Yes, operator, I'd like a direct line to God, please.

So, circumstances lately have left me feeling a bit flustered. That's putting it lightly. But the pain of uncertainty has had me wondering if I should just walk away. And here I shall leave things vague.

Two weeks ago I went to church with this "situation" on my mind. I picked up a bulletin for the sermon and read the title, "Know When to Run."

Fantastic! Here was my answer. It was as if God had prepped me for what I knew the sermon was going to be about. We'd been going through a series called "Christmas Through the Eyes of Skeptics." This sermon was going to be about how after Jesus was born, Joseph and Mary had to get out of town because Herod was a psycho-baby-killer - I just knew it. I sat in my seat, secretly already preparing to thank the pastor afterward for delivering to me this God-sent message that it was time to get out of my "situation."

Right. Not so much...

"Know When to Run" was apparently secretly titled, "Christmas and the Wondering Shepherds," taken from Luke 8. Instead of, "get out of Dodge," the message I got from God was, "Come to Me." Instead of a concrete "stick with it" or "run like you want to do," I was told, "If you want peace, run to me. I will put you back together."

In the end, I'm not sure that this is about whether pursuing or deserting a certain relationship will make me happy or bring me peace. God brought me a third, unseen, forgotten option instead to bring myself and my situation before Him. Only He can heal the fragmentation of my heart.

This is no quick and easy "fix-it" answer. It's an invitation to do relationship with God, to sit with Him. This invitation takes longer and does not produce what I'm initially looking for, but it's so much more substantial than anything else that I could hope for.

And in the end, I think that's the better end of the deal - a true relationship with the Person of God, as opposed to a robot dispenser-God who only gives me what I want according to when I think I want it. His love, grace, and mercy abound even when I'm not aware of it.

* * *

Fast-foward a week. (Or, look back to this Sunday.)

Circumstances haven't changed much. Again, I go to church with a heavy heart, full of strife and tumult. The normal Encounter service which I attend was combined with the Celebration service in the main sanctuary for a combined "family" worship service.

I hardly wanted to be there.

I showed up late and throughout the service listened to people from different ministries get up and give testimony to what God was doing and how they'd seen Him at work. After each speaker sat down, the worship leader would begin, "The Lord is good" and the congretation would answer, "and His love endures forever." (Taken from 2 Chronicles and from Psalm 100).

"The Lord is good, and His love endures forever."

I wish I could say that I wholeheartedly agreed and that hearing the professions of those around me moved my heart to gladness and gratefulness, but the truth of the matter is that I've had a lot of pain to deal with. I sat in anger, silently refusing to open my mouth. But, as I heard the phrase repeated over and over, my stubbornness was overcome with the truth of the statement. God's goodness and His love is eternal. The presence of turmoil does not diminish that to any degree.

Finally, I opened my lips and let fall the words, "The Lord is good and His love endures forever. At first, I spoke out of mere obedience, but the more I said it, the more the truth sunk into my heart.

My point is this: that God meets you wherever you are. He doesn't always answer the questions and grievances of your heart in a way that you want or expect Him to. He is not governed by your desires. But His steadfast love and goodness endure for you and all generations.

Joy.

(I can't figure out how to format these pictures so that you can see them fully in this post, but if you click on them individually, you'll be able to see them enlarged for all of their full wonderfulness.)



I said this recently to a friend, and realized it's something I'd like to share:

I'm currently listening to the "Christmas Carols" Radio station on Pandora. I've really been craving the spiritual significance of those (hymnal) songs this Christmas season. The classical manner with which they're performed really hits on the holiness and sacredness of the season for me. They inspire just a bit of awe and a sense of peace in me...I love it. I just want to listen to it forever and let my soul soak it in.



Here we have what Christmas is about - Christ coming to earth. The gift of love.
Not consumerism or a fat little man in a red suit.
Innocence. Love. The battle and triumph of ultimate good over ultimate evil. Pain. Messy, organic love. Fear, Trust. Miracles. Beauty. Glory. Humility. God coming to earth. Peace. Comfort and Joy.




And this, I extend to you, my brothers and sisters this Christmas season:
Good tidings to you, for you and your kin. Glory to the newborn King! Oh, come, let us adore Him.



I wish you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!

Save me, Santa

The official music video to "I Believe" (which I wrote about in "Sing Along..." on Nov. 29) has been released. Here it is.

Divisible by 2

I have eleven more minutes to say this: Today it is my birthday.

I am now 24.

I think that Dec. 18th is an aesthetically pleasing date. It just sounds pretty.

*Update: ten more minutes.

flicker . thoughts

Observation: When you stare into a fire and let your eyes unfocus from looking at anything, the flickering of the embers makes them look like they move according to stop-motion animation.
Things aren't always what they seem.
(Experience: Even though a fire can make your skin hot, sometimes that quick heat isn't enough to take the chill out that has sunk down into your toes.)

I have felt frustrated, but not irate; critical, but not cynical. I feel uneasy about my last post because I think it toes a very fine line in this area, but I will not recall it. I take issue with behaviors, people, and institutions that promote the destruction of others (or the adoption of [self-]destructive behavior of others) not because I think that they are necessarily inherently evil in and of themselves, but because I do not like to see the ambiguous group of "others" hurt or so led astray by lies. I could probably work on being more gentle though. Am I making any sense?

The past three days have been difficult ones for me. Physically, I'm officially fighting a cold and emotionally - well, they've been a rough few days. Here's what I've come away with though...

As I sat on the floor, leaning against the wall with my knees hugged up to my chest while I cried, I couldn't help but wonder, "Where is God with me in this?" Sure, I know the concept that God mourns with those who hurt - that He shares the pain of His beloved, but I'm not sure that I really know it. I don't feel God crying with me. If anything, it feels more like I've done something wrong and God is sitting on the other side of a sterile white room cooly observing me, waiting for me to learn my lesson. Okay, I know that this isn't true...but when I can't feel God, it's hard to accept otherwise. My prayers become something a little more like Psalm 88, and even if what I learned about "pain revealing Christ's love for me" becomes a little bit more real, it's still a minimal improvement as my head and my heart fight against each other to acknowledge it.

I was recently pointed towards the story of Gideon as encouragement about feeling inadequate regarding whatever my future may be. I wasn't quite up to scratch in remembering Gideon's story, so I decided to re-read it. It's funny... About 4 o'clock AM, I read before work and had only a few minutes to get what I could. I speed-read while I waited in the dark parking lot for my coworker to show up so that we could start the opening shift. During that time God served me something great. In the dim lighting of a street lamp, I scanned the header, "Midean Oppresses Israel," and then moved on to "The call of Gideon." I read the first 5 verses before my coworker came, but that's all I needed. I absolutely love the opening: Israel is being absolutely thrashed by Midian...enter our character in Judges 6:11-13:

11 Now the angel of the Lord came and sat under the terebinth at Ophrah, which belonged to Joash the Abiezrite, while his son Gideon was beating out wheat in the winepress to hide it from the Midianites. 12 And the angel of the Lord appeared to him and said to him, “The Lord is with you, O mighty man of valor.” 13 And Gideon said to him, “Please, sir, if the Lord is with us, why then has all this happened to us? And where are all his wonderful deeds that our fathers recounted to us, saying, ‘Did not the Lord bring us up from Egypt?’ But now the Lord has forsaken us and given us into the hand of Midian.”

