Except for the past four and a half months, I was single my entire life. There were times that I was skeptical about male/female relationships, when I hated the entire male race, when I swore I'd never let little red hearts float around my head. I had good reasons, which were bad experiences.
A few of my friends are in those skeptical stages. They think that I've abandoned them by abandoning my skepticism. They don't understand why anyone would want to love for risk of pain. They deny any need for someone of the opposite sex in their lives. Maybe you do. I heard a story today that might not alter your view of the future and relationships, but it may alter your view of love in general, maybe even faith. A day later, I heard this story. I'm repeating this story closely to how it was relayed to me. May it reach out from this computer screen and pat you on the shoulder.
My friend Matt's nephew found Matt's dad Ken in the bathroom floor yesterday morning. Ken was in the fetal position, struggling to breathe, and asking for his wife. His wife rushed in, called 911 and our pastor Blake, then went with him to the hospital. Blake rushed there, too. They all prayed desperately for Ken, but shortly later, the doctors told the family that Ken had died of a heart attack. The nurses kept him on a respirator while the family came in to say their last goodbyes. Patients are typically pronounced dead after 30 minutes of being in Ken's state. As Ken's wife Tina began talking to him, the heart monitor registered its first faint beat in 49 minutes.
After more prayer from family and friends and more work from the doctors, Ken was taken into surgery. He made it through and, by this morning, could sit up in bed and respond verbally to questions.
Faith. Hope. Love. I need these. Of the three, my greatest need is love. It grants me the other two. I have the right to be a skeptic. I also have the right to choose not to exercise that right. I believe in the strength and power of genuine love. I believe it can rejuvenate faith then move mountains. I also believe that it can start hearts that have stopped.
Sunday, December 28, 2008
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
One More Layer
I sat on clear plastic, cross-legged, in sweatpants and an old tee shirt. Burgundy paint dripped from the sponge roller and down the handle, barely missing my new Class of 2006 high school ring. All of my furniture was pushed to the center of my small room as my parents and I worked rigorously near the outside edges.
Daddy always did the trim of any paint job in our house. He was the most meticulous and had the steadiest hand. He pulled the triangular sponge along the molding and corners. My mom, on the other hand, tended to get distracted in the midst of painting, so she took the role of tidying.
She wiped the walls before we started, dusted everything within a ten-foot radius of the paint, and moved items just before they got in our way. This task assignment left me with the roller.
Daddy and I worked silently except for the dipping then dripping of brushes and rollers followed by moist swishing sounds against the walls. If anyone said anything, it was my mom, sharing memories about my childhood while she straightened articles in my room.
My room grew up with me. The walls began as white as a clean dry erase board. They were the background for a red and yellow circus theme when my parents brought me home from Oconee Memorial Hospital in early fall of 1987. Though I had no preference for color as an infant, almost twenty years later, red and yellow were undeniably my favorites.
As I dodged the white molding, I remembered that the walls changed from the white of the nursery to light pink during elementary school. My beloved pastel dolls and tea sets abounded, but my tomboy personality didn't allow that stage to last very long.
I followed the wall with my paint roller until I reached the phone jack. With my new cellular phone, I had no use for the jack anymore, but I certainly did in the late 90s. As I became enamored with various actors and boy-bands, the soft pink walls became the background for posters torn out of Teen Magazine. I remembered the phone that used to be there. It lit up hot pink when it rang, matching the shade of my cheeks if the caller were a boy.
From late middle school to early high school, when my mom insisted that the walls throughout the entire house have the same neutral color, my room turned “dusted olive.” Then, I believed that all boys were stupid and horses were marvelous. We traded my popular posters and girly pinks for horse figurines and rustic browns.
Now, I was a senior in high school. I wanted something more mature. I needed something different because I was different. I was going to be in college soon. I needed this.
I had just returned from my senior trip to Spain, Italy, and France with deep-colored, European souvenirs and artsy pictures. I had also recently inherited my great-grandmother’s antique bedroom suite. The combination of modern Europe and an old heirloom was perfect. Wall to wall mahogany bookshelves were essential for my collection of American classics. I couldn’t afford them now, but they would come. So would the sheer, cream curtains and the silk, orange pillow that I daydreamed of as I sat scraping the dried paint off my tired hands at the end of the day. The presence of my equally exhausted parents reminded me that I was not completely independent. Still, I knew that I stood in the midst of my masterpiece, and underneath were all those layers of paint.
Daddy always did the trim of any paint job in our house. He was the most meticulous and had the steadiest hand. He pulled the triangular sponge along the molding and corners. My mom, on the other hand, tended to get distracted in the midst of painting, so she took the role of tidying.
She wiped the walls before we started, dusted everything within a ten-foot radius of the paint, and moved items just before they got in our way. This task assignment left me with the roller.
Daddy and I worked silently except for the dipping then dripping of brushes and rollers followed by moist swishing sounds against the walls. If anyone said anything, it was my mom, sharing memories about my childhood while she straightened articles in my room.
My room grew up with me. The walls began as white as a clean dry erase board. They were the background for a red and yellow circus theme when my parents brought me home from Oconee Memorial Hospital in early fall of 1987. Though I had no preference for color as an infant, almost twenty years later, red and yellow were undeniably my favorites.
As I dodged the white molding, I remembered that the walls changed from the white of the nursery to light pink during elementary school. My beloved pastel dolls and tea sets abounded, but my tomboy personality didn't allow that stage to last very long.
I followed the wall with my paint roller until I reached the phone jack. With my new cellular phone, I had no use for the jack anymore, but I certainly did in the late 90s. As I became enamored with various actors and boy-bands, the soft pink walls became the background for posters torn out of Teen Magazine. I remembered the phone that used to be there. It lit up hot pink when it rang, matching the shade of my cheeks if the caller were a boy.
From late middle school to early high school, when my mom insisted that the walls throughout the entire house have the same neutral color, my room turned “dusted olive.” Then, I believed that all boys were stupid and horses were marvelous. We traded my popular posters and girly pinks for horse figurines and rustic browns.
Now, I was a senior in high school. I wanted something more mature. I needed something different because I was different. I was going to be in college soon. I needed this.
I had just returned from my senior trip to Spain, Italy, and France with deep-colored, European souvenirs and artsy pictures. I had also recently inherited my great-grandmother’s antique bedroom suite. The combination of modern Europe and an old heirloom was perfect. Wall to wall mahogany bookshelves were essential for my collection of American classics. I couldn’t afford them now, but they would come. So would the sheer, cream curtains and the silk, orange pillow that I daydreamed of as I sat scraping the dried paint off my tired hands at the end of the day. The presence of my equally exhausted parents reminded me that I was not completely independent. Still, I knew that I stood in the midst of my masterpiece, and underneath were all those layers of paint.
Monday, November 3, 2008
My Own Charge
These verses came to me this morning as I was reading Let Me Be a Woman by Elisabeth Eliot. Reading this book has made me reevaluate my female role in the universal realm of all society and in the personal realm of my own current and future family. I highly recommend it along with the many other works she has written. Please read Isaiah 58 today. I know the Lord will be faithful to bless you by the mighty words within it. Here, I have relayed my separated interpretation. It has very many quotes from the New Living Translation.
God starts in verse six to say,
"This is the kind of fasting I want:"
-Free those who are wrongly imprisoned. (v. 6)
-Lighten the burden of those who work for you. (v. 6)
-Let the oppressed go free. (v. 6)
-Remove the chains that bind people. (v. 6)
-Share your food with the hungry. (v. 7)
-Give shelter to the homeless. (v. 7)
-Give clothes to those who need them. (v. 7)
-Do not hide from relatives who need your help. (v. 7)
-Stop pointing your finger and spreading vicious rumors. (v. 9)
-Feed the hungry. (v. 10)
-Help those in trouble. (v. 10)
-Keep the Sabbath day holy. (v. 13)
-Speak of the Sabbath with delight. (v. 13)
What a charge for us. What a responsibility.
But the Lord is so balanced in every way. When He asks us to do huge things, He promises giant blessings in return.
-Your salvation will come like the dawn. (v. 8)
-Your wounds will quickly heal. (v. 8)
-Your godliness will lead you forward. (v. 8)
-The glory of the Lord will protect you from behind. (v. 8)
-When you call, the Lord will answer.... He will quickly reply. (v. 9)
-Your light will shine out from the darkness, and the darkness around you will be as bright as noon. (v. 10)
-The Lord will guide you continually. (v. 11)
-The Lord will give you water when you are dry. (v. 11)
-The Lord will restore your strength. (v. 11)
-You will be like a well-watered garden, like an ever-flowing spring. (v. 11)
-The Lord will be your delight. (v. 14)
-The Lord will give you great honor. (v. 14)
God starts in verse six to say,
"This is the kind of fasting I want:"
-Free those who are wrongly imprisoned. (v. 6)
-Lighten the burden of those who work for you. (v. 6)
-Let the oppressed go free. (v. 6)
-Remove the chains that bind people. (v. 6)
-Share your food with the hungry. (v. 7)
-Give shelter to the homeless. (v. 7)
-Give clothes to those who need them. (v. 7)
-Do not hide from relatives who need your help. (v. 7)
-Stop pointing your finger and spreading vicious rumors. (v. 9)
-Feed the hungry. (v. 10)
-Help those in trouble. (v. 10)
-Keep the Sabbath day holy. (v. 13)
-Speak of the Sabbath with delight. (v. 13)
What a charge for us. What a responsibility.
But the Lord is so balanced in every way. When He asks us to do huge things, He promises giant blessings in return.
-Your salvation will come like the dawn. (v. 8)
-Your wounds will quickly heal. (v. 8)
-Your godliness will lead you forward. (v. 8)
-The glory of the Lord will protect you from behind. (v. 8)
-When you call, the Lord will answer.... He will quickly reply. (v. 9)
-Your light will shine out from the darkness, and the darkness around you will be as bright as noon. (v. 10)
-The Lord will guide you continually. (v. 11)
-The Lord will give you water when you are dry. (v. 11)
-The Lord will restore your strength. (v. 11)
-You will be like a well-watered garden, like an ever-flowing spring. (v. 11)
-The Lord will be your delight. (v. 14)
-The Lord will give you great honor. (v. 14)
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Virtuosity, Heritage, and Completion
“What if we have a girl?” I can imagine my mom asking my dad in their one-room apartment with cardboard boxes stacked high along the walls. She was seven months pregnant with me and in the middle of the moving process before they seriously discussed the genetic possibilities of a female child. They had already chosen the name Benjamin Wayne Yost and had consistently called me “Benjamin” for several months of the pregnancy.
My parents at least agreed that they favored virtuous names.
“Honey, what do you think about the name Charity? That’s the main character in this book.”
A romance novel with a questionable cover dangled from my mother’s hand. Thoughts raced through Daddy’s mind that this name might not be as virtuous as he hoped if it was inspired by the paperback book she was holding. Beneath dark brows, his hazel eyes showed disapproval.
“The girl in the book is a strong character! She’s what we’d want our daughter to be – mature, caring, level-headed, smart…. She even has brown hair and eyes. It’s a sign!” my mom concluded, nodding and grinning.
She lifted herself and the cumbersome weight of pregnancy up from the mid-eighties, golden-upholstered couch and reached for the King James Version Bible on the coffee table. The leather cover was badly wrinkled from a careless mishap with scalding hot coffee. The pages were folded and wrinkled. Still, the Scripture held more cherished highlights and scribbles than the romance novel in her other hand.
“I’m telling you, it means good things,” my mom continued while Daddy contemplated in silence, glancing over the top of his issue of Georgia Outdoor World magazine.
Mama flipped through her Bible’s thin pages to First Corinthians 13 and began to read about the true virtue of charity. Daddy’s forehead lost its doubt wrinkles when she read phrases like “doth not behave itself unseemingly” and “thinketh no evil.”
The wrinkles on his forehead smoothed as fears about the woman on the other cover began to disappear, and the image of a well-behaved little girl emerged.
“And now abideth faith, hope, charity, these three; but the greatest of these is charity,” Mama ended the chapter.
“Charity,” he said, trying the word out for sound. “Charity…. Hmph… I like that.” Conversation halted in a happy pause of silent agreement.
Marie seemed to be the obvious choice for a middle name. It was made popular in my mom’s family by Gladys Marie Sherrill, my spry great-grandmother, who danced around the house, singing and twirling her skirts while dinner was cooking. My mom’s eccentric sister Cindi also shared a variation of the name. “Cynthia Maria Weaver” was typed on her birth certificate by accident though my grandmother had originally chosen Cynthia Marie. My mother might have been trying to redeem that mistake, or she might have simply enjoyed the dramatic stories her older sister told when they were children.
“Charity Marie Yost,” they said in unison. Adding the German surname made it complete. After seven months, they were finally satisfied.
My parents at least agreed that they favored virtuous names.
“Honey, what do you think about the name Charity? That’s the main character in this book.”
A romance novel with a questionable cover dangled from my mother’s hand. Thoughts raced through Daddy’s mind that this name might not be as virtuous as he hoped if it was inspired by the paperback book she was holding. Beneath dark brows, his hazel eyes showed disapproval.
“The girl in the book is a strong character! She’s what we’d want our daughter to be – mature, caring, level-headed, smart…. She even has brown hair and eyes. It’s a sign!” my mom concluded, nodding and grinning.
She lifted herself and the cumbersome weight of pregnancy up from the mid-eighties, golden-upholstered couch and reached for the King James Version Bible on the coffee table. The leather cover was badly wrinkled from a careless mishap with scalding hot coffee. The pages were folded and wrinkled. Still, the Scripture held more cherished highlights and scribbles than the romance novel in her other hand.
“I’m telling you, it means good things,” my mom continued while Daddy contemplated in silence, glancing over the top of his issue of Georgia Outdoor World magazine.
Mama flipped through her Bible’s thin pages to First Corinthians 13 and began to read about the true virtue of charity. Daddy’s forehead lost its doubt wrinkles when she read phrases like “doth not behave itself unseemingly” and “thinketh no evil.”
The wrinkles on his forehead smoothed as fears about the woman on the other cover began to disappear, and the image of a well-behaved little girl emerged.
“And now abideth faith, hope, charity, these three; but the greatest of these is charity,” Mama ended the chapter.
“Charity,” he said, trying the word out for sound. “Charity…. Hmph… I like that.” Conversation halted in a happy pause of silent agreement.
Marie seemed to be the obvious choice for a middle name. It was made popular in my mom’s family by Gladys Marie Sherrill, my spry great-grandmother, who danced around the house, singing and twirling her skirts while dinner was cooking. My mom’s eccentric sister Cindi also shared a variation of the name. “Cynthia Maria Weaver” was typed on her birth certificate by accident though my grandmother had originally chosen Cynthia Marie. My mother might have been trying to redeem that mistake, or she might have simply enjoyed the dramatic stories her older sister told when they were children.
“Charity Marie Yost,” they said in unison. Adding the German surname made it complete. After seven months, they were finally satisfied.
Saturday, October 11, 2008
11 Numbers and Rightful Wrath
For several years, I have been trying to read the whole Bible. After reading each chapter, I check it off a list at the back of my Bible. The New Testament is completely checked, but the Old Testament is a struggle for me. I usually read a chapter at a time, but today, I read five. The words were so interesting to me, mostly because I prayed before I began reading and asked the Lord to make them that way.
I'm reading in Numbers right now, where the Israelites (about 600, 000 people) are living in the desert under the leadership of Moses. Most of Moses' time is spent listening to the Lord and conveying those messages to the people.
All along, God sets this cloud of fire over the people. When it moves, they move. They camp wherever it stops. God is feeding them, showing them His glory through a protective cloud, and speaking to them through Moses. How cool is that?
But, in Numbers 11, the people are complaining about some difficulties they are having. God hears their whining and gets so angry that He lets his fire "consume some of the outskirts of the camp" (Num. 11:1). Moses asks for mercy for the people, and the Lord stops the burnings.
The Lord faithfully supplies their needs, sending down "manna" from the sky. Can you imagine bread falling from the sky? Numbers 11:9 says "When the dew settled on the camp at night, the manna also came down." It's like a free food pantry. It also "tasted like something made with olive oil" (Num. 11:8). This brings back the delicious memories of when I was in Italy, and they brought out bread with a dish of olive oil. You might think of the Olive Garden. I may be way off on my picture what manna actually is, but the Bible is surprisingly descriptive about this food and how the people creatively cook it.
