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Introspective Sojourner

The journey inward following Christ’s path to that person I was uniquely created to be.

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Faith

That’s my son

I knew the second I laid eyes on him, even though his back was to me. No doubts – none at all. I immediately started to cry. Seconds before, at the fish tank, at the entrance of the restaurant, I had just said, “Wow, that kid looks so much like Thomas.”  – our grandson.  They lived on the other side of the country, thousands of miles away. The thought that it was Thomas never entered my mind. 

My husband had decided to take me to lunch. We rarely did that because where I worked wasn’t close. I should have seen that as a clue. They had cleaned the house too. That was the big clue I missed. I wasn’t complaining. Seriously though, really clean, and that was the big clue.

My son and his family had conspired with my husband and daughter to surprise me with their visit. I had absolutely no clue. They had been coming and then there was some valid excuse that they couldn’t. I had no reason not to believe they couldn’t make it. By the time I walked into the little Chinese restaurant, it was forgotten. 

But the second I saw his frame – I knew. The clues fell into place. My son had come home for a visit. My daughter-in-law smiled up at me from across the table with her precious face. It filled my heart. It was the best surprise ever.

Our church uses a word “communitas” – not community. It signifies that deeper relationship – the idea of doing life together or serving together. A little like the way that my small home town was more like a community or the way we made our fellow veterans our family when I served in the Navy.

The type of relationship we all search for. That knowing the second you see them – there is someone I love – who loves me. The way I knew that was my son even though he was facing away from me.

It’s that kind of relationship that gets my super introverted family to go to church. They belong there and people know them and love them exactly as they are, no hidden agendas, no wish list of things they should do better at, or be better at. The smiles of those we’ve known and loved for years now, tell us that we are welcomed. Just the way we are. Just as far along in our journey as we have come. No one there sees us with a big list of how we’ve failed or let them down. They’re just happy to see us – as we are them.

I suppose it isn’t a perfect church – that was never the point. It’s our communitas. Other Christians who aren’t perfect, who love us even though we aren’t perfect, even though we make mistakes.They want us to be there. They want us to be part of their journey and to experience God’s love through the way He moves in all of our lives. It brings us and keeps us closer to Him. The one who called us by name before we ever took a breath. He knew what knuckleheads we would be. He knew the mistakes we would make and yet He loved us so perfectly. There’s no stronger desire than to be loved that way, completely loved and fully known.

We have to lay down our lists. Our lists of the wrongs others have done to us. Our list of the disappointments we have felt. Our past hurts. Our lists of how we think this person in our life “should” be. Expectations that set us up for barriers in our relationships that do exactly the opposite of what we desire. To be truly loved in spite of our mistakes and bad choices.

We have to stop judging our church services and having roast pastor for lunch. Stop the hate. The “I hate this kind of music”.  I hate when the church is too full or too empty, too dark, too loud. I hate when other Christians aren’t perfect…   because just like us, they want to be loved while imperfect. 

God put so many wonderful people in my life and none of them are perfect. What an amazing blessing that is. Others just like me, on a journey to spread the great news about how God loves them and isn’t fooled by their masks, or public faces. He knows my heart and loves me more deeply than I could ask. That’s such great news. He put a whole group of people to journey with me, so we could help each other to deepen our relationship with Him and reach out to those who are yet to believe. What a mind blowing blessing that is, don’t you agree?

I hope you find your communitas, or that you create a communitas. So that everyone can know, somewhere out there is someone who loves me so much that they’ll cry at my sight. They love me so much that they recognize me instantly from far away or with my back to them even if I was supposed to be miles away. Someone who knows what a dunderhead I am, but choses to love me anyway. Just the way our Savior does. Just the way I am.

By

Vicki L. Pugliese

The Search for Joy

There’s something very attractive about Joy. We seem designed to search for it, to fill our insatiable need. It warms us and lingers. The belly laugh of a baby, or the antics of a puppy; they bring a smile to our face. That look on an old friend’s face as you walk through the door; so happy to see you. We long to have our lives filled with it, and will do almost anything to obtain it.

We’ll substitute Joy’s cousin happiness, if our cup gets too empty. Happiness seems so much easier to find. We find happiness in relationships, achievement, and material things. But happiness is intricately linked with disappointment. Relationships that start out somewhere in the stratosphere end up being plagued with boredom, or worse – apathy. We are selfish by nature, and the work it takes to maintain a relationship gets tedious. Our prior achievements quickly lose their sparkle. The happiness they brought inevitably devolves into “what have you done for me lately?” The next shiny new toy only makes us long for more. Happiness becomes, at best, contentment with a side of obligation.