The angel of the Lord shows up, tells Gideon that the Lord is with him, and Gideon's response is, "Oh yeah? Then why does life suck so much?" I identify with this guy so much, it's almost shameful sometimes.
And yet, for all that (and more)...God uses him in mighty ways (as the rest of Judges 6, 7, and 8 testify).

So I'm left with this disconnect between my heart and my head that God loves me, that He doesn't abandon me for "not being good enough," and that He goes through the pain with me - not apart from me. I guess it's just up to the Holy Spirit to work with me to get that head knowledge to seep down into my heart...

Sing Along...

Well, the turkey has been put away and we're officially in the count-down for Christmas! We started the rush towards "holiday spirit" so nicely, too, with the manic rush to "get the good deal" on Black Friday. (I'm just glad that I haven't heard anything about anybody getting trampled this year.) As Christmas gets closer, I'm looking forward to parking lot rage as people fight over parking spots - motivated by last-minute shopping panic. (I am reminded during this time how glad I am that I no longer work at the mall.)

However, now that the day dedicated to giving thanks is over and out of the way, at least we have the release of holiday music to play a constant soundtrack for us in the growing mania.

My particular favorite is "Christmas List" by Simple Plan. This song is great. It's upbeat and (more importantly) it's culturally honest. I respect that.

I'm not sure if the song is satirical or serious, but either way I like it. (Although I like to think it's the former over the latter.) It's also really fun to sing.

A few songs after hearing "Christmas List" play, "I Believe", sung by Kermit the Frog and Tiffany Thornton started playing. (Thank you, Radio Disney, I guess I caught the premier release of the duet. The music video comes out December 8th.) My speakers are basically junk so musical clarity wasn't exactly something I was given, but I was caught by the possibility of some theological hunger that I heard in the lyrics:

What makes a miracle?
What makes a Christmas dream come true?
How can a man in red change the world I thought I knew?
How can there be miracles if hearts are filled with doubt?
It's time to leave the doubt behind and find out what life's about.

I believe in a wondrous place they call the imagination.
I believe in a childhood world of hope and celebration.
I believe in the miracle of love.
Because
Oh yes, I believe in Santa Clause.

At this point, I turned off the radio. The song continues in the usage of religious terms to describe a magical, imaginative god in a red suit. I guess we prefer him to the real thing, because we can control him.

Here's a sample of the song. Look for the duet (which has more developed lyrics) in about a week. If you'd like to listen to the song before then, you can YouTube "Tiffany Thornton 'I Believe'" for some really poor quality videos.


A few years ago, I stumbled across a lovely little ditty called, "All I Want for Christmas is to Get it Crunk," by Dirty Boyz. With a title like that, I don't think I need to go into the lyrics to explain what the hip-hop song is about or to describe the moral caliber sung about. However, the song caught my attention not only because it was a direct slap in the face to what every Hallmark Christmas card tried to paint the holiday season as and not just because it was the first song that seemed to honestly confess consumerism as the driving motivator behind "celebrating." To me, the song is one of those that highlights the purpose of the season in that it absolutely points to the need for a savior (while Christmas answers the need - celebrating that the Savior came to the earth). Don't get me wrong - I don't recommend that we go out and start listening to trashy "Christmas" music that is ridden with sex, consumerism, and narcissism...but this song in particular caught my attention.

But maybe this is the result we get when we look for Santa to save us. We reject believing in the love and the gift of Christ, who paid for our sins with His death on the cross. Instead, we "believe" in a man in a red suit, who gives us goodies according to if we are good enough or not.

To clarify, I'm not anti-Santa Clause. I absolutely love the Christmas season. I just think that when we see the selfish, frantic, panicked, guilt-ridden symptoms of a society that has chosen "Santa Clause" to be god (the reason for the season), then the obvious cure is to dump the old god and perhaps return to the old stand-by. Personally, a Christmas inspired by God and producing a time of wonder, thankfulness, and meditation on what Love really is appeals to me a lot more. Sorry, Santa Baby, but you just ain't cuttin' it.


And now I need to go to the mall...

Nancy the Truck Attempts to Thwart a Red Light

So I sat at the red light, my foot pressed down on the break pedal. However, it wasn't pressed down enough to keep the engine from engaging. Almost imperceptibly, the idle strained against the breaks - but to no avail. All that resulted was a gentle push as the truck's tires failed to move forward. However, I noticed the attempt at movement and pushed my foot down harder.

For all of the effort and energy spent towards moving, nothing happened.

Sometimes, I feel like my life is that way.

Laughing

So, I saw this a few days ago (and I remembered seeing or hearing it once in Memphis when my attention was partially distracted). I now can't get it out of my mind. I don't know where Ms. Spektor is at spiritually, but I think this song has a lot of merit as far as it provides commentary on our society. (And perhaps on ourselves?)
Oh, and I think the song is pretty, too.

Hurt

Here's an outline of how my thought process went the other day while driving home:

~ As to why pirates are cooler than ninjas.
~ A comparison of the Pirates movie(s) to Batman
~ The Dark Night
~ Heath Ledger
~ Heath Ledger's untimely death and how saddened I was by it. Man, I had such a huge crush on him.
~ The drug overdose of Ryan, a kid I went to school with from elementary school up through high school, when he died.
~ Why is it that we care more about the famous people who die than the everyday individuals who hurt?

I wanted to pray for their souls, but part of me felt like it was too late. They're already gone. But then I got to thinking about C.S. Lewis and prayer...and only God knows the state of a person's heart...

And I don't think God would mind me praying for others anyway.

So, I did. And that is all.

I wound up with Sodom and Gomorrah

I finished this today. It's funny how naming something can sometimes be the hardest part. My other working titles were "One Righteous for the Unrighteous" and "The Scales of the Cross." I couldn't decide on which to go with, and Lauren suggested, "How about 'Sodom and Gomorrah'?" Perfect.


I painted this for the Paradigm Shift, the college group at church. We've been going through various aspects of prayer and this particular topic looked at Abraham speaking with boldness and with holy reverence to God over the fate of Sodom and Gomorrah.

In Genesis 18 Abraham basically bartered God down to spare the city, but never asked Him to spare it for the sake of one righteous person because he recognized God's heart and realized that there were none in the city. (Wow, that's a run-on.) The idea was then raised - would God spare the many unrighteous for the sake of the one righteous? The answer is found in the cross.

I love that song

Sometimes I feel like I'm a wild horse. I'm not looking for anybody to break me - I just want somebody to run with.

Parallel to the things we do

See these little guys? They're cute, huh?
(Okay, I'm well aware that this is not a cute or "artsy" picture, but I can let that go if you can.)

They're a variety of bird called Button Quail. When I took this picture, they were the same size as the length between the tip of my thumb to the first knuckle. They're about the same width too. They grow faster than corn and evoke squeals of delight and an exclamation of, "Oh how CUTE!" from most females.

After admiring the adorable little figure of the tiny birds, most people are quite surprised when I tell them that the birds are absolutely vicious.

"Really?"