But, the embers of the Lord's wrathful fire are probably still smoking when the people begin complaining again! They are craving meat with manna. The Israelites remind me of that one person who stands in the singeing sun with other people and states the obvious, "It's hot." They remind me of that person at the restaurant who is never satisfied with anything the waitress or waiter brings from the kitchen. What is even more frustrating is that they remind me of myself when I complain about things I just need to toughen up and get done (prime example : school work). I forget even New Testament commands to "Do everything without complaining or arguing" (Philippians 2:14).
With this, "the Lord became exceedingly angry" (Num. 11:10), and Moses felt extremely burdened as the middle man. This is where God's grace comes into play. He sends not one, not a few, but 70 men to help Moses carry the burden of the people.
As for the complaining people, however, the Lord gives them what they want. But this is His tone, "The Lord will give you meat, and you will eat it. . . for a whole month -- until it comes out of your nostrils and you loathe it -- because you have rejected the Lord, who is among you, and have wailed before him, saying 'Why did we ever leave Egypt?'" (Num. 18-20).
Moses argues that the people are completely unsatisfiable and even this will not be enough for them. God's reply is my favorite part of this passage.
"Is the Lord's arm too short? You will now see whether or not what I say will come true for you" (Num. 11:23).
So many times, I treat my Creator as if He were incapable of meeting my needs.
God sent meat in the form of quail by a wind that blew them from the sea. They were "all around the camp to about three feet above the ground, as far as a day's walk in any direction" (Num. 11:31). My Creator is capable.
But the Lord was also angry with the unrepentant and unthankful people. He spread a plague and let down his fire again because they craved other food instead of being appreciative and content. That place was called Kibroth Hattaavah which actually means "graves of craving."
I am finding out through the Old Testament that God can get very angry. I have not seen this side of my God very often in my life, so it sometimes surprises me. I find this to be God's scary side. People don't want to think of the Lord as scary. They want to think of Him as kind, gentle, soothing, compassionate, understanding, etc. He is all those things. But He can also be scary. That's how awesome He is. I'm glad that my God can be both comforter and protector. Not only does he provide for me physically and emotionally, but He's also like that guy you want on your side in a fight. He's strong and powerful, but He fights fairly.
Anger and wrath. Grace and provision. So much to learn and comprehend. So much to admire.
I'm reading in Numbers right now, where the Israelites (about 600, 000 people) are living in the desert under the leadership of Moses. Most of Moses' time is spent listening to the Lord and conveying those messages to the people.
All along, God sets this cloud of fire over the people. When it moves, they move. They camp wherever it stops. God is feeding them, showing them His glory through a protective cloud, and speaking to them through Moses. How cool is that?
But, in Numbers 11, the people are complaining about some difficulties they are having. God hears their whining and gets so angry that He lets his fire "consume some of the outskirts of the camp" (Num. 11:1). Moses asks for mercy for the people, and the Lord stops the burnings.
The Lord faithfully supplies their needs, sending down "manna" from the sky. Can you imagine bread falling from the sky? Numbers 11:9 says "When the dew settled on the camp at night, the manna also came down." It's like a free food pantry. It also "tasted like something made with olive oil" (Num. 11:8). This brings back the delicious memories of when I was in Italy, and they brought out bread with a dish of olive oil. You might think of the Olive Garden. I may be way off on my picture what manna actually is, but the Bible is surprisingly descriptive about this food and how the people creatively cook it.
But, the embers of the Lord's wrathful fire are probably still smoking when the people begin complaining again! They are craving meat with manna. The Israelites remind me of that one person who stands in the singeing sun with other people and states the obvious, "It's hot." They remind me of that person at the restaurant who is never satisfied with anything the waitress or waiter brings from the kitchen. What is even more frustrating is that they remind me of myself when I complain about things I just need to toughen up and get done (prime example : school work). I forget even New Testament commands to "Do everything without complaining or arguing" (Philippians 2:14).
With this, "the Lord became exceedingly angry" (Num. 11:10), and Moses felt extremely burdened as the middle man. This is where God's grace comes into play. He sends not one, not a few, but 70 men to help Moses carry the burden of the people.
As for the complaining people, however, the Lord gives them what they want. But this is His tone, "The Lord will give you meat, and you will eat it. . . for a whole month -- until it comes out of your nostrils and you loathe it -- because you have rejected the Lord, who is among you, and have wailed before him, saying 'Why did we ever leave Egypt?'" (Num. 18-20).
Moses argues that the people are completely unsatisfiable and even this will not be enough for them. God's reply is my favorite part of this passage.
"Is the Lord's arm too short? You will now see whether or not what I say will come true for you" (Num. 11:23).
So many times, I treat my Creator as if He were incapable of meeting my needs.
God sent meat in the form of quail by a wind that blew them from the sea. They were "all around the camp to about three feet above the ground, as far as a day's walk in any direction" (Num. 11:31). My Creator is capable.
But the Lord was also angry with the unrepentant and unthankful people. He spread a plague and let down his fire again because they craved other food instead of being appreciative and content. That place was called Kibroth Hattaavah which actually means "graves of craving."
I am finding out through the Old Testament that God can get very angry. I have not seen this side of my God very often in my life, so it sometimes surprises me. I find this to be God's scary side. People don't want to think of the Lord as scary. They want to think of Him as kind, gentle, soothing, compassionate, understanding, etc. He is all those things. But He can also be scary. That's how awesome He is. I'm glad that my God can be both comforter and protector. Not only does he provide for me physically and emotionally, but He's also like that guy you want on your side in a fight. He's strong and powerful, but He fights fairly.
Anger and wrath. Grace and provision. So much to learn and comprehend. So much to admire.
Monday, September 29, 2008
This Is All
This week is possibly going to be the most demanding of the semester, if not the most strenuous of my entire college career so far. The amount of reading I have to do, papers I have to write, and midterms I have to take is unbelievable. I began stressing out last week simply anticipating the fullness of this week. I was absolutely sure that I could not accomplish everything that was required of me.
"God, I can't do this. I am completely incapable. The only solution I know is that You're going to have to do it for me," I admitted.
My boyfriend Ben sent a message to me via facebook the very next day, reassuring me that God was "taking care of things." He also included the lyrics to a David Crowder song, which inspired me to have a David Crowder marathon during my hour-long drive to church that morning. I cried when I heard his skillfully crafted words.
"I'm so tired. I'm doing all that I can," I prayed. The song echoed.
Lord I'm tired
So tired from walking
And Lord I'm so alone
And Lord the dark
Is creeping in
Creeping up
To swallow me
I think I'll stop
Rest here a while
And didn't You see me cry'n?
And didn't You hear me call Your name?
Wasn't it You I gave my heart to?
I wish You'd remember
Where You sat it down
And this is all that I can say right now
And this is all that I can give
Crowder's next image was one that I still have not fully grasped.
Just before the Last Supper, Jesus pulled out a basin and water, knelt down, and washed his disciples feet. The Bible calls this "the full extent of His love" (John 13:1 NIV). That is the only comparison I can suggest to what I have felt all week. My pure and holy Savior, Jesus Christ, has knelt in front of me and washed away the dust of my anxiety and shortcomings. At first, I protested, "No, you shall never wash my feet! (John 13:8 NIV) I should be washing yours. Please, don't Lord. I am so unworthy. Let me do it."
But He insists, "If I don't . . . you can't be part of what I'm doing" (John 13:8 MSG)
He and I both know that I can't do all this alone. So with a sigh, half of relief and half of surrender, I let my Master serve me. I am so unworthy.
I didn't notice You were standing here
I didn't know that
That was You holding me
I didn't notice You were cry'n too
I didn't know that
That was You washing my feet.
His only request is that I return the favor to others by washing their feet.
And this is all that I can say right now
And this is all that I can give
That's my everything.
"God, I can't do this. I am completely incapable. The only solution I know is that You're going to have to do it for me," I admitted.
My boyfriend Ben sent a message to me via facebook the very next day, reassuring me that God was "taking care of things." He also included the lyrics to a David Crowder song, which inspired me to have a David Crowder marathon during my hour-long drive to church that morning. I cried when I heard his skillfully crafted words.
"I'm so tired. I'm doing all that I can," I prayed. The song echoed.
Lord I'm tired
So tired from walking
And Lord I'm so alone
And Lord the dark
Is creeping in
Creeping up
To swallow me
I think I'll stop
Rest here a while
And didn't You see me cry'n?
And didn't You hear me call Your name?
Wasn't it You I gave my heart to?
I wish You'd remember
Where You sat it down
And this is all that I can say right now
And this is all that I can give
Crowder's next image was one that I still have not fully grasped.
Just before the Last Supper, Jesus pulled out a basin and water, knelt down, and washed his disciples feet. The Bible calls this "the full extent of His love" (John 13:1 NIV). That is the only comparison I can suggest to what I have felt all week. My pure and holy Savior, Jesus Christ, has knelt in front of me and washed away the dust of my anxiety and shortcomings. At first, I protested, "No, you shall never wash my feet! (John 13:8 NIV) I should be washing yours. Please, don't Lord. I am so unworthy. Let me do it."
But He insists, "If I don't . . . you can't be part of what I'm doing" (John 13:8 MSG)
He and I both know that I can't do all this alone. So with a sigh, half of relief and half of surrender, I let my Master serve me. I am so unworthy.
I didn't notice You were standing here
I didn't know that
That was You holding me
I didn't notice You were cry'n too
I didn't know that
That was You washing my feet.
His only request is that I return the favor to others by washing their feet.
And this is all that I can say right now
And this is all that I can give
That's my everything.
Monday, September 15, 2008
Palms Against the Wound
I found a children's book on Kenya in the library and decided to read it since I spent two weeks there this summer. I wanted to know the difference between written facts and what I had seen. I do not claim to be an expert on the subject of a foreign developing country like Kenya, but I knew that at least I had some sort of comparison.
The book was in line with many of the customs and historical facts that I had personally witnessed. Many of the pictures looked familiar. However, the largest difference from the reality I had seen and the book I was reading bothered me. They only mentioned the poverty on one page in one sentence.
I understand that children are vulnerable to harsh facts and that they should be protected. That does not lessen the impact that many children actually live in those harsh facts of starvation and illiteracy while our American children are being read to in an air-conditioned classroom. Did they even catch that sentence?
This blog is not meant to argue whether or not the book should have revealed more of the reality of poverty. It is meant to reprimand myself from ever letting the impact of my trip to Kenya begin to blur into only a sentence. The "matope" (mud) has been washed off my shoes. The pictures of dirty-faced toddlers have been put into an album and placed on a shelf. The emails from connections that I made there have slowed. Some of the memories are not quite as vivid as they were on the plane ride home. Still, the influence that those images made on my soul and my beliefs should never weaken.
Now, I'm back in school. My classes are so demanding. My life is on a schedule. My actions are absorbed by my agenda. Donald Miller wrote, "Six billion people live in this world, and I can only muster thoughts for one. Me." (p.22) This summer, I rarely had time to think about me, but now, I can't get myself out of my own mind. I'm always planning for the next class or the next appointment, or the next date, or the next outing with my friends. Even spiritual things are about me and my own relationship with Christ. I'm not insinuating that any of these thing are bad as they are, only that I'm capable of so much more if I only think outside myself.
This hurts my pride, especially when Miller asks a tough question : "Do I want social justice for the oppressed, or do I just want to be known as the socially active person?" (p.20) How could I see the faces of those children in the orphanage or see Kibera or watch a teenager take drugs to numb his hunger and not want social justice? I don't want to be the spoiled "mzungu" (white person) who just wants to be recognized for charity. I want to care, and I want my social activeness to flow from that care.
"Can you imagine if Christians actually believed that God was trying to rescue us from the pit of our own self-addiction? Can you imagine? Can you imagine what Americans would do if they understood over half the world was living in poverty? Do you think they would change the way they live, the products they purchase, and the politicians they elect? If we believed the right things, the true things, there wouldn't be very many problems on earth. ... But the trouble with deep belief is that it costs something. And there is something inside me, some selfish beast of a subtle thing that doesn't like the truth at all because it carries responsibility, and if I actually believe these things I have to do something about them. It is so, so cumbersome to believe anything." (p.107)
Cumbersome? Yes. Simple? Also, yes.
"All great Christian leaders are simple thinkers. . . . he actually believes that when Jesus says feed the poor, He means you should do this directly." (p.110)
I believe that giving money and praying is a very powerful way to enable others to help those in need. I also believe that actually helping those in need is what we as the church have been called to do. There is a cure, a remedy. Pastor Steven Furtick of Elevation Church in Charlotte, NC, said, "The Church is God's plan A. It's His plan B. It's his plan C, his plan D, his plan E, his plan F. The Church is God's plan for the earth. It is His chosen way. The people of God. . . . When the Church is being the Church, there's nothing like it. The reason most of us have a hard time figuring it out is because most of us have never seen it. . . the church extending mercy, the church becoming a community of healing." When will we stop being so stuck and start moving to further this plan? Many are moving. I refuse to be stationary.
One of the most powerful statements that I read all summer was this one. It's is so vivid, passionate, and urgent. "The human struggle bothered [him], as if something was broken in the world and we were supposed to hold our palms against the wound." (p.114) The world is bleeding. Why are we just watching it hemorrhage on the evening news or in missions slide shows on Sunday mornings? We have the first aid kit.
*Quotes here are from Blue Like Jazz by Donald Miller.*
The book was in line with many of the customs and historical facts that I had personally witnessed. Many of the pictures looked familiar. However, the largest difference from the reality I had seen and the book I was reading bothered me. They only mentioned the poverty on one page in one sentence.
I understand that children are vulnerable to harsh facts and that they should be protected. That does not lessen the impact that many children actually live in those harsh facts of starvation and illiteracy while our American children are being read to in an air-conditioned classroom. Did they even catch that sentence?
This blog is not meant to argue whether or not the book should have revealed more of the reality of poverty. It is meant to reprimand myself from ever letting the impact of my trip to Kenya begin to blur into only a sentence. The "matope" (mud) has been washed off my shoes. The pictures of dirty-faced toddlers have been put into an album and placed on a shelf. The emails from connections that I made there have slowed. Some of the memories are not quite as vivid as they were on the plane ride home. Still, the influence that those images made on my soul and my beliefs should never weaken.
Now, I'm back in school. My classes are so demanding. My life is on a schedule. My actions are absorbed by my agenda. Donald Miller wrote, "Six billion people live in this world, and I can only muster thoughts for one. Me." (p.22) This summer, I rarely had time to think about me, but now, I can't get myself out of my own mind. I'm always planning for the next class or the next appointment, or the next date, or the next outing with my friends. Even spiritual things are about me and my own relationship with Christ. I'm not insinuating that any of these thing are bad as they are, only that I'm capable of so much more if I only think outside myself.
This hurts my pride, especially when Miller asks a tough question : "Do I want social justice for the oppressed, or do I just want to be known as the socially active person?" (p.20) How could I see the faces of those children in the orphanage or see Kibera or watch a teenager take drugs to numb his hunger and not want social justice? I don't want to be the spoiled "mzungu" (white person) who just wants to be recognized for charity. I want to care, and I want my social activeness to flow from that care.
"Can you imagine if Christians actually believed that God was trying to rescue us from the pit of our own self-addiction? Can you imagine? Can you imagine what Americans would do if they understood over half the world was living in poverty? Do you think they would change the way they live, the products they purchase, and the politicians they elect? If we believed the right things, the true things, there wouldn't be very many problems on earth. ... But the trouble with deep belief is that it costs something. And there is something inside me, some selfish beast of a subtle thing that doesn't like the truth at all because it carries responsibility, and if I actually believe these things I have to do something about them. It is so, so cumbersome to believe anything." (p.107)
Cumbersome? Yes. Simple? Also, yes.
"All great Christian leaders are simple thinkers. . . . he actually believes that when Jesus says feed the poor, He means you should do this directly." (p.110)
I believe that giving money and praying is a very powerful way to enable others to help those in need. I also believe that actually helping those in need is what we as the church have been called to do. There is a cure, a remedy. Pastor Steven Furtick of Elevation Church in Charlotte, NC, said, "The Church is God's plan A. It's His plan B. It's his plan C, his plan D, his plan E, his plan F. The Church is God's plan for the earth. It is His chosen way. The people of God. . . . When the Church is being the Church, there's nothing like it. The reason most of us have a hard time figuring it out is because most of us have never seen it. . . the church extending mercy, the church becoming a community of healing." When will we stop being so stuck and start moving to further this plan? Many are moving. I refuse to be stationary.
