Happy Birthday

I recently celebrated my birthday. Every year I try to take some time out to reflect on the past year and pray for vision for the next year. For my 27th year (I am 28 now), most of my soul searching and fasting happened in the month leading up to my birthday. How did it all start? I began failing an online statistics class and I took a mid-week vacation! School has never been difficult for me. I have always earned the highest marks and I have never struggled to learn material. This one class, a class I had taken 11 years ago, brought me to my knees. As I grappled and fought with the material, I became aware of how foreign my own life felt to me. Ten years ago I would have scoffed at anyone who would have predicted me spending my life at a dull job, learning a dull subject in order to (be dull!) work hard at working hard for the rest of my life. Ten years ago, I was consumed by the desire to be in the Presence of the Lord every waking moment. All I wanted was to serve in His courts, travel His kingdom, and love His people. Ten years can really throw a person off of her mark.

I went up to Seattle and my heart was ready for whatever God wanted to do. I do not know why He chose to speak to me in the manner that He did, and I cannot even recount for you what He said, but He clearly wanted my full attention. My command? Stop everything. HALT! Be quiet, be still, be reverent. As soon as I returned from the landmark trip, I began to fast and pray. How could I bend my will to His? How could I turn my recalcitrant heart back to His? When would my earthly wants take a back seat to His heavenly provision? Wouldn't you think I would be happy? I was, and I was also so bitterly aware of the dissonance in my head and in my heart. Every formulaic prayer, every burning question came bubbling out of my lips...and again I was told to be quiet, be still, and be reverent.

Out of the fullness of my heart, I recall breaking down to my best friend, Tara, that I required her prayers. I did not know the direction my life needed to take; I simply knew that change was on the horizon. I confessed that a business degree needed to be put on hold. I said that all I wanted to do was to worship God, serve His church, reach out to His lost and dying, and to make connections with others of like mind. Tara looked me straight in the eye and said, "finally. I have been waiting for you to remember." My heart began to rest.

She sent me a present for my birthday yesterday, and it was the best present I received. She called it a dream inspiration pack. Her words are what blessed me most:

Gamle Vennen (old friend),
This gift is a little packet of dream-inspiration-dust. Use it liberally and immediately.
It was interesting to hear you've put your degree on hold to renew your focus on your passion to worship. My heart felt joyful at this news because I know it is the one thing that makes you feel most alive. When you are singing, you always seem the most happy, the most luminescent, and the most intimate with the Father...and the great thing about your beautiful lovsang (worship) voice is that it has that same effect on others!
So I encourage you, friend, to return to your first love for this season and see where the Lord will take you as you sing His praise.
May you silence all the nay-sayers and be obedient to the extreme limits of your flesh.
My favorite song on this album (ORU's Until the World Knows CD) is #10, The Elder's Song, Laura Cooke wrote it and signs it. It is so beautiful and powerful and haunting and I always think, "Shannon could write and worship like this!" So take up your pen and lock yourself away in the secret place and know that your biggest fans are cheering you on from over here in Tulsa.
Also, if you need a great, echo-y bridge to sing under, we have some of those...and also someone who is willing to do an accompaniment with you ~ particularly on any Norwegian songs! Happy Birthday & Happy Singing! Love, Tara

Thank you, thank you, thank you! This will no doubt be the most difficult time, most rewarding, most memorable, and most significant period of my life. Lord, You are welcome in this place, in my words, and in my songs!

Bruised, Battered, and Beloved

I can't stop the tears from coming. How could I possibly describe for you the two worlds I lived in when I was growing up? Words could never convey the deepest and darkest of emotions. My art could never capture the truth, so glaring and angry, of both worlds. My story is in chains.

If you have never lived with fear as your constant roommate and companion, you may not be able to follow me where I am going. This fear is what defined me as a child. I stood out from the rest of my family -- with my dreams, thoughts, and worries. From an early age, I remember walking around my front yard and wondering why we had a locked gate. From age 5 and on, it was a regular occurence for me to wake in the middle of the night because search helicopters were shining their lights on our property. At age 10, I was the last person up so that I could make sure our alarm system was armed. I cannot remember how many times I would jerkily awake when that system would start ringing in the middle of the night, or how hard I would pray when Dad would throw open the back door to see what was outside.