Yeah. Really. Here's an example: the mothers commit infanticide. We actually have to incubate the chicks because a few days after hatching, the mother will kill them. It's quite disturbing. We had it happen once. The chicks huddled under her for warmth. She reached under her, grabbed them by the leg, and then flung them across the cage. The little chicks die if their legs break - not like they die instantly...exposure, lack of food, inability to get to water...that's what gets 'em. The mother also dealt out some harsh pecks. Naturally scared of the "predator" out to get them, the chicks ran back to their mother for protection. It was a sick cycle.

...And that's why we now raise the chicks ourselves with a heat lamp.

Okay, but the point is - if the response to the awful behavior of seemingly adorable little birds is one of shock and (mild) horror, what about our behavior as humans towards one another? ...We who carry the image of God upon us.

I'm just thinking about how we treat each other...or have the capacity to treat one another. While I don't think God is shocked or surprised, I do think it hurts His heart and I can't help but see the parallel.

Wakey, wakey!

A friend shared this with me a few days ago. I still think it's funny.

Top Ten Most Annoying Alarm Clocks

Honestly now

Okay, honestly - it was a really hard week. And my heart hurts. I'm not sure exactly where the wounding came from, but I think a lot of it had to do with the silence - from my brother and from the distance I felt from God. Abandoned. I felt unwanted.(Having my phone completely die on my during the trip proved to be the icing on the cake of isolation.)

What a sweet relief tonight to learn about laments in prayer. In the silence, our pain - my pain - points to Christ. It points to the Cross. "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" I am reminded of Christ's love. He is majestic. What a blessing that He is with me in the midst of it - even when I don't feel Him.

My pain helps me better understand how much God loves me. Woah.

Weather Report

Jon and I walked down to Sun Studios and took a tour today. It was fun. And while Jon called it a "tourist trap" but patiently humored me by paying for both of us to take the tour, I very much enjoyed myself.

Coming back, we shed our jackets and sweaters in the sun, but we never really got hot. The air felt warm with a crisp edge of coolness to it as if to say, "Enjoy this. Fall is on its way."

I seriously think I might be in love with the bread factory. The scent of fresh baking bread hangs tantalizingly in the air whenever I walk by and often it wafts down to the street around the apartments. Today smelled like yeast. A few minutes later the scent changed and I told my brother, "It smells like fresh donuts - like when they cook them in the oil." He didn't say anything in response, but I decided to take his silence as agreement since - technically - no response was needed, I suppose.

There's something about this city. I had decided a few days ago that I probably didn't like it here. I would certainly never live here. But there's something beautiful...amidst the brokenness and the urbanity...something that calls to me. It's as if Memphis has a secret that it's waiting to show me if only I'll give it the chance and get to know it better.

I've never been in a city like this one before. It's not dirty like L.A. It's not destroyed like New Orleans. A few minutes drive leads to autumn-changing forest, tree-lined roads, and green fields. The fingers of the country reach into the city and refuse to lessen their grip amidst the broken windows of abandoned factories and the lots overgrown with weeds. There's a richness. Maybe it's the music that carries the city. The blues express the longings of the soul.

Life is hard here. It feels spiritually exhausting. My brother told me earlier, in reference to the casual nature with which the Christian life seems to be widely approached, "Welcome to the Bible Belt." But God isn't gone. He hasn't abandoned this city. He is just as near as He ever is, simply waiting with open arms for His beloved to turn to Him and His embrace. (I am completely referring to myself as much as anybody else, at this point.)

Jon and I went on an adventure to the mall late this afternoon to get ourselves "snap belts," as called by the girl behind the counter who sold us our buckles at Sun Studios. (The purchase of our buckles at the studio inspired our quest for accompanying belts.) The clouds started to roll in with an abundance of texture as the sun hung lower in the sky. Brilliant pink and orange mixed in the blue sky as white light broke through the clouds and smeared the gray billows. I stared out the car window window over his shoulder and marveled at the strength and gentleness of the wonderful beams that I could only describe as "God's glory." Tonight, the rain returned.

I was told today that I needed to experience the autumn weather so that I could describe it to others unfortunately unable to do so. So, here's my weather report: cloudy with a chance of hope.

Memphis Fall

Maybe this is what autumn is supposed to feel like. I’ve been sitting here, staring out the window, nestled into a broken lazy boy chair while watching the glow fade on the brick walls of the apartment buildings across the street as the sun sets. Yesterday it rained and today the clouds hang heavy in the sky, hanging even heavier and lower in the evening like an overly ripe crop ready for harvest.

I’m graciously being allowed to stay in the apartment of four skinny musicians – my brother being one of them. Together, he and I have walked down streets, sidewalks, and grassy hills as my newly purchased, gently used, Converses slap the ground. I’ve never jay walked so much before in my life. A layered super coat of two hoodies and a thin jacket keep the chill out and I bury my hands into the outer jacket’s pockets to secure the belongings there, to keep my hands warm, and to attempt assuming the stature of one who lives in Memphis. I’ve been here two days and I’m already tired of being stared at. I didn’t realize it was so obvious that I’m not from around here. My brother and I avoid sketchy alleyways and everyday I begin to become a little bit more familiar with the vibe of this city. However, I cannot seem to help looking people in the eyes and I am usually rewarded the smile or nod I offer with one in return. This is a strange city.

The trees are just starting to turn color and hints of gold or bright red tinge the edges of leaves. The smell of fresh bread from the Wonderbread and Hostess Factory floats tantalizingly through the air. I asked if they gave tours but was told, “no, they don’t do that anymore.”

So, I settle for a large mug of hot tea and watch the lights turn on in apartment windows as outside the late afternoon sky fades to night. This is a hard city – rich with culture – “the home of blues and the birthplace of rock and roll” – but also a depressed one. A sense of struggle hangs in the air – of beauty and life trying to desperately overcome the oppression and mediocrity that could push the soul into hopelessness. Well, it is a city, after all and I, for one, cannot shake the excitement and sense of anticipation that I hold with each new brick, abandoned building, change of weather, or autumn-tinged tree I discover.

The Reality of Pain

It’s funny how pain can cut right through the mediocrity of life. Similar to beauty, it causes us to freeze, intake an involuntary gasp of breath, and sometimes shed a few (or several) uncontrolled tears.

However, we’ve become so accustomed to beauty that we often take it for granted. Or we try to twist and warp it so that we can force it to conform to our utilitarian standards.

Pain does not politely wait to be acknowledged though. It rudely intrudes at the worst moment possible – just when life was going well, when we had gotten comfortable with our routine…sleepily going through the motions of an otherwise stagnant life – void of risk, pause, or refreshment.

My step-grandpa had a stroke today. While I’m not very close with him, I know him to be a very warm, social man. He would rather risk reintroducing two people to each other five times over than to have them possibly not know one another. He loves getting people (especially family) together for what he calls “parties.”

What a shock to find out that he had a stroke today – a stroke that has left him partially paralyzed on one side of his body.

Pain makes you realize the value and fragility of life.

I hung upside down tonight, trying to stretch out an uncomfortable area in my back, and did something wrong. Out of nowhere, blinding white pain stabbed, like a hot knife, across my lower back. I have no idea what I did in that moment. I only remember the vivid, sensory memory of pain. Everything in life came to a freezing halt as reality viscerally intruded and utterly destroyed any thoughts of mediocrity.