One of the most powerful statements that I read all summer was this one. It's is so vivid, passionate, and urgent. "The human struggle bothered [him], as if something was broken in the world and we were supposed to hold our palms against the wound." (p.114) The world is bleeding. Why are we just watching it hemorrhage on the evening news or in missions slide shows on Sunday mornings? We have the first aid kit.
*Quotes here are from Blue Like Jazz by Donald Miller.*
Monday, September 8, 2008
An Orange Sky Behind the Dark Clouds
I watched the sunset today as I have been doing most days so far this semester. The sky was striped in orange, but dark billowing clouds hid most of its beauty. The sky listens to me, that's why I love it so. I mean, of course, I talk to God, my Jehovah Jireh, not really the sky. No, I am not Pantheistic; I do not believe that the sky is God. However, sitting beneath an open sky makes me feel as if I know God better than I know anyone and that He knows me better than I know myself. My words there in his presence cannot be too loud or too quiet. Everything is heard, even whispers that echo His promises.
Today was quiet. My whispered promises came from Psalm 108 and 109. They told my Lord things He already knew, but things I needed to say about my life currently. Perhaps they will speak for you as well.
"My heart is confident in you, O God; no wonder I can sing your praises with all my heart! Wake up, lyre and harp! I will wake the dawn with my song. I will thank you, Lord, among the people. For your unfailing love is higher than the heavens. Your faithfulness reaches to the clouds. Be exalted, O God, above the highest heavens. May your glory shine over all the earth. Now rescue your beloved people. Answer and save us by your power. God has promised this by his holiness . . . Who will bring me into the fortified city? Who will bring me victory over Edom? Have you rejected us, O God? Will you no longer march with our armies? Oh, please, help us against our enemies, for all human help is useless. With God's help we will do mighty things, for he will trample down our foes. O God, whom I praise, don't stand silent and aloof . . . Help me, O Lord my God! Save me because of your unfailing love. Let them see that this is your doing, that you yourself have done it, Lord. . . But I will give repeated thanks to the Lord, praising him to everyone. For he stands beside the needy, ready to save them from those who condemn them."
Today was quiet. My whispered promises came from Psalm 108 and 109. They told my Lord things He already knew, but things I needed to say about my life currently. Perhaps they will speak for you as well.
"My heart is confident in you, O God; no wonder I can sing your praises with all my heart! Wake up, lyre and harp! I will wake the dawn with my song. I will thank you, Lord, among the people. For your unfailing love is higher than the heavens. Your faithfulness reaches to the clouds. Be exalted, O God, above the highest heavens. May your glory shine over all the earth. Now rescue your beloved people. Answer and save us by your power. God has promised this by his holiness . . . Who will bring me into the fortified city? Who will bring me victory over Edom? Have you rejected us, O God? Will you no longer march with our armies? Oh, please, help us against our enemies, for all human help is useless. With God's help we will do mighty things, for he will trample down our foes. O God, whom I praise, don't stand silent and aloof . . . Help me, O Lord my God! Save me because of your unfailing love. Let them see that this is your doing, that you yourself have done it, Lord. . . But I will give repeated thanks to the Lord, praising him to everyone. For he stands beside the needy, ready to save them from those who condemn them."
Saturday, September 6, 2008
I Do Not Have the Blues
While I was staying home in May, being a camp counselor in June, and flying on a plane to Kenya in July, I read the book Blue Like Jazz by Donald Miller. The following are a few of my favorite quotes from my summer reading :
"I always thought the Bible was more of a salad thing, you know, but it isn't. It is a chocolate thing." p.47
"If you don't love somebody, it gets annoying when they tell you what to do or what to feel. When you love them you get pleasure from their pleasure, and it makes it easy to serve. I didn't love God because I didn't know God." p.14
"I will love God because he first loved me. I will obey God because I love God. . . . Self-discipline will never make us feel righteous or clean; accepting God's love will." p.86
"Sometimes you have to watch somebody love something before you can love it yourself." p.ix
"Passion is tricky, though, because it can point to nothing as easily as it points to something. . . . Passion about nothing is like pouring gasoline in a car without wheels." p.109 and 110
"I don't have to watch the evening news to see that the world is bad, I only have to look at myself." p.20
"I believe that the greatest trick of the devil is not to get us into some sort of evil, but rather have us wasting time. This is why the devil tries so hard to get Christians to be religious. If he can sink a man's mind into habit, he will prevent his heart from engaging God." p.13
"All great Christian leaders are simple thinkers. . . . actually believes that when Jesus says feed the poor, He means you should do this directly." p.110
"What I believe is not what I say I believe; what I believe is what I do." p.110
"'If we are not willing to wake up in the morning and die to ourselves, perhaps we should ask ourselves whether or not we are really following Jesus.'" p.185
"I need wonder." p.205
"I need for there to be something bigger than me. I need someone to put awe inside me; I need to come second to someone who has everything figured out." p.237
"If we could, God would not inspire awe." p.202
"The things we want most in life, the things we think will set us free, are not the things we need.... that's the tricky thing about life, really, that the things we want most will kill us." p.63
"It is always the simple things that change our lives. And these things never happen when you are looking for them to happen. Life will reveal answers at the pace life wishes to do so. You feel like running, but life is on a stroll. This is how God does things." p.217
"God had never withheld love to teach me a lesson." p.220
"Nobody will listen to you unless they sense that you like them." p.220
"Communicate the idea that Jesus likes people and even loves them." p.112
"I always thought the Bible was more of a salad thing, you know, but it isn't. It is a chocolate thing." p.47
"If you don't love somebody, it gets annoying when they tell you what to do or what to feel. When you love them you get pleasure from their pleasure, and it makes it easy to serve. I didn't love God because I didn't know God." p.14
"I will love God because he first loved me. I will obey God because I love God. . . . Self-discipline will never make us feel righteous or clean; accepting God's love will." p.86
"Sometimes you have to watch somebody love something before you can love it yourself." p.ix
"Passion is tricky, though, because it can point to nothing as easily as it points to something. . . . Passion about nothing is like pouring gasoline in a car without wheels." p.109 and 110
"I don't have to watch the evening news to see that the world is bad, I only have to look at myself." p.20
"I believe that the greatest trick of the devil is not to get us into some sort of evil, but rather have us wasting time. This is why the devil tries so hard to get Christians to be religious. If he can sink a man's mind into habit, he will prevent his heart from engaging God." p.13
"All great Christian leaders are simple thinkers. . . . actually believes that when Jesus says feed the poor, He means you should do this directly." p.110
"What I believe is not what I say I believe; what I believe is what I do." p.110
"'If we are not willing to wake up in the morning and die to ourselves, perhaps we should ask ourselves whether or not we are really following Jesus.'" p.185
"I need wonder." p.205
"I need for there to be something bigger than me. I need someone to put awe inside me; I need to come second to someone who has everything figured out." p.237
"If we could, God would not inspire awe." p.202
"The things we want most in life, the things we think will set us free, are not the things we need.... that's the tricky thing about life, really, that the things we want most will kill us." p.63
"It is always the simple things that change our lives. And these things never happen when you are looking for them to happen. Life will reveal answers at the pace life wishes to do so. You feel like running, but life is on a stroll. This is how God does things." p.217
"God had never withheld love to teach me a lesson." p.220
"Nobody will listen to you unless they sense that you like them." p.220
"Communicate the idea that Jesus likes people and even loves them." p.112
Thursday, September 4, 2008
Candy Island
My mom and I always took a trip to the grocery store on Friday nights. I loved the opportunity to have her attention all to myself as we walked around the store together. We were distracted from each other’s lovingly irritating qualities and focused on completing the overwhelming task of buying groceries for nine people.
Because of the immensity of the feat and the mother-daughter time that it provided, I had never been allowed to bring friends on these outings. Mama must have had a soft spot in her heart for Rebekah Henderson’s unpredictable personality. When I was about thirteen, I got permission to invite Bek for a sleepover on a Friday night. She tagged along for our weekly ritual. Bek and I shivered throughout the store. My mom must have gotten tired of hearing our teeth chattering, so she sent us both to the candy island for a half-pound bag each. Her offer warmed us quickly.
The candy stand seemed like Willy Wonka’s factory. Colorful gumdrops, mints, jellybeans, taffies, caramels, and chocolates sparkled in sugary splendor. We could not stop grinning. Bek unrolled two plastic bags, and we began filling and weighing them. As we neared the half-pound mark, we noticed baseball-sized jawbreakers in the last canister. They were perfect for meeting our quota.
Before I could stop her, Bek lifted the lid, stretched her bare hand into the clear container of unwrapped jawbreakers, and dropped one into her bag. “Rebekah!” I spouted. She looked at me, clueless. “You’re supposed to use the scooper!”
“Oh,” she replied, shrugging apathetically. She stretched her hand far into the long bag, brought out the jawbreaker, and plopped it back into its box. Then she scooped another large candy sphere from the canister and placed it in her bag.
I tied a knot in my plastic bag just above the candy and then tied the excess of the bag around my wrist. I led the way through the store to find my mom, swirling the bag in circles. Bek was only a step behind me, swirling her bag as well, only she had not tied the bag around her wrist. The jawbreaker at the end of the long bag made a kind of slingshot that David might have found handy in slaying Goliath. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched as Bek’s half-pound bag of candy left her hand, spun through the air, and landed on top of a meat freezer.
We stared at each other with wide eyes, glanced around to see if anyone else had noticed. Relieved that no one had seen, we burst into embarrassed giggles. Not knowing what to do about the precious lost candy, Bek and I decided to consult my wise mother. We found her in the dairy section, oblivious to the ruckus we had created. When we confessed, she simply shook her head and told us to go fill another bag for Bek. “But, no more mishaps,” she warned.
Back at the candy island, I helped Bek reload her stash of goodies. We managed gracefully to avoid any bare-handed retrievals or any near-ceiling launches. We were almost finished and proud of our treasure. We weighed the bag once more in the shiny metal plate. It read only a couple ounces short. She decided to add more Skittles. I agreed; they were my favorite, too. I offered to hold the bag open like a pot of gold so she could pour in that glorious sugar-coated rainbow.
She missed.
Skittles bounced like pebbles across the tile flooring and down several aisles of the store. We looked at each other again with wide eyes and gaping mouths. This time, when we glanced around to see if anyone else had noticed, there were three Bi-Lo employees with cleaning supplies staring at us as if we had just destroyed their masterpiece. We scurried around the mess we had made, found my mom in a check-out line, and huddled close to her for protection from the contemptuous grocery workers.
That was the first and the last time that my mom allowed anyone else to accompany us on our weekly trips to the store.
Because of the immensity of the feat and the mother-daughter time that it provided, I had never been allowed to bring friends on these outings. Mama must have had a soft spot in her heart for Rebekah Henderson’s unpredictable personality. When I was about thirteen, I got permission to invite Bek for a sleepover on a Friday night. She tagged along for our weekly ritual. Bek and I shivered throughout the store. My mom must have gotten tired of hearing our teeth chattering, so she sent us both to the candy island for a half-pound bag each. Her offer warmed us quickly.
The candy stand seemed like Willy Wonka’s factory. Colorful gumdrops, mints, jellybeans, taffies, caramels, and chocolates sparkled in sugary splendor. We could not stop grinning. Bek unrolled two plastic bags, and we began filling and weighing them. As we neared the half-pound mark, we noticed baseball-sized jawbreakers in the last canister. They were perfect for meeting our quota.
Before I could stop her, Bek lifted the lid, stretched her bare hand into the clear container of unwrapped jawbreakers, and dropped one into her bag. “Rebekah!” I spouted. She looked at me, clueless. “You’re supposed to use the scooper!”
“Oh,” she replied, shrugging apathetically. She stretched her hand far into the long bag, brought out the jawbreaker, and plopped it back into its box. Then she scooped another large candy sphere from the canister and placed it in her bag.
I tied a knot in my plastic bag just above the candy and then tied the excess of the bag around my wrist. I led the way through the store to find my mom, swirling the bag in circles. Bek was only a step behind me, swirling her bag as well, only she had not tied the bag around her wrist. The jawbreaker at the end of the long bag made a kind of slingshot that David might have found handy in slaying Goliath. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched as Bek’s half-pound bag of candy left her hand, spun through the air, and landed on top of a meat freezer.
We stared at each other with wide eyes, glanced around to see if anyone else had noticed. Relieved that no one had seen, we burst into embarrassed giggles. Not knowing what to do about the precious lost candy, Bek and I decided to consult my wise mother. We found her in the dairy section, oblivious to the ruckus we had created. When we confessed, she simply shook her head and told us to go fill another bag for Bek. “But, no more mishaps,” she warned.
Back at the candy island, I helped Bek reload her stash of goodies. We managed gracefully to avoid any bare-handed retrievals or any near-ceiling launches. We were almost finished and proud of our treasure. We weighed the bag once more in the shiny metal plate. It read only a couple ounces short. She decided to add more Skittles. I agreed; they were my favorite, too. I offered to hold the bag open like a pot of gold so she could pour in that glorious sugar-coated rainbow.
She missed.
Skittles bounced like pebbles across the tile flooring and down several aisles of the store. We looked at each other again with wide eyes and gaping mouths. This time, when we glanced around to see if anyone else had noticed, there were three Bi-Lo employees with cleaning supplies staring at us as if we had just destroyed their masterpiece. We scurried around the mess we had made, found my mom in a check-out line, and huddled close to her for protection from the contemptuous grocery workers.
That was the first and the last time that my mom allowed anyone else to accompany us on our weekly trips to the store.
Monday, August 25, 2008
Which City?
While I was working at Marietta Baptist Camp during June and July, our worship leader, Jamie Koenig, introduced me to the song "God Of This City" by Chris Tomlin. The lyrics are truly inspirational and were especially so to me throughout the rest of the summer.
At MBC, I would pray for God to rule over the tiny southern town of Marietta, South Carolina, while I worked and lived there. God was moving in the lives of the children and the staffers. Each week, as one of my campers would sit with me at the altar and give her life to Christ for the first time, I knew that God was answering the prayers that we had sung for that little city.
After working at camp, I flew to Nairobi, Kenya, for a mission trip. I listened to "God Of This City" on my iPod while I was sitting under a mosquito net in a major African city. The irony that I had sung the very same thing to God in two very opposite settings made me smile. The children at the orphanage, the teens in the slums, the women in the open muddy market, the businessmen on the dirty streets, all of them were part of the city that I had prayed for God to use me to be His hope and light, just as I had at a summer camp.
Now, back in the southern United States, dorming and attending classes in the city of Tigerville, South Carolina, which is essentially the campus of North Greenville University, I pray that God will also reveal Himself as the God of this city during my time here.
"You're the Lord of Creation, the Creator of all things. You're the King above all Kings. You are. You're the strength in our weakness. You're the love to the broken. You're the joy in the sadness. You are. You're the God of this city. You're the King of these people. You're the Lord of this nation. You are. There is no one like our God. There is no one like our God. Greater things have yet to come. Great things are still to be done in this city. Greater things are still to come, and greater things are still to be done here."
Weakness, brokenness, and sadness exist in all cities, but God created them and reigns over them. He brings strength, love, joy, and hope, and He does that through His people. "Hakuna Mungu kama we we. Hakuna na hata kuweko." There is no one like our God. There is none and there never will be. Southern English or Swahili, Marietta or Nairobi - it makes no difference in the greatness of God. May He be the God of wherever I am.
At MBC, I would pray for God to rule over the tiny southern town of Marietta, South Carolina, while I worked and lived there. God was moving in the lives of the children and the staffers. Each week, as one of my campers would sit with me at the altar and give her life to Christ for the first time, I knew that God was answering the prayers that we had sung for that little city.
After working at camp, I flew to Nairobi, Kenya, for a mission trip. I listened to "God Of This City" on my iPod while I was sitting under a mosquito net in a major African city. The irony that I had sung the very same thing to God in two very opposite settings made me smile. The children at the orphanage, the teens in the slums, the women in the open muddy market, the businessmen on the dirty streets, all of them were part of the city that I had prayed for God to use me to be His hope and light, just as I had at a summer camp.
Now, back in the southern United States, dorming and attending classes in the city of Tigerville, South Carolina, which is essentially the campus of North Greenville University, I pray that God will also reveal Himself as the God of this city during my time here.