If you have never had to duck behind furniture because bullets are hitting your house, you may think that I was just a nervous child. The day that the bullets hit the window right behind my Mom, I understood that very little is guaranteed to us in this world. The bad dreams began and did not stop until I was well into my 20s. Always the intruders would be right outside, armed and violent, intent on hurting and destroying. Tums were part of my daily diet as I had horrible stomach aches every day. Finally, my Mom started coming into my room at bedtime and would pray out loud with me that I would not have a spirit of fear. Cars were stolen, our property broken into, our possessions damaged...my Dad was shot at several times from 15 feet away in front of the church I attended for most of my life. His truck was riddled with those bullet holes...but he was unscathed!!

There is no such thing as reverse racism. Racism is racism, whether it's white against black, asian against black, or black against white. The results are always the same: an impoverished mindset, anger, hatred, and pain. I can remember so many different conversations I heard growing up; I could never wrap my mind around them. I wanted to know how a skin color could predict a person's attitude and behavior. It worried me. I was the whitest person I had ever seen...did that make me evil and elitist? The many angry retorts I heard on the news about entitlement and the raw anger I saw in so many people's eyes made me nervous. I can remember telling the kids at school who claimed that my family had been slave owners that it was not possible. I tried to explain to them that my parents came to this country from Norway, a place that did not have African slaves. More than anything, I remember feeling that I was the one on the outside...like I did not, could not belong. I longed for peace and harmony with those children and the adults around me. Like a typical child, I kept my eyes and ears open, and my mouth tightly shut. As I grew older, a different type of attention followed me. Suddenly the men in my community felt that they had the right to say whatever they wanted to me. I was a stranger that they felt they were entitled to say vulgar obscenities to, the next moment to shout strings of curses and insults. I did not like going to the gas station because I hated how scared I felt and how rude I had to be (not make eye contact, ignore any man that tried to get my attention). When I washed my car out on the street, I kept our Rottweiler on a leash right beside me. Cars would come to a stop when they saw me and speed off as soon as they saw the dog.

That was one of the worlds I lived in. The other world is the one that negates that other world for most people. Many have joked with me that I grew up under a rock in Oakland. I laugh and offhandedly agree with them. I was not allowed to play on my street. I attended a private Lutheran elementary school until I was homeschooled from 6th grade and beyond. I had very little to do with the community existing outside of my front gate. People have said, "sure you're from Oakland. But you're not REALLY from Oakland. Come on, Shannon." They are correct. Though I experienced quite a bit more than the average little girl growing up, I did not have to endure even a fraction of the things that are common in Oakland. I never lost a family member to gang violence. I did not see a policeman abuse someone I loved. A bullet never took a family member. My father, though often not at home, was never in jail a day in his life. I was never stopped by authorities because I was the wrong color for that side of town. I was not physically or sexually abused. My parents were married until I was 20 years old. I never knew much want or hunger.

Why do the tears roll down my face? I don't live in Oakland anymore...so why am I thinking about this? Why does this still effect me to this day?

Today I ran across a brand new ministry set in the heart of Oakland. Shalom of Oakland. As I read about that ministry, my heart began to ache. The voices of the children, the eyes of the old...they all cried out to me. They need people to pray, to donate, to help, to volunteer, and to love all of the people in the communities within Oakland. I am a weak vessel. Even as my spirit jumps in agreement with this ministry, my body trembles with palpable fear. The four policemen that were shot and killed earlier this year were shot not even a mile away from the house that I grew up in.

How do I walk in the Spirit? When hatred looks at me in the face through another person, how do I refute it with Christ's pure love? How do I let go of my preconceived notions? How do I suspend my expectations and allow others to accept me just as I am? How can you heal the wounds inflicted on a group of people that are so deep?