The difference from true joy seems obvious, even though, at first, they felt the same. We are drawn to it.

Our pastor regularly tells us “There’s more joy in Jesus” and that he wants us to have more joy today than we did yesterday. What seems like a simple focus change, in practice, is not as easy as it sounds.

I try to trust and follow, only to find I’ve wandered off. I go through the motions of church attendance, and reading His word. It isn’t changing me. There isn’t a list of minimum things to do to achieve Joy. Maybe it’s just me, but I’m certainly going to end up looking to do the minimum even if I start out zealous.

Once I mess things up, I’m quick to hand it over to Jesus, but when things get back on track… Well… then I start pushing Him off the throne of my heart. I forget and strike out on my own – hoping to find an unending source.

And in the process, walk away from it.

Jesus doesn’t need my help. There is no minimum list because nothing I could ever do could ever earn what He has already done for me. He wants my whole heart. His plans are far greater than anything I could imagine. Complete with the redemption from careless actions I’m sure to take.

But do I trust Him enough?

I want to hang on to my pet wound that I’ve tucked down so deep. I want to pick it up and hold it close, to shed a tear. I want it healed – but I don’t want to let go, even as it leads me away from joy. I allow it to hurt me all over again. Had I only let Him heal it, I would have found joy in that story. Over and over I could return to His healing to find strength, faith and hope. Over and over I could have received the joy He intended.

All He ever wanted was for me to trust Him, to follow Him, to allow Him to be in control – and then my life would be filled with the Joy I so deeply desire. My cup would be filled and overflowing, so that I might let His love flow out onto others. So that I might be this joy that someone is drawn to, and I could tell them of the unending source. I could tell them of Him.

By Vicki L Pugliese

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DO I TRUST GOD?

My childhood was filled with song. My stepmom and my dad were both prone to breaking out in song for no particular reason. Sometimes it would be hymns or Barber Shoppe songs or even silly children songs. One would start and the other would usually harmonize. It was common to go for a “drive” to give us more chances to sing as a family.

We sang at church as well. Sunday evenings were my favorite because most of the service was spent singing hymns. The pianist would ask for favorites. People would raise their hands and if selected, call out the number to their favorite hymn. You could count on being called on a couple of times each Sunday, if you wanted. I made my fellow congregation sing “In the Garden” most weeks. It has always been my favorite.

I remember just singing to God when I was by myself as a teenager. I talked to Him far more regularly then. I did have more time. My faith was strong, before life had a chance to batter it – tarnish it. Not that my childhood didn’t have struggles too. I have the emotional scars and abandonment issues to prove it. I had reason to need my faith just as much then. I clearly recall the whirlwind moments when the enemy was screaming lies and fear in one ear. God always sent someone to whisper gently the truth in my other. He has sent His love for me through the arms of His followers so often that I can’t count them.

This weekend our Pastor was reminiscing about a trip he just returned from. His sermons often remind us that “God’s better is better.” This weekend he completed that conversation and his words pierced my heart. He had asked himself, “Do you trust God?” Of course this is always the point of God’s better is better. His reply is what struck me. “I do but not enough.”

“I do but not enough.”

Me too, I thought. As a kid, I believed without a doubt that God had a plan and all of my sorrows would be used for good. I did my best to follow His leading. Do I still do that? Mostly, but it’s often not my first instinct.

Life has a way of wearing you down, stealing your innocence, beating you back until your faith is not your first response. Fear has a way of being my gut reaction. I know it’s the opposite of my faith. I have to remind myself of all the angels in my life, all of the times God rescued me from my own bad choices or the wrong instincts of others.

When I remind myself “God’s better is better”, I am putting my trust in God. I would not have survived my last job loss without that phrase and I truly hung onto it every day. But I wished God might bring his better to fruition a little faster, as if the timing wasn’t also just as perfect – because I do trust God, but not enough.

That kid, the one who’s home and life was filled with song, mostly worship, she did. The beauty of that childhood is a blessing. Not everyone had parents who valued music like mine. Not everyone had parents that valued the community our church brought to our lives. The blessings I had as a child, humble me.

It takes more work to polish up that faith that life has tarnished, beaten. I can’t help thinking the big difference is that life and work have marginalized my faith. I no longer run around the house worshiping, and I should. I no longer talk to God throughout the day as effortlessly as I once did. He is still faithful, waiting, working in me. He still rescues me and has plans that are far better than my own. I do still trust Him.

But maybe not enough

By Vicki L Pugliese

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