"You're the Lord of Creation, the Creator of all things. You're the King above all Kings. You are. You're the strength in our weakness. You're the love to the broken. You're the joy in the sadness. You are. You're the God of this city. You're the King of these people. You're the Lord of this nation. You are. There is no one like our God. There is no one like our God. Greater things have yet to come. Great things are still to be done in this city. Greater things are still to come, and greater things are still to be done here."
Weakness, brokenness, and sadness exist in all cities, but God created them and reigns over them. He brings strength, love, joy, and hope, and He does that through His people. "Hakuna Mungu kama we we. Hakuna na hata kuweko." There is no one like our God. There is none and there never will be. Southern English or Swahili, Marietta or Nairobi - it makes no difference in the greatness of God. May He be the God of wherever I am.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Back and Blogging
I am back in the USA and full of stories. I will pick up my blogging starting next week, so get ready to read!
Much love and grace for my faithful readers . . . . I can't wait to share with you.
Much love and grace for my faithful readers . . . . I can't wait to share with you.
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Summer Break
I'm on summer break from school right now and will be far from technology for most of it. Instead, I'll be working out, getting a tan, eating more than anyone should, working at a camp, and traveling to Kenya. But as soon as I get back to school in August, I'll have so many ideas collected that I want to spill to my readers that you will be overwhelmed with information. So, please, don't give up on my blog. Go back and read from days past, and stay tuned until the end of the summer. You'll be glad you did; I'm sure of it!
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Today
Today, let me right the wrongs of the world. Every last one. Let me hold the new life wrapped tightly in a nursery of the orphanage in Nairobi. Let the tiny fingers grip around something softer than neglect. Let the sun burn my skin as I play hopscotch with a child whose friends were picked up from school on time. Let me forget my studies to hug the struggling student.
Today, let me right the wrongs of the world. Every last one. Let him talk to me until his hopes are truth, solid as the hammer in his hand. Let her complain until her fears in the custody trial, which keep her awake all night and at work all day, are yesterday’s memories, not today’s migraines. Let my ears be used to soothe.
Today, let me right the wrongs of the world. Every last one. Let me become friends with a girl who sells her body because no one else ever found her heart worth their time. Let me give freely to thieves. Let steel and iron entrap me if it means I have talked with a prisoner.
Today, let me right the wrongs of the world. Every last one. Let me sell my favorite dress to serve a warm breakfast to the hungry and homeless. Let me sit on a cracking concrete curb and listen to their thoughts and learn. Let me learn. Let the autumn chill fill my thin clothes. Let the rain fall onto my uncovered mind. Let me love them by knowing them, not just by watching the news.
Today, let me right the wrongs of the world. Every last one. Let me drive for hours to be with a friend. Let wet tears drain down my face in place of the ones she covers beneath her sturdy faith. Let me resurrect above the dark grave of the one she loved and show her the bright blue sky hovering over the rich green of earth.
Today, let me right the wrongs of the world. Every last one.
Today, let me right the wrongs of the world. Every last one. Let him talk to me until his hopes are truth, solid as the hammer in his hand. Let her complain until her fears in the custody trial, which keep her awake all night and at work all day, are yesterday’s memories, not today’s migraines. Let my ears be used to soothe.
Today, let me right the wrongs of the world. Every last one. Let me become friends with a girl who sells her body because no one else ever found her heart worth their time. Let me give freely to thieves. Let steel and iron entrap me if it means I have talked with a prisoner.
Today, let me right the wrongs of the world. Every last one. Let me sell my favorite dress to serve a warm breakfast to the hungry and homeless. Let me sit on a cracking concrete curb and listen to their thoughts and learn. Let me learn. Let the autumn chill fill my thin clothes. Let the rain fall onto my uncovered mind. Let me love them by knowing them, not just by watching the news.
Today, let me right the wrongs of the world. Every last one. Let me drive for hours to be with a friend. Let wet tears drain down my face in place of the ones she covers beneath her sturdy faith. Let me resurrect above the dark grave of the one she loved and show her the bright blue sky hovering over the rich green of earth.
Today, let me right the wrongs of the world. Every last one.
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
Serendipity
I had not planned on blogging tonight, but I must share what God just did for me. I prayed often today. I wrote the prayers down; it's one of my favorite things to do. I simply could not stop talking to God today. Something lay heavily on my soul that needed addressed even in its obscurity.
When it seemed impossible for another sentence to be produced by my weary mind, I turned to Scripture for a refill. My suite mate had mentioned Proverbs 27:14 to me earlier today, and I had jotted it down to look up later. I flipped through my NLT to find it, but instead of Proverbs 27:14, I accidentally stopped at Psalm 27:14. Serendipitously, the verse was almost identical wording to the words I had dripped into my journal an hour before. I frantically turned to the first of the chapter and began reading from start until end, a starving child devouring a feast. Each verse answered a prayer need that my heart had expressed throughout the day -- prayers for patience, prayers for protection, and prayers for power. God had been listening. Now, so am I. Listen.
The Lord is my light and my salvation --
so why should I be afraid?
The Lord is my fortress, protecting me from danger,
so why should I tremble?
When evil people come to devour me,
when my enemies and foes attack me,
they will stumble and fall.
Though a mighty army surrounds me,
my heart will not be afraid.
Even if I am attacked,
I will remain confident.
The one thing I ask of the Lord --
the thing I seek most --
Is to live in the house of the Lord all the days of my life,
delighting in the Lord's perfections
and meditating in his Temple.
For he will conceal me there when troubles come;
he will hide me in his sanctuary.
He will place me out of reach on a high rock.
Then I will hold my head high
above my enemies who surround me.
At his sanctuary I will offer sacrifices with shouts of joy,
singing and praising the Lord with music.
Hear me as I pray, O Lord,
Be merciful and answer me!
My heart has heard you say, "Come and talk with me."
And my heart responds, "Lord, I am coming."
Do not turn your back on me.
Do not reject your servant in anger.
You have always been my helper.
Don't leave me now; don't abandon me,
O God of my salvation!
Even if my father and mother abandon me,
the Lord will hold me close.
Teach me how to live, O Lord.
Lead me along the right path,
for my enemies are waiting for me.
Do not let me fall into their hands.
For they accuse me of things I've never done;
with every breath they threaten me with violence.
Yet I am confident I will see the Lord's goodness
while I am here in the land of the living.
Wait patiently for the Lord.
Be brave and courageous.
Yes, wait patiently for the Lord.
When it seemed impossible for another sentence to be produced by my weary mind, I turned to Scripture for a refill. My suite mate had mentioned Proverbs 27:14 to me earlier today, and I had jotted it down to look up later. I flipped through my NLT to find it, but instead of Proverbs 27:14, I accidentally stopped at Psalm 27:14. Serendipitously, the verse was almost identical wording to the words I had dripped into my journal an hour before. I frantically turned to the first of the chapter and began reading from start until end, a starving child devouring a feast. Each verse answered a prayer need that my heart had expressed throughout the day -- prayers for patience, prayers for protection, and prayers for power. God had been listening. Now, so am I. Listen.
The Lord is my light and my salvation --
so why should I be afraid?
The Lord is my fortress, protecting me from danger,
so why should I tremble?
When evil people come to devour me,
when my enemies and foes attack me,
they will stumble and fall.
Though a mighty army surrounds me,
my heart will not be afraid.
Even if I am attacked,
I will remain confident.
The one thing I ask of the Lord --
the thing I seek most --
Is to live in the house of the Lord all the days of my life,
delighting in the Lord's perfections
and meditating in his Temple.
For he will conceal me there when troubles come;
he will hide me in his sanctuary.
He will place me out of reach on a high rock.
Then I will hold my head high
above my enemies who surround me.
At his sanctuary I will offer sacrifices with shouts of joy,
singing and praising the Lord with music.
Hear me as I pray, O Lord,
Be merciful and answer me!
My heart has heard you say, "Come and talk with me."
And my heart responds, "Lord, I am coming."
Do not turn your back on me.
Do not reject your servant in anger.
You have always been my helper.
Don't leave me now; don't abandon me,
O God of my salvation!
Even if my father and mother abandon me,
the Lord will hold me close.
Teach me how to live, O Lord.
Lead me along the right path,
for my enemies are waiting for me.
Do not let me fall into their hands.
For they accuse me of things I've never done;
with every breath they threaten me with violence.
Yet I am confident I will see the Lord's goodness
while I am here in the land of the living.
Wait patiently for the Lord.
Be brave and courageous.
Yes, wait patiently for the Lord.
Thursday, April 3, 2008
My Time
Since I have not typed a single word onto this site in over a week, any regular readers I may have had are probably giving up on me right about now. This lack of inspiring insight to share does not spring from a lack of learning. I have been learning greatly, but it comes in blurbs of information -- facts that may be too short to entertain the blogging audience. I enjoy the sentence-long epiphanies, but even when I attach all the blurbs, they seem fragmented. I could elaborate on any one or two of them, but then they would not stand alone as well as they already do. So, if free association bothers you, you should probably go to the next blog. However, if you would like to read through my fragmented thought processes, you are welcome to try. I am literally flipping through my sacred notebook and pulling out the sections that follow. This is a privilege and probably will not happen again. Be glad you found it today.
What if I write everyday, and it's all in vain?
What if my fingers permanently cramp around the pen, but no two eyes ever really grasp the words?
I feel as if I have been separated from beauty itself for far too long. This is effecting my poetry. I need spring.
I want to live in a city at least once in life.
When do I get quiet enough that I can hear a poem before I write it.
Why do people say "a-whole-nother?"
I want to minister in downtown Greenville.
I want to take a water bucket and drippy soap suds into the middle of the worst places and wash the dirty hands and faces of the world's poorest children.
My notebook is burgundy. Burgundy is such a serious color. Where have all my cute poems gone? I need to switch to my polka-dotted one. I need bright photography -- the kind that makes me live it out and write it out.
What if I write everyday, and it's all in vain?
What if my fingers permanently cramp around the pen, but no two eyes ever really grasp the words?
I feel as if I have been separated from beauty itself for far too long. This is effecting my poetry. I need spring.
I want to live in a city at least once in life.
When do I get quiet enough that I can hear a poem before I write it.
Why do people say "a-whole-nother?"
I want to minister in downtown Greenville.
I want to take a water bucket and drippy soap suds into the middle of the worst places and wash the dirty hands and faces of the world's poorest children.
My notebook is burgundy. Burgundy is such a serious color. Where have all my cute poems gone? I need to switch to my polka-dotted one. I need bright photography -- the kind that makes me live it out and write it out.
Monday, March 24, 2008
Don't Just Pretend
My small group from Seacoast Church read part of Romans 12 last Sunday. I had studied the entire book last semester, but chapter 12 always stands out. So I decided to focus on Romans 12 throughout all of last week. I read it over and over. I purposely chose not to single out any particular verse until the end of the week when I had become familiar with the text again, or else the entire chapter would be marked and highlighted. Instead, I wound up simply circling the enlarged number "12" at the start of the chapter, and only underlining the one verse that would not give my conscience a break all week long. Romans chapter 12 verse 9 still stands out on the page:
I love my friends and family. They make me laugh. Thoughts of them make me smile. Sweet memories bring tears to my eyes. I love them. I am not pretend-loving anyone. I have done that before and by no means recommend it. My care is genuine.
Still, the second half of the verse stirs my curiosity -- "Really love them." Maybe I am not falsely loving anyone, but am I really loving them? The word "really" is an intensifier. Is my love for others intense? It's real love, but is it to the full extent?
And how far does that type of love stretch? Does my love stop with my close friends and family? The word "others" encapsulates anyone outside of myself. Do I love strangers, really? Do I love acquaintances, really? If the love I possess is not pretend, what am I doing to prove its reality? Learning to really love is vital to the lives of believers, for Christ Himself declared, "Your love for one another will prove to the world that you are my disciples" (John 13:35).
What is love to the fullest extent? How can I stretch it? By "genuine affection," (v. 10) by "taking delight in honoring each other" (v. 10), by "always being eager to practice hospitality" (v. 13), by "never being lazy"(v. 11) and by "serving the Lord enthusiastically" (v. 11) .
So I went back to honest evaluation. How enthusiastic am I about the Lord's work? How genuine is my affection for the hurting and lost? How hospitable am I allowing myself to be? How madly in love am I with everyone else in the world?
"Don't just pretend to love others. Really love them."
I read the line countless times last week. This chapter had already warned me to "Be honest in your evaluation of yourselves," (v. 3) and to "Let God transform you into a new person by changing the way you think" (v. 2), so I prepared myself for a breakthrough and a change.I love my friends and family. They make me laugh. Thoughts of them make me smile. Sweet memories bring tears to my eyes. I love them. I am not pretend-loving anyone. I have done that before and by no means recommend it. My care is genuine.
Still, the second half of the verse stirs my curiosity -- "Really love them." Maybe I am not falsely loving anyone, but am I really loving them? The word "really" is an intensifier. Is my love for others intense? It's real love, but is it to the full extent?
And how far does that type of love stretch? Does my love stop with my close friends and family? The word "others" encapsulates anyone outside of myself. Do I love strangers, really? Do I love acquaintances, really? If the love I possess is not pretend, what am I doing to prove its reality? Learning to really love is vital to the lives of believers, for Christ Himself declared, "Your love for one another will prove to the world that you are my disciples" (John 13:35).
What is love to the fullest extent? How can I stretch it? By "genuine affection," (v. 10) by "taking delight in honoring each other" (v. 10), by "always being eager to practice hospitality" (v. 13), by "never being lazy"(v. 11) and by "serving the Lord enthusiastically" (v. 11) .
So I went back to honest evaluation. How enthusiastic am I about the Lord's work? How genuine is my affection for the hurting and lost? How hospitable am I allowing myself to be? How madly in love am I with everyone else in the world?
"Don't just pretend to love others. Really love them." -Romans 12:9
Saturday, March 22, 2008
Tinted Windows
I like to sit on the passenger's side
And stare out my window
Into the windows of the cars passing by.
A silent couple with a baby carrier in back.
Two tattoo-ridden college men screaming in black.
An old couple, we flew by, I nearly missed.
A man alone dressed for business.
Our windows are tinted to prevent it,
But if they could see through,
What would they think of me and of you?
And stare out my window
Into the windows of the cars passing by.
A silent couple with a baby carrier in back.
Two tattoo-ridden college men screaming in black.
An old couple, we flew by, I nearly missed.
A man alone dressed for business.
Our windows are tinted to prevent it,
But if they could see through,
What would they think of me and of you?
Friday, March 21, 2008
The Touch of Christ
I realize that today is Good Friday, the day when we reflect on Christ's world-redeeming crucifixion. I did that today. I even visited a cathedral in downtown Charleston for their Good Friday service.
But I was not focused so much on Christ's death today as I suppose I was supposed to be. I was thinking about his life.
I wonder, if I were to die today, and my closest family and friends began digging through all my possessions and reading all my writings -- things that no one really sees but me -- would their views of me change? What would they think of my thoughts? What would be their favorite things to remember about me?
If I had been family, friends, or even acquaintances of Christ while he was on earth, what would be my favorite memory of His life after His death?
For the soldier whose ear Peter chopped off, what did it sound like when Jesus healed it?
For the man who had been blind his whole life, what was it like for Jesus' hands to be the first thing he ever saw?
He touched so many lives then. Now, He uses his followers to make Christ-like memories for others. What are we doing?
But I was not focused so much on Christ's death today as I suppose I was supposed to be. I was thinking about his life.
I wonder, if I were to die today, and my closest family and friends began digging through all my possessions and reading all my writings -- things that no one really sees but me -- would their views of me change? What would they think of my thoughts? What would be their favorite things to remember about me?
If I had been family, friends, or even acquaintances of Christ while he was on earth, what would be my favorite memory of His life after His death?
For the soldier whose ear Peter chopped off, what did it sound like when Jesus healed it?
For the man who had been blind his whole life, what was it like for Jesus' hands to be the first thing he ever saw?
He touched so many lives then. Now, He uses his followers to make Christ-like memories for others. What are we doing?
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Rose Garden
I really dislike roses. I've never understood why my parents and grandparents would "comfort" me after a long, frustrating day saying "Well, you know, Honey, God never did promise us a rose garden...." Sarcastically, I would often think, "Well, I never really wanted one." Roses just have no aesthetic appeal to me. Yet, that idiom came to my mind several times today.