I am a weak vessel. Jesus, come fill me.

Rebekah

Tomorrow is a new day. The very moment I open my eyes, I have a choice. I can either choose to align my heart with God's and bring life, reconciliation, joy, understanding and love to the people and the world around me, or I can choose the path of me. What does the path of me look like? Sooooo glad you asked! I took that path today, so I can intimately describe it.

Path of me:

Wake up. Grumble incoherently. Snooze a bunch, nudge my Bible under my bed with the arm carelessly slung over the side of my bed as I steal another 20 minutes of sleep from God, my job, and myself.
Hurriedly get ready, run out of the door -- try not to trip on the stairs in my heels. Jump in my messy car and drive about 15 miles over the speed limit on surface streets in order to get on the freeway and join the rest of Bay Area traffic. Impatiently tap my fingers on the steering wheel for the next half hour and sigh a lot. Depending on other drivers, perhaps yell "moron" at another driver or two.
Get to work. Slow down just enough to hug my coffee cup with both hands and jumpstart my system with Peet's House Blend coffee. Smile for the first time all day. Smile quickly vanishes as I read my emails, run reports, talk to clients, and forget all about the people all around me.
About 2 hours into my day, I feel vaguely irritable and can't figure out why. I say the first thing that comes to mind to my coworker. Usually it is snarky comment, sharp like a barb. Feel a little guilty. Pray for the first time -- interrupted about 5 seconds in with a phone call.
Fast forward 2 hours to lunch. Run out and grab something to eat, read a book for school or mill about San Ramon doing a bunch of nothing. Feel a sense of discomfort and disquiet.
Get back to work and insert foot in mouth with coworkers. Coworker(s) say something back that gets me angry. Stew for an hour or so.
Time to go home. Throw everything on my desk into the cabinet, lock everything and run to my car, try not to twist my ankle on the cement. Enter the chaos which is Bay Area traffic.
Get home. Waste entirely too much time on Facebook, look at apartments and jobs on Craigslist, plan vacations, etc. 2 hours go by. I finally pick up my school books to begin reading or take a test.
Stumble around the house, trip on my clothes and belongings that are all over the floor. Yawn and look at the clock. Freak out, need to go to bed! Hurriedly get ready and jump in bed.
As head hits the pillow, a still small voice asks, "do you want to talk?" And then I remember Him. Some nights I do. Some nights I reach over and turn off the lamp and shut my eyes hoping I can wake up early enough in the morning to say good morning to Him.

On days like this I think about Rebekah in the Bible. She had no idea what was going to happen to her the day that Abraham's servant came to her town of Nahor. Toward evening, it was the custom of the women of the town to draw water from the well just outside of the town. On this one day, she goes with the other women as usual. Other than noting the fact that she was beautiful and a virgin, the Bible does not note that she did anything remarkable as she approached the well to draw water to bring back for her family. The servant, who interestingly enough is not given a name, has been praying to the God of heaven to show him the woman he should bring back for Isaac to marry. He does not pray for himself, but instead prays that God would show kindness to Abraham by providing the wife for Abraham's son, Isaac. He asks specifically that the woman he asks to have a drink from would not only offer him to drink, but also water his 10 (TEN extremely THIRSTY travel weary) camels. This is not only kindness, this over above, turn the other cheek, hand your cloak off your back kindness.

Rebekah of course is the woman that fits the prayer list. What is remarkable about this? She was going about her business and following her usual customs. When the moment came for promise and destiny to meet real time, she did not falter. She was not even aware that spiritual balance was tipping in her favor -- that she was about to set in motion something that would effect all of eternity. Ready in season and out of season, she poured from the abundance of her heart and with the strength of her arms. Likely she had no thought for recompense or reward...

Every day I have the servants of Abraham come across my path -- praying for God's provision, God's hand and His heart here on earth. Oh Lord, that I would be like Rebekah! Give me a heart that seeks You and hands that willingly and skillfully serve others!