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Michelle DeRusha

Every Day Faith. Faith Every Day.

doubt

Traveling the Broken Way

October 25, 2016 By Michelle

The Broken Way

Faith has never come easily for me. I’ve often described my spiritual journey and faith itself as a two-steps-forward-one-step-back kind of process, with doubt rearing its ugly head from time to time, and me clamoring to smack it down like I’m playing whack-a-mole at the local carnival.

This past summer I traveled to Tuscany on a spiritual writers’ retreat expecting to uncover clarity and direction in my vocation. Instead I ended up spiraling into a dark night of the soul I never saw coming. Sitting cross-legged under a grove of trees overlooking the golden Tuscan hills, I got real with God real fast. It was the quintessential “I believe, help my unbelief!” moment, and it left me wrung out and reeling. God and I wrestled it out like never before.

Two days later, hands trembling, voice shaking, I told my traveling companions about my dark night. It was a confession of sorts, and that community of brothers and sisters — most of whom I’d met for the first time only days before — gathered around and held me close. They lamented with me. They consoled me. And most of all, they gave me hope.

When, following my sputtering confession, one of my new friends declared, “God delights in you,” I tucked that word of encouragement into my heart. Since then I’ve taken it out and reexamined it again and again.

My dark-night-of-the-soul experience in Italy and how I’ve come to understand it was a game-changer for me, a life-changer. As Ann Voskamp writes in her new book, The Broken Way, “Our God wants the most unwanted parts of us the most…Nothing pleases God more than letting Him touch the places you think don’t please Him. God is drawn to broken things — so he can draw the most beautiful things.”

sumac

pelicans

The Broken Way

The Broken Way

Cracking open wide in Tuscany allowed me to receive the understanding that just as I delight in my own children, God delights in me. He loves me like I love them, sweetly, tenderly, fiercely, but infinitely, unfathomably more. I never really understood that. I never really believed it.

Truth be told, three months later I’m still leaning hard into what it really means that God delights in me – what it looks like and feels like. I’m leaning hard into believing it. I’m allowing God to teach me, to show me what he is doing for me, to show me what I need to enter into. God is already loving, he is already delighting in, and he desires that we enter into that space. As Paul says in his letter to the Romans, “God does not respond to what we do; we respond to what God does.” (3:28, Msg.)

Ann Voskamp’s book The Broken Way has helped me move farther along in this journey. She’s put words around the unexplainable and indescribable. She has given language to the mysterious, inexplicable yet sometimes palpable presence of God.

“Belovedness is the center of being, the only real identity, God’s only name for you, the only identity he gives you,” she writes. “And you won’t ever feel like you belong anywhere until you choose to listen to your heart beating out that you do — unconditionally, irrevocably. Until you let yourself feel the truth of that – the truth your heart has always known because He who made it wrote your name right there.”

A long time ago I looked up the origin of my name, Michelle. It is derived from the Hebrew name Michael, which means, in some interpretations, “He who is closest to God,” as well as, interestingly, the question, “Who is like God?” The online site I visited noted that in Hebrew that’s a rhetorical question, because no person is like God.

I laughed when I read that bit about the rhetorical question, because honestly, it’s so like me to question my identity as one who is “like God.” Who me? Flawed, questioning, always-seemingly-on-the-cusp-of-unbelief me?  But the answer is, inexplicably and unfathomably, yes, an emphatic yes. For me and for you, too. For all of us. We are like God because we are created in his image– imago dei.  Each of us is wholly his, loved by him, beloved, called into oneness with him.

God calls us to walk toward that which we despise most about ourselves, because he knows that when we face that hard, ugly place head-on, we will finally be fully surrendered. And finally fully surrendered, we will finally fully find him.

God is in our most broken places, the parts of ourselves we least want to admit or expose to the world and perhaps especially to our own selves. For me, that’s my wrestle with doubt and unbelief. God ironically calls me to step into that very place, to acknowledge its existence, not to run and hide from it, but strangely, to offer it, my most broken place, to him. I know, it hardly makes sense. But yet it does. Because he is there, even there. Because there is no place God is not.

The Broken Way, by Ann Voskamp

I want to add, for the record, that Ann Voskamp doesn’t need me to write a review of her book. As I write this, The Broken Way, which releases today, is probably already number 1 on Amazon, and it will likely go on to become a New York Times bestseller, just like One Thousand Gifts. But here’s the deal: I wrote this blog post because I couldn’t not write this blog post. Like its predecessor, One Thousand Gifts, The Broken Way has had a lasting impact on me. Beautifully written and full of profound wisdom, this book is a life-changer, if you allow Ann’s words — God’s message, really, spoken through her — to sink in deep and change you. Powerful, prophetic, vulnerable and deeply authentic, The Broken Way is not an easy or a quick read, but it’s absolutely a must-read.

