I read the Economist on my commutes when I'm feeling enough awake to comprehend words on a page and guilty about my lack of awareness of current events.
This morning, reading last week's Economist that I had yet to pick up (or more aptly, download), I read an article on Libya. During the war against Colonel Qaddafi, the new authorities sent out text messages to their fighters instructing them to treat prisoners decently with these words, "Remember when you arrest any follower of Qaddafi that he is a Libyan like you and has his dignity like you..."
On Saturday, riding the bus with my boyfriend, we started to discuss the difficult life of Hitler and the effects of his youth on his adult actions. While still holding him fully accountable for his actions and seeing his choices as a gross atrocity and an abomination to the Lord, I remarked, "But I have a hard time when we demonize Hitler. When we treat people who have done horrible things as less than us. As if they are to be hated eternally for what they have done, forgetting that they are children of God and made in his image. Forgetting that if they chose to repent of their sins, they would be our brothers in Christ."
Sometimes, I forget to love others like I should. The words reminded to the soldiers in Libya is not that different than the words I need to hear about those same people. The difference is, instead of seeing their identity as a Libyan with dignity, I see them as a child of God and designed to give glory unto God.
Talking to a friend who spent a year as a missionary in China, he told me that the hardest part of mission work was his coworkers. "I knew God redeemed sinners, but man...."
We are all sinners before the throne of God. Our white lies are as much an eternal condemnation as Qaddafi's mass murders and yet, when we stand before the throne of God, our sins are wiped clean through the blood of the Cross and Christ's resurrection. No sin is too great for our God.
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Monday, October 24, 2011
Driving By Grace
Everyday on my way to church, I take the 50 southbound and read the Economist on my ipod. There is something moderately soothing to me about hearing the sounds of people whispering or coughing on the bus, the shuffle of people walking to their seats and the electronic voice of the bus telling me what stop we are at.
"Cullom"
"Irving Park/Lincoln"
"Grace"
I always look up from my editorial when we pass grace. For some reason, a street named like a baby girl, always catches my attention and has me eyeing my surroundings, wondering what happens at Grace Street.
The first few times, it was nothing. Just a scenic appraisal of the world outside me. But over time, passing Grace became more meaningful, more significant, more spiritual.
I think there is something very true to form for me in taking something normal and making it deeply spiritual. I once bought a friend "The Supper of the Lamb," a spiritual cookbook that takes you on a religious experience through 2 hours of cutting an onion, as a Christmas present. (She's never opened it.)
But the idea of driving by grace every day is so true of my Christian experience. I believe in repentance, but I see that as a me thing. I believe in forgiveness, but live in a pseudo-Protestant sort of purgatory in which I carry my shame for my sin. Worse, I hold others under the same yoke. I will forgive you, but I will continue to weigh your mistakes in the balance.
I am a grace-less person.
I went to church on Sunday despite my truthful desire to stay in bed and eat oreos. A visiting missionary preached on Luke 15, talking about the three parables as one (the way the text tells us it is to be read). He looked at the story of the lost sheep -- repentance is being found. He looked at the story of the lost coin -- repentance is being found. He looked at the prodigal son -- repentance is being found. The story doesn't say, "The Son came home and confessed his sin and promised to not screw up again next time." No, it tells of him quoting Pharaoh's less than sincere repentance "I have sinned against heaven and before you" and heads home when he has no other option. The Father rejoices in seeing him and says "Let us eat and celebrate for my son was dead is now alive; was lost and is found."
Repentance is being found.
Grace is repentance; it is being found.
I drive by grace every day when I choose to be the brother out in the field refusing to come celebrate with his father. I choose to be grace-less when I refuse to celebrate being found, for being in the arms of my Father who loves and care for me.
May I always come to the table to worship with my God. May I continually learn that confession is only a small part of repentance — that my God has found me and saved me.
"Cullom"
"Irving Park/Lincoln"
"Grace"
I always look up from my editorial when we pass grace. For some reason, a street named like a baby girl, always catches my attention and has me eyeing my surroundings, wondering what happens at Grace Street.
The first few times, it was nothing. Just a scenic appraisal of the world outside me. But over time, passing Grace became more meaningful, more significant, more spiritual.
