Confession

I was listening to someone talking last week and for some reason I felt no empathy for their situation. They were talking about something sad happening in their life and I found myself thinking, 'oh, just finish your story so I can say some platitude that I won't mean and I can just leave!' They carried on for another hour and a half and my annoyance turned into anger. I even resented them for using my ears for their sad story. After the whole interaction was over I had to rest mentally and find my center. And I began to ask myself, 'what was with that attitude in your heart? Why wasn't that story inspiring any empathy in you? You could have been a little more understanding.' After some time of pondering that question I have concluded that I despised them for quite a few reasons. First, because I think they've told me that same story at least ten times before. Second, because this person sounded like such a victim of their circumstances every time. Third, because this person can't even envision a universe where they might be even remotely responsible for the whole sad story. And fourth, because all the previously listed things are something that I used to do. You see, only things that we're guilty of bother us in other people. And I despise those things in myself so when I see them in others I despise them even more.

I used to tell people about my sad story all the time. Many, many times. I was oblivious to the fact that they didn't even ask. I was complaining about the 'injustice' I have suffered while growing up, or when this and that happened every chance I got. I exhausted people with my pitiful story. Thinking back now, I want to go back and slap myself for it, but alas, it's my past. It was my excuse for every bad decision that I made, every bad reaction that I had, every unkind word that I used was always excused in my mind with, 'it's because I was hurt! It's because they did this and that!'

I don't remember exactly how old I was when I decided to turn things around, but I was in my late twenties. I was talking to this person that has heard my story many times before and we were sitting there and I began to regale them with my tale of woe and I saw this person wince. Literally wince. Like their mind was in such pain contemplating the impending story that their body had reacted in anticipation of the coming pain. I see that wince to this day, because it was my wake-up call. I began to laugh like a crazy person and my friend asked me, 'what's so funny?' I told them, 'I'll tell you another time, but now I have to go home and think about this ridiculous version of me.' My friend told me later that they suspected I was on some medicine because I sounded crazy. But I went home and I had a good chat with myself.

Is this really who you plan to be for the rest of your life? You're boring even me with this whole narrative you've created for yourself. Do you want people to pity you, is that why you keep talking about it? No? Then why? Is it some secret pride thing where you want people to see how much you've overcome? But you really haven't if you're still talking about it. Are you done blaming everybody else for what happened in the past? Can you at least acknowledge that some of it was your doing? Can you at least acknowledge that even if it wasn't your doing, you picked up the pieces left in the aftermath and made a bitter little statue that you pay tribute to every time you react, or act, or speak? Are you done with this idol you've made for yourself? How long do you plan to worship God and burn incense to your idol? I know you care for it, after all it's all your pain and suffering, but are we done pretending now? Find the first hammer and smash it to pieces because this ends today!

I'd like to say that from that day on I have never thought about my little idol or never went on a pilgrimage to the place I have burned it, but that would be a lie. Every time I faced a situation where using my past as an excuse would have been so convenient, I wanted to rebuild it right there on the spot. Pathetic, I know. But that's why I can't graciously listen to someone's sad story if they feel the need to share it more than once. Because I see their idol and it reminds me of mine. 

by Cristina Pop

Prayers

I've had many different ways of praying to God in 22 years of following after Him. In the beginning my prayer was only for 'spiritual' things. I wanted wisdom, I wanted understanding, I wanted gifts, I wanted rainbows and unicorns as it seems to me now. Then as years went by, I began to pray for things to happen in my life. Then I prayed for things to stop happening in my life. Then I prayed to want something, anything at all because I was just numb and it felt like even wanting for luxury was better than not even caring whether I breathed or not. I wasn't depressed, just numb.

