I Hope You Dance: a sabbatical journey

 Mennonites don't dance.

That's just the way it is, right?

I don't dance. I CAN'T dance. That's the message I've told myself.
I feel the awkwardness of moving. Self-consciousness. 
    Fear.
    Of what others think. Their judgement. Their snickers. 

    How awkward and stiff and unnatural I must look.
More self-consciousness. Added embarrassment.

And yet there was the dream of a little girl
        watching the Nutcracker, longing to move gracefully across the floor.
A dream of being a ballerina. A Christmas tree ornament beautifully dressed in a pink tutu to represent the dream. An expression of fluidity and freedom. Worship in the graceful movement of the body.

But the body is evil. 

Movement is suggestive. 

The body to be repressed and hidden. 

            ...Is the message received. 

And yet...

Dance is something I've been drawn to for a long time. For a brief period, it was brought to life at camp and college through square dancing and swing dancing – dance that had more specific movements I could follow. Because hey, I'm still fairly uncoordinated and feel unnatural moving. But specific steps – ok, I can handle that.

More recently, as God has been stirring more self-confidence, there's been a little voice in the back of my mind suggesting joining a class, exploring something new, just to see how it goes. To step out of my box a bit. 

And now, sabbatical. A chance to rest, retreat... and the space to try something new. Give myself permission to explore and be energized in new ways. And now, this includes a worship dance class. 

The obvious factors:

• I'm 20 years older than anyone else in the class

• I have NO dance experience, compared to the girls who naturally know what “2^nd position” and “releve” and “plié” mean

• I suck at picking up choreography. No, really. The instructor runs through a section once or twice and the girls have it, whereas I stand there stupefied and trying to figure our which leg needs to go where and which arm I'm supposed to extend...

In the midst of those factors, this is what I've noticed:

I made the effort to find and join a class. Even knowing what it would be like. Years ago, the intimidation itself would have prevented me entering in, or giving up soon after starting. The fear of not being able to do it. Of looking foolish. Yep, still have that fear. But this time I'm choosing to push through it and sometimes even laugh at myself. So what has God done in me to bring me to a place of trying, even with the chance of failure, or what may appear like failure? Obviously some pieces of affirming who I am, a rootedness that maybe wasn't present before. Enough to be in the studio with these girls who are capable and let myself look odd and untrained and just enjoy what I can do. To be ok with my inexperience and being where I'm at without self-judgement and without projecting my own judgement of myself onto others, that they're judging me, too. And to receive God's delight in the trying, the exploring and even the awkwardness. I sense him cheering on even the chaos of it. “Try again! Don't worry about the others; you make it your own and enjoy this process of creating with me.”

(*Side note, because of the fear of failing, in this I'm so thankful I won't be part of their recital in the spring – I would stick out like a sore thumb as I would lag clumsily 2 beats behind everyone else! And probably ruin the whole effect of the dance. But because I won't be part of the recital, it gives me release to try and not feel the stress of getting it right.)

I WANT to be able to express myself and my worship through movement. It feels like an added element of release and giving. Yes, I still feel more self-conscious than I would like. But I believe that in the process God is pleased with my effort. He sees and delights in my heart and posture. And in it is an expression of worship previously unaccessed. There are moments of discouragement and anxiousness in trying to pick up movements and remember them. But then there are the moments of joy in getting it, in being able to move, of learning a new routine and finding pleasure in it. 

The instructor has said that I have natural movement. I'm not sure exactly what that means, but I want to believe that there is something that God has placed within me to use. Maybe it was dormant. Maybe it was never explored, whether it was never given the chance or because my fear held me back. And I wonder: are there other pieces that God has stirred in me that I've pushed down or ignored because of what I tell myself? That I haven't accepted an invitation for? That I can't? That it's too risky? That I'll look silly? That I might fail? That... ? Or even other pieces that he just hasn't stirred to life yet?

And then I notice the invitations I receive:

Accept. Accept myself where I am, how I am. Without judgement. 

Freedom. Freedom to try, to explore. To succeed or fail. 

Notice. Notice what is stirring or has been stirred in the past that I haven't yet chosen to accept the invitation to. Haven't yet asked what's in it or what God might want to do with it. 

Enjoy. Enjoy being in the moment without criticism. Enjoy his delight in my effort and exploration. Just be. Just dance.

Unfortunately, I will be ending my class next week, because I'll be traveling and exploring in a different way in this sabbatical season. But I don't want to lose the freedom and the growth. Don't want to lose the courage to step out and explore without self-judgement. Don't want to miss out because I haven't followed up on an invitation. It's a process for me, but has been worth stepping out. What might your invitation be? 