I think there is something very true to form for me in taking something normal and making it deeply spiritual. I once bought a friend "The Supper of the Lamb," a spiritual cookbook that takes you on a religious experience through 2 hours of cutting an onion, as a Christmas present. (She's never opened it.)
But the idea of driving by grace every day is so true of my Christian experience. I believe in repentance, but I see that as a me thing. I believe in forgiveness, but live in a pseudo-Protestant sort of purgatory in which I carry my shame for my sin. Worse, I hold others under the same yoke. I will forgive you, but I will continue to weigh your mistakes in the balance.
I am a grace-less person.
I went to church on Sunday despite my truthful desire to stay in bed and eat oreos. A visiting missionary preached on Luke 15, talking about the three parables as one (the way the text tells us it is to be read). He looked at the story of the lost sheep -- repentance is being found. He looked at the story of the lost coin -- repentance is being found. He looked at the prodigal son -- repentance is being found. The story doesn't say, "The Son came home and confessed his sin and promised to not screw up again next time." No, it tells of him quoting Pharaoh's less than sincere repentance "I have sinned against heaven and before you" and heads home when he has no other option. The Father rejoices in seeing him and says "Let us eat and celebrate for my son was dead is now alive; was lost and is found."
Repentance is being found.
Grace is repentance; it is being found.
I drive by grace every day when I choose to be the brother out in the field refusing to come celebrate with his father. I choose to be grace-less when I refuse to celebrate being found, for being in the arms of my Father who loves and care for me.
May I always come to the table to worship with my God. May I continually learn that confession is only a small part of repentance — that my God has found me and saved me.
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
If Kierkegaard were a drunk man at Starbucks...
A warm, late May morning. The sun was glistening off the tops of the glass tables at Starbucks and enriched the soft morning glow as we trekked to church in Boston. 5 of us, only 16 years old, walked down the street amazed at the urban oasis around us, unfamiliar with city life.
Something about these moments are poetic in their very nature. Nothing about that morning — no matter how vile or off-putting — could remove the joy that was slathered across our faces.
So as we walked by Starbucks and noticed a drunk man sitting on the patio, we were fascinated, not disturbed. He sat near the railing, as far from the Starbucks and as close to the sidewalk as possible while he sipped his black coffee at 8 am. In between sips and sighs of enjoyment, he would belt out lines from Frank Sinatra at the top of lungs and smile.
Had he been walking next to us, we might have been bothered, but since he seemed to be in a controlled spot on the opposite corner of the intersection from where we were headed, we enjoyed him and whispered about how different life in the city was.
This man merrily singing Frank Sinatra in his drunkenness has been an image that has stayed with me over the years. I always liked him, had some sort of appreciation for him, some sort of moderate pity. With these generally positive feelings toward the Starbucks drunkard, it is almost understandable how I have come to associate Soren Kierkegaard with him.
In his book, Training in Christianity, Kierkegaard berates the Danish church for its hypocrisy and failure to put Christ at the center of their worship. When the church would not change, Kierkegaard boycotted the church and called other true followers to disfellowship. He was consistently vocal about his lack of church attendance during this boycott and would sit in cafes where he would be noticed for not attending church.
If Kierkegaard lived in Boston in the new Millennium, he might just be the drunk man at Starbucks. I see him sitting with a cup of coffee, singing a song while reading the New York Times and offering a knowing smirk to everyone that passed by. I see him nodding at his friends who were headed to service and acknowledging that he was choosing a different path.
To be fair, this was likely not the story of Kierkegaard. It misses the sorrow and the despair he had for the sense of the church. It misses his aggressiveness in seeking out the truth and totally demolishes his fierce desire to suffer for Christ.
But it is a funny image, isn't it?
Monday, October 10, 2011
Right Now
Its October and 75 degree out and sunny. I have the day off. Want to know how I'm spending it?
Eating lemon cake and drinking coffee in my bed researching gyms.
That's right. Eating cake, skipping dance class, not running outside, but researching places to work out.
I'd say, its a pretty awesome day off.
Saturday, September 17, 2011
Selfishness
I've been thinking a lot about how selfish I am.
Its not the selfishness of a toddler who steals toys from her peers, holding them close to her chest and screaming, "Mine," but the reserved selfishness of adulthood. The one where you say its fine, but secretly are bitter things aren't geared towards you. The one where you get annoyed when you don't get the returns on your actions that you're reciprocating.