I have wanted many things for many different reasons, but for the past two years every time I want to pray I have this image in my mind. I am alone in the boat with The King. Every time there's a little 'please' being squeezed out of my very core, I think of the little boat. Why? Because it helps to center my self. I tend to pray because I'm scared, or pray because I need, or pray because I want. I don't pray to talk to God. I talk God's ear off all day every day. Everything I see, everything I hear, everything I think, everything is just a conversation with God. I don't need to pray to tell Him things. I tell Him things whether He wants to hear them or not. But praying? That is a different thing. I take it as seriously as petitioning The King in an official capacity. I measure my words, I compose my requests. You might think, 'that's sad', but it's what I do. I don't need to be told about the doctrine of prayer, I don't need to be told how your prayers are better, I'm telling you these are my prayers.

Anyway, the boat. The calming of the storm comes to mind every time I think of my boat.

“And a great windstorm arose, and the waves were breaking into the boat, so that the boat was already filling. But he was in the stern, asleep on the cushion. And they woke him and said to him, “Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?” And he awoke and rebuked the wind and said to the sea, “Peace! Be still!” And the wind ceased, and there was a great calm. He said to them, “Why are you so afraid? Have you still no faith?” And they were filled with great fear and said to one another, “Who then is this, that even the wind and
the sea obey him?” - Mark 4:37-41

The disciples knew Him. But they got scared, not because they were despicable human beings, but simple human beings. They were afraid because they were fishermen and they have seen boats caught in storms before. They knew how bad this could go. They knew that even if they were the best swimmers in the world, they won't survive the waves. They weren't being unreasonable. And the most upsetting thing was that being on the sea that day wasn't even their idea. Jesus wanted to go in a boat. And then He falls asleep at the stern. Who even sleeps in such conditions?! They were probably yelling to one another because of the storm's noise. I cannot believe Jesus was sleeping, but it seemed that way to them. Can you imagine their despair when they woke Him and said 'Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?'

I have felt that way many, many times. I have been on the sea my entire life. I have been in shipwrecks and have seen other people shipwrecked many times before. I know what a bad storm can do to your boat. But now I have Jesus in my boat! Right? So it's supposed to be smooth sailing. Only it's not. And for many years I thought that me having Jesus with me was for my supernatural protection. I have something that the other boats don't! And then as it happens on the sea, the storm comes. Over the boats that have Jesus in them and over those that don't have Jesus in them. And sometimes Jesus gets up and calms the storm and you just feel so special and empowered. But sometimes He just sits there. And all you can do is cry out, 'Lord, do you not care that I am perishing? Do you not care that it's now or never? Do you not care that I'll lose everything? Do you not care that this is my mother I have to bury? Do you not care that this is my father I have to bury? Do you not care that I am perishing?'

He cares. It's not for lack of caring that He doesn't stop every storm. It's because maybe He wants me to to fix my eyes on Him and not to tempt Him with my cajoling. When He told His disciples of His plan to go a be a sacrifice for the world, Peter took Him aside and rebuked Him. Peter, that blessed imperfectly perfect disciple rebuked The Lord. It makes me smile every time I read that passage. Jesus has a few choice words for him and then tells him, 'For you are not setting your mind on the things of God, but on the things of man.' (Mathew 16:23) I have my own plans, my own desires, my own ideas of what God should do. I was upset many times that God seemed clueless of my situation. And like Peter, I felt the need to remind Him of what He should want, meaning my well being. And many times, like Peter, I have been a hindrance to Him. A hindrance to His will. A hindrance to His plans. Many, many, many times He had to stop and tell me that my mind is set on the things of man and not on the things of God. And I have no doubt He'll have to tell me that many more times before I finish my race. But I am not without hope. I am in the boat with Him. Who knows, maybe one day I'll learn to take His sleep at the stern as a sign that He's not worried and I shouldn't worry either. Maybe one day I'll learn to fear Him more than the waves. Maybe one day, it will be enough to look into His eyes and I won't want for anything but to hold His gaze. One day...