Today was one of those long days where life is consistently inconsistent. It was hot and cold, black and white, bitter and sweet. I had a beautiful moment then a depressing one, then a breathtaking one followed by a disappointing one. With the intensity of ups and downs, it was difficult to keep myself and my attitude steady and stable. There was a feeling that I was on a carnival ride that had spun out of control. Nevertheless, in the thrills mixed with uneasiness, I smiled at God. It was all planned.
I refuse to use the rose paradigm . . . so I made my own. "God makes rainy days and sunny ones. Sometimes, He even lets the rain come down and the sun come out in the same day." God never promised me every day would be as gorgeous as today's weather was. Still, the gray clouds are just as important as the white ones.
Colossians 3:12-15 may not be a perfect fit for my sunshine analogy, but it's highlighted in my mind as I think about the carnival ride of Christian life, and it comforts me more than common cliches.
"Since God chose you to be the holy people he loves, you must clothe yourselves with tender-hearted mercy, kindness, humility, gentleness, and patience. Make allowance for each other's faults, and forgive anyone who offends you. Remember, the Lord forgave you, so you must forgive others. Above all, clothe yourselves with love, which binds us all together in perfect harmony. And let the peace that comes from Christ rule in your hearts. For as members of one body, you are called to live in peace. And always be thankful."
I was chosen to be shining no matter the weather.
Today was one of those long days where life is consistently inconsistent. It was hot and cold, black and white, bitter and sweet. I had a beautiful moment then a depressing one, then a breathtaking one followed by a disappointing one. With the intensity of ups and downs, it was difficult to keep myself and my attitude steady and stable. There was a feeling that I was on a carnival ride that had spun out of control. Nevertheless, in the thrills mixed with uneasiness, I smiled at God. It was all planned.
I refuse to use the rose paradigm . . . so I made my own. "God makes rainy days and sunny ones. Sometimes, He even lets the rain come down and the sun come out in the same day." God never promised me every day would be as gorgeous as today's weather was. Still, the gray clouds are just as important as the white ones.
Colossians 3:12-15 may not be a perfect fit for my sunshine analogy, but it's highlighted in my mind as I think about the carnival ride of Christian life, and it comforts me more than common cliches.
"Since God chose you to be the holy people he loves, you must clothe yourselves with tender-hearted mercy, kindness, humility, gentleness, and patience. Make allowance for each other's faults, and forgive anyone who offends you. Remember, the Lord forgave you, so you must forgive others. Above all, clothe yourselves with love, which binds us all together in perfect harmony. And let the peace that comes from Christ rule in your hearts. For as members of one body, you are called to live in peace. And always be thankful."
I was chosen to be shining no matter the weather.
Monday, March 10, 2008
The Zoo I Made
In high school, I was positive that I had perfectly planned the rest of my life. I felt God moving, and I assumed that movement indicated His approval of my plans. Now I know that the movement certainly was God, but it was His protection from my narrow plans and guidance into His limitless ones. He protected me from staying with someone who wasn't His will for my life and from taking a college/career path that He did not want for me. But I was addicted to me. I thought that being devoted to someone else made me less selfish, but I was blinded by infatuation. Devoting to that person was fulfilling only to myself.
God was jealous. He wanted me back. I responded with the attitude that He could have me, but only if I could have my version of His will. God wanted only me -- without my plans, without the person I was enamored with, and without the impositions of others who thought they knew me. Without those things, I didn't know who I was. The “me” that God wanted seemed far under par. I hated me. I saw the “me” that God had asked for and said “But don't You want more? She isn't good enough for anyone, especially You.” Making straight A's wasn't good enough. Being busy with church and school wasn't good enough. Having my own decent plans wasn't good enough. The guy whom I thought that I loved had even labeled me “not good enough.” Why would God want that for Himself? I hated the “me” that God wanted, and seeing His desire for the “me” I couldn't love was astounding. I didn't want God to love “me” until I could understand why. All the plans and efforts were my attempt to be deserving.
I failed. I failed consistently for over two years. The person whom I thought loved me back became the deciding factor for every move I made. He molded my world view. He implied that he was greater than me only because of his gender. He assumed control of my emotions. He changed who I was. And not a single moment of that was his fault. I had chosen to be in that position. I had failed. I was successful on the outside to my friends and family, but I felt failure in my life that no one else saw or believed.
Sometimes I wonder why no one chose to tell me how much control I was allowing this teenage boy to have over my life, my beliefs, and my personality. In hindsight, they hadn't confronted me because I had held up a mask for so long that I eventually chose the artificial to be my reality. I thought I was happy. They thought I was happy. Only God knew the core of me. With each flashing ember of hope, I wanted to reach into the smoking ashes and retrieve my plans. But this refining process was closer to God's will than those human plans. He was striping away my artificial coverings, and getting down to who He had made me to be. Months later, reality hit. The outside me was gone. To my surprise, I wasn't devastated. I was liberated. I stood in shock staring into the blackened fire pit of my dreams, shock not so much that they had disappeared as that I was relieved of them. Throughout that time, I had prayed prayers like wishes for what I thought was best, and I watched as everything I had prayed for slowly burned. Still, God was there showing me a better way, loving the real me all the while.
Can you imagine every prayer you've ever prayed being answered exactly how you wanted. As a kid, it may mean you got every golden retriever, iguana, or parakeet you ever asked for. As we grow older, we assume that we are mature enough to know what is best for us, but the truth remains: even an adult life would resemble a zoo if all prayers came true like magical wishes. I am so blessed to have a God who knows what is best for His child, and who listens to my soul instead of my impulses.
The miracle that Jesus Christ saved me from sin and Hell is unfathomable. Yet, I will be forever grateful simply that He saved me from myself.
Thursday, March 6, 2008
Spring Fever
All day long, I had shown numerous symptoms of a horrible fever.
Because of this illness, I slowly eased out of bed and treated myself to a steamy, cheesy, loaded omlet. I don't think the vitamins in a gallon of OJ could have cured me, but I tried anyway.
My friends must have heard that I was a victim of the disease, so they called with sympathetic conversation that took up most of my morning. Breakfast and friends were enjoyable, but nothing took the fever away.
I thought a shower would rinse away the side effects, so I took an extra long one and played with my hair using every product and gadget I own. All the fuss made me lose my appetite for lunch, but something burned within me, craving. Something deep tried to surface to fulfill a hunger pang. The desire pushed me outdoors.
Light. The glorious light. THIS was the cure! But I needed more of it. The light couldn't touch me through jeans and long sleeves. Panic, then urgency threw me into action. There was plenty of light. It just couldn't reach me! I needed more skin. So I bolted back inside and found last summer's bikini.
To suppress my overwhelming insecurities, I reminded myself that no one else was home, in my house or the neighbors'. The cure for my fever was within reach. On my second trip outdoors, I picked up The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn and retreated to my backyard patio and onto Huck's raft, loaded with sails, oars, and boyish tidbits... I added a towel and a timer as I lay back on board. Huck and I had floated, two carefree and lonesome runaways, almost halfway down the Mississipi as the sun's rays performed magic tricks on our winter white skin. I felt better already.
In the silence after turning a page, I heard movement beside me and the thump of a landing. I sat straight up and scrambled for a towel. Thoughts of decent explanations for my partially-clothed presence on an early March day swirled in my head as I turned to face the disturbance.
My intruder was feline. Her name is Izzy.
"Annie Issabella! What in the world...!" I teasingly reprimanded her, realizing how quickly my heart was beating. I collapsed back onto the towel and covered my face with the open book in personal embarrassment until I felt her stretch out beside me in her own delight of the sun.
I wasn't the only one with Spring Fever, and we'd both found the cure.
Because of this illness, I slowly eased out of bed and treated myself to a steamy, cheesy, loaded omlet. I don't think the vitamins in a gallon of OJ could have cured me, but I tried anyway.
My friends must have heard that I was a victim of the disease, so they called with sympathetic conversation that took up most of my morning. Breakfast and friends were enjoyable, but nothing took the fever away.
I thought a shower would rinse away the side effects, so I took an extra long one and played with my hair using every product and gadget I own. All the fuss made me lose my appetite for lunch, but something burned within me, craving. Something deep tried to surface to fulfill a hunger pang. The desire pushed me outdoors.
Light. The glorious light. THIS was the cure! But I needed more of it. The light couldn't touch me through jeans and long sleeves. Panic, then urgency threw me into action. There was plenty of light. It just couldn't reach me! I needed more skin. So I bolted back inside and found last summer's bikini.
To suppress my overwhelming insecurities, I reminded myself that no one else was home, in my house or the neighbors'. The cure for my fever was within reach. On my second trip outdoors, I picked up The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn and retreated to my backyard patio and onto Huck's raft, loaded with sails, oars, and boyish tidbits... I added a towel and a timer as I lay back on board. Huck and I had floated, two carefree and lonesome runaways, almost halfway down the Mississipi as the sun's rays performed magic tricks on our winter white skin. I felt better already.
In the silence after turning a page, I heard movement beside me and the thump of a landing. I sat straight up and scrambled for a towel. Thoughts of decent explanations for my partially-clothed presence on an early March day swirled in my head as I turned to face the disturbance.
My intruder was feline. Her name is Izzy.
"Annie Issabella! What in the world...!" I teasingly reprimanded her, realizing how quickly my heart was beating. I collapsed back onto the towel and covered my face with the open book in personal embarrassment until I felt her stretch out beside me in her own delight of the sun.
I wasn't the only one with Spring Fever, and we'd both found the cure.
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
The Need For Mud
The day was loosely planned, marked on the calendar as "Messy Day," and predicted by weathermen to be a threat for any outdoor activities.
Well, almost any.
The clouds came early, even before the sun. Dressed for a mess, we mounted the four-wheeler and aimed for every dirt and gravel road within a mile of our starting point. The mist began, perfectly in sync with the first rev of the engine. The further we drove, the harder the rain came.
I drive like a girl, so I chose to be the passenger. Still, I startled like a girl at every turn and tilt.
As a child, I was discouraged to be within arms-reach of this southern red clay mud, but, on this day, mud seemed a necessity. If mud was not nearby, the day had lost its purpose. Muddiness had already been planned, marked on the calendar, and predicted. A mess was required of us.
I thought mudslinging was a political term until I found its reality standing in a field between a creek and a swamp beneath tablespoon-sized raindrops. We dismounted here.
Leaves that had been dried out then dampened again by rain were meshed with tiny sticks and insects in our sloshing tracks. My vision was watery, but I clearly watched as a handful of the mix soared through the air and hit me square. For the first time in a lifetime, I reached down into the mire and brought forth retaliation. Childish reasoning emerged -- he started it. Cold brown mud squished through my fingers, and I realized my carefree childhood had been dormant for far too long. I needed this dirt.
Moments later, remnants of the battle covered each of us wholly. Smeared, splattered... and smiling.
Well, almost any.
The clouds came early, even before the sun. Dressed for a mess, we mounted the four-wheeler and aimed for every dirt and gravel road within a mile of our starting point. The mist began, perfectly in sync with the first rev of the engine. The further we drove, the harder the rain came.
I drive like a girl, so I chose to be the passenger. Still, I startled like a girl at every turn and tilt.
As a child, I was discouraged to be within arms-reach of this southern red clay mud, but, on this day, mud seemed a necessity. If mud was not nearby, the day had lost its purpose. Muddiness had already been planned, marked on the calendar, and predicted. A mess was required of us.
I thought mudslinging was a political term until I found its reality standing in a field between a creek and a swamp beneath tablespoon-sized raindrops. We dismounted here.
Leaves that had been dried out then dampened again by rain were meshed with tiny sticks and insects in our sloshing tracks. My vision was watery, but I clearly watched as a handful of the mix soared through the air and hit me square. For the first time in a lifetime, I reached down into the mire and brought forth retaliation. Childish reasoning emerged -- he started it. Cold brown mud squished through my fingers, and I realized my carefree childhood had been dormant for far too long. I needed this dirt.
Moments later, remnants of the battle covered each of us wholly. Smeared, splattered... and smiling.
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
My God, Like the Sky
True beauty is held in awe for all eternity and remains beautiful despite the angle from which it is viewed.
I have seen the sky from my hometown in the Carolina's, from a tour bus in Springfield, from the Riverwalk in San Antonio, from the freedom of Philidelphia, from the blue wind in Barcelona, from a holiday in Rome.... and from each point of view, the sky is beautiful.
I have seen God from a human's eyes, a child's eyes, a woman's eyes, a daughter's eyes, a student's eyes, a leader's eyes, a teacher's eyes, a friend's eyes... and from each point of view, God is beautiful.
Like the sky, He is always moving, ever seeming to change state and direction, yet somehow, when I see Him, I know He is forever the same. I cannot get bored with God -- nor His sky. I cannot fathom how immense both must be.
God speaks to me through the sky. Soft and silent or flashing and loud, He speaks. Powerful. Gentle. Omniscient. Unpredictable. Steady. I am so small. I succumb to a will other than my own. Who I am is put into perspective. Who He is pervades my life, my world, my thoughts, pervades who I am, just as the sky over-arches all life here.
Yes, the One whom I serve must resemble the sky that He made. ... But nothing could ever really compare to my God. Even something that pours water, bubbles with color, and wakes me up each morning, and calms me every night. That experience doesn't even come close to standing in the expanse of God's greatness.
I have seen the sky from my hometown in the Carolina's, from a tour bus in Springfield, from the Riverwalk in San Antonio, from the freedom of Philidelphia, from the blue wind in Barcelona, from a holiday in Rome.... and from each point of view, the sky is beautiful.
I have seen God from a human's eyes, a child's eyes, a woman's eyes, a daughter's eyes, a student's eyes, a leader's eyes, a teacher's eyes, a friend's eyes... and from each point of view, God is beautiful.
Like the sky, He is always moving, ever seeming to change state and direction, yet somehow, when I see Him, I know He is forever the same. I cannot get bored with God -- nor His sky. I cannot fathom how immense both must be.
God speaks to me through the sky. Soft and silent or flashing and loud, He speaks. Powerful. Gentle. Omniscient. Unpredictable. Steady. I am so small. I succumb to a will other than my own. Who I am is put into perspective. Who He is pervades my life, my world, my thoughts, pervades who I am, just as the sky over-arches all life here.
Yes, the One whom I serve must resemble the sky that He made. ... But nothing could ever really compare to my God. Even something that pours water, bubbles with color, and wakes me up each morning, and calms me every night. That experience doesn't even come close to standing in the expanse of God's greatness.
Monday, February 25, 2008
Planning Ahead
I always plan what I will say in each of my blogs, and think about it for a couple days, then pull out recurring themes from my thoughts and place them here for you to read. But sometimes, I have those things plotted and perfected then get to the keyboard and realize those things are not what I should say at all, which erases the slate of what I was going to say but doesn't tell me what I should say.
Since middle school, I have been a planner. I carry day planners. I plan events. I plan Bible Studies. I plan mundane things throughout the day. I can plan.
Lately, however, planning is not my forte, particularly for summer. Summer is two months and one week away. Once it arrives, it will last three and a half glorious months. I already had this summer planned at the end of last summer. It was plotted and charted and outlined. Yes, I can plan. Yet, as I plan, I pray, and to be quite frank, prayer messes up my plans. . . . And I love it.
So, my plans for this summer have been wonderfully messed up by Jesus Christ's intervention. Hopefully, I'm doing what He wants me to do and the end result will be His plans instead of mine. I have no clue what my summer will be. As of today, it's no longer my summer anyways --- I gave it away.
Possibly at that same moment that I dropped my summer heavily into God's steady hand, my Lord applied the passage I've been concentrating on this week to my current circumstances. I'll put parts of it here, but look up Hebrews 10 for yourself and be blessed by its greatness.
When I'm wondering what God's purpose is in all this...
"God's will was for us to be made holy." (v. 10)
"He forever made perfect those who are being made holy." (v. 14)
When I'm blind to what my school breaks may have in store:
"Go right into the presence of God with sincere hearts fully trusting him." (v. 22)
"Let us hold tightly without wavering to the hope we affirm, for God can be trusted to keep his promise." (v. 23)
"Do not throw away this confident trust in the Lord. Remember the great reward it brings you." (v. 35)
When I wonder what will get me through until then...
"Think back on those early days when you first learned about Christ. Remember how you remained faithful...." (v. 32)
"Patient endurance is what you need now, so that you will continue to do God's will. Then you will receive all that he has promised." (v. 36)
Just as this blog was completely planned and then completely renovated, so is my future. The foundation has already been laid. He already warned me of this --"My righteous ones will live by faith " in verse 38 and 39 -- but I continue needing to be reminded. "We are the faithful ones." I want this summer to be a faithful one. Oh, Lord, please mess up my plans until they are perfectly Yours.