Its funny that this has been my thought for the past few days when today happened;
I was hosting some friends from Moody. The girls who I hadn't seen yet, the ones who text me to tell me how much they want to see me. After spending all morning cleaning and baking for them, I receive a series of texts of them canceling. As the numbers drop from 15 to 10 to 5, I get increasingly bitter at their selfishness. Their inability to come see me when I make the effort to see them. Their lack of foresight in planning their weeks so they could be here — after all, I had done so. I had protected the day for them. I had made sure they would be able to come over.
As I build up a small storm of fury inside me at their selfishness, my own becomes increasingly obvious.
I'm annoyed because I wanted to throw a good party, not because they're busy. I'm annoyed because I "did all of this for them" with no return.
It wasn't for them. It was for me. It was for my name, my glory, my ego.
Lord, teach me to love as you have loved. Teach me to be selfless, as you have been. May I lay down my life for you and for my brother. May I walk in humility and truth, caring for those you care for.
Its not the selfishness of a toddler who steals toys from her peers, holding them close to her chest and screaming, "Mine," but the reserved selfishness of adulthood. The one where you say its fine, but secretly are bitter things aren't geared towards you. The one where you get annoyed when you don't get the returns on your actions that you're reciprocating.
Its funny that this has been my thought for the past few days when today happened;
I was hosting some friends from Moody. The girls who I hadn't seen yet, the ones who text me to tell me how much they want to see me. After spending all morning cleaning and baking for them, I receive a series of texts of them canceling. As the numbers drop from 15 to 10 to 5, I get increasingly bitter at their selfishness. Their inability to come see me when I make the effort to see them. Their lack of foresight in planning their weeks so they could be here — after all, I had done so. I had protected the day for them. I had made sure they would be able to come over.
As I build up a small storm of fury inside me at their selfishness, my own becomes increasingly obvious.
I'm annoyed because I wanted to throw a good party, not because they're busy. I'm annoyed because I "did all of this for them" with no return.
It wasn't for them. It was for me. It was for my name, my glory, my ego.
Lord, teach me to love as you have loved. Teach me to be selfless, as you have been. May I lay down my life for you and for my brother. May I walk in humility and truth, caring for those you care for.
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
Future
Sometimes, I blog in the shower.
Or on the train.
Or in bed late at night when I should be sleeping or praying or something relaxing.
Those are the posts you never read. The ones that I write in my head so that I can feel rested, calmed, expressed.
My functional journal.
Lately, I've been thinking about my future. I'm finding that the happier I am in my present state, the less I'm interested in planning for my future.
This summer has been glorious. The past four months have been a testament to God's goodness and a demonstration of his provision. I have been well rested, well connected, well cared for. I have been shamelessly giddy the majority of the days. I have seen a good friend get married. I have moved into a lovely new apartment. I have started a new job.
I have not looked into grad schools. I have not written a five year plan. I have not (seriously) planned any trips.
And I'm stuck in the middle about it. My church, where I now work, is well versed in my future goals (circa May) and are immensely supportive. They want to know where I want to do my graduate work. They're interested in what I want to study, where I want to go — eager for my future. They're encouragement and enthusiasm is contagious. Talking to them reminds me of the way I am gifted, what God has in store for me and my passion for academia.
Its good to be excited. Its good to be thinking of the awesome things God has in store for your future. But we are not called to live in the future but in this moment.
"Do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself." Matthew 6:35
"Do not boast about tomorrow for you do not know what a day might bring." Proverbs 27:1
"Yet you do not know what tomorrow will bring... instead you ought to say, 'If the Lord wills, we will live and do this or that." James 4:14-15
May we learn to walk faithfully in the moment, awaiting what the Lord will bring but fully present in the moment in which he has us.
Or on the train.
Or in bed late at night when I should be sleeping or praying or something relaxing.
Those are the posts you never read. The ones that I write in my head so that I can feel rested, calmed, expressed.
My functional journal.
Lately, I've been thinking about my future. I'm finding that the happier I am in my present state, the less I'm interested in planning for my future.
This summer has been glorious. The past four months have been a testament to God's goodness and a demonstration of his provision. I have been well rested, well connected, well cared for. I have been shamelessly giddy the majority of the days. I have seen a good friend get married. I have moved into a lovely new apartment. I have started a new job.