I hope you dance.

 

I hope you never lose your sense of wonder,
You get your fill to eat but always keep that hunger,
May you never take one single breath for granted,
God forbid love ever leave you empty handed,
I hope you still feel small when you stand beside the ocean,
Whenever one door closes I hope one more opens,
Promise me that you'll give faith a fighting chance,
And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance. 

I hope you dance... I hope you dance... 

I hope you never fear those mountains in the distance 
Never settle for the path of least resistance 
Livin' might mean takin' chances, but they're worth takin',
Lovin' might be a mistake, but it's worth makin',
Don't let some Hell bent heart leave you bitter,
When you come close to sellin' out reconsider,
Give the heavens above more than just a passing glance,
And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance.

I hope you dance... I hope you dance.
I hope you dance... I hope you dance.
(Time is a wheel in constant motion always rolling us along,
Tell me who wants to look back on their years
And wonder where those years have gone.)

                                                            Lee Ann Womack

Lessons from Maggie: part 2

 

Psalm 139
A rewrite for Maggie

1 You have searched for me, Maggie
    and you have found me.
2 You are at my feet when I sit and on my heels when I rise;
    you keep a close eye on me, never afar.
3 You sense when I am leaving and ecstatically greet me in coming home;
    keeping watch at the door until I enter.
4 Before I speak the words, “We're going running”,
   you know it and lay down in protest, but still follow because you can't stay away. 
5 You hem my days, curled by my side in sleep
   and lunging at my face as I wake (please stop).
6 Such devotion is too wonderful for me;
   too baffling for me to comprehend

7 Where can I flee from your presence?
   Where can I escape from you following?
8 If I move to another room, you are there, a silent black shadow sticking close;
    if I lay on the couch, you beg to lay beside me.
9 If I wander outside,
    if I trudge up and down stairs umpteen times to get something I need from upstairs,
10 even then your presence follows;
    you can't let me out of your sight.
11 If I say, “Surely the bathroom will hide me
   and I'm have moments of solitude,”
12 even the door is not a barrier to you;
    you barge in to find me,
    leaving everything exposed, but satisfied in knowing where I am.

Seriously, in the past months, especially as I'm staying with my parents in a much larger house than the space we have in Prague, Maggie has reminded me of the closeness of the presence of the Holy Spirit. It's somewhat comical in this house, her need to follow. Because I'm not calling her to follow; I'm often not even aware under she's suddenly by my side or sitting on the carpet in front of me with a toy in her mouth. I'm never far from her sight or her awareness. I leave the room; she immediately knows and follows, almost frantic to be close. But wow, a powerful spiritual image for me: the consistency and constantness of her – and His – presence. Her DESIRE to be close. And has challenged me in my attentiveness and awareness of his closeness and desire to be with me. 

(Maybe a better metaphor would be how much I am aware of and devoted to the Spirit's way as closely as Maggie follows and is devoted to me. But in the past months it has been encouraging to relate Maggie to the Spirit, simply longing to be close and with me, so let's stick with that for now and leave the other for another time. :) )

Longing to be invited up to the couch to sit close. Sometimes content to simply lay nearby on the rug. So happy with a look her way, evidenced by back end wagging, hoping for some affection. Rolling over in anticipation of a belly rub – despite the fact that she's 10 feet away and can't be reached! But the simple joy in the attention, joy in receiving a look that says “I'm paying attention to you”. 

Does the Father have the same joy and excitement when my attention is toward him? I think he might; that it does give him pleasure – those moments when I turn toward him and notice his presence. I glimpse his grin, his look of delight, face beaming to enjoy the moment with me and enjoy me. His joy in being seen. Because yes, I believe he has those desires to be seen and known - those desires in me are a reflection of his. 

I confess that I am not so faithful and constant as he: I'm so easily distracted, find other things to focus on, and go through the day unaware of almost anything. And yet his gaze is constant, his presence always close. Like Maggie, never letting me out of his sight. And waiting expectantly for that moment when my glance is also going to turn his way. 

Lessons from Maggie: part 1

 Since owning a dog, I've become aware of so many parallels of our relationship (hers and mine) to spiritual life. Maggie has taught and is teaching me much about myself, about God, his character and more. Sometimes Maggie represents me; sometimes she represents elements of God's character. I'd like to share some of these insights and so as not to be overwhelming, in chapters along the way. 

This is an image that was speaking to me today. And definitely still a journey in progress.