Since middle school, I have been a planner. I carry day planners. I plan events. I plan Bible Studies. I plan mundane things throughout the day. I can plan.
Lately, however, planning is not my forte, particularly for summer. Summer is two months and one week away. Once it arrives, it will last three and a half glorious months. I already had this summer planned at the end of last summer. It was plotted and charted and outlined. Yes, I can plan. Yet, as I plan, I pray, and to be quite frank, prayer messes up my plans. . . . And I love it.
So, my plans for this summer have been wonderfully messed up by Jesus Christ's intervention. Hopefully, I'm doing what He wants me to do and the end result will be His plans instead of mine. I have no clue what my summer will be. As of today, it's no longer my summer anyways --- I gave it away.
Possibly at that same moment that I dropped my summer heavily into God's steady hand, my Lord applied the passage I've been concentrating on this week to my current circumstances. I'll put parts of it here, but look up Hebrews 10 for yourself and be blessed by its greatness.
When I'm wondering what God's purpose is in all this...
"God's will was for us to be made holy." (v. 10)
"He forever made perfect those who are being made holy." (v. 14)
When I'm blind to what my school breaks may have in store:
"Go right into the presence of God with sincere hearts fully trusting him." (v. 22)
"Let us hold tightly without wavering to the hope we affirm, for God can be trusted to keep his promise." (v. 23)
"Do not throw away this confident trust in the Lord. Remember the great reward it brings you." (v. 35)
When I wonder what will get me through until then...
"Think back on those early days when you first learned about Christ. Remember how you remained faithful...." (v. 32)
"Patient endurance is what you need now, so that you will continue to do God's will. Then you will receive all that he has promised." (v. 36)
Just as this blog was completely planned and then completely renovated, so is my future. The foundation has already been laid. He already warned me of this --"My righteous ones will live by faith " in verse 38 and 39 -- but I continue needing to be reminded. "We are the faithful ones." I want this summer to be a faithful one. Oh, Lord, please mess up my plans until they are perfectly Yours.
Sunday, February 17, 2008
Eishet Hayil
Eishet Hayil. The wife of noble character. Some translations say "Woman of Valor." Some use "Virtue." It was used in the Bible to describe Ruth, my favorite person in the Bible. I wrote about her a few months ago on this blog.
Eishet Hayil is defined in Proverbs 31. According to my Old Testament professor, Ruth and Proverbs are the only times Eishet Hayil is mentioned in the entire Bible. Being in Christian schooling throughout my life and having friends who were mostly raised in Christian homes, I always heard guys say they wanted a "Proverbs 31 Wife" and girls say they were going to be one. And I had read the passage. I knew what it said literally, but it meant something different to me each time I read it. Sometimes the references to knitting and cooking made me wonder disdainfully if I was called to be a pioneer woman. Sometimes visions of children and a husband would whirl around me, and I would pray that I would have the mindset of a Proverbs 31 woman in the future when there was a ring on my finger and a kid on the way.
It wasn't until recently, when I was finally content with the present and seeing God's work around me as an individual female in the present that I saw Proverbs 31 in yet another way -- single.
Many of the verses are specifically about marriage and parenting, but I suddenly realized that nearly as many could apply to single life as well. Don't misunderstand me, I am not a fan of picking and choosing random verses just because they fit. I simply saw application to my personal life for the first time, and I wanted to share it with you, my readers. So, here are the tidbits that I pondered anew:
"Speak up for the poor and helpless and see that they get justice" (v. 9).
This verse came just before the Eishet Hayil section, seeming almost like a preamble. I desire to see the hidden hurting people then defend those defenseless.
"Her husband can trust her" (v. 11).
I know "husband" is mentioned, but I can work on trustworthiness in my motives and discernment within my daily life. What a noble calling, simply to be trusted.
"She is energetic and strong, a hard worker" (v. 17).
"She extends a helping hand to the poor and opens her arms to the needy" (v. 20).
"Clothed with strength and dignity... she laughs without fear of the future" (v. 25).
I believe that fearlessness comes from an peace with God. Strength and dignity come from a constantly-growing relationship with him.
"When she speaks, her words are wise, and she gives instruction with kindness" (v. 26).
Since reading this, I've really been striving to listen more, even to the silence of myself and others. Mindless words make me cringe, especially when they come from my own lips.
"Her children stand and bless her. Her husband praises her" (v. 28).
Again, I know it has the "c" and "h" word, but as a single girl, I can still attempt to live my life with a nobility that my future relationships will be proud of and fill my life with things that I won't mind telling my children that I did years before they were born.
And my favorite of all is verse 30, which ends it all in a "moral-to-the-story" theme.....
Eishet Hayil is defined in Proverbs 31. According to my Old Testament professor, Ruth and Proverbs are the only times Eishet Hayil is mentioned in the entire Bible. Being in Christian schooling throughout my life and having friends who were mostly raised in Christian homes, I always heard guys say they wanted a "Proverbs 31 Wife" and girls say they were going to be one. And I had read the passage. I knew what it said literally, but it meant something different to me each time I read it. Sometimes the references to knitting and cooking made me wonder disdainfully if I was called to be a pioneer woman. Sometimes visions of children and a husband would whirl around me, and I would pray that I would have the mindset of a Proverbs 31 woman in the future when there was a ring on my finger and a kid on the way.
It wasn't until recently, when I was finally content with the present and seeing God's work around me as an individual female in the present that I saw Proverbs 31 in yet another way -- single.
Many of the verses are specifically about marriage and parenting, but I suddenly realized that nearly as many could apply to single life as well. Don't misunderstand me, I am not a fan of picking and choosing random verses just because they fit. I simply saw application to my personal life for the first time, and I wanted to share it with you, my readers. So, here are the tidbits that I pondered anew:
"Speak up for the poor and helpless and see that they get justice" (v. 9).
This verse came just before the Eishet Hayil section, seeming almost like a preamble. I desire to see the hidden hurting people then defend those defenseless.
"Her husband can trust her" (v. 11).
I know "husband" is mentioned, but I can work on trustworthiness in my motives and discernment within my daily life. What a noble calling, simply to be trusted.
"She is energetic and strong, a hard worker" (v. 17).
"She extends a helping hand to the poor and opens her arms to the needy" (v. 20).
"Clothed with strength and dignity... she laughs without fear of the future" (v. 25).
I believe that fearlessness comes from an peace with God. Strength and dignity come from a constantly-growing relationship with him.
"When she speaks, her words are wise, and she gives instruction with kindness" (v. 26).
Since reading this, I've really been striving to listen more, even to the silence of myself and others. Mindless words make me cringe, especially when they come from my own lips.
"Her children stand and bless her. Her husband praises her" (v. 28).
Again, I know it has the "c" and "h" word, but as a single girl, I can still attempt to live my life with a nobility that my future relationships will be proud of and fill my life with things that I won't mind telling my children that I did years before they were born.
And my favorite of all is verse 30, which ends it all in a "moral-to-the-story" theme.....
"Charm is deceptive, and beauty does not last;
but a woman who fears the Lord will be greatly praised."
May my life echo these words.
but a woman who fears the Lord will be greatly praised."
May my life echo these words.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Salvation from Conformity
I fall to the ground
And make love to the earth
For fear there is nothing else.
I lie to myself
That I am like it --
Dead dust and ashes.
And any of me that isn't the same,
I form and conform to be
To make myself one with its nature.
Or attempt.
For part of myself will not stay here,
Rolling in dirt of mortality.
Part knows that earth
Could never love me back
Never show me more than itself
Its selfish self
Could never give me anything.
I have given my whole self
To something incapable of reciprocation.
But there is a force that can lift me
From lying in indignity.
It rescues the immortal part
Out of the cutting gravel and infecting soil
And teaches me that I am separate.
I am different.
I am not to be one with something that is temporary.
I have been made immortal.
And make love to the earth
For fear there is nothing else.
I lie to myself
That I am like it --
Dead dust and ashes.
And any of me that isn't the same,
I form and conform to be
To make myself one with its nature.
Or attempt.
For part of myself will not stay here,
Rolling in dirt of mortality.
Part knows that earth
Could never love me back
Never show me more than itself
Its selfish self
Could never give me anything.
I have given my whole self
To something incapable of reciprocation.
But there is a force that can lift me
From lying in indignity.
It rescues the immortal part
Out of the cutting gravel and infecting soil
And teaches me that I am separate.
I am different.
I am not to be one with something that is temporary.
I have been made immortal.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Steel Blue
If you were a color
I'd pick steel blue
You calm me
You cool me
And give me something to run home to
When I can't sort the facts in my mind.
When I'm thirsting for hope,
You're the only water I find.
The cloudless sky could never compare
To the freedom I find beneath your care.
I could fly in the bottomless blue of you,
Drown in the limitless shiny depth,
And still feel secure in your iron strength
Steel blue strength
That washes fear away in a flood
That calms and cools.
Of all the world's colors,
You're my steel blue.
I'd pick steel blue
You calm me
You cool me
And give me something to run home to
When I can't sort the facts in my mind.
When I'm thirsting for hope,
You're the only water I find.
The cloudless sky could never compare
To the freedom I find beneath your care.
I could fly in the bottomless blue of you,
Drown in the limitless shiny depth,
And still feel secure in your iron strength
Steel blue strength
That washes fear away in a flood
That calms and cools.
Of all the world's colors,
You're my steel blue.
Monday, February 11, 2008
Forgotten Freedom
Some memories have dormant modes. Those are the ones that we forget even exist until some undefinable force reawakens them.
Many memories were stirred from their slumber last weekend. I went to my high school's homecoming basketball game Friday night and saw people whom I haven't seen in several months. I had flashbacks of being on OCA's court, dressing up for spirit week, and cheering on the team -- things directly linked with homecoming festivities. However, I also remembered idiosyncrasies of the students and staff, the jargon in a small Christian school, the jokes that no one outside understands, the celebrations of everyday victories, and the suffering of teenage years. And so many of those things were still there, but sitting in the bleachers and looking around at all the familiar faces, the change overwhelmed me. I wondered if I had changed drastically or if those around me had. I decided it was maybe a combination of both, but that it was mostly me.
Some of the friends had grown farther from me without either of us meaning to be so far away. Our lives had simply taught us different things and found us in opposite places. Others had consciously chosen to put more distance between us -- those are the relationships that ache from starvation. Still others have come close to me, not by any work of our own but by God's divine providence, and the product is gloriously revealed in our hugs, laughter, and conversation.
OCA turned 15 years old this month, so I stayed for the celebration on Monday night. OCA and I grew up together, so I knew much of the history that was reiterated that night. Still, I hadn't thought about those 15 years as a whole since I was still attending OCA. I owe so much to the education I received there, the love I was shown, the leadership I was given. Memories were awakened, and with them arose appreciation -- of what God has done to write my life story.
He used a script in a play last night to awaken memories and appreciation of them from their dormancy. The plot was not exact to my situation, but I related to it wholeheartedly. A woman was married to a man who was in love with his own success more than he could ever love her. She was faithful to him. There were no other men in her life to go to, but she left him because he was yoked more to his status than to his wife. He married again, but still didn't care for his wife as much as climbing the social ladder. The thing that grabbed my attention most was the woman who realized she was in a dictating relationship and set herself free from it. The difference with me? Christ has set me free.
The memory of freedom had been in dormant mode. I had pushed away the remembrance of confinement because I was attached to my cage. Being set free meant loss for me-- loss of romance, a best friend, and dreams of our future together-- until I was reminded of the vastness of opportunity and space that Christ had given me by pulling me out of that relationship and giving me an intimate relationship with Himself. He showed me the rest of the world, and I stood in awe of Him. Being enamored by something outside of me was nothing new. I had been amazed by the successes of the other guy in my life for years. But through those years, I had not really seen the glory of God's creation, except through the foggy goggles of another person. It was as if God said, "Charity, he is great and has done many things, but look farther. Look around you! I did so much more."
And I saw it.
I saw the glory of the Lord because Christ was writing my story and freeing me within it. And that particular memory is one that I hope never falls into dormancy.
"For the honor of your name, lead me out of this danger. Free me from the trap that is set for me, for you are my refuge. I entrust my spirit into your hand. Rescue me, Lord, for you are a faithful God." -Psalm 31:3-5
Many memories were stirred from their slumber last weekend. I went to my high school's homecoming basketball game Friday night and saw people whom I haven't seen in several months. I had flashbacks of being on OCA's court, dressing up for spirit week, and cheering on the team -- things directly linked with homecoming festivities. However, I also remembered idiosyncrasies of the students and staff, the jargon in a small Christian school, the jokes that no one outside understands, the celebrations of everyday victories, and the suffering of teenage years. And so many of those things were still there, but sitting in the bleachers and looking around at all the familiar faces, the change overwhelmed me. I wondered if I had changed drastically or if those around me had. I decided it was maybe a combination of both, but that it was mostly me.
Some of the friends had grown farther from me without either of us meaning to be so far away. Our lives had simply taught us different things and found us in opposite places. Others had consciously chosen to put more distance between us -- those are the relationships that ache from starvation. Still others have come close to me, not by any work of our own but by God's divine providence, and the product is gloriously revealed in our hugs, laughter, and conversation.
OCA turned 15 years old this month, so I stayed for the celebration on Monday night. OCA and I grew up together, so I knew much of the history that was reiterated that night. Still, I hadn't thought about those 15 years as a whole since I was still attending OCA. I owe so much to the education I received there, the love I was shown, the leadership I was given. Memories were awakened, and with them arose appreciation -- of what God has done to write my life story.
He used a script in a play last night to awaken memories and appreciation of them from their dormancy. The plot was not exact to my situation, but I related to it wholeheartedly. A woman was married to a man who was in love with his own success more than he could ever love her. She was faithful to him. There were no other men in her life to go to, but she left him because he was yoked more to his status than to his wife. He married again, but still didn't care for his wife as much as climbing the social ladder. The thing that grabbed my attention most was the woman who realized she was in a dictating relationship and set herself free from it. The difference with me? Christ has set me free.
The memory of freedom had been in dormant mode. I had pushed away the remembrance of confinement because I was attached to my cage. Being set free meant loss for me-- loss of romance, a best friend, and dreams of our future together-- until I was reminded of the vastness of opportunity and space that Christ had given me by pulling me out of that relationship and giving me an intimate relationship with Himself. He showed me the rest of the world, and I stood in awe of Him. Being enamored by something outside of me was nothing new. I had been amazed by the successes of the other guy in my life for years. But through those years, I had not really seen the glory of God's creation, except through the foggy goggles of another person. It was as if God said, "Charity, he is great and has done many things, but look farther. Look around you! I did so much more."
And I saw it.
I saw the glory of the Lord because Christ was writing my story and freeing me within it. And that particular memory is one that I hope never falls into dormancy.
"For the honor of your name, lead me out of this danger. Free me from the trap that is set for me, for you are my refuge. I entrust my spirit into your hand. Rescue me, Lord, for you are a faithful God." -Psalm 31:3-5
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
Purification
Purity is not difficult to find. It coexists with nature and humanity. What is difficult to find, however, is the desire for purity. Purity has its own attraction, just as anything right does. But impure things allure in powerfully deceptive ways. To desire what is pure, to desire to be pure, is not as eye-catching as impurities seem. Purity possesses a silent appeal that goes unnoticed beneath loud impure distractions ... until one makes himself aware of it. And once he does, purity is unavoidably addictive. He wants to taste what is right, hear what is good, feel what is holy, see what is sanctified, and smell what is heavenly. Anything else sickens him and requires a never-ending process of illumination, to pull purity out of obscurity.
Dear Jesus, give me an appetite for pure things and thoughts. May the good shine brightly.
"... just as Christ loved the church. He gave up his life for her to make her holy and clean, washed by the cleansing of God's word. He did this to present her to himself as a glorious church without a spot or wrinkle or any other blemish. Instead, she will be holy and without fault." -Ephesians 5:25-27 (NLT)
Dear Jesus, give me an appetite for pure things and thoughts. May the good shine brightly.
"... just as Christ loved the church. He gave up his life for her to make her holy and clean, washed by the cleansing of God's word. He did this to present her to himself as a glorious church without a spot or wrinkle or any other blemish. Instead, she will be holy and without fault." -Ephesians 5:25-27 (NLT)
Monday, February 4, 2008
The Day Is Coming
The day is coming.