I have not looked into grad schools. I have not written a five year plan. I have not (seriously) planned any trips.
And I'm stuck in the middle about it. My church, where I now work, is well versed in my future goals (circa May) and are immensely supportive. They want to know where I want to do my graduate work. They're interested in what I want to study, where I want to go — eager for my future. They're encouragement and enthusiasm is contagious. Talking to them reminds me of the way I am gifted, what God has in store for me and my passion for academia.
Its good to be excited. Its good to be thinking of the awesome things God has in store for your future. But we are not called to live in the future but in this moment.
"Do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself." Matthew 6:35
"Do not boast about tomorrow for you do not know what a day might bring." Proverbs 27:1
"Yet you do not know what tomorrow will bring... instead you ought to say, 'If the Lord wills, we will live and do this or that." James 4:14-15
May we learn to walk faithfully in the moment, awaiting what the Lord will bring but fully present in the moment in which he has us.
Monday, August 29, 2011
New
New seems to be my word lately.
New apartment.
New roommates.
New job.
New boyfriend.
New school year.
New clothes.
New bed.
New wall color.
New.
New.
New.
New.
I like new... in small shifts. Everything in my life is awesome and I feel like every new thing is a blessing and yet, I'm exhausted.
As in, can't-keep-my-eyes-open-at-9-pm tired. As in let-the-kids-watch-tv-for-an-hour-so-I-could-rest worn out. As in too-tired-to-unpack-so-I'll-just-live-amid-a-pile-of-boxes-and-wear-the-three-outfits-I-can-find-that-are-half-clean-in-the-hamper exhaustion.
I know its a phase. I know that God is pouring out his blessing over me right now, but at this particular moment as I gear up for the first real day at the new job and first real meeting at loyola and trying a new recipe in my new kitchen with my new appliances while my super-awesome new boyfriend scrounges mold off my ceiling, I just wish God would bless me a little slower.
To him who has awesome and wonderful things prepared for my life, to him who is above all gracious and giving, may all glory and honor and power be to him — and may he give us endurance and strength to run the race he has set before us. Amen.
New apartment.
New roommates.
New job.
New boyfriend.
New school year.
New clothes.
New bed.
New wall color.
New.
New.
New.
New.
I like new... in small shifts. Everything in my life is awesome and I feel like every new thing is a blessing and yet, I'm exhausted.
As in, can't-keep-my-eyes-open-at-9-pm tired. As in let-the-kids-watch-tv-for-an-hour-so-I-could-rest worn out. As in too-tired-to-unpack-so-I'll-just-live-amid-a-pile-of-boxes-and-wear-the-three-outfits-I-can-find-that-are-half-clean-in-the-hamper exhaustion.
I know its a phase. I know that God is pouring out his blessing over me right now, but at this particular moment as I gear up for the first real day at the new job and first real meeting at loyola and trying a new recipe in my new kitchen with my new appliances while my super-awesome new boyfriend scrounges mold off my ceiling, I just wish God would bless me a little slower.
To him who has awesome and wonderful things prepared for my life, to him who is above all gracious and giving, may all glory and honor and power be to him — and may he give us endurance and strength to run the race he has set before us. Amen.
Friday, August 26, 2011
How Does It Feel To Be Graduated?
People have asked me consistently if it feels different to be graduated.
At first, I didn't know how to answer. Nothing was really different — it was just summer. Then, I didn't know if the question was fair. Were the different things consequences of my graduation or simply things that change from time to time? True, my recent love of sparkling pink wines is purely a product of graduation and good friends (as is my affinity for citrusy wheat ales) but what about the rest? I just nanny. I live with 5 girls, all but one who came from my college. I share a bed. I go shopping in the morning. I have an extensive coffee budget.
Then this week happened, and I can assure you, graduated life is different.
I painted a room into the perfect colors because I know I'll be there for a long time. Or to be more honest, I sat in a chair sending emails while my boyfriend painted the walls, because I've started dating someone who actually enjoys doing the things I hate and even more importantly, enjoys spending time with me. (And I assure you, the feelings are mutual).
I stepped into an office, met 4 chaplains, 5 sacramental life staff and a whole slew of graduate assistants who would be my co-workers on the north side. Sure, I interned there before, but nothing's quite like giving a woman named Cookie your social security and smiling awkwardly for your staff badge. Even retreat was different. Sure, I was a leader the year before. This year, though, I was the adult.