by Cristina Pop

Offended

I pay close attention to the words one says and those that are left unsaid in any given situation. Whether it's an article, a book, a speech, a conversation, you name it, I pay close attention. If the person I happen to talk to is boring I feel the need to flee immediately because I will listen to every word otherwise. Not my best move, but it happens. It can also be a problem because being attentive to every word does leave one more prone to take offense easily. I used to get offended every day. Sometimes several times a day. And when offended I attack. Not strategically, not cunningly, but a full frontal attack. It didn't even occur to me that maybe I misunderstood or was mistaken. There was no pause or deep breath, just instinct. Then one day this person I had a lot of respect for told me that any mature mind sees taking offense as a clear sign of insecurity and fear and that mine were screaming louder than anything they'd ever seen. That really offended me. I went home in a huff while playing and replaying their words in my head. By the time I reached home I just went down on my knees and begged for help because it hit me at once just what a sad, pathetic state I was in. So I decided to work on myself. And I did. Day after day for many years. I got better. I even got good at not taking offense. Then today, out of nowhere this well meaning brother basically called me a child and that if I ever want to reach his level of walking with God, I need to start 'lifting weights'. My first instinct was to point out all my guns towards him and obliterate the very soul inside him. I felt anger the likes of which I haven't felt since before Christ. I wanted to pull out a resume of all my accomplishments, to list all my credentials and to pour down the worst torrent known to humanity: a woman's wrath. But just as I was about to fire away, I felt The Lord sitting in front of this brother. Smiling. Daring me to give it my best shot. I felt ashamed. I still feel ashamed. I had forgotten for a moment that I was about to strike one of His Own. And for what? Because a brother didn't know me and still decided to issue an opinion? But I am doing that every single day. Because his assumption offended me? Like I don't do that. And who's this 'I' that he offended? I have decided long ago,

"But whatever gain I had, I counted as loss for the sake of Christ. Indeed, I count everything as loss, because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For his sake I have suffered the loss of all things and count them as rubbish, in order than I may gain Christ.” (Philippians 3:7-8)

Thank You, Lord, for always reminding me I don't belong to myself anymore.Thank You for never ceasing to catch me right before I break my head open. Thank You for not laughing at my haughtiness when I was thinking I am not easily offended anymore. Forgive this foolish child for her short memory. Don't give up on me, Lord, for You and I both know, I'll cut off my arm/tongue before hurting You.

by Cristina Pop

At Your word

I sometimes feel a bit like Peter did on the day his life changed forever. Disappointed. Exhausted. A little angry. Precisely the worst kind of day for a divine appearance.

Peter had been fishing all night with nothing to show for his trouble. He comes back empty handed. He's frustrated with life and he decides to do the only thing he can do. Clean his nets and go home for the day. While he's in the middle of his task, along comes a rabbi followed by a crowd and without even asking, gets on his boat. Then just because his day couldn't get any worse, the rabbi tells him to move his boat a little bit away from the shore so he can address the crowds. I think Peter was too exhausted to even argue. He does as he was asked. The rabbi starts talking. In Luke 5:1-11 we're told of this incident. Luke doesn't tell us what Jesus taught the crowd from Peter's boat, probably because Peter wasn't even able to pay attention to His teaching. He was just worried for his family. Jesus finishes his sermon and turns to him and tells him to take the boat into deep waters and let down the nets for fishing. At this request Peter snaps out of his thoughts, 'Master, we toiled all night and took nothing! But at your word I will let down the nets.'

There are times in every disciple's life that leave one speechless with God's audacity. Times when His way is so inconvenient, you just want to cry out with frustration. Or maybe it just happens to me.

I am not one of those meek people that Job-like accept things and bow their head. I always envied those people. They always seem to know something I don't or believe in a superior way to mine. Alas I am the type that will end up doing God's way grumbling all the way. And as much as I despise that in myself I never cease to make my sentiments known to Him, 'I mean, be reasonable, Lord! This is extremely inconvenient right now!' Yeah, no worries I am aware what a handful I can be for my Father. I do find comfort in the fact that He has seen and heard it all before. 