I struggled to breathe. I gulped in a deep breath of air, trying to release the tension in my body, and opened my eyes, surprised to see the ground spotted with tears I wasn’t aware I had cried. My friend helped support me, and only when I clung to her did I realize how wet my face was.

Beauty inspires life and creation while pain makes you realize your inability to do life on your own.
Both make you realize that there is something bigger in life than “self.” Both can reveal the other. Both teach and inspire. Both are real.

So, I haven't posted here for a while (okay, so a long while) but here's what I've been up to as of late (well, the past 3 or 4 days):

Parking Lot Theology

I've said this before, but I need to own this thought - not that it's mine exclusively, but I need to identify with it. Writing seems to help me do that. It's sort of a public declaration. I have no clever or smooth introduction, so I suppose I'll just say it (correct me if I'm wrong):

One cannot love God without also loving others. To put it another way, if you don't love others, you don't love God.

I stood in the parking lot of the church with a friend two nights ago and we discussed theology until the wee hours of the morning. It was so refreshing - edifying - restorative.

I brought up John 3:16:
"For God so loved the world, that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life." He reminded me that the response (and therefore purpose) of this verse is the glorification of Christ. Agreed. However, look at the reason for God sending His Son - it's out of His love for the world - for His creation.

John 3:17 continues, "For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him."

God's purpose was one of redemption - a restoration of relationship of us to Him. His glory was revealed out of love. You sacrifice for the things that you care about. And God sacrificed the most.

Loving God brings you into a closer relationship with Him. As hearts become closer, they become more unified. They become one. I think it's like this in our human relationships, too. Couples care about the interests of their beloved. As they come together, she might find out that she enjoys soccer and he might discover that going to tea is actually fun. This is a poor example because it's a flawed shadow of what our relationship with God is like, but I think it points in the right direction.

As we grow in our relationship with Christ, our hearts become more and more like His through the continuing process of sanctification. Thus, if we say that we love God we should also be loving people.

But what does that look like? Love is not just a feeling. In acting classes that I took during college we were told, "acting is not feeling something, it's doing. You have to show it." Love is an action. It's a choice. It's something we decide to do even when we don't feel like doing it. It's putting the needs and wants of another before our own (John 15:12-13). It's sacrifice.

It's risky. It's reckless. It means calling out for justice in a mindset of mercy (look at Micah). It's done through community. Love requires relationship, so it's not something that you can do alone.

The Church provides that community of love. But let's be honest - the Church is far from perfect. And how could it be? It's comprised of a bunch of broken, flawed people. But that's the way it was designed to be. The Church is like a hospital - you don't go there expecting to see a bunch of healthy people. Yet, those in the hospital have realized their need for help, their inability to heal themselves. The purpose of a hospital is to bring about the restoration of health. Similarly, the purpose of Church, through the power of the Holy Spirit, is to help bring about the restoration of relationship - to God and to one another. That's not to say that the hospital (or Church) should be chaotic. Mentally unstable people are not let out of the psych ward to go wandering about at free will. Similarly, there is discipline and boundaries within the Church.

Peoples' lives rub up against one another creating friction, revealing our rough spots that still need working out. And that's what community does. But out of love, we realize that we are all fallen. We are all sick. We are all rough. And so we love eachother. But we don't love out of our own power. There is nothing about you or about me that is so great that it deserves to be unconditionally loved. But God's love transforms our hearts so that we can grow to love others as He loved us - unconditionally.

And those are my thoughts. Loving God produces a love for others. It has to.

Fish Song

First off, I'd just like to say that I love working at my dad's house. I get to be with people whom I love, I get to do activities that allow my mind to wander, I get to rest while working hard, and I've been listening to my Pandora station of The Three Tenors (although currently I'm visiting the Coldplay Station). It's beautiful here. And I get to do a lot of processing...

So today as I was scrubbing paint over spray off of the kickboard in the bathroom with Krud Kutter and a toothbrush, I started thinking about salmon. I have no idea where the thought came from. I wasn't even listening to music to put the idea into my head, but it invited itself nonetheless.

Here's what impresses me about salmon:
~ They are born in freshwater, live in saltwater, and then return to the freshwater to spawn.
~ When spawning, they return to the same place that they were hatched - sometimes/often swimming upstream against currents of force to get to the location.
~ They generally die within a few days of spawning.

These fish are amazing.

The last fact has always caught my attention. While my initial response may be some cynical joke along the lines of, "and that's why we say 'no' to kids," I realized something kind of beautiful today. Scriptures say that it's a picture of Christ.

The whole purpose of these fishes' lives is to give life. And while I can't exactly say that these fish are motivated by love, I cannot help but notice that collectively, an individual dies so that others may live. This isn't a passive decision. This isn't just bad luck - a "well, you got picked in the lottery, so sucks to be you" kind of sacrifice. It's active - something brought about by the fish's actions to bring about life.

That's really neat.

So, if the whole purpose of a fish's life is as such (evidenced by what they die for), then how much more amazing does that make the actions of Christ?
While fish may act out of instinct, that beautiful component of love is central to the divine love story found in the cross.

Monshers of Reckless Abandon

Here's how working in the garden went for me yesterday (well, two days ago now):

A wonderful little two-and-a-half year old came running at me from across the yard, blonde hair flying and hazel eyes full of joy. I was either half bent over in a rose bush, trying to cut out a sucker...or I was completely squatting under the plant (it's hard to remember exactly because this happened a coupe of times).

"Beppa Boo!" she cheered as she came to a stop and gripped her hands into either my back pockets or into the top of my jeans - whichever suited her fancy on the various trips she took to see me during her flight around the yard.

With the back of my jeans firmly in her grasp, my favorite little person then brought her teeth down over one of my back pockets and "bit" me. "Beppa Boo, I a monsher and I eating you!" she informed me.

"Oh...yep!" was about all I could say each time as I stood there with a pair of clippers in one hand and a very large rose branch in the other - doing my best to focus on breathing deeply so that I wouldn't betray how much she was tickling me or how ridiculously cute I thought she was. Also, if I squirmed, I was likely to wind up face-first in a rose bush. To say the least, the experience was super cute, very funny, and tickled like crazy but I couldn't let onto that because to wiggle out of her grasp and laugh would only encourage the behavior.

And let's be realistic: although having a two year old grab you by your jeans and bite your butt while informing you that she's a monster that's eating you is really funny and charming when you're in the backyard, that sort of behavior isn't typically embraced too much in public. As children age and come to "know better" this sort of behavior is also discouraged. So, I treasure it for now.

I love watching young children because they are free from many of the constraints that society has placed on them. They are free to laugh, explore, be silly, play, and love without further thought. They don't feel the pressure of not fitting in. If they understand that they are loved, then that's all that matters. Everything else in life follows for them to pursue with every ounce of energy in their little bodies.

