I want to be and who I want to be, with many stops and tantrums and setbacks and renewed vows along the way.

So I was pretty happy this morning on my run when I started listening to the most recent podcast from Mars Hill (the one in Grand Rapids, not the one pastored by Mark Driscoll—big difference). A guest speaker, Jamie Smith, gave a sermon called “Giving Up On Resolution.” Right out the gate, he pointed out that New Year’s is an entirely secular celebration—in fact, he claimed it is one of secular America’s last remaining rituals. Smith compared it to Mardi Gras and Lent—go all out and “sin boldly” on New Year’s Eve, because come January 1, it’s all about penance and sanctification. We sign up for gym memberships and every food blogger is posting recipes for salads—in the dead of winter. We make resolutions, we resolve to exercise daily, to quit smoking, to wear more color, to keep a cleaner house. Smith said Christians get caught up in the ritual as well, but we tend to spiritualize our resolutions. We’d like to be more intentional parents, more others-focused, more generous, less gossipy.

But, Smith pointed out, there is a disparity between Advent—the church calendar season leading up to Christmas—and the popular beliefs surrounding New Year’s. Advent is all about waiting for a God who comes to us, who gives Himself to us, this undeserving and weary world. But then New Year’s trots out and we’re back to believing we can do anything (Smith said New Year’s resolutions rely heavily on the not-so-Christian cultural ideals of individualism and heroism). We resolve to grit our teeth and lose the weight, or gain the virtue.

That’s just like us, isn’t it, though? We get all hushed and reverent and wonder-filled at Christmastime, breathing sighs of relief that a Savior has come, that God pitched his tent and dwelled among us. But come December 26, the lights dim and dark movement is seen onstage accompanied by the shuffling sounds of the manger being carried away. When the lights go on again—Hey! It’s the me-show again, the human-show; the We’ve-Got-This-Covered-Thank-you and the Humanity-Will-Save-The-World numbers are performed all over again. Shimmying resolutions and high-kicking diets; self-help books and blogs are singing the high notes and fitness gurus are doing the splits.

Where did that tiny baby go, the one who is God with us, the One for whom the weary world rejoiced? Where did that weary world go? It put on its makeup again, took a deep breath, and decided the show must go on. We can’t wait for that baby God to make good on His promises. Our hearts had ached with desire just a month ago when we heard that “He will save His people from their sins,” but in January we say, “What sin?”

Traditionally, Christmas doesn’t end immediately after December 25. Instead comes the season of Epiphany, when the Church focuses on Jesus being revealed to the nations of the world, symbolized by the story of the magi, those three wise men who followed a star from the East to find the baby Jesus and give him gifts.

I grew up in a Pentecostal church so we didn’t observe it, but I like the idea of Epiphany. Instead of turning the spotlight back onto ourselves the second the Christmas tree hits the dumpster, what if we turned our eyes to the stars and held onto the wonder of Jesus, the hope of the nations? Instead of jazzercising our way to being better people, what if we left all that is familiar and journeyed toward the God who came to us? And when we meet Him we offer a gift, not of frankincense, gold, and myrrh, but the only gift we have to bring: our small, broken, beloved selves.

The New Year extravaganza will crest and crash over us like a wave, and when it is swirling around our feet in late January, leaving us no different than before, we will look up at the vast sky full of stars that blink out their eternal message to us—“A Savior is born.” We will find him in the most unlikely of places, when we have eyes to see Him, and we will lay our gifts—ourselves—at His feet, to be saved from our sins once again, to receive his blessing breathed on our foreheads as warm as grace.

Preparing Him Room This Advent

Given that my name is Joy, the traditional Christmas hymn “Joy to the World” always captivated me as a child—the triumphant sound of it, the fun and simplicity of repeating phrases, and especially, my name wrapped up in all that holiday robustness. Now in my late twenties, the song captivates me still—but for different reasons.

This year at Advent, I’ve mulled over the line, “let every heart prepare him room.” It is a phrase formed for Advent rather than Christmas morning, when ready or not, here He comes. It’s easy to be caught unawares at Christmastime when we are busy with the bustle of the season, or bogged down by our own personal hardships. The shepherds watching their flocks when a blazing choir of angels showed up on that cold desert night probably weren’t actively preparing their hearts for their long-awaited Savior—so long-awaited that perhaps the promise of him was merely a faint outline on the walls of their hearts.

A couple Sundays ago in church, I noticed that there wasn’t much room in my heart for the King of the Universe, or even for a little baby God in a manger. My heart has been filled to the brim with anxiety and self-pity; six months after receiving my master’s degree I find myself still jobless and teetering on the edge of despair (with the face of despair looking like getting a job at Starbucks). I’ve been angry at God and afraid to tell him that, knowing that I can’t blame my problems on him, knowing I’m not the only one dealing with unemployment and facing the prospect of regressing on my career path to the menial jobs of my teen years.

But pondering my crowded heart made me wonder what it was like for those shepherds, when the last thing they expected that night was to hear this news that shook the cosmos and their very hearts. Did they feel ashamed at the thoughts they were thinking just before the heralding angel made the announcement—grumbling thoughts, hateful thoughts, despairing thoughts, anxious thoughts? Did the tidings of great joy evaporate the fog in their hearts? Did they have to make room for it, or after hearing their Savior was born, was there room for anything else? Did the peace on earth the angels sang over them bring peace to their souls?

Shepherds are ready for anything, I suppose—a wolf coming to pick off one of their sheep, a flash flood, a sick ewe or a lost lamb. So when it was time for the earth to receive her king, for the fields and floods, rocks, hills and plains to repeat the sounding joy, they may have been more prepared than most. Perhaps that’s why they were the ones to get the full treatment, the angel chorus and the hand delivered message. Most of us aren’t like those shepherds. Even in hard times we get stuck so easily; our expectations are dulled and we close off to opportunities and change. The past few months of my job hunt have me now expecting the worst, expecting rejection or no call back at all. If God chose to surprise me with some goodness, would I be ready to receive it?

However, ‘tis the season of Advent, and I am thankful in my glum little heart because Advent prepares us for the time when anything’s possible. We sing “Joy to the World, the Lord is come!” and we’re reminded to make room in our hearts for the wonders of His love, wonders that come wrapped up in flesh, in the form of a faithful and true savior who makes his blessings flow as far as the curse is found. In her short poem “After Annunciation,” Madeleine L’Engle writes:

This is the irrational season

When love blooms bright and wild.

Had Mary been filled with reason

There’d have been no room for the child.

It might be reasonable to worry about our unemployment, or our sick parent, or our floundering relationship. But even so, let’s make room this Advent: room in our most wintry hearts for wild sprouts of love; room in the midst of our chaotic lives for unexpected peace; room in the darkest days of the year for the long-awaited flame of grace to light our way.

Note: I wrote this a few weeks ago, before the Sandy Hook tragedy. Much has changed since then, and I my grief over those events have made room in my heart to receive a loving and wise King whose rule never ends. I’ve noticed that the Advent sentiment of “Come, Lord Jesus” has naturally rolled off many tongues in light of the horror in Newtown, which woke us up to the desperate condition of our country and, really, humanity. What do you think? Have you been able to prepare Him room this Advent? Did the tragedy at Sandy Hook change your perspective at all?