Sometimes, I want to yell at Him, 'why do you want me to go back out there?! I've just been there and there is absolutely nothing. I mean if you had some different outcome in mind you should have told me while I was out there. But you waited until I got back on shore, took out those heavy nets, put them out to dry and now you want me to go out there again?!' And then I capitulate like Peter... 'But at your word, I will go out there again. At your word, I'll let down the nets. Again.'

In my most ungracious moments I used to think He's having fun at my expense. In my wiser moments I knew He wasn't.

In Peter's case, if he would have said, 'yeah, I am not gonna do that, go home rabbi!', he wouldn't have been hit by lightning from heaven for daring to speak that way. But nobody would ever know who this illiterate fisherman from Galilee was. He would have lived and died like every other fisherman in Galilee. But he took a good look at Jesus and then an even longer look at the empty sea and made his decision, 'I know what's out there. I know the other fishermen know as well. I know it's gonna cost me time and effort for nothing. But at your word, I'll go back out there one more time!' Because he chose to believe this crazy voice that told him to try again, Peter ceased to be a fisherman and became a fisher of men. People still talk about him to this day. All because on a random day, when he came back empty like many times before, he decided to believe. He caught so much fish that day that he filled two boats and they still struggled to carry all the catch. He could have lived a happy, comfortable life from that catch alone. But the whole incident wasn't about a fish trick. It was about him leaving the fish and the nets and the boats, and following after Jesus.

Do you have any idea how many times I've failed at this, Lord? Do you have any idea how badly I needed this to work and it hasn't? Do you have any idea, how exhausted I am from my toils? Still...

I know the sea is empty. I know that nothing's gonna change but at your word, Lord, I'll go out there again. At your word, I'll jump. At your word, I'll run. At your word, I'll swim! At your word, I'll try again, because maybe, just maybe, in the process I'll teach my rebellious heart to heed your every word.

by Cristina Pop

In between

 So, I am forty today.

When I was in my twenties I always thought forty is such an ancient age and if I'll ever have the misfortune to live it, I'll be this paragon of wisdom and virtue by the time I reach it. I am completely unsurprised by the fact that I was wrong. I have to agree with Voltaire that, 'What most persons consider as virtue, after the age of 40 is simply a loss of energy.' I believe you simply lose the energy to care passionately about every little topic under the sun. You don't jump into every idea ready to do battle for 'the truth'. You're still not wise enough to abstain from battle all together, but you're not young enough either to hang onto every little notion as if allowing room for difference will turn you into some unknown creature. It's a weird place to be honestly. It's definitely an in between place to be. In between youth and old age. In between certainty and doubt. In between wisdom and folly. In between smooth skin and wrinkles. In between excitement and resignation. I have always hated in between. I am someone that deals better in rules and absolutes because they seem safe. In between doesn't feel safe, but I am convinced for the first time in my life that in between is not such a bad place to be. For the first time I feel that the option that this could go right in a multitude of ways or wrong in an equal amount of ways isn't such a bad thing. I hate surprises because I hate to be unprepared. But something has happened to my soul in the past five years. Secretly, hidden even from myself, I started to nurture this little thought, 'what if I'll just let You, Lord, surprise me'. I thought, I'll only utter that thought when I'll be ready for it to be true and face the consequences. But I woke up brave today. I am forty after all. So here it is, Lord: Surprise me! (In small enough ways that I won't freak out)

by Cristina Pop

Liar, liar

I used to be a liar. Sometimes even now, against my will, I still lie. As you read those lines, do you feel a little stir of judgment? I am not worried. Keep reading.

There are all sorts of liars in this world. There are those that know the truth but choose to tell lies to other people for their own gain. Then there are those that are ignorant of the truth and without meaning to, they lie to others without intent. In both categories one can find liars that are more sophisticated in their lies and others which even a child can tell that they are lying. But the worst kind of liars are those that lie to themselves. Although I have lied to others intentionally and ignorantly as well, that is not why I used to be a liar. I lied most of all to myself. And there are all sorts of lies I used to tell myself. To name a few, 'I don't care what people think'. No person that doesn't care needs to iterate that, because you simply don't care. As soon as you need to announce it, you know it's a lie and in fact you care very much what people think. 'I don't need anyone, I can do this!' Even Elijah in the wilderness needed ravens to fly and bring him bread, everybody needs everything and everyone, but I was a liar, so I told myself I didn't. 'I don't like flowers!', when in fact I can spot one even if it happens to be alone under a bush and feel the need to go a take a picture of it. 'I want to be happy', when in fact nothing is stopping me from being happy now, not in some distant future when I might get whatever I think will make me happy. I used to be quite good at lying because I really believed all my lies.