Filed Under: book reviews, doubt, love, unbelief Tagged With: Ann Voskamp, The Broken Way

When God Gives You the Clarity You Didn’t Know You Were Seeking

July 19, 2016 By Michelle

Tuscan Hills

I went to Tuscany seeking answers regarding my vocation. I looked forward to the quiet respite, the chance to think deeply about who I am as a writer and where I want to go. I anticipated experiencing much beauty, art, contemplation, prayer, community, and above all, vocational clarity there.

I found much of that amid the rolling wheat fields and ancient, cobblestone streets; among a new group of acquaintances-turned-friends; at the table laden with good wine and food; alone on hot afternoons, tucked under the wisteria vine, bees buzzing into lavender, lizards sunning emerald on the path.

accordian player

Pienza

leathersmith

La Foce garden

Farm Table

Duomo

cemetery

poppies

fountain

wisteria walk

Tuscan grotto dinner

But I also found something in Tuscany I never expected and certainly didn’t invite. I found more questions than answers, questions that had been stewing just below the surface for a long, long time.

On the very first morning, sitting at a tiny, metal table in the courtyard garden of our hotel, the questions bubbled to the surface, and along with them, a startling revelation.

“The reason I’m not clear about what to do (my calling), is because I don’t truly know who I am (my authentic self). And the reason I don’t know my authentic self is because I don’t truly know who I am in God. And the reason I don’t truly know who I am in God is because I don’t know God in a deep and intimate way.”

Well then.

Thankfully, as I told my travel companions later that week, I was still struck numb by jet lag and couldn’t quite wrap my sleepy brain around what I’d just penned into my journal. My mind was still encased in a layer of gauze, a timely protection against so stark a realization.

That morning, I simply stared at the words I’d written for a moment, and then clapped my journal shut and joined the group for a tour of Florence.

Two days later, though, the reality of that revelation hit me hard. There I was, tucked into a shady grove with my journal open on my lap, a stunning view of the Tuscan hills unfurling in bands of gold and cypress as far as my eyes could see, and I couldn’t stop crying. I also couldn’t stop repeating, “Shit. Shit. Shit.”

It was the Sabbath, and the theme of our morning reflection was rest. But the pages of my journal that morning stayed blank. I’d written only a single sentence: “I don’t have rest in my life because I don’t have rest in God.”

That’s when the revelation fully revealed itself. Everything begins with our relationship in God. We don’t have rest in our lives if we don’t have rest in God. We don’t have clarity in our calling if we don’t know who we are in God.We can’t know who we are, period, if we don’t know who we are in God.

God had given me clarity. But it wasn’t the kind of clarity I’d expected, or frankly even wanted.

“I wanted a different story,” I wrote later in my journal. “I don’t want to hear what God is telling me. I keep asking, ‘What should I do next? Where should I go?’ and he keeps giving me different questions, harder questions.”

Earlier that week, our spiritual director had told us, “God’s greatest invitation is to know God deeply and truly. And to know yourself in light of that.”

I wasn’t in Tuscany to find answers to my vocational angst. I was in Tuscany to come face-to-face with my deepest fears: that I didn’t truly know God; that I didn’t truly have a relationship with him; that I still wrestled with deep questions of doubt and even, at times, of unbelief; that I still struggled fiercely in my faith.

As it turned out, the “hope to which he had called me” had nothing to do with my calling and everything to do with knowing him.

Truth be told, there had been hints of these smoldering questions in the weeks and months preceding my trip. Sometimes, in the early evenings when I walked Josie and sat for a moment on our favorite bench, I heard unexpected questions bubble to the surface. One cool spring evening, for example, this question presented itself, seemingly, inexplicably, out of nowhere: “Why do you have trouble with intimacy?”

I didn’t know where that question came from or what in the world to do with it. And frankly, it was easy for me to ignore it, to allow the distractions and busyness of my life to sweep it away. To get on with deadlines and laundry and walking the dog.

The question makes perfect sense now. I struggle to form intimate connections with friends and loved ones because I have not found intimacy with God. Because you see, our relationship with God is the foundation, the everything. All things — relationships, community, vocation, satisfaction — are built on that. My identity as a beloved child of God is everything. Without that, I have nothing. Without that, I am nothing.

I’d love to tell you I found everything I was seeking in Tuscany. I love to be able to wrap up this story all pretty with a big, shiny bow and a sigh of relief. But that’s not quite the case.

I do believe I was invited by God to that specific place at that specific time in order to go deep, deeper, perhaps, than I’ve ever gone before. I do believe my time in Tuscany was transformative. That’s what I’ve told people who have asked about my trip. “It was life-changing,” I say. And I mean it.