The day that either shadows love or makes it glow.
The day when broken hearts are scribbled on tear-stained notebook paper or delicate flowers are made unexpectedly powerful.
The day when my favorite color (red) and my least favorite flower (rose) are used to torture me.
I had planned to carry on about how much I despise the upcoming holiday until I walked into Wal-mart tonight. The usual attack of Valentine merchandise was gathered at the entrance and scattered throughout the store. The stuffed animals and chocolate boxes hurt my eyes, but I still could not squelch the smiley feeling... the taste of cinnamon candy hot on my tongue, the feel of tiny square valentines passed from friend to friend, the legend of Cupid, or the thought that maybe one day I won't hate February fourteenth so intensely.
I find myself praying more during February. Christ is the only force that keeps me all together; His love is like Elmer's glue for the construction-paper heart that beats within my chest. He knows the day is coming, and so He's gluing me together to make me stronger and getting me ready for the day I have never seen. I trust Him. The day is coming.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Trust Day
Not very many sad days come my way, but today has been. I don't even know if I should use the word "sad." Because I have so much inner peace and joy that sadness is practically nonexistent. Maybe while I explain today, I will find a word that describes it.
Many of my closest friends are traveling to Charleston this weekend. I love random road-trips with friends, but I will miss this one. Tomorrow and Saturday, I have cross-cultural training for my summer trip to Kenya. I cannot go to Kenya without this training, so I essentially chose two weeks in Kenya over two days in Charleston. Sounds like a good plan to me. And when I take time to plan the speech I will give about Africa and missions on Sunday, my heart flutters like puppy love.
However, thoughts of Kenya lead to even more potentially disappointing issues. The political state of the country may cause the trip to be canceled altogether. I know that the Lord would never let the trip be canceled in vain, and that if we didn't go, He would have something planned in its place. It's just difficult for my human mind to comprehend. I don't know how to handle hope. Hope blends with missing my friends who aren't on campus, cherishing the friends who are here, and looking into the future to friends I will make elsewhere. And some small spot of doubt accompanies hope everywhere it goes. I have a Savior who makes the doubt spots disappear in a collage of hopefulness, if only I focus on Him. Oh Lord, help me to stay focused on you.
So today isn't a sad day. It's just a day that I must consciously focus on the brightness of Christ. It's a focus day. It's a trust day.
Let us hold tightly without wavering to the hope we affirm, for God can be trusted to keep his promise. -Hebrews 10:23
Many of my closest friends are traveling to Charleston this weekend. I love random road-trips with friends, but I will miss this one. Tomorrow and Saturday, I have cross-cultural training for my summer trip to Kenya. I cannot go to Kenya without this training, so I essentially chose two weeks in Kenya over two days in Charleston. Sounds like a good plan to me. And when I take time to plan the speech I will give about Africa and missions on Sunday, my heart flutters like puppy love.
However, thoughts of Kenya lead to even more potentially disappointing issues. The political state of the country may cause the trip to be canceled altogether. I know that the Lord would never let the trip be canceled in vain, and that if we didn't go, He would have something planned in its place. It's just difficult for my human mind to comprehend. I don't know how to handle hope. Hope blends with missing my friends who aren't on campus, cherishing the friends who are here, and looking into the future to friends I will make elsewhere. And some small spot of doubt accompanies hope everywhere it goes. I have a Savior who makes the doubt spots disappear in a collage of hopefulness, if only I focus on Him. Oh Lord, help me to stay focused on you.
So today isn't a sad day. It's just a day that I must consciously focus on the brightness of Christ. It's a focus day. It's a trust day.
Let us hold tightly without wavering to the hope we affirm, for God can be trusted to keep his promise. -Hebrews 10:23
My Father's Forest
Over briars, twigs, and last fall's leaves
I step in prints three times my size.
The man I follow breaks my fall.
Each time I trip, he rescues me.
He holds back branches. He knows each one
Just before it comes. He studied them to protect himself,
But now he's protecting me.
Lifting my giggling, girly body across a widened creek,
He wants me here no matter the extra weight I bring.
I brushed my babydoll's hair only an hour before he brought me here.
The pinkness of my room still evaporates from my skin
Into the air of his forest of browns and greens.
He belongs here. He blends with the trunks of the trees.
But branches and squirrels won't embrace little girls.
His sons would have known this at their births,
Yet a daughter must be trained.
He does not mind to take the time.
He has no sons. Still I am his. So I learn.
Inquisitive children are strange to silent woods,
But a patient man is not.
I step in prints three times my size.
The man I follow breaks my fall.
Each time I trip, he rescues me.
He holds back branches. He knows each one
Just before it comes. He studied them to protect himself,
But now he's protecting me.
Lifting my giggling, girly body across a widened creek,
He wants me here no matter the extra weight I bring.
I brushed my babydoll's hair only an hour before he brought me here.
The pinkness of my room still evaporates from my skin
Into the air of his forest of browns and greens.
He belongs here. He blends with the trunks of the trees.
But branches and squirrels won't embrace little girls.
His sons would have known this at their births,
Yet a daughter must be trained.
He does not mind to take the time.
He has no sons. Still I am his. So I learn.
Inquisitive children are strange to silent woods,
But a patient man is not.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
The Notebook
My notebook is black and smooth. The inside pages are lined. The lines are as black as the notebook itself. So are the words, except on the first page. I always skip the first page. Tricking intruders that the following pages are as blank as this. This page reminds me of my potential.
The second page begins the black words that come from heart that is not black, but one that is lime with ripe inexperience -- complete inexperience except for the times when it is sliced open to let the inside fall out and the lime drips turn black as soon as they hit the page. Today, the last page was covered in black. I had nowhere else to go. Not even the first page. I always skip the first page. It can never lose its potential.
There is another notebook, of course, but it is not the black one with the black lines. It has no words, neither black nor lime. And opening this notebook would mean closing the last one and slicing the ripe lime heart again to let the inside fall out. Still, I have nowhere else to go. So I open, and I slice, skipping the first page. In this one, every page has potential.
The second page begins the black words that come from heart that is not black, but one that is lime with ripe inexperience -- complete inexperience except for the times when it is sliced open to let the inside fall out and the lime drips turn black as soon as they hit the page. Today, the last page was covered in black. I had nowhere else to go. Not even the first page. I always skip the first page. It can never lose its potential.
There is another notebook, of course, but it is not the black one with the black lines. It has no words, neither black nor lime. And opening this notebook would mean closing the last one and slicing the ripe lime heart again to let the inside fall out. Still, I have nowhere else to go. So I open, and I slice, skipping the first page. In this one, every page has potential.
Saturday, January 26, 2008
Prayers and Wishes
In the past few days, I've had the overwhelming feeling that good things are just beginning, that the bright only gets brighter, and that the things I've always wanted are at my fingertips--all I have to do is stretch a little farther. For those of you who are not so optimistic, prepare for an overload of happiness.
I keep a hodge-podge journal. It has my poetry, thoughts, events that happen during my full days, class assignments, and mostly my prayers within it. I write some and type some. It may seem unorganized -- that's because it is. It's a thought bucket that I fling the sawdust of my mind's workshop into.
I was flipping through some older entries last week and began crying, not because the topics were sad or even exemplary. I just cried the happy tears that burn and drip into a smile because the words were pictures of how far God has brought me since I had written them. I read an old letter that I had written, and saw where God had recaptured my heart from someone who had stolen it. Then God mended it to better-than-new condition and taught me how to guard it without blocking out the entire world.
Reading in random sections, I found prayers from the depths of my soul. A quote grabbed my attention. Once, I had asked myself, "Is it so sacrilegious to wish for the same thing you are praying for?" I ask the Lord to make my desires the same as His, but there are some things that I want so badly that I can't help wishing outside of praying. It is promised that he "is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine," (Eph. 3:20) and believe me, I have a vivid imagination, so if He does more than my expectations, my excitement will nearly be too much to handle.
Now that I've had time to think and answer my own question about prayers and wishes, I believe that the wishing part is just a form of hope. "And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out His love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom He has given us" (Romans 5:5).
Hoping, wishing, and praying have not been in vain. Of course there are things that I ask for as an erring human and later praise the Lord that He DIDN"T do what I asked. But when the things I pray for and the things God wants in my life line up the answers are so close that I can smell them. I smell them now, and my faith in the Father is growing from that little mustard seed that it used to be.
I keep a hodge-podge journal. It has my poetry, thoughts, events that happen during my full days, class assignments, and mostly my prayers within it. I write some and type some. It may seem unorganized -- that's because it is. It's a thought bucket that I fling the sawdust of my mind's workshop into.
I was flipping through some older entries last week and began crying, not because the topics were sad or even exemplary. I just cried the happy tears that burn and drip into a smile because the words were pictures of how far God has brought me since I had written them. I read an old letter that I had written, and saw where God had recaptured my heart from someone who had stolen it. Then God mended it to better-than-new condition and taught me how to guard it without blocking out the entire world.
Reading in random sections, I found prayers from the depths of my soul. A quote grabbed my attention. Once, I had asked myself, "Is it so sacrilegious to wish for the same thing you are praying for?" I ask the Lord to make my desires the same as His, but there are some things that I want so badly that I can't help wishing outside of praying. It is promised that he "is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine," (Eph. 3:20) and believe me, I have a vivid imagination, so if He does more than my expectations, my excitement will nearly be too much to handle.
Now that I've had time to think and answer my own question about prayers and wishes, I believe that the wishing part is just a form of hope. "And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out His love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom He has given us" (Romans 5:5).
Hoping, wishing, and praying have not been in vain. Of course there are things that I ask for as an erring human and later praise the Lord that He DIDN"T do what I asked. But when the things I pray for and the things God wants in my life line up the answers are so close that I can smell them. I smell them now, and my faith in the Father is growing from that little mustard seed that it used to be.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
I Already See July
The sandy African soil stirs
Around the dark bare feet
Of running boys and girls.
They pretend to fight in wars
Reenacting what they've seen before.
I've been protected from
Wrongs they often witness.
How could I be chosen
To teach them forgiveness?
I want to give them everything they need!
To help them become whatever they've dreamed
And make sure they have plenty to eat,
But how can I in only two weeks?
I see all the difficulties--
Hundreds I could never appease.
Christ, what would You do?
I came to bear witness for You.
Gently, You answer, and I agree.
Now, it's my job to kneel
And wash their dusty little feet.
Around the dark bare feet
Of running boys and girls.
They pretend to fight in wars
Reenacting what they've seen before.
I've been protected from
Wrongs they often witness.
How could I be chosen
To teach them forgiveness?
I want to give them everything they need!
To help them become whatever they've dreamed
And make sure they have plenty to eat,
But how can I in only two weeks?
I see all the difficulties--
Hundreds I could never appease.
Christ, what would You do?
I came to bear witness for You.
Gently, You answer, and I agree.
Now, it's my job to kneel
And wash their dusty little feet.
Monday, January 21, 2008
The Essence of Me
Life seems to come in cycles of thoughts and circumstances. I don't know the rhythm of it all, but I have noticed that one the repeating stages in my life is wondering who I am. Maybe it's a writer thing, or maybe it's simply human. The age-long question "Who am I?" was floating in the air around me wherever I went last week. Charity Yost sometimes gets buried underneath who everyone else thinks I am or what everyone wants from me. Mostly, it's the dichotomy of who I used to be versus who I want to be that makes me lose sight of who I actually am right now. I have been trying to dig deep into myself and find out what made me different from everyone else. I wanted something that took me out of the cookie-cutter -- a writing style, an accent, a personality, a testimony, or the combination of it all-- just something that was mine alone. But, everything that I found about myself, someone else already had. It was quite depressing. I wanted to be me.
Meanwhile, the item deep within the core of my being that separated me from everyone else was there. I had given up on finding it when it appeared. The only thing that I have that no one else can possibly possess is my relationship with Jesus Christ. No one else has that! They have their own unique relationships with Him, but no one has mine. Although Christ makes me different from the rest of the lost world, having Christ does not separate me from other Christians. Many people have Him. Many more should. Still, Christ is not my uniqueness. The glory of Him is that He unites me with others in His body of believers, not separating me from them. What is separately unique is my personal relationship with Him. No one else has that! I do. Other people have wonderful relationships with Him, but not one of those are the same.
That relationship, accompanied by a unique history and calling, is given to us even before our births (1 John 1:9). Christ and His will are eternal. I had not lost my identity in Christ; I had forgotten about it. That revelation broke my heart, and I'm sure that it hurt Him, too. I had not lost the essence of myself. I had forgotten to forget me, and to focus instead on the amazing connection that God has with me, and with each individual child that He has. I had pushed the unique relationship away in order to search for things about myself instead of focusing those efforts into strengthening that connection.
Oh Lord, may I never again forget that YOU and you alone make me who I am, not any other individual factor in my life. Thank you for wanting that connection with me. You made it what it is -- special and different.
Meanwhile, the item deep within the core of my being that separated me from everyone else was there. I had given up on finding it when it appeared. The only thing that I have that no one else can possibly possess is my relationship with Jesus Christ. No one else has that! They have their own unique relationships with Him, but no one has mine. Although Christ makes me different from the rest of the lost world, having Christ does not separate me from other Christians. Many people have Him. Many more should. Still, Christ is not my uniqueness. The glory of Him is that He unites me with others in His body of believers, not separating me from them. What is separately unique is my personal relationship with Him. No one else has that! I do. Other people have wonderful relationships with Him, but not one of those are the same.
That relationship, accompanied by a unique history and calling, is given to us even before our births (1 John 1:9). Christ and His will are eternal. I had not lost my identity in Christ; I had forgotten about it. That revelation broke my heart, and I'm sure that it hurt Him, too. I had not lost the essence of myself. I had forgotten to forget me, and to focus instead on the amazing connection that God has with me, and with each individual child that He has. I had pushed the unique relationship away in order to search for things about myself instead of focusing those efforts into strengthening that connection.
Oh Lord, may I never again forget that YOU and you alone make me who I am, not any other individual factor in my life. Thank you for wanting that connection with me. You made it what it is -- special and different.
Sunday, January 20, 2008
Snow Comes
The radio and the weathermen
Mentioned winter wonders tonight.
So does everyone
Who meets another someone
On the bustling sidewalk.
We've heard it before
And been disappointed.
Still we prepare.
Milk. Bread.
Chains. Sled.
The radio and the weathermen
Mention it might begin at nine.
By eight, our noses are pressed
Against the panes like glasses
Watching the moon disappear
As the largest cloud passes,
Full -- nearly overflowing.
But risks exist of being
Disappointed yet again.
Still we wait.
Restless. Childlike.
Half-believing. Half-worried.
Outside, staring into black,
Feet planted, head tilted, hands pocketed.
A light fog blends with our steamy exhalations.
Then one white speck illuminates the entire night,
And lands like the first cannonball
Of a silent war.
A single flake
Causes the full cloud to break.
One billion shooting stars
Plunge from heaven
Onto our wet tongues
Into our moist eyes
Powdering our hair and
Tickling any uncovered skin.
"This is less disappointed
Than we've ever been!"
Say the radio and the weathermen.
They mention school announcements.
We've heard it before
And been disappointed.
Still we watch.
Open? Delayed?
Closed! Horray!
We never forecasted they would be so right!
No matter our age,
We're filled with delight and
Still we play.
Snow fight. Snowmen.
Snow angels. Snowed in.
We're soaked to our skin
Ten layers was too thin.
Holding hot cocoa, our hands tingle,
Trying to decide whether or not to feel.
The first sip is always dangerous.
But the second comes with comfort
And a heat that falls from our lips to our toes
So that each drop that follows it
Knows right where to go.
We each watch
As the last thick sip slide towards
It's redeeming fatality,
Letting millions of microscopic candy bars
Flood our tongues in melting surrender.
We fall into bed, tired and happy,
Then wake to find
The snow spent the night.
As we press our sleepy noses against the glass,
Disbelieving there is no class
And wishing the world could always seem so clean.
We could roll back in bed,
But just outside
There's a blank canvas waiting
For us to bundle tightly and begin our painting.
Mentioned winter wonders tonight.
So does everyone
Who meets another someone
On the bustling sidewalk.
We've heard it before
And been disappointed.
Still we prepare.
Milk. Bread.
Chains. Sled.
The radio and the weathermen
Mention it might begin at nine.