I could continue with this list forever, but I still have some pride left and it won't let me confess all my sins here :)))

Fyodor Dostoevsky, in The Brother's Karamazov,makes father Zosima tell madame Hohlakov,

“Above all, don't lie to yourself. The man who lies to himself and listens to his own lie comes to a point that he cannot distinguish the truth within him, or around him, and so loses all respect for himself and for others. And having no respect he ceases to love.”

That is why I won't lie to myself anymore. I want to love. A liar cannot love. So I had to stop lying in order to be able to love. Lies will always tell you people are unworthy of love, but Truth? Truth will always tell you, 'LOOK CLOSER!'

 

by Cristina Pop

Not alone

 Somebody asked me the other day if I ever feel lonely. I answered honestly that the times I do are rare and far between. They asked me how is that possible. I answered, let me gather my thoughts and I will answer you. This is my answer to that question.

Ever since I was a little child I have lived inside myself. Maybe that statement is true for many people, but I can only speak for myself. I remember when I was five or six, I was outside looking at the clouds and I have closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I saw in my mind a small room with a high ceiling that had a small window so high up that some light did come in and myself sitting in the middle of the room. Because I was a child and had no deeper thoughts than 'what's for lunch?' and 'ooh, a bird' and 'hmm the sky is very blue today', I didn't know what to do with that image in my mind. Still, whenever I was sad, contemplative, bent on observing everything, I found myself returning to that little room time and time again. Sometimes I would sit there for hours and just make up stories that I would tell myself, I even composed a song or two and sang them to myself in that room. I would observe the blades of grass and concluded they were swords of some secret world bent on conquering us all with their sheer numbers and perfection. I did the same with every notion under the sun and would gather every single conclusion and placed it carefully in that room and marveled over my thoughts like a dragon over his treasures. I didn't realize it then that I have unintentionally turned myself into a thought hoarder. I didn't even take notice of when the room kept getting bigger and bigger around me. Because no matter how much stuff I was hiding inside it never seemed to fill up. I didn't do all that because I was an unhappy child or that I didn't have children to play with or because I wasn't loved. In fact quite the contrary was true. When I was seven my room went through the first earthquake and I have lost most of my carefully gathered notions in that disaster. I mourned their loss for a very long time. My room turned into a little prison of sorts instead of a safe place where I could store precious things. I was going inside it only when I wished to punish myself. It had become unbeknownst to me a place where I would go to scream my anger and in time it got so ugly and awful that I was scared to close my eyes lest I end up in that room. I don't remember clearly how old I was the first time things have changed, but I couldn't have been older than twelve or thirteen. I went to Church with my grandmother, something which I have done forever. Due to the fact it was a small Church in the village, there was no Sunday school, so I have always attended the regular service. I knew that they talked about God, that they prayed, sometimes yelled for no good reason from the pulpit and sometimes my grandmother cried during the yelling, a fact I very much resented. I hated Church on that reason alone. But my point is I knew what the whole thing was about. Still, this day I went with my grandmother and as usual I sat next to her and the sermon began. I prepared myself to float away with my thoughts until it was time to go, when a set of keys landed in my lap. It hurt! I looked up and the preacher said, 'Good! Now I have your attention! See if you can keep up.' And he even dared to smile while he said it in front of everybody. Oh, I was burning with shame and anger. I mean I was ready to do battle angry. He continued preaching like nothing happened. And he talked about a Kingdom and its King, whom loved it so much that He never got tired of building and rebuilding it even from the ashes. I heard that my entire life, but that was the first time I listened. I hated that preacher so much for throwing his keys at me, but I heard every word he said. While we were walking home from Church, I went into my small room with all the dread in the world and miracle of miracles I could see better inside so I couldn't exactly miss the fact that there was now someone else in there as well. He wasn't saying anything and I was mute. I pretended He wasn't there and He didn't seem to mind my silence. We learned to live together. But whenever I was storing something else in there He was touching everything. My first words to Him were, 'stop touching my stuff!' He smiled like I have amused Him. I didn't like that at all. I knew without Him saying a word that He had the right to touch and even alter my every thought. We didn't talk, really talk, until I was nineteen. I mean there was a certain silent communication going on, but not enough to acknowledge that He was there in fact for me. The day I gave in I was so tired. I have built and rebuilt my dingy little room so much and with so little success that I have finally decided that maybe I should give it to Him. Maybe, just maybe, He'll be able to build walls that won't collapse every time there's an earthquake and I won't lose all my carefully crafted or bought notions. Just like I knew, He was delighted by the offer. Like I didn't know, He proceeded to lay dynamite around the whole edifice and blow it to pieces, walls, possessions and all. I turned towards Him mouth hanging open and after days of shock I asked Him, why on earth was He bent on destroying me when I was expecting love and care. What I didn't know, because my anger was blinding me, was that yes, there was no room anymore. But there was an entire world outside it. I mean it did look like a Martian landscape, but it had a sky and birds and water. He took me by the hand and showed me how to start working that land and make it less arid. He taught me how to plant things and how to have patience to see them grow. He taught me how to build irrigation canals and how to store the rain. He taught me in seasons of plenty to store for the seasons of drought. I am busy working my garden every day. The trees need constant pruning. The grass needs cutting. The crops in season need harvesting. But I don't work alone. I've got help. He's always there working right besides me. So I don't feel lonely. That's my point with this extremely long article. I am not lonely. I am content.