This week, I quit two jobs. I talked on the phone with one about how I hadn't planned to leave her family but that I needed to leave asap. I listened as she held back tears and told me how much it sucked.
I stood in a kitchen this morning with another mother I work for who I adore like a big sister, and stop her midway through her "I'm so glad you're leaving the other family and not me" celebration to inform her I was leaving both. Stood there as she cried. Stood there as I realized the kids would not understand.
This week, I interviewed and was offered a position the next day at the only job I applied for. I applied to one position, which would be perfect for me, and learned that it was what God had in store. I showed up today for my whirlwind training session and learned, for four hours, that my days would be filled with varied and interesting tasks. From filling out baptism certificates and photocopying commentaries to feeding homeless neighbors and planning all church events, my days would never dull.
So, when you ask me, the next time I step on campus, how it feels to be graduated. I will tell you it is wonderful and harder than I ever could have imagined, but I am so blessed.
At first, I didn't know how to answer. Nothing was really different — it was just summer. Then, I didn't know if the question was fair. Were the different things consequences of my graduation or simply things that change from time to time? True, my recent love of sparkling pink wines is purely a product of graduation and good friends (as is my affinity for citrusy wheat ales) but what about the rest? I just nanny. I live with 5 girls, all but one who came from my college. I share a bed. I go shopping in the morning. I have an extensive coffee budget.
Then this week happened, and I can assure you, graduated life is different.
I painted a room into the perfect colors because I know I'll be there for a long time. Or to be more honest, I sat in a chair sending emails while my boyfriend painted the walls, because I've started dating someone who actually enjoys doing the things I hate and even more importantly, enjoys spending time with me. (And I assure you, the feelings are mutual).
I stepped into an office, met 4 chaplains, 5 sacramental life staff and a whole slew of graduate assistants who would be my co-workers on the north side. Sure, I interned there before, but nothing's quite like giving a woman named Cookie your social security and smiling awkwardly for your staff badge. Even retreat was different. Sure, I was a leader the year before. This year, though, I was the adult.
This week, I quit two jobs. I talked on the phone with one about how I hadn't planned to leave her family but that I needed to leave asap. I listened as she held back tears and told me how much it sucked.
I stood in a kitchen this morning with another mother I work for who I adore like a big sister, and stop her midway through her "I'm so glad you're leaving the other family and not me" celebration to inform her I was leaving both. Stood there as she cried. Stood there as I realized the kids would not understand.
This week, I interviewed and was offered a position the next day at the only job I applied for. I applied to one position, which would be perfect for me, and learned that it was what God had in store. I showed up today for my whirlwind training session and learned, for four hours, that my days would be filled with varied and interesting tasks. From filling out baptism certificates and photocopying commentaries to feeding homeless neighbors and planning all church events, my days would never dull.
So, when you ask me, the next time I step on campus, how it feels to be graduated. I will tell you it is wonderful and harder than I ever could have imagined, but I am so blessed.
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Creator God in Poetry
I haven't shared fiction with you in a while. Today is your lucky day. I wrote this upon landing in Dallas on my return trip from Costa Rica last October. Enjoy.
From Heaven
I wonder if this is how God sees us — specks of peach amid his green creation.
I wonder if, when we pray, he plays Where's Waldo with all the houses with matching roofs, looking for the weeping voice among the sea of words.
I wonder if, when he sees the crash coming, he hopes for the best — for the taxi to steer left and the sedan to slam on the brakes and cries as the cabbie pummels the small family while talking on his cell phone.
I wonder if, when we see him face to face, he'll hold us up like a figurine, lift us up in the palm of his hand to the tip of his nose —squinting to see all the details — and thinks,
"Hmm, just as I imagined she would be."
From Heaven
I wonder if this is how God sees us — specks of peach amid his green creation.
I wonder if, when we pray, he plays Where's Waldo with all the houses with matching roofs, looking for the weeping voice among the sea of words.
I wonder if, when he sees the crash coming, he hopes for the best — for the taxi to steer left and the sedan to slam on the brakes and cries as the cabbie pummels the small family while talking on his cell phone.
