Eucharisteo

I recently started reading "One Thousand Gifts" by Ann Voskamp--a book that outlines the journey of intentionally embracing a lifestyle of radical gratitude and learning to find God amidst the mediocrity of everyday life.

She begins by discussing this idea of eucharisteo, which in the original Greek translates to "he gave thanks." She does a simple word study:

- The root word of eucharisteo is charis, which means "grace." [Grace is enveloped by thanksgiving.]

- Chara, the derivative of charis, means "joy."

And so, she poses the question: Is the height of our holy joy dependent on the depths of our thanksgiving?

Lately I've found myself wrestling with this idea of finding joy amidst my anxiety. Amidst the busyness of classes, preparing for graduation, applying for jobs, planning a wedding, and finding time for the people I love in between. Some days, life feels so crazy and busy that it begins to feel somewhat like I'm going through the motions--striving to get to this place that is life after graduation, after the wedding, after finding a job. When things will finally settle down. But I want to live fully right here, where God has me right now.

I'm not interested in transient pleasure. I'm after real, pure, holy joy--the kind that makes one positively radiate. I love this idea that Voskamp is presenting: that the deepest, purest, holiest joy is simply obtained through the giving of thanks.

Well, I'd like to think that I'm thankful for everything.

But I love this next thought: "...slapping a sloppy brush of thanksgiving over everything in my life leaves me deeply thankful for very few things in my life" (p. 57). How true and so very humbling.

It's one thing to be generally grateful for what you have, but another entirely to be specifically thankful for each individual blessing. One of the author's friends challenges her to make a list of one thousand blessings that she is thankful for, and I decided to take that challenge as well. It sounds a bit daunting, but even after the first five things I wrote down I couldn't help but smile. The simplest things that bring a smile to my face, but that I've never actually thought to thank God for:

1. Waking up in time to watch the sun rise

2. Laughing until it hurts

3. A smile from a stranger

Really, the littlest things that happen every single day, and somehow I've managed to neglect to see them for what they are: gifts from God. And so I'm on a mission--a journey, if you will--to discover joy and life in the smallest of blessings, and to train my heart to seek out opportunities for gratitude.

"When we lay the soil of our hard lies open to the rain of grace and let joy penetrate our cracked and dry places, let joy soak into our broken skin and deep crevices, life grows." - Ann Voskamp, One Thousand Gifts

(un)Familiar Territory

Over the past couple of weeks, my anxiety has begun to resurface.

It didn't take much time for my steady downward spiral to plummet into an all-out nosedive. To put it simply, I felt like I had completely lost all hope. I began believing the lies that I would never be set free from this bondage and that I was more or less a lost cause. I had even reached the point of neglecting to pray and spend time in the Word because I was so sure it was no use. In other words, I had hit rock bottom.

Again.

It's one thing to know the truth--to be able to recite a Bible verse here and there and know the general gist of what the Bible says about situations like this. It's an entirely different thing to believe it in your heart every minute of every bad day. Every second of every panic attack. I know the truth; but for the past few weeks it's felt as though my mind has been dragging my pathetic, hopeless little heart along with it. Let me tell you, firsthand--that's not a place anyone wants to be. I wanted more, but I was tired of searching for it and tired of feeling as though every inch of progress I've made in the last two years had been lost. I was disappointed, hopeless, and heartbroken. But the Lord refused to leave me there.

This morning after church I was talking to my dear friend, Jossie, about my situation. She patiently listened and gracefully spoke truth into my life in exactly the way I needed to hear it. I mentioned to her that I'd even gotten to the point of asking myself if I actually wanted to be miserable, because I couldn't understand why I kept finding myself back in this place. One thing she said that really stuck out to me was that because I have been battling anxiety for so many years, it's become familiar territory. As horrible as it sounds, and as much as I hate to admit it, it's true: I tend to be more comfortable in this place of fear and severe anxiety than I am otherwise because it's what I've grown accustomed to over the years. I let anxiety become my default setting; and in the process, I inadvertently allowed it to take Christ's place in my heart. I had surrendered myself so fully to my anxiety and resigned myself to a life of fear and grief that I let it push God completely out of the picture. It sounds odd, letting something that I hate so much become the center of my life; but when it comes right down to it, I had simply given in and accepted that this is how I was destined to live.

I was so very wrong. My conversation with Jossie today gave me a lot to think about. Then I came home and read today's entry in my devotional, which you can read here: http://kailabowlin.blogspot.com/2012/04/streams-in-desert.html. I believe with all my heart that God was speaking directly to me through the words on that page.

I understand now that by actively surrendering myself to my anxiety and insecurities, I was actively putting distance between myself and God. Now I find myself again in this place of repentance, bearing my soul and presenting him with a shattered heart once again. He is the only one who can rescue me from this pit of self-loathing that I so shamelessly dug for myself. I'm starting over. I'm believing for healing and for restoration. I'm believing for salvation despite my prideful, sinful insistence on maintaining such a tight grasp on my own life. Rather than surrendering to the darkness, I'm choosing to surrender to the Light, and praying that God will remove every trace of familiarity associated with my anxiety and replace it with His own perfect peace.

And now, all that I can do is put my soul in one position--one of continual repentance and unyielding trust--and keep it there.

Streams in the Desert

Though he slay me, yet I will hope in him. (Job 13:15)

Because I know whom I have believed. (2 Timothy 1:12)

I will not doubt, though all my ships at sea

Come drifting home with broken masts an sails;

I will believe the Hand that never fails,

From seeming evil works to good for me.

And thug I weep because those sails are tattered,

Still will I cry, while my best hopes lie shattered:

"I trust in Thee."

I will not doubt, though all my prayers return

Unanswered from the still, white realm above;

I will believe it is an all-wise love

That has refused these things for which I yearn;

And though at times I cannot keep from grieving,

Yet the pure passion of my fixed believing

Undimmed will burn.

I will not doubt, though sorrows fall like rain,

And troubles swarm like bees about a hive.

I will believe the heights for which I strive

Are only reached by anguish and by pain;

And though I groan and writhe beneath my crosses,

Yet I will see through my severest losses

The greater gain.

I will not doubt. Well anchored is this faith,

Like some staunch ship, my soul braves every gale;

So strong its courage that it will not fail

To face the mighty unknown sea of death.

Oh, may I cry, though body leaves the spirit,

"I do not doubt," so listening worlds may hear it,

With my last breath.

An old seaman once said, "In fierce storms we must do one thing, for there is only one way to survive: we must put the ship in a certain position and keep her there." And this, dear Christian, is what you must do.

Sometimes, like Paul, you cannot see the sun or the stars to help you navigate when the storm is bearing down on you. This is when you can only do one thing, for there is only one way. Reason cannot help you, past experiences will shed no light, and even prayer will bring no consolation. Only one course remains: you must put your soul in one position and keep it there.

You must anchor yourself steadfastly upon the Lord. And then, come what may--whether wind, waves, rough seas, thunder, lightning, jagged rocks, or roaring breakers--you must lash yourself to the helm, firmly holding your confidence in God's faithfulness, His covenant promises, and His everlasting love in Christ Jesus. Richard Fuller

[from Streams in the Desert by L.B. Cowman]