I think maybe that's what Jesus meant when he said that we were to become like little children. We are called to a relationship with him where we wants us to understand how unreservedly he loves us - unconditionally, no exceptions. And in the depth and security of that love we are free to live our lives as passionately as little children who just saw a butterfly for the first time. We are free to marvel, to love extravagantly, and to take bold risks - to loosen the shackles of our insecurities, and to live in the knowledge that we are being watched over by One who has the power to protect us even in the face of real "monshers." We can experience wild, reckless abandonment to joy.

Kathryn conquers the "dinoshwawr".

Good.

So, I dunno...I graduated, what - about two and a half weeks ago?

I'm still writing thank you letters. It's a good thing to do.

I moved home. It's a good place to be. My brother came home about a week after I graduated, and it's really nice to see him. Today I went out to lunch with a friend and then came home and just sat with him as he changed the oil in his car.

The whole point of me writing right now is because as I'm sitting outside writing my thank you notes with the intention of keeping him company while he washes his car, my cat decided that my lap would be a good place for her to occupy.

She circled around the legs of the plastic lawn chair, looking for a good entry. She settled on her target and jumped.

It was really funny. There wasn't much room for her and she ended up sitting on my keyboard (the list of people to thank are on my computer). Although my leg is now slightly scratched, I thought it was pretty funny, and for some reason, leaving a little, silly, inconsequential blog seemed like a good thing to do.

I'm in the process of pursuing some really exciting dreams of mine with a few dear friends.

And it's good.

After today...

I am now a college graduate.

Mr. Bumble

Okay, this is not to trivialize my last post or anything, but this makes my heart smile, so I thought I'd share it. (Call me nostalgic, if you will.)

Here's another blog post I found the other day:

Wednesday, September 27, 2006

Mr. Bumble and me
Current mood: hopeful

"I love my Mr. Bumble. I brought him home with me from Singapor. Although some ignorant people may say that he is a monkey, I happen to know that he is a Bumble-Bee-Dog. Be informed."

here's why Mr. Bumble is great:

1. he says that going to Vanguard will be great and exciting and that he's going to go with me just to make sure.
2. he's good at cuddling.
3. he has amazing fashion sense.
4. everybody knows that dogs are extremely loyal.
5. i can tell him my secrets and he doesn't tell them to others.
6. he likes hugs.
7. he's squishy. (not just anyone can be squishy and not gross simultaneosly.)
8. he makes me smile.

*say that he's a monkey and i will end you!

hahaha - no, but seriously though...




Back to today:
Mr. Bumble has come to school with me every year. Although he's lived in a drawer in my desk all this year, the 8 reasons above still apply. Add one more: he loves me even though I'm graduating as a spinster. So, many thanks to Mr. Bumble for his steadfastness and loyalty all these years at Vanguard.

Bumble, this one's for you.

Final.ly

So, I just took my last final. Granted, I still have make-up forum posts to do for my English 466 class (freaking elective - who does that!?), but still...

I just took my last final. Ever.

It's funny - I don't know that I've ever had a week of finals that was so busy and full of challenges. And yet, I think I've handled them really, really well...all things considered. So, now that I've had a moment to breathe...

Wow, this is it. I'm done with school. How many years of my life have gone into this? Let's see, starting with pre-school, kindergarten, grades 1-12, five years of college...19 years. Wow, I've spent 19 years of my life in school.
And I loved it.

So, this is bitter sweet. I'm really going to miss school. I've loved learning. I walked out of my final today, got on my bike and rode around a campus that I'm saying goodbye to. It felt like one of those beautiful days in summer camp where part of the beauty of the day came from its transitory nature. It's fleeting. And in that, there's a subtle, quiet, peaceful, slightly melancholic beauty. I can feel God with me. I can see Him in His creation, and I can feel Him whispering to my gently grieving heart. The sun is warm, the air is soft, a butterfly jigs across my vision. I'm grieving the passing of something I knew, but I'm celebrating a race well run.

And now there's the future. It's unknown. I don't know what I'm going to do with my life, but I'm excited about it. I have a passion for beauty, for art, for people, for emotion, for God...and for the church. I want to do something that involves all of it.

It's a beautiful day.

So, I'm thinking about seminary. It's a thought that's been there as of last night, but I'm thinking about it. Fuller Seminary offers an MA in Worship Theology and the Arts. Maybe Here?

It's a beautiful day, it's a beautiful day. And hello, and goodbye, and it's a beautiful life. Thank you.

Self-Fufilling Prophecy

Soooo, I was browsing through my old myspace blog posts in search of something that I wrote a few years ago, and I stumbled across this post from Wednesday, September 06, 2006:




cats, LOTS of cats...
Current mood: amused

okay, so i've been going to Vanguard for a week now and I'm not engaged yet...

I guess that means that I'm doomed to graduate as a spinster...

;)

Currently reading:
Much Ado About Nothing
By William Shakespeare
Release date: 01 May, 1995




...Dang it. I guess this is one of those things where I say, "I went to college and all I got was this lousy degree." Heh, heh, heh. ;)

Somewhere out there, there's a big world with an ocean, beach, and grey skies...

It's 6:13pm and I'm still in my pajamas. I woke up at 11am today, ate an apple and my left-overs from my celebratory dinner Mimi's Cafe after my Senior Recital.

Lunch included crackers and a Snicker's Bar. My neck is really, really stiff and I feel pretty gross from sitting in relatively the same position all day.

However,

I think I just finished my Contemporary Literary Theory paper, and I feel pretty good about that. Of course, I think I'll feel even better about it after I've had a shower. I think then I'll come back and review it.

I don't know that this entry really has any significant importance, but I thought I'd share about it since it isn't everyday that I feel like an academically-induced sloth.

Today is May 1

1. I graduate in 8 days.
2. I performed my senior project last night. It went soooo well! God is good.
3. I'm trying to write a paper right now.
4. I have another paper to write after I'm done with this one.
5. I have a lot of extended dead-lines that I was graciously given by my professors.
6. I have a final project due Monday.
7. I have finals next week.
8. I graduate a week from tomorrow.
9. I have Theatre Awards Banquet tonight.

Wow.

Life is changing so quickly.

Yes...23 is a good age to be.

Lovely

–adjective

1.	charmingly or exquisitely beautiful: a lovely flower.

2.	having a beauty that appeals to the heart or mind as well as to the eye, as a person or a face.

3.	delightful; highly pleasing: to have a lovely time.

4.	of a great moral or spiritual beauty: a lovely character.

–noun

5.	Informal. a beautiful woman, esp. a show girl.

6.	any person or thing that is pleasing, highly satisfying, or the like: Every car in the new line is a lovely.

–adverb

7.	Nonstandard. very well; splendidly.

I looked this up the other night...I didn't know that the definition would make me so happy. :)

This is life...

and it's beautiful.

~ Irish breakfast tea
~ a joint-effort snack of cheddar cheese and wheat thin crackers
~ "I need to wear that beanie...it'll help me write my paper."
~ theological discussions
~ reading quotes of literary value
~ art and painting and discussions thereof
~ "I finished another painting!"
~ talks about wonderful boys
~ "okay, I need to focus now..."
~ good music provided by the Coldplay station on Pandora...
~ "I LOVE this song!"
~ the felt presence of the Holy Spirit

what a beautiful, joyful, life-filled all-nighter. I don't think I've ever had one this good before. I was happy to do it.

God is so good.

fight.

