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
Thursday, January 31, 2008
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....
Wednesday, January 2, 2008
Hopeless Decision
One of my friends and I had a breakfast conversation New Years morning. We talked about the odd sensation that occurs if someone you've had feelings for in the past yet chose not to be in a more serious relationship with suddenly starts easing his/her way into your life, and consequently your emotions, once again. That has been happening to me over Christmas break since many people from my past are aware of my presence back home. With those thoughts bumping into each other in my little brain, I penned this poem -- a poem that reflects making a decision that may be the right choice, but still erases possibility in a relationship.
With one glance at our hearts, it seems they touch,
Though they never have.
They were merely drawn closer by Hope.
I wish we had needed nothing between,
That we had beaten Time to the draw
So he would let me hear your voice every second of everyday.
Since we lost to Time, it hurts to hear even one word you say.
Distraction and Opportunity came my way.
Discernment and Decision slid between us.
Then I asked Hope to leave us both alone.
She did obligingly. And now she's gone.
With one glance at our hearts, it seems they touch,
Though they never have.
They were merely drawn closer by Hope.
I wish we had needed nothing between,
That we had beaten Time to the draw
So he would let me hear your voice every second of everyday.
Since we lost to Time, it hurts to hear even one word you say.
Distraction and Opportunity came my way.
Discernment and Decision slid between us.
Then I asked Hope to leave us both alone.
She did obligingly. And now she's gone.
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