A Song of Reorientation

Disorientation, Reorientation. Feeling lost, discombobulated, confused, sucked into a whirlpool of chaos, followed by a turning right-side up again. We see this pattern over and over again in the Psalms--the psalmist will cry out to God from the midst of a vortex of pain, confusion and fear. He’ll cry to His maker “where are you?? When will you act? Why can’t I find you or hear you or see your face??” His honest, heart-wrenching prayers show us his lostness, in fact there’s an entire grouping of Psalms named by scholars “the Psalms of Disorientation.” These are some of my favorite passages in all of scripture, the prayers that give me permission to cry out to God in the midst of my own disorientation in life.

Thankfully, there is another grouping of Psalms that fill the prayer book of the bible. The Psalms of Reorientation--psalms and songs of praise that turn the confused and lost person back to face the One who is still in control. Prayers and poetry that reorients us and our lives, that helps us turn our faces back towards the One who reminds us that when we pass through the waters of life they will not sweep over us because God is our rock and our redeemer.

As we journey through life I’m learning that it can be difficult to stay oriented sometimes. Life feels chaotic. The world throws a lot at us. Disappointments arise and change occurs sometimes faster than we would care to see. This past year has felt like one giant spiral of disorientation for us. We began work at West Side on Jan. 18, and from day one we found our heads spinning with big events to plan, long-standing traditions to effectively pull off (and not “mess up” as we were told by numerous people), dozens of people to try and keep happy because they all believed themselves to be my husband’s boss, and a system of leadership and power that refused to engage in conversation about anything different, outside the box, or remotely new. By February we were exhausted, and that clear vision that we went in to this church with grew fuzzier and fuzzier. The swirling busyness around us kept us from being able to stay oriented to the vision of youth and family ministry God had given us in our time at Fuller. We found ourselves aimless, disillusioned, and doing everything we could to keep our heads above water. This isn’t to say God hasn’t done, and isn’t doing work within this community, but the way we have come to understand ministry, discipleship, outreach and worship were so vastly different from what was happening there that it became impossible to keep ourselves firmly planted.

The first weekend in June my girlfriends and I went out to spend the weekend on Whidbey Island to retreat away together. As my dear friend, Missy, and I were driving up the island looking for our turn off a song came on her ipod and she said “this is my song of reorientation.” I wasn’t sure what she meant by that and she reminded me of the Psalms--how there are psalms of disorientation and then psalms of reorientation that help us refocus in the midst of feeling lost. She said that this song had become her own personal “Psalm of Reorientation,” and that has stuck with me all these months. The song was called “Our God” and was recorded by worship artist Chris Tomlin. As I listened to the lyrics I found tears springing to my eyes. Life felt so painful at that time (we didn’t know this at the time but it was a week before our time at the church officially ended), and the lyrics of the song washed over my thirsty soul like a beautiful, moisturizing balm.

“Our God is greater. Our God is stronger. God you are higher than any other. Our God is healer, awesome in power, Our God. Our God.”

Simple words. But so true. In the midst of the swirling chaos around us we belonged to a God who was our healer, who was greater and stronger than any power structure, church system, or set of traditions that were thrown at us. As we’ve wrestled through the incredible pain of being abruptly asked to leave a church community, the pain of realizing we trusted people who betrayed us, the confusion of questioning our call to ministry, and the anger and disillusionment we’ve experienced being treated so poorly by someone we thought we could respect in ministry, this song has become a healing chorus for me. I’ve listened to it on repeat a lot, and I’ve come to a place where I am beginning to declare “yes, our God IS greater and stronger and higher and more powerful than anything going on in life.”

Fast forward a few months to October 23, our first Sunday in our new church community. We take our seats and wait for the announcements to be given before we rise to join together for our opening song. A familiar chorus begins to emerge from the pianist’s hands and then the words appear on the screen. “Our God is greater. Our God is stronger. God you are higher than any other...” Two Sundays in a row, our first two weeks here, this was our opening song in worship. Experience after experience has shown us that as we serve here, this place is meant to be a place of reorientation for us. We love it at this church, more than words could ever express. From the schedule and calendar that are in place for the youth department (SO much more manageable for the volunteers and staff!), to the way the senior pastor embraces change, worship, leadership and mentoring, to the refreshing messages we’re hearing every Sunday morning about being open to the Spirit and moving forward and doing church differently.

In the midst of a season of so much chaos and transition and pain we are finding ourselves beginning to feel our feet back on solid ground. We still haven’t moved into an apartment. Our belongings are still in Seattle. I still don’t have a doctor to deliver this baby in 8 weeks. We own nothing for this kiddo other than a box of clothes my grandma has sent. But we are okay with that (most days, some days I cry a lot!). We know that in the next 8 weeks things will continue to fall into place, but more importantly our souls are beginning to find rest. We’re finding ourselves coming out of the whirlpool of the past 10 months, we’re catching our breath, and we’re looking around saying “this feels right again.” Our God is faithful, just as he promised he’d be.