Do you ever feel like you're in a situation that just careens out of control like a train running down a mountain with failed breaks? Disaster is imminent: the train will jump the tracks at the next bend or it will crash into the stone side of the crag leaving a messy product of blood, sprawled limbs, and destroyed bodies. What started out as a slow and steady climb ended in death.

That's kind of what tonight felt like...

except that God showed up and saved the day.

Okay, so I'm normally a girl who likes to avoid conflict but tonight we had to deal with it. Things weren't looking good and I had just about all but given up...

and then a miracle. I don't know what happened, but I do know that there was a turn-around.

So many thanks to Ashley for being that lion of justice and for coming alongside of me and pursuing reconciliation.

So...the story ended differently. Just as the train was about to dive off the cliff at the bend in the tracks, that Holy breakman showed up and saved the day - errr, night.

This is poorly written, but I need to settle. It's strange, I've carried all this tension around with me, and now it's gone. But there's now a vacuum.

It's like a tumor: it starts out small and then grows larger and larger until it bulges under the skin with its tendrils sneaking into vital organs. Through a touchy, risky surgery, the cancerous mass is removed and the patient is saved. But a hole is left where the mass once grew and the patient has to relearn how to be comfortable being healthy.

So...that's where I'm at right now. It's a good place. It's a little unsettling, but oh I am so glad to be here.

I'm breathing free, thank you Jesus.

Okay, now I have a paper to write...

A loan means you have to give it back...

If something was never mine in the first place, then "losing" it is no longer as big of an issue, right?

Just a few thoughts before I visit the land of sleep and dreams...

1. Today was Easter. I was left with an awareness of my absolute need for Christ. You'd think that on the ONE DAY when I'm "supposed" to be a good Christian, I would be able to do it...
huh, who knew that I was only human after all?
God is so good though. So absolutely good.

2. They were right. 23 is good.

3. I found this a few days ago. I absolutely love the story-writing technique here. It's magical: Read about a journey to Iceland

Rejoice! I can't say it enough.

Yesterday was Good Friday. In less than 2 hours it will be Easter.

Today was a delicious, beautiful gift of resting.

Life is hectic, but the Lord provides in ways that only He can. Life is dangerous...but what a beautiful adventure.

God is good.

Amen.

I'm running away from my Theology of Aesthetic paper...

I don't remember the specifics of our conversation, but I know what we were talking about. She had her back to me and was saying something sarcastic in a teasing manner. She turned around and saw the look on my face - on the brink. "Don't cry," she comforted, "you're too cute to cry." Too late, and a few large tears escaped down my cheeks.
There are people in my life whom I miss very much right now. This whole giving-it-to-God-and-praying-for-wisdom-thing is really hard. But I know it's good. And that's all I got.


On an entirely different topic, I've been thinking about inner struggles. Everybody has them. For me, it feels like there's a dragon inside that I sometimes have to just do battle with. It's a savage screaming and clawing inside. Those inner monsters - we try to suppress them and forget about them, hoping that maybe, just maybe they'll go away. But they never do. I just heard "Little House" by the Fray:

Something is scratching it's way out
Something you want to forget about

I just love the honesty of the song and how it reminds me that I still have "ish" in my life that I have to deal with. I'm not perfect. Here's a reminder - a song that even when I hear it, it stirs up feelings of strife in my heart. It's not that I want to go smash a wall or anything...it's more like I feel that "scratching" inside - a screaming - a desperate digging to get out. It's vicious.
And you know what? I'm so glad for it. Now don't get me wrong, I think I'd much rather prefer to be peaceful and serene at all times, but it reminds me to run to Christ. I need Him so much in my life.

...and now back to my paper.

Think before you speak...and then maybe say it anyway. (Oh Lord, I am a silly girl.)

So yesterday morning as I was getting dressed, I had an epiphany that I shared with my roommate:

"I really hope that I don't get in an accident today because I'm wearing a pair of really ratty underwear."

"What?"

"Well, you know...sometimes when you get into accidents the EMTs cut open you pants, and that would just be really embarrassing because I'm wearing really ratty underwear today."

After listening to her laugh at me for about 5 minutes, I mulled over my statement and realized that if I got into an accident where the EMTs had to cut open my jeans, I would probably have bigger problems than the state of my under garments...

Thankfully (for many reasons - big and small), under God's protection yesterday, I remained accident-free.

Blind Truth

I've been pondering relationship lately. There's this popular idea floating about that "love is blind."

Wow, what a lie. I don't think that the idea could be any further from the truth. Love is not failing or refusing to see the faults of the other. Such a blindness could at best describe infatuation - or maybe a desire of being in love with love. It doesn't equate a love of the person. The person is loved as an ideal, seen through the eyes of the beholder. Wow, how selfish. "I love you because you are who I want you to be." Such an idea forces the "beloved" to conform to a mold. The "beloved" has their humanity stripped from them and is the object of affection so long as the beloved-robot performs according to our specified instructions. What happens when he or she ceases to meet the expectations of the ideal, when he or she steps out and proves their humanity through surprise or disappointment?

Love is seeing a person for all of their faults - in all of their naked ugliness - and still making the decision that he or she is still worth your time and your sacrifice. Love is a mutual willingly laying down your rights for the benefit of another person.

But such a relationship with another carries significant risk. We like wearing clothes, because being naked carries with it exposure and vulnerability. I can't think of anything more horrible than being completely vulnerable and exposed down to the soul and then being rejected.

So, what do we do? We dumb love down and try to make it tame, make it safe. We make sappy cards, make up phrases like "love is blind", and reduce love to kissing and fuzzy feelings. Wow. It may be safe, but it's so far from the passionate life that real, honest-to-God love is filled with.

"Love is blind." How about some truth:

1 Corinthians 13:4-8
Love is patient and kind; love does not envy or boast; it is not arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful (and does not count up wrongdoing); it does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never ends.

Patience implies that it takes a long time. Kindness is required in the face of irritation, in the face of need. Humility is required to confront the temptation to put the self first. Love gives up the demand of putting the self first. It is forgiving and seeks justice and truth. Love is the kind of thing that "takes a licking and keeps on ticking." It's optimistic, it's patient. It doesn't end.

Love is work. It's not floating up among the clouds. It's where the rubber meets the road.

Here's another thing: people can't live up to this model. We are called to it, yes. But let's be honest. We are flawed. We are human. But we can try, and we should try - picking ourselves up and starting over when we fall down and fail.

Christ set the example. He lives the example. The source of this kind of love is God Himself. Of course, such a love is horribly wonderful (or perhaps wonderfully horrible) to accept. It requires an acknowledgment that at any level, it is not deserved. Our inability to give this love deems us unworthy of being recipients to it. But through God's grace, mercy, and through Christ's life, death on the cross, and resurrection we are invited to share in it.

We fall flat on our faces, abjectly aware of our flaws, and then are told that we are loved - that we are precious in the eye of the beholder who just so happens to see everything that makes up who we are. It's horrible - seeing our flaws for what they are when we want so desperately to pretend that we are perfect. It's wonderful - God seeing our flaws for what they are and loving us so desperately that He would die for us rather than lose us.