I just can’t quite see exactly how yet. But to know I was invited to Tuscany and wooed by God there is enough for now.

Filed Under: doubt Tagged With: Tuscany Writers Retreat

Weekend One Word: Sojourner

April 2, 2016 By Michelle

Sojourner

Hear my prayer, O Lord, and give ear to my cry…
For I am but a sojourner with you, a wayfarer,
as all my forebears were… (Psalm 39:12-13)

As you might know from reading this post, I just finished reading Addie Zierman’s new memoir, Night Driving. Addie and I could not have had more different faith journeys. She was raised evangelical and experienced a burning fire for God in her youth  – a fire that has since all but dimmed, if not at times been entirely extinguished. I, on the other hand, have bumbled through a lukewarm faith, at times wrestling through long, deep periods of outright unbelief.

Addie had the fire but lost it; I never had the fire, but can’t stop seeking it. Though we began at markedly different places, our paths have intersected.

As we’ve stumbled through our long darknesses, Addie and I have both come to realize something important. She puts it like this:

“Love doesn’t always look like romance and faith doesn’t look like fire and light doesn’t always look like the sun — and this matters.

Jesus is the Light of the world. In him there is no darkness, the Bible says. But there are so many different ways that Light manifests itself. It’s the pinks and oranges of a summer dawn. It’s the full, bright sun glancing off the wave tips of the ocean. The hazy winter starlight. The shivering, waning moon. The falling dusk, still glowing like a promise at the edges of the world.”

In other words, there is no “right” way to have faith. This is no “one” way. Faith ebbs and flows, turning like the seasons — petals, leaves, bare branches, buds. Faith can be bright as the midday sun, soft as dawn, faint as a single pinprick star in a black sky.

We are not in this world for long. We are sojourners – people who stay only temporarily in a place — and wayfarers – people who travel by foot, slowly, and at times, ungracefully, picking our way through the vast wilderness.  But we keep walking nonetheless, trusting that God is with us, no matter how brightly, or faintly, our faith lights the path ahead.

Filed Under: doubt, faith, psalms Tagged With: Addie Zierman, Psalms

What To Do When Your Kids Don’t Believe (Right Now)

October 7, 2014 By Michelle

Rowan in water

If you are popping in from the lovely Ann Voskamp’s place, welcome! I’m so glad you are visiting, and I hope you find a bit to enjoy around these parts. I am smiling at the opportunity to meet some new friends today, so feel free to say hello in the comments!

“I think I’m in a not-believing-in-God stage,” he declares, holding his fork high in the air over his dinner plate like Lady Liberty’s torch.

It’s an ordinary dinner hour.

The four of us sit around the dining room table, plates of mashed potatoes and meatloaf set before us on the polished oak.

The kid’s trying hard to sound nonchalant, but as I peer around the vase and meet his wide, unblinking eyes across the table, I can tell my son is afraid.

I lay my own fork down next to my plate.

I’m not sure I’m breathing.

The truth is, a declaration like this can stop you dead in your tracks, fork frozen mid-air…

…What I really want to do is jump up and down and shout, “I’m at Ann Voskamp’s place, I’m at Ann Voskamp’s place! ” but I will try to maintain a shred of dignity and simply invite you over to Ann Voskamp’s blog to read a guest post I am delighted to have over there today. Thanks, friends…

Filed Under: doubt, God talk: talking to kids about God, parenting Tagged With: Ann Voskamp, Spiritual Misfit, when your kids doubt

When a Spiritual Misfit Says Yes

July 31, 2014 By Michelle

DSC_0002(4)

For a long time I was waiting for the perfect moment to declare my faith: the moment when I had everything figured out, all my questions answered, all my faith ducks in a row. I’d always assumed my faith would “begin” when I felt a certain way and acted a certain way.

I was waiting for all the pieces to fall into place so I could declare, once and for all, without a shadow of a doubt, that I believed in God.

The problem was, I didn’t know what that “certain way” was supposed to look like. Many of my questions seemed downright unanswerable. And a lot of my pieces had jagged edges that didn’t seem like they would ever fit.

…I’m over at my friend Heather Mertens’ place today, and she has a really cool giveaway going on. I won’t give away all the details, but I will say this: Spiritual Misfit is going on a trip! See you over there…

 

Filed Under: doubt, Spiritual Misfit Tagged With: faith and doubt, Spiritual Misfit

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For as long as I can remember, I’ve been a Triple Type A, “make it happen” (my dad’s favorite mantra) striver and achiever (I’m a 3 on the Enneagram, which tells you everything you need to know), but these days my striving looks more like sitting in silence on a park bench, my dog at my feet, as I slowly learn to let go of the false selves that have formed my identity for decades and lean toward uncovering who God created me to be.

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