I wonder if, when we see him face to face, he'll hold us up like a figurine, lift us up in the palm of his hand to the tip of his nose —squinting to see all the details — and thinks,
"Hmm, just as I imagined she would be."
Sunday, August 7, 2011
Psalm 13: Honesty and Truth
I blogged this today on the Loyola Living For Christ website, and I thought it spoke so clearly to what I'm learning right now, that I should share it on my home blog.
If you've spent much time around me, you've probably heard me say this already. Our prayer lives must be filled with honesty and truth — even when those two things are not the same thing.
Psalm 13 is the ultimate example of David doing just that.
1 How long, O Lord? Will you forget me forever?
How long will you hide your face from me?
2 How long must I wrestle with my thoughts
and every day have sorrow in my heart?
How long will my enemy triumph over me?
3 Look on me and answer, O Lord my God.
Give light to my eyes, or I will sleep in death;
4 my enemy will say, "I have overcome him,"
and my foes will rejoice when I fall.
5 But I trust in your unfailing love,
my heart rejoices in your salvation.
6 I will sing to the Lord,
for he has been good to me.
David asks God if he will forget him forever. He asks God how long he will hide his face. At first, David seems to be saying something untrue. God doesn't forget people and he certainly didn't forget David who would be the great grandfather of Christ himself! God wasn't hiding. God doesn't do that! But David is being honest here. He's saying what he's feeling, what life seems like, and is bearing his soul before his Savior. God already knows what he's thinking and feeling; he might as well be honest before God and come to him without any pretenses.
In verse 2, David stands raw before the Lord, asking him the questions he most earnestly wants answered. David is not afraid to say to God exactly what is on his mind. In what is clearly a dark hour for David, he comes before the throne of God and asks for answers unabashedly.
He then, in verse 3, demands God's attention. It's almost funny. Here David is telling God that God has been hiding, that God has forgotten about him and then he demands God's presence as if he has a right to the counsel of the Almighty! He threatens God with his own mortality, noting that if God doesn't do something soon, David will not be there any more.
Sometimes, I read this psalm to God and declare it as my own. Stop ignoring me God! Answer me! Be here now! My life is falling apart and if you don't do something about it soon, I'll die! Granted, David likely wrote this psalm when he was being hunted by Saul and his life was truly in danger and I'm just struggling to get everything done on time, but nonetheless, there are days in which I identify with David (even if I am being melodramatic).
What's beautiful about this, though, is that God hears. God listens. God responds. God is not angry at our impatience. He is not turned off by our demands. He loves us and listens to us and cares for us. He is not far from us. Our honesty does not surprise God. It does not hurt his feelings. Our honesty, our kicking and screaming and temper tantrums are a part of being in intimate relationship with God. Like a toddler with his mother, our fits never push God away. We should grow out of them at some point, but God loves us through our yelling and our unreasonable perspectives.
If David stopped at verse 4, this psalm would be hard to read. Up to this point, David seems to be talking to a distant, uncaring God. He seems to be picking a fight with someone who has already left the room. Psalm 13 is powerful because once David stops stomping his feet, he reflects on the truth. He looks at what he knows to be a true of God, not just what he is feeling in the moment.
God is trustworthy. His love is unfailing. God is Savior. He is good to us.
Try reading verses 5 & 6 on a day when the world seems to be going wrong. Its hard. It is hard to say to God the truth when we don't feel like believing it, when we doubt that its true consistently.
See, if all we give God is honesty and we neglect the truth, we fall into despair. We doubt who God is. We doubt his goodness. We question his power. But when we, like David, remember the works of the Lord, when we look at how God has delivered us in the past, we have no choice but to rejoice. David's praise is not based on what he expects God to do, but on his past works. He has hope because God has proven himself.
God wants you to be real in front of him. There is no need to put on your Christian smile and say that everything is going well in front of a God who knows your innermost thoughts. But, despite what we might be feeling, we have to know who God is. God is good. He is our Savior. He has worked in the past for our sakes. He has provided. He is Lord. At the end of the day, no matter if our best friend's dad is trying to kill us (like David's was) or if we just failed our organic chemistry final, God is faithful and good and worthy of praise.
5 But I trust in your unfailing love,
my heart rejoices in your salvation.
6 I will sing to the Lord,
for he has been good to me.
May these words always be on our lips.