This love is not safe. It's absolutely dangerous. Blind love is safe, but it also isn't real. I choose the real love. The love that sees the ugly. Because there really is no other option. Plastic Cupids compared to a beating, bleeding heart. I choose the love that is alive.

An Unfinished Prayer

Oh Lord,
my body is tired and
my heart is weak,
but if you'll have
me, I'll give you what
you'll take. Be gentle, be
patient with me. I'm slow
to understand. But you are
so worthy of me singing
an anthem of the highest
praise. Take my heart and
break it. Mold it to fit
your design. If you will
have me, I'll do my
best to give you all that
I have to offer.

Unknown, surprise, and epiphany

I don't know what it is...for the past few weeks I've had so many thoughts floating about in my head. Wonderful thoughts about God and life and metaphor...
and a total inability to write them out. I'm not talking about a lack of time because even though I am ridiculously busy, it seems to me that we can usually make time for the things that we care about. It's simply about a rearranging of priorities (take right now, for example - I'm writing instead of doing homework because the back-up of thoughts is finally too great to stand without some form of relief).

I have thoughts a'plenty, it's just this inability to write. I think about writing it down and lose all desire to type. Instead of "writer's block," let's call it "writer's constipation."

~ Ideas about the metaphor about God and gardening (hopefully, I'll get to that one by the end of the month) from last week.
~ Musings about relationships
~ This week's concept of "swimming in the great, grey unknown"...

So many ideas and thoughts. And they're really just too wonderful to keep to myself. Not that my ideas are just so great, mind you, but it's really more about the sharing of something exciting. When we find things that we deem to be of value, the greatest expression of that can be to share it.

Wow. Epiphany. This is now completely free-write.

As Christians, we're called to share our faith. Don't we often look at this as a command and miss out in the invitation?

This faith that we have - this saving faith that redeems our lives and restores to us our beauty and purpose. We claim that it's the most important thing that we have. Value.

Shouldn't sharing it be a joy then? Why do we often see it as such a chore? "Good Christians share their faith. Did you share your faith today? If yes, then check this little box here. If not, then go back out and try to be a better Christian - oh, and here's a slap on the wrist for you."

It's so much more than about that. God invites us to share in His joy. He found us to be valuable - so much so that He sent His only begotten Son to die on the cross for our sins (thank you, John 3:16). And why? Because we were made in His image to glorify Him. His glory is valuable and worth sharing. Interesting concept, when we share God's glory with others, we glorify Him (directly, indirectly, perhaps both?). This isn't a commodity that gets smaller as it is shared. I'm not sure that it grows either, though. Perhaps, God's glory remains the same - it's our awareness that grows. And we are privileged to see the beauty of our God.

At any rate, it's not about guilt. It's not about earning your gold star of the day for being a good Christian boy or girl. It's not even about sharing in the "right" way.

God made us all so uniquely different, and corresponding with that are all the uniquely different ways that we can share Him and His glory with others. It's wonderful. It's amazing. It takes a lot of the pressure off, honestly.

When we rid ourselves of the shackles of fear and guilt and "ought," then we become free to breathe in this wonder that God has surrounded us with. And our freedom enables us to share.

This is roughly written, but I'm okay with that.

Okay, those are my thoughts for now. Tune in later for ideas on the metaphor of gardening, swimming in the grey, or a look at history and "I said, He said."

This has certainly not gone the way I originally thought it out. Yay God.

Beautiful Discord.

I've been listening to Apocalyptica lately...and now.
I like the precision, the absolute skill that it requires to make the beautiful strains of music...
paired up with the discord, the emotion, the passion of what they're playing.
Classical metalcore.
It fits.

Today has been tough. Tough but good. I've had people praying for me, and I feel somewhat stronger for the challenges faced.

I woke up this morning to a message written on my facebook wall:
"If you had an issue with me you should have talked about it to my face. Writing about it in the paper isn't classy."

I did the right thing. I did the right thing. I did the right thing.

False guilt. Lots of false, misplaced-guilt.

I did the right thing.

I keep having to remind myself that.

Assault. Hands are not for hitting...neither are they for coercion. We all know that.

I don't have to tell that to somebody for them to know that it's wrong. And when I hear that individual express no remorse whatsoever the next day for his actions the night before (done to "unidentified/unknown people" - so that makes it okay, right?)...it doesn't exactly produce an environment that welcomes such confrontations...
even if that was my job...
nope.

He knew it was wrong. He knows it is wrong.

But he's mad at me.

And this makes him feel better, helps him get his mind off the fact that he did the wrong thing.

I had an idea that this might happen.

Oh, and the irony of speaking about classy face-to-face confrontations via facebook walls...!

This hurts, this hurts, this hurts. This is scary. I don't like it when people are mad at me.

But I did the right thing. And I feel good about that. And I will not be a doormat for people to abuse and then turn around and make it seem like they were victimized.

Yes, I spoke out. I broke the silence. And now there are consequences and ripple effects.

I did the right thing.
I got me my Jesus. And He loves me, takes care of me, shelters me under His wing. Micah 6:8
Do justice.
Love mercy.
Walk humbly before the Lord your God.

I'll be that warrior.
I got me my Jesus. So bring it.

"Cinderella," by Anne Sexton

This is just one of those poems that's left their mark on me since I first read it as a senior in high school. I could talk to you about why I like it, but instead, I think I'll just simply post it and leave it at that.

* ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** *


You always read about it:
the plumber with the twelve children
who wins the Irish Sweepstakes.
From toilets to riches.
That story.

Or the nursemaid,
some luscious sweet from Denmark
who captures the oldest son's heart.
from diapers to Dior.
That story.

Or a milkman who serves the wealthy,
eggs, cream, butter, yogurt, milk,
the white truck like an ambulance
who goes into real estate
and makes a pile.
From homogenized to martinis at lunch.

Or the charwoman
who is on the bus when it cracks up
and collects enough from the insurance.
From mops to Bonwit Teller.
That story.

Once
the wife of a rich man was on her deathbed
and she said to her daughter Cinderella:
Be devout. Be good. Then I will smile
down from heaven in the seam of a cloud.
The man took another wife who had
two daughters, pretty enough
but with hearts like blackjacks.
Cinderella was their maid.
She slept on the sooty hearth each night
and walked around looking like Al Jolson.
Her father brought presents home from town,
jewels and gowns for the other women
but the twig of a tree for Cinderella.
She planted that twig on her mother's grave
and it grew to a tree where a white dove sat.
Whenever she wished for anything the dove
would drop it like an egg upon the ground.
The bird is important, my dears, so heed him.

Next came the ball, as you all know.
It was a marriage market.
The prince was looking for a wife.
All but Cinderella were preparing
and gussying up for the event.
Cinderella begged to go too.
Her stepmother threw a dish of lentils
into the cinders and said: Pick them
up in an hour and you shall go.
The white dove brought all his friends;
all the warm wings of the fatherland came,
and picked up the lentils in a jiffy.
No, Cinderella, said the stepmother,
you have no clothes and cannot dance.
That's the way with stepmothers.