Maggie is very attached to me and when she can't find me, she becomes somewhat frantic. As in haphazardly trotting all over the place turning her head this way and that, obviously looking for me. Her movements are sporadic and anxious and also a bit entertaining. I wish I had a video of it, but it's not something I can capture (often I'm not seeing it since she's not in my presence, but I have seen pieces in situations where there are so many people around that she loses me). She'll continue this until she finds me - usually when I see her or hear someone else telling her where I am -and then I call her, she comes to me and immediately settles. Often just to wander away again. Sometimes to come to be petted and lay down. But knowing where I am is all it takes.

As I was sitting with God this morning and reflecting on “there is no one who always does what is right, not even one!... no one who seeks after God alone. All have wandered from God's ways” (Romans 3:10-12), I relate this to my own seeking. Looking frantically for that which will somehow satisfy my longings, my hopes and desires. Looking every which way for something to soothe. Sensing God's longing for me to find him in the searching; to find his presence and immediately be settled. As I watch Maggie visibly relax when she sees me, or curled up at my feet in utter contentment, I find myself longing for that same contentment, so often elusive. In the search for external peace, belonging, value, life, connection, etc., they never fully satisfy. And yet I continue to haphazardly grasp at what gives the illusion that it could fulfill. In my head, I know that the answer is Jesus; that in him is life and peace and belonging and everything else that I seek. But when it hasn't made it's way to my core or I forget the settledness I once felt with him, I continue the hunt. Hurried. Anxious. Attempting to find that one person or thing or feeling that will satisfy my restlessness in the moment. And futile. 

Until he calls out, reminding me to look for his face and revealing where he is, and I allow myself to receive and be settled. To breathe a big sigh of relief, just as my puppy does in her contentment.

beauty in broken

 The Japanese art of Kintsugi has been significant for me in the past years. 

Are you familiar with it? It comes from a tradition of seeing beauty in brokenness. Pottery that has been broken is repaired and put back together with an adhesive mixed with gold or silver powder, thus highlighting the cracks and making the end result more valuable than it was previously. 

Wow. To think that God may restore my brokenness into something more beautiful and more valuable. That's huge.

Then last week I attended a debrief retreat, reviewing and reflecting on the past few years, and toward the end of the week we entered the session room to find a small ceramic pot in front of each of us.  ➜

The task:
break the pot and put it back together in whatever shape or form we are led to, and then paint the cracks with gold or silver. All the while using it as a contemplative exercise, asking God what he might want to say through this process. I'm familiar with this art but have never physically done an exercise like this. So immediately I have in my mind an image of the pot broken in manageable 8-12 pieces, put back together to create a whole piece and beautifully outlined. You know, images like this: 

That's not what happened. I threw my pot (it was in a bag to keep pieces contained) against a cement porch, and it shattered. SHATTERED. Into umpteen pieces and shards everywhere. You can see my reaction here:

Very telling, my reaction. Dismay. Overwhelm-ment. Those visions of beautifully put-back-together pots immediately destroyed.  An expression of some of the things I have been feeling about life. And as I went through the process of piecing back together, God spoke in even more significant ways than I had experienced with this imagery previously. Because I had already been reflecting on feeling broken throughout the week. Already asking what glory God wanted to reveal out of the feeling of being pulled apart. So this was another piece of him speaking into what I was experiencing.

This is what I journaled:

Broken. Smashed. 
    Into many more pieces than hoped for.
    Shards, some impossible to piece back together.

Shock. Dismay.
NO!!!

Images of beautiful golden-lined pieces pieced back together destroyed.

Gather the pieces. As many as look realistic to jigsaw back together.

Overwhelm-ment. Is this even possible?

Hands gather two pieces. Try this angle. Try that.
    In my humanness, struggle with the puzzle.
    But the Maker knows exactly how they fit.

Regardless, patience.
    Glue, press together, lay it down, wait.
    This piece? No? This piece? No.
    Here's one. Yes! Progress.
        Ok, now this other piece fits.

Gently, patiently. Excitement in the progress.
Joy in the coming together.

Pieced back.
    Sometimes almost seamlessly, the crack imperceptible.
    Sometimes with gaps; missing pieces and missing shards.
        But that gap, that hole - that's where the light will shine through.

This is a process, this reshaping. Repair.

"Do you trust me? Trust that out of shattered, what is coming WILL be beautiful?" 

It doesn't look like it in the process.
It's rough. Raw. Slightly misshapen. The pieces don't line up.
    Obviously shattered and repaired.

But wait for it.

GOLD

Illuminating the cracks. Transforming them into beauty.
Highlighting imperfection. Giving it value.

This vessel treasured in the brokenness and reshaping.