If you've spent much time around me, you've probably heard me say this already. Our prayer lives must be filled with honesty and truth — even when those two things are not the same thing.
Psalm 13 is the ultimate example of David doing just that.
1 How long, O Lord? Will you forget me forever?
How long will you hide your face from me?
2 How long must I wrestle with my thoughts
and every day have sorrow in my heart?
How long will my enemy triumph over me?
3 Look on me and answer, O Lord my God.
Give light to my eyes, or I will sleep in death;
4 my enemy will say, "I have overcome him,"
and my foes will rejoice when I fall.
5 But I trust in your unfailing love,
my heart rejoices in your salvation.
6 I will sing to the Lord,
for he has been good to me.
David asks God if he will forget him forever. He asks God how long he will hide his face. At first, David seems to be saying something untrue. God doesn't forget people and he certainly didn't forget David who would be the great grandfather of Christ himself! God wasn't hiding. God doesn't do that! But David is being honest here. He's saying what he's feeling, what life seems like, and is bearing his soul before his Savior. God already knows what he's thinking and feeling; he might as well be honest before God and come to him without any pretenses.
In verse 2, David stands raw before the Lord, asking him the questions he most earnestly wants answered. David is not afraid to say to God exactly what is on his mind. In what is clearly a dark hour for David, he comes before the throne of God and asks for answers unabashedly.
He then, in verse 3, demands God's attention. It's almost funny. Here David is telling God that God has been hiding, that God has forgotten about him and then he demands God's presence as if he has a right to the counsel of the Almighty! He threatens God with his own mortality, noting that if God doesn't do something soon, David will not be there any more.
Sometimes, I read this psalm to God and declare it as my own. Stop ignoring me God! Answer me! Be here now! My life is falling apart and if you don't do something about it soon, I'll die! Granted, David likely wrote this psalm when he was being hunted by Saul and his life was truly in danger and I'm just struggling to get everything done on time, but nonetheless, there are days in which I identify with David (even if I am being melodramatic).
What's beautiful about this, though, is that God hears. God listens. God responds. God is not angry at our impatience. He is not turned off by our demands. He loves us and listens to us and cares for us. He is not far from us. Our honesty does not surprise God. It does not hurt his feelings. Our honesty, our kicking and screaming and temper tantrums are a part of being in intimate relationship with God. Like a toddler with his mother, our fits never push God away. We should grow out of them at some point, but God loves us through our yelling and our unreasonable perspectives.
If David stopped at verse 4, this psalm would be hard to read. Up to this point, David seems to be talking to a distant, uncaring God. He seems to be picking a fight with someone who has already left the room. Psalm 13 is powerful because once David stops stomping his feet, he reflects on the truth. He looks at what he knows to be a true of God, not just what he is feeling in the moment.
God is trustworthy. His love is unfailing. God is Savior. He is good to us.
Try reading verses 5 & 6 on a day when the world seems to be going wrong. Its hard. It is hard to say to God the truth when we don't feel like believing it, when we doubt that its true consistently.
See, if all we give God is honesty and we neglect the truth, we fall into despair. We doubt who God is. We doubt his goodness. We question his power. But when we, like David, remember the works of the Lord, when we look at how God has delivered us in the past, we have no choice but to rejoice. David's praise is not based on what he expects God to do, but on his past works. He has hope because God has proven himself.
God wants you to be real in front of him. There is no need to put on your Christian smile and say that everything is going well in front of a God who knows your innermost thoughts. But, despite what we might be feeling, we have to know who God is. God is good. He is our Savior. He has worked in the past for our sakes. He has provided. He is Lord. At the end of the day, no matter if our best friend's dad is trying to kill us (like David's was) or if we just failed our organic chemistry final, God is faithful and good and worthy of praise.
5 But I trust in your unfailing love,
my heart rejoices in your salvation.
6 I will sing to the Lord,
for he has been good to me.
May these words always be on our lips.
Friday, August 5, 2011
Morning Jog
Their noses peek above the water, eyes closed, as they glide across the water. You can hear the air as it travels down their nostrils, into their lungs and back out again.
They are beautiful. They are carefree. They swim across the pond while the morning dew settles and a slight warm mist forms over their habitat.
The seals swam across their pool, breathing in the morning dew and enjoying their morning workout.