Cinderella went to the tree at the grave
and cried forth like a gospel singer:
Mama! Mama! My turtledove,
send me to the prince's ball!
The bird dropped down a golden dress
and delicate little slippers.
Rather a large package for a simple bird.
So she went. Which is no surprise.
Her stepmother and sisters didn't
recognize her without her cinder face
and the prince took her hand on the spot
and danced with no other the whole day.

As nightfall came she thought she'd better
get home. The prince walked her home
and she disappeared into the pigeon house
and although the prince took an axe and broke
it open she was gone. Back to her cinders.
These events repeated themselves for three days.
However on the third day the prince
covered the palace steps with cobbler's wax
and Cinderella's gold shoe stuck upon it.
Now he would find whom the shoe fit
and find his strange dancing girl for keeps.
He went to their house and the two sisters
were delighted because they had lovely feet.
The eldest went into a room to try the slipper on
but her big toe got in the way so she simply
sliced it off and put on the slipper.
The prince rode away with her until the white dove
told him to look at the blood pouring forth.
That is the way with amputations.
They just don't heal up like a wish.
The other sister cut off her heel
but the blood told as blood will.
The prince was getting tired.
He began to feel like a shoe salesman.
But he gave it one last try.
This time Cinderella fit into the shoe
like a love letter into its envelope.

At the wedding ceremony
the two sisters came to curry favor
and the white dove pecked their eyes out.
Two hollow spots were left
like soup spoons.

Cinderella and the prince
lived, they say, happily ever after,
like two dolls in a museum case
never bothered by diapers or dust,
never arguing over the timing of an egg,
never telling the same story twice,
never getting a middle-aged spread,
their darling smiles pasted on for eternity.
Regular Bobbsey Twins.
That story.

That's What the Lonely is For (Oh, David Wilcox)

Thoughts: "I don't get it, but I think that it might be a good place to be..."

So, lately, for what feels like a long time now (months...years...maybe just months, I don't know) when I really settle myself in worship, I end up crying.

*UH-OH CRAZY EMOTIONAL GIRL ALERT!!!!!*

No, I don't think that I'm crazy, out-of-whack emotional. I just can't quite figure it out. All I know is that I experience a sense of connection...and then the tears come.

Sometimes it's brought about by a sense of fear that God is leading me somewhere that I don't know of. He and my future are so out of my control. Honestly though, that's how it should be. The most secure place that my life could be is in the "Great Unknown" of God's great, patient, wonderful, capable, loving, guiding, hands.

Sometimes it's brought about by pain in my life. I am brought to the foot of the cross where I identify with Job in acknowledging that God is good in spite of the pain. Sometimes there's anger mixed in there. But I know from the promises of Scripture and from seeing His work in my life, that God is good. He draws me out and brings me to a place where I have to deal with emotional baggage and scars, and He oh-so-patiently waits with me as I cry and mourn and work things out. He does not fail though. He is the constant provider of joy.

Sometimes - no, usually - it's brought about by a sense of my own brokenness, I think. (That's been the case as of late, anyhow.) It's realizing how absolutely flawed I am, and then also realizing that perfection became human incarnate and died on the cross for me. It's so absolutely beautiful. That kind of love. It overwhelms me, terrifies me, brings to my attention how I so often take it for granted. When I sing of the sacrifice on the cross, I find shame and redemption. Loss and joy.

This kind of love. It's exactly what I want and need...and it's the hardest thing in the world to accept. My college pastor used an analogy tonight in describing God's love. In The Fisher King, Parry, a homeless man, takes the socially awkward Lydia out on a date:

Parry: No, please stop...I'm in love with you.
(Lydia looks at him like he's completely nuts, not believing him. Parry shakes head, puts a hand toward her mouth softly)
Parry:: And not just from tonight. I've known you for a long time. I know you come out from work at noon every day and you fight your way out that door and then you get pushed back in and three seconds later you come back out again. I walk with you to lunch and I know if it's a good day, if you stop and get that romance novel at that bookstore. I know what you order, and I know that on Wednesdays you go to that Dim Sum parlor and I know that you get a jawbreaker before you go back in to work. And I know you hate your job and you don't have many friends and I know sometimes you feel a little uncoordinated and you don't feel as wonderful as everybody else and feeling as alone and as separate as you feel you are...I love you... ...I love you...and I think you're the greatest thing since spice racks and I would be knocked out several times if I could just have that first kiss. And I won't, I won't be distant. I'll come back in the morning and I'll call ya if you let me... But I still don't drink coffee.
(Long pause, Lydia slowly touches Parry's face)
Lydia: You're real...aren't you?
(Parry smiles, and quietly laughs)

I laughed at first, making sideways "stalker" jokes, but once I let my guard down, the truth and beauty of the scene crept its way into my heart where it resounded. The loneliness is there. It's been wired into my humanity as a constant reminder that this is not my home. I can look for love in people, but they will fail me.
The scene...it's like God is saying that to my aching heart. "I know you. I know your faults. I know your flaws. I know that you get discouraged, get tired, feel awkward, and alone. You get frustrated and want to give up. And I love you." And my response is to say, "You're real...aren't you?" And God smiles, laughs, and loves.

That kind of love. It's so frightening. To put my heart on a table and say, "Here I am. Here is all of me. Morning breath, bed head, PMS , short-temper, mean-spirited jokes, cattiness, insecurities, and all. I am far from perfect." And then that waiting...that horrible waiting. I am not perfect - so why would I be accepted? How could anybody love a broken individual like me?

But God does. And He loves me in a way that is completely overwhelming. He died for me. It doesn't get much more romantic than that. And when I force myself to look full in the face of this love being offered - this love that I so deeply desire and yet so greatly fear, it brings on the tears.



And I kinda think that maybe that's a good thing.

January weather, surprise, and expectation

I live in Vanguard's off-campus housing and as a result, I end up riding my bike to and from class at least once a day. It's wonderful. I love it.

This past week, it's been hard to picture anything more wonderful than the deliciously warm air running its fingers through my hair and caressing my face and arms as I pump the peddles. The sun shines so happily in the sky, and life just feels good and alive. It's warm enough that I don't need to wear layers of clothing, but not so hot that I get sweaty from a simple ride to or from class.

Maybe it's the endorphins, maybe it's the ability to peddle out stress, maybe it's the weather, maybe it's the quiet time to just focus on seeing if I can make it to the light before it turns red...but those bike rides have been absolutely beautiful and wonderful and...fun.

And then I remember - "This is January."
"It's supposed to be cold."

"What's wrong with the freaking weather!?"
I don't know, but all I can say is that I'm enjoying it. I'm a big fan of weather, mind you, and I'm certainly looking forward to the chill returning. But in the meantime, I'm making most of the joyful weather. Somewhere in there, I think that there's a lesson hidden about expectations. When I relax on the expectations that I have in life, I can more enjoy what's in front of me. Just take the experiences as they come.

It's like a little love-note from God. "Hey Sweetheart, there's a lot that you don't have control over. Relax. Trust in me. Find joy."

I wish I could keep that in mind more often. Usually, I cling to something 'til my fingers bleed...only to find later that whatever it was I was trying to control was never something I was supposed to grasp onto in the first place. This desperate reaching - where is the joy or the life in that?

The cold weather will return. I believe that. But it's good to focus on relaxing and enjoying what I have in the meantime. I certainly can't change the weather, anyway.