By eight, our noses are pressed
Against the panes like glasses
Watching the moon disappear
As the largest cloud passes,
Full -- nearly overflowing.
But risks exist of being
Disappointed yet again.
Still we wait.
Restless. Childlike.
Half-believing. Half-worried.
Outside, staring into black,
Feet planted, head tilted, hands pocketed.
A light fog blends with our steamy exhalations.
Then one white speck illuminates the entire night,
And lands like the first cannonball
Of a silent war.
A single flake
Causes the full cloud to break.
One billion shooting stars
Plunge from heaven
Onto our wet tongues
Into our moist eyes
Powdering our hair and
Tickling any uncovered skin.
"This is less disappointed
Than we've ever been!"
Say the radio and the weathermen.
They mention school announcements.
We've heard it before
And been disappointed.
Still we watch.
Open? Delayed?
Closed! Horray!
We never forecasted they would be so right!
No matter our age,
We're filled with delight and
Still we play.
Snow fight. Snowmen.
Snow angels. Snowed in.
We're soaked to our skin
Ten layers was too thin.
Holding hot cocoa, our hands tingle,
Trying to decide whether or not to feel.
The first sip is always dangerous.
But the second comes with comfort
And a heat that falls from our lips to our toes
So that each drop that follows it
Knows right where to go.
We each watch
As the last thick sip slide towards
It's redeeming fatality,
Letting millions of microscopic candy bars
Flood our tongues in melting surrender.
We fall into bed, tired and happy,
Then wake to find
The snow spent the night.
As we press our sleepy noses against the glass,
Disbelieving there is no class
And wishing the world could always seem so clean.
We could roll back in bed,
But just outside
There's a blank canvas waiting
For us to bundle tightly and begin our painting.
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
Changing A Valve
"Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us. Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy set before him endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God." Hebrews 12:1-2
So many people are watching us -- sinners and saints, children and elders, and most particularly, our closest group of friends-- inspecting our lives as representatives of Christ. What do they see? Do they see people who have the potential to be better if only they would let go of one or two issues in their lives?
A simple quote by Olivia Crabtree says "People who try to fix their faults are special." How long has it been since we took a good, deep, scary look at ourselves, our thoughts, our actions, or our motives, and planned how to fix whatever needed repair. Let us pick our hearts apart, lay the pieces on the floor around us, and excavate each detail until we have found and solved a problem within it, put it back together and live a better life.
Why would we ever feel this process were difficult or impossible? We use this all the time to analyze other people from the outside when we don't even know how their inside looks. Just as everyone has their observant eyes on us, we also keep our eyes on other people. Why not take our hearts to the fix-it shop to get rid of things that slow us down? These mostly are things we either place before God or the things that keep us from His glorious will. Sometimes worry. Sometimes sin. Sometimes we simply hold ourselves back. Don't! Strip all those things off your heart! And if it's difficult, ask the Holy Spirit. He'll be glad to help.
After we get rid of the trash that clogs our hearts, we'll be prepared to run faster and more efficiently for Jesus Christ' cause. Nothing will be in the way of the goal of His glory. This trash-free living is called holiness. He says, "Be holy for I am holy" (Leviticus 19:2). How else can we do this except to get rid of the unholy? We can only learn by Christ's example. He "knew no sin" (2 Corinthians 5:21). Neither should we. Throw it off. Dig it out. Clean it up! Then focus only on Christ and His goals for us, His followers. All the focus, all the thanks, all the glory should be in Christ, the "author and perfecter of our faith." We aren't in this cleansing process alone. Christ writes the plan and He perfects the product. When we tear apart our own hearts to look for areas of improvement, He wants to be right beside us to guide the reconstruction process. Let Him.
So many people are watching us -- sinners and saints, children and elders, and most particularly, our closest group of friends-- inspecting our lives as representatives of Christ. What do they see? Do they see people who have the potential to be better if only they would let go of one or two issues in their lives?
A simple quote by Olivia Crabtree says "People who try to fix their faults are special." How long has it been since we took a good, deep, scary look at ourselves, our thoughts, our actions, or our motives, and planned how to fix whatever needed repair. Let us pick our hearts apart, lay the pieces on the floor around us, and excavate each detail until we have found and solved a problem within it, put it back together and live a better life.
Why would we ever feel this process were difficult or impossible? We use this all the time to analyze other people from the outside when we don't even know how their inside looks. Just as everyone has their observant eyes on us, we also keep our eyes on other people. Why not take our hearts to the fix-it shop to get rid of things that slow us down? These mostly are things we either place before God or the things that keep us from His glorious will. Sometimes worry. Sometimes sin. Sometimes we simply hold ourselves back. Don't! Strip all those things off your heart! And if it's difficult, ask the Holy Spirit. He'll be glad to help.
After we get rid of the trash that clogs our hearts, we'll be prepared to run faster and more efficiently for Jesus Christ' cause. Nothing will be in the way of the goal of His glory. This trash-free living is called holiness. He says, "Be holy for I am holy" (Leviticus 19:2). How else can we do this except to get rid of the unholy? We can only learn by Christ's example. He "knew no sin" (2 Corinthians 5:21). Neither should we. Throw it off. Dig it out. Clean it up! Then focus only on Christ and His goals for us, His followers. All the focus, all the thanks, all the glory should be in Christ, the "author and perfecter of our faith." We aren't in this cleansing process alone. Christ writes the plan and He perfects the product. When we tear apart our own hearts to look for areas of improvement, He wants to be right beside us to guide the reconstruction process. Let Him.
Saturday, January 12, 2008
Today's Messiah
If the one who promised
That he would rescue us
Had come today,
Would we have chosen
A lethal injection
For lack of wood and nails?
Would a world full of desperate people
Strap their only hope to an electric chair
Instead of nailing him to a cross?
Forgive mankind
Not only the ones who harmed You
But those who continue to.
We still haven't learned
To simply receive and be grateful.
A hero who is rejected by
But still saves the endangered
Is greatly to be praised.
That he would rescue us
Had come today,
Would we have chosen
A lethal injection
For lack of wood and nails?
Would a world full of desperate people
Strap their only hope to an electric chair
Instead of nailing him to a cross?
Forgive mankind
Not only the ones who harmed You
But those who continue to.
We still haven't learned
To simply receive and be grateful.
A hero who is rejected by
But still saves the endangered
Is greatly to be praised.
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
Man's Best Friend
Every boy needs a dog.
My dad grew up with a German Shepherd named Buddy. They were inseparable. They hunted together, lived together, ate together, and if I remember stories correctly, Buddy was rather jealous of my mother. One of the best friendships I have ever had made a turn for it's best in middle school. My friend called me to cry on my shoulder over the death of his dog, and I realized that, at that time, even my friendship couldn't compare with that of his Golden Retriever. There's just something about the companionship canines offer.
Dogs are so faithful. If you get mad at them, they love you anyway. Boys need unconditional love.
Dogs don't have to be attractive to be acceptable. Spotted, solid, big or little, dogs are about the same -- either a good dog or a bad dog. A boy needs to learn that friends come in all shapes and sizes, but that character is what counts.
Dogs don't talk back. A dog will lie on it's stomach, prop its chin on its paws, and stick up one attentive ear as the owner mulls aloud over the complexities of the day. A boy needs a listening ear after long days of disappointments and disagreements.
Dogs are energetic. They are always happy to see you and love to run, play, and fetch. Boys need this excitement to celebrate the accomplishments that no one else noticed.
Then again, maybe man's best friend should be everyone's best friend.
My dad grew up with a German Shepherd named Buddy. They were inseparable. They hunted together, lived together, ate together, and if I remember stories correctly, Buddy was rather jealous of my mother. One of the best friendships I have ever had made a turn for it's best in middle school. My friend called me to cry on my shoulder over the death of his dog, and I realized that, at that time, even my friendship couldn't compare with that of his Golden Retriever. There's just something about the companionship canines offer.
Dogs are so faithful. If you get mad at them, they love you anyway. Boys need unconditional love.
Dogs don't have to be attractive to be acceptable. Spotted, solid, big or little, dogs are about the same -- either a good dog or a bad dog. A boy needs to learn that friends come in all shapes and sizes, but that character is what counts.
Dogs don't talk back. A dog will lie on it's stomach, prop its chin on its paws, and stick up one attentive ear as the owner mulls aloud over the complexities of the day. A boy needs a listening ear after long days of disappointments and disagreements.
Dogs are energetic. They are always happy to see you and love to run, play, and fetch. Boys need this excitement to celebrate the accomplishments that no one else noticed.
Then again, maybe man's best friend should be everyone's best friend.
Monday, January 7, 2008
Pretty Pretend
Seeing him with her might bother me
But it shouldn't
So I'll starve the envy.
The memories we made haven't faded
But they should have
So I'll ignore the pain.
My heart hasn't mended
But it should
So I'll attempt forward motion.
I really am not over him
But I should be
So I'll pretend that I am.
But it shouldn't
So I'll starve the envy.
The memories we made haven't faded
But they should have
So I'll ignore the pain.
My heart hasn't mended
But it should
So I'll attempt forward motion.
I really am not over him
But I should be
So I'll pretend that I am.
Sunday, January 6, 2008
Change Of Course
I had planned to blog about this morning's sermon, and I still may on another day. However, when I got to the computer, I felt compelled to let the things I've been thinking silently spill onto your screen instead. Please forgive my mess. I promise to clean it up later.
Today was the last day of Christmas break. In the last month, God has opened my eyes to the constant physical pain that some people experience everyday. I'm only 20 years old. Those few years were not sheltered from surgeries and stitches, but I never lived with pain for very long, until this year. Suddenly, I appreciate sleep without aching and the use of my right arm. Since real pain has been a part of my life, I have gained respect for those who know life no other way. My pain is nothing in comparison to the other patients I have struggled merely to watch in hospitals and doctor's offices. Seeing them, in some absolutely horrible way, decreases my pain. Empathy is like cough syrup -- nearly unbearable, but takes away your symptoms.
If the empathy I've learned to swallow this Christmas break was my dose of cough syrup, then my friends and family members have been my spoonful of sugar. I've seen all of my closest friends around home at least once (except Trey, and Hon, I promise if God wills it, we'll get together next weekend). Spending time with them without wondering when I'll have time to write the next big paper has been a blessing. Still, it seems like I cannot be satisfied until everyone I love is in the same room. Life scatters people. Not counting my NGU friends, who all returned home for the holidays, I had friends and family in Illinois, Tennessee, Virginia, and even Iraq that I didn't get to see. Which brings me to my third and final point of contemplation from this month's hiatus. Liberty.
No, not the freedom. The University. During my junior and senior years of high school, Liberty was my first choice for furthering my education. After much prayer and turmoil, NGU seemed the best choice. When I gave up my first choice school for the most logical school, I told myself that I would reevaluate in the second semester of my sophomore year. ... That semester begins tomorrow. That causes my blood pressure to rise and my mind to spin.
Credits would probably be tough to transfer. Scholarships could be hard to find. I might not like it once I got there.
I might feel more challenged there. I might feel more right there. Maybe God gave me that thirst for LU.
How would my parents feel? Would my friends here forgive or forget me? Would it make more trouble than sense?
I wish the entire world were in my backyard. I could be with all my NGU people and attend Liberty at the same time. I could see pain and fix it. I could minister to those in Kenya without terrifying my parents. I wouldn't have to drive to another state to meet a dear friend. In a world that makes everything so easily accessed, why are people still so far apart? With so much medication, why do people sleep in a sea of illness? With so much hope to be offered, why are there looks of fear on the faces of Kenyans? With so many wonderful choices, why can I still not answer my own questions?
Today was the last day of Christmas break. In the last month, God has opened my eyes to the constant physical pain that some people experience everyday. I'm only 20 years old. Those few years were not sheltered from surgeries and stitches, but I never lived with pain for very long, until this year. Suddenly, I appreciate sleep without aching and the use of my right arm. Since real pain has been a part of my life, I have gained respect for those who know life no other way. My pain is nothing in comparison to the other patients I have struggled merely to watch in hospitals and doctor's offices. Seeing them, in some absolutely horrible way, decreases my pain. Empathy is like cough syrup -- nearly unbearable, but takes away your symptoms.
If the empathy I've learned to swallow this Christmas break was my dose of cough syrup, then my friends and family members have been my spoonful of sugar. I've seen all of my closest friends around home at least once (except Trey, and Hon, I promise if God wills it, we'll get together next weekend). Spending time with them without wondering when I'll have time to write the next big paper has been a blessing. Still, it seems like I cannot be satisfied until everyone I love is in the same room. Life scatters people. Not counting my NGU friends, who all returned home for the holidays, I had friends and family in Illinois, Tennessee, Virginia, and even Iraq that I didn't get to see. Which brings me to my third and final point of contemplation from this month's hiatus. Liberty.
No, not the freedom. The University. During my junior and senior years of high school, Liberty was my first choice for furthering my education. After much prayer and turmoil, NGU seemed the best choice. When I gave up my first choice school for the most logical school, I told myself that I would reevaluate in the second semester of my sophomore year. ... That semester begins tomorrow. That causes my blood pressure to rise and my mind to spin.
Credits would probably be tough to transfer. Scholarships could be hard to find. I might not like it once I got there.
I might feel more challenged there. I might feel more right there. Maybe God gave me that thirst for LU.
How would my parents feel? Would my friends here forgive or forget me? Would it make more trouble than sense?
I wish the entire world were in my backyard. I could be with all my NGU people and attend Liberty at the same time. I could see pain and fix it. I could minister to those in Kenya without terrifying my parents. I wouldn't have to drive to another state to meet a dear friend. In a world that makes everything so easily accessed, why are people still so far apart? With so much medication, why do people sleep in a sea of illness? With so much hope to be offered, why are there looks of fear on the faces of Kenyans? With so many wonderful choices, why can I still not answer my own questions?
Friday, January 4, 2008
Surpise!!
At the present time, I blog to present a theory that all surprises are good. A "bad" surprise isn't a surprise at all; it's a shock. And in this blog, I'm focusing on surprise.
Life brings surprises. We are all witnesses to this art of the universe. I attribute that art to the Creator. But even if you do not show Him acknowledgement, anyone can attest to the surprise of life through nature and circumstance. It was circumstance that surprised me today. I met someone completely new, and I was reacquainted with someone I've known for a long while. Both surprised me. They were things I never could have planned or imagined, but that brought pleasure and purpose.
I absolutely adore surprises. A friend of mine absolutely abhors them. Just a few days ago, I showed up at his place of employment unannounced. His initial response was more upset than uplifted. This irony is quite amusing to me.
Surprises are like candy to me. They make life sweeter. Those closest to me know I love random subjects mostly because they surprise me. As I typed this, a friend half-a-country away sent me a link to watch Japanese bugs fight. Now, am I a fan of fighting insects? Not at all. However, the complete unpredictability of this topic made me smile. I certainly did not view this Japanese spectacle, but am proud to call the sender a friend.
Surprises can come in children's faces, in new-found friends, in random subjects, and in epiphanies. We need to notice them, embrace them, delight in them, and then share them! We must tell others about our own surprises, then spark some surprise in their day. It brings the most satisfying sensation.
Tomorrow, my mother is getting a birthday gift she has no idea about. Surprise....
Life brings surprises. We are all witnesses to this art of the universe. I attribute that art to the Creator. But even if you do not show Him acknowledgement, anyone can attest to the surprise of life through nature and circumstance. It was circumstance that surprised me today. I met someone completely new, and I was reacquainted with someone I've known for a long while. Both surprised me. They were things I never could have planned or imagined, but that brought pleasure and purpose.
I absolutely adore surprises. A friend of mine absolutely abhors them. Just a few days ago, I showed up at his place of employment unannounced. His initial response was more upset than uplifted. This irony is quite amusing to me.
Surprises are like candy to me. They make life sweeter. Those closest to me know I love random subjects mostly because they surprise me. As I typed this, a friend half-a-country away sent me a link to watch Japanese bugs fight. Now, am I a fan of fighting insects? Not at all. However, the complete unpredictability of this topic made me smile. I certainly did not view this Japanese spectacle, but am proud to call the sender a friend.
Surprises can come in children's faces, in new-found friends, in random subjects, and in epiphanies. We need to notice them, embrace them, delight in them, and then share them! We must tell others about our own surprises, then spark some surprise in their day. It brings the most satisfying sensation.
Tomorrow, my mother is getting a birthday gift she has no idea about. Surprise....
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