This vessel a Masterpiece.

But this beautiful treasure is contained in us—cracked pots made of earth and clay—so that the transcendent character of this power will be clearly seen as coming from God and not from us.

2 Corinthians 4:7, The Voice

Hope for a weary world

 I was reminded yesterday of these lines from the beloved Christmas carol:

“A thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices,

For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn”

We are a very weary world right now. A world desperately in need of hope. We need a reason to rejoice. Not just hope in a vaccine or an end to a pandemic, though those would be great. What is hope beyond that, and before that? A hope when it doesn't look like anything will change in the near future. A hope for today. A hope for tomorrow. A hope for health and wholeness. A hope for equality and justice for all. A hope for respect and grace in differences. A hope in the midst of a year of loss, of many griefs, of ongoing stress. The world is weary. So, so tired. There are likely few who have not been impacted in one way or another. We long for a new and glorious morn. Everywhere we read messages of readiness to leave 2020 behind; a longing to step into something new, to be able to take a deep breath of something fresh, to emerge into a new perspective and new physical circumstances. We are more than ready for it.

But what if it doesn't come, or doesn't come soon enough or doesn't happen in the way we want it to? In reality, we have not suffered like many from generations and centuries before us. Despite what Covid has cost us, it's not nearly the cost that others in centuries past and even currently throughout the world have suffered in disease, war, persecution and poverty. In reality, we don't have it that bad. 

And yet hope is crucial. Without it, we don't survive. I included a part of this verse on my Christmas card, because it seems so fitting for this season. We are all in need of joy, peace and HOPE. 

 May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.   Romans 15:13

This Christmas what does it look like to overflow with hope? To be filled with joy and peace? I've become very aware recently that joy and peace, and even hope, can coexist with grief and loss and unmet expectation. I do experience joy in my days; in the giggles and excitement of a 2 year old nephew over trains and chocolate. In Maggie's exuberant dashes around the snow-covered lawn. In long days of cookie-making with family, Christmas music playing in the background, tables laden with a plethora of delicacies, which I haven't experienced in 5 years. In the slowness of mornings and the way snow showers calm over my soul. In knowing freedom from condemnation. In grace in restoration.

At the same time I hold some significant aches:  Family that won't be together for Christmas. Not being able to meet my newly-born niece. Loss upon loss and unknown upon unknown due to Covid. Unmet desires for intimacy and connection. Questioning where I belong. Close friends who are on the other side of the world. 

    There is joy. 

    There is grief. 

    There is peace. 

    There is unsettledness. 

    There is desire. 

    There is hope.

Yes, there is hope that some of these desires will be met physically, in this world, now. And yet for true peace, I have to hold them all with very open hands. Not grasping, not demanding. But TRUSTING the God of hope to bring about his good. Trust in the future he has for me, not my version of it, whether that's tomorrow or next month, during this present season of Covid and sabbatical that looks different than expected, or 5 years from now. Trust in his love and his goodness, his faithfulness to his promises and to me. My part out of that verse is to trust. That's it. The rest is God's part – to fill with joy and peace which overflows into hope.

I long for the thrill of hope in which this weary soul and weary world can rejoice. Maybe right now, circumstantially, it doesn't seem possible. But internally it is possible because of Love. Love which was born to dwell among us. Love that experienced what we experience and felt what we felt. Love that was born to bring light to darkness and hope to despair. A hope in Love to conquer, that Love's desire is for joy and peace: between nations and families, between political and racial divides, between any relationship. On a world-wide scale and in every individual, in the interior and hidden places every heart.

Into what corner of your heart does Love want to spark hope?

Join what God is doing in Prague

For the next 2 years, I need an additional $300/month to cover in-country taxes, plus $400 (formerly $1,200!) of normal monthly support which has not yet been pledged. Will you help meet this need?

To participate in Jan's ministry in the Czech Republic, please 

1. complete the interest form here
2. visit www.emm.org/jheindel to make your pledge or contribution

Following is a glimpse into what is happening and what God is doing, as well as what is coming. Any gift is helpful and valued. Thank you for being a part of what God is going!

Dear friends,

I don't have words to describe the incredible richness of the past couple of years in relational ministry. Not because I've introduced many people to Jesus, because I haven't. Not because there are hoards of unbelieving Czechs asking deep spiritual questions, because there aren't (at least in my circles – though within my church's ministries there are great testimonies). But because God has blessed me with many relationships in which we are drawing closer to God's heart together to become who God created us to be in his story.