I ran by, breathed deep and smiled. There is nothing as beautiful as an early morning jog through the zoo.
They are beautiful. They are carefree. They swim across the pond while the morning dew settles and a slight warm mist forms over their habitat.
The seals swam across their pool, breathing in the morning dew and enjoying their morning workout.
I ran by, breathed deep and smiled. There is nothing as beautiful as an early morning jog through the zoo.
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
Drug Induced Blogging
I promised myself I would blog today. I've been thinking a lot about faith and vulnerability and stillness and I promised I would share those muddled yet beautiful thoughts with you.
But then I took benadryl and now I am hardly conscious. But a promise is a promise, right?
Short form:
I am a hot mess at the moment. If I were in normal me mode, I would be freaking out about my housing situation, my job issues, the start of the school year, graduate school, my friendships, Loyola students coming back, Talia's wedding, Smith 4 girls returning, new relationships and my miscellaneous health issues as of late.
I'm not.
Instead, I'm way too calm and pulled together... sometimes. :)
See the big moral of the story is that when we rest in him, when our faith is strong and we have confidence to step before the throne of God and be vulnerable before our Lord and Savior, he delivers us. He provides for us.
I wanted to walk through all the verses with you. Instead I'll list them so God can lead you through them:
Psalm 46
Ex 14:14
Gen 18:21-33
Knock and the door will be opened. Seek and you shall find.
Now, Psalm 127:2 (slightly paraphrased): "In vain you rise early and go to bed late... but God grants sleep to those he loves."
And on that note, good night.
But then I took benadryl and now I am hardly conscious. But a promise is a promise, right?
Short form:
I am a hot mess at the moment. If I were in normal me mode, I would be freaking out about my housing situation, my job issues, the start of the school year, graduate school, my friendships, Loyola students coming back, Talia's wedding, Smith 4 girls returning, new relationships and my miscellaneous health issues as of late.
I'm not.
Instead, I'm way too calm and pulled together... sometimes. :)
See the big moral of the story is that when we rest in him, when our faith is strong and we have confidence to step before the throne of God and be vulnerable before our Lord and Savior, he delivers us. He provides for us.
I wanted to walk through all the verses with you. Instead I'll list them so God can lead you through them:
Psalm 46
Ex 14:14
Gen 18:21-33
Knock and the door will be opened. Seek and you shall find.
Now, Psalm 127:2 (slightly paraphrased): "In vain you rise early and go to bed late... but God grants sleep to those he loves."
And on that note, good night.
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Snail Shells
I have had a bad day.
I could tell you all the thousands of reasons why today has been less than good, but I'll spare you the ranting and instead tell you what today's bad day has taught me: I'm vulnerable.
You see, everything in my life at the moment leaves me bare and able to be hurt. I work in ministry. I nanny. I'm looking for new roommates and meeting new people at church. All of it leaves me susceptible to scars.
And I hate it. I'd rather run away than fight through it because closing off is easier. But, I'm learning that this is all good.
Snails are able to hide in their shell for weeks. They can seal off the shell so that predators can't get them and they can stay there, safe in their own little world. But when a snail is inside its shell, it will go no where. It will experience nothing. It cannot eat.
Moral of the story: a snail can't stay in its shell all of the time and neither can I.
Ridiculous blog idea of the day: I am outside my shell and I think a snake might be coming, but I know that right now, I need to keep trekking along, slowly, because this is where God has me.
Even more ridiculous blog side note of the day: "snail shells" may become my new fake swear word. Its perfect.
I could tell you all the thousands of reasons why today has been less than good, but I'll spare you the ranting and instead tell you what today's bad day has taught me: I'm vulnerable.
You see, everything in my life at the moment leaves me bare and able to be hurt. I work in ministry. I nanny. I'm looking for new roommates and meeting new people at church. All of it leaves me susceptible to scars.
And I hate it. I'd rather run away than fight through it because closing off is easier. But, I'm learning that this is all good.
Snails are able to hide in their shell for weeks. They can seal off the shell so that predators can't get them and they can stay there, safe in their own little world. But when a snail is inside its shell, it will go no where. It will experience nothing. It cannot eat.
Moral of the story: a snail can't stay in its shell all of the time and neither can I.
Ridiculous blog idea of the day: I am outside my shell and I think a snake might be coming, but I know that right now, I need