By Cristina Pop

When I fall

 You will lose hope. You will lose faith. You will lose love. Not all of them at once. But you will. If you get hit fast enough, hard enough and often enough, you will fall. Fall out of hope, fall out of faith, fall out of love. You will fall not just on your knees but flat on your face. It will feel like your lungs will never be able to breathe in air again and that you'll spiral out of control forever. It will feel like you forgot everything you knew by heart about God, about good or bad, about yourself. It will feel like your very soul is being crushed by some giant boot and you're being powerless to even get out of the way. If you read this now and you say to yourself, 'Never! Not me! I will follow The Lord to the death! He would never allow such a thing to happen to me because He loves me!', believe me, so did many others, including Peter when he swore that he would never deny Christ.

It's not a question of if it will happen, it's a question of when it will happen. And it will happen not because God can't protect you, or that He doesn't love you. It will happen because it has to. Every time I happen to take a face planter and I sit there all dazed and confused and I try to remember how to breathe, I remember a video I have seen of a mother bear and her cub climbing up a mountain.

If God's sole idea of love would entail keeping me safe from anything that might hurt me, then the moment I decide to follow Him, He would hurry up and put me in a glass cage to protect me from anything that might so much as scratch me. What a frail love that would prove to be.

But He knows the strength and potential there is in this small seed of truth that was placed in my heart the moment I first believed. He's not worried that I might misjudge His plans or love for me. He knows that He has to walk through tough terrains and unforgiving weather and if I am to follow after Him, I might end up in harsh, ruthless and dangerous situations. He knows that If He ends up climbing up a steep mountain I might not keep up. He knows that I might fall time and time again. He is aware that I might fall even to my own destruction. But He's not worried that I won't get back up. He knows that whatever He has placed inside me will pull me back up every time I fall. He knows that I have nothing else but Him. He knows there's nowhere else for me to be, but right there on His trail. There's no going back. Come hell or high water, I have to follow. Because if I keep going after Him, I just might learn to one day climb mountains by myself.

By Cristina Pop