I started to lead a high school girl's Bible study on my own in Czech this past year. It was scary. It was stretching. I didn't know if the girls would get anything from it. But I also realized that the places I feel most inadequate are where God can most easily display his glory. And by the end of the year, the girls expressed how much of a blessing this space was. Maybe a little bit because of what they learned, but also simply to have a safe space to talk, share, worship and pray. The newest member reflected that she never could have imagined being part of such a welcoming, safe group. And as we gathered for the last time before I flew to the States, we shared our highlights and challenges for the coming months and had such sweet conversation and pray together. They are being built up and then moving out with faith and courage. This is discipleship.

As I've pursued more of my own spiritual formation in the past few years and God has increased my desire to walk alongside others in a pastoral care role, the relationships I had in the past have deepened and become something that I'm truly amazed at. Because as I've sat, listened, been curious and offered myself to the women and girls I relate to, I'm learning to enter these relationships more selflessly, with God's heart, and they are responding and being encouraged and challenged and built up. In Anatomy of the Soul, one of the books required for my spiritual direction course, Curt Thompson writes:

When a person tells his story and is truly heard and understood, he undergoes actual changes in his brain circuitry that corresponds to a greater sense of emotional and relational connection, decreased anxiety, and greater awareness of and compassion for others’ suffering.

My desire is to listen with an ear bent toward understanding and let God accomplish the repair and renewal – all by simply being present and showing up with my whole heart. I haven't looked for praise or affirmation, but in the past months numerous girls have expressed the impact I've had in their lives. I'm completely in awe, because I know it's not about me, but about God's expression of himself through me. I don't know exactly where this journey of pastoral care will take me, but I know that I see others experiencing God more fully and being able to name and choose a path of integrity, devotion and service to him. I'm excited to see what possibilities are yet to come.

From another perspective, my pastor has shared:

 I have been very thankful for Jan´s ministry in Prague and in Czech Republic. She has been very people oriented especially her ministry with girls was great. She also has been a big help with english evangelistic club. There are many missionaries in Prague but our major problem is that even though they claim that they want to help the Church, many of them have their own agenda and in reality they are not very useful for local Churches. This was not true with Jan. She was very open to do what we as a Church really needed. As a pastor I have been very excited from what she did and how she served. 

David Novak (pastor of the Church and president of the denomination where Jan serves) 

For me, this is affirmation that I'm currently where God wants me. For the time being I'm incredibly honored to be serving in Prague and among these dear people. God is doing good things, all glory to him. Thank you for your participation in the depth of ministry that is happening. It wouldn't be possible without you.

In His service,

Jan 

A few of the lovely girls I mentor

the things I notice: 2020 version

 It seems fitting every time I return to the States and as I notice what is different, what I've missed, etc., to share them with the world. Maybe you don't care. Maybe it's just for my own remembrance. But then again, many do ask, "What have you missed? What food do you want to eat when you're here?..."

But also, in general I haven't been looking forward to being back in the States. To family, yes. To the peace of my parents' home, yes. But not to the general atmosphere in the States and the limitations due to COVID. So it's also a good practice to name some of the things that have especially given me joy.

So, if it's interesting, these are a few of the noticings this time around, both specific joys and random strangeness (according to this European dweller):

• the goodness of meals from the garden
• sweet corn and fresh, juicy peaches
• the number of people in stores NOT wearing masks. In the Czech, if people are told they should wear masks, they wear masks.
• so many trucks (pick-up trucks) and large vehicles on the road
• American flags everywhere (Czechs aren't so patriotic to need to display their flag)
• so many random text messages: reminding you of doctor appointments, from the phone company wanting you to purchase an add-on, 
• boatloads of cereal options in the grocery aisle
• peanut butter M&M's. Yum.
• the number of empty shelves in store aisles during this season - not finding what I want
• lovely sunny fall days as opposed to rainy fall days
• people in public who strike up random conversations with you
• umpteen recorded options when I call to make an appointment somewhere
• the relief of being able to explain what I need or want (in stores, at appointments, etc) in English rather than trying to figure out how I might say it in Czech
• it's generally "Jan and Maggie" together, according to my youngest nephew. "Hi, Jan and Maggie!", "Jan and Maggie, what are you doing?" 😄
• the delight of fall camping, s'mores and mountain pies - along with the overcrowding of campgrounds on the weekends! 
• wide open space and yard to be outside and explore - especially for Maggie!
• how few steps I can actually take in one day: a record low of 214 (granted, it counts on my phone and I don't carry it with me around the house. But in Prague outside of COVID season, it was rare to have a day less than 5,000 or 10,000 of just normal activity.)
• package delivery at your doorstep by Amazon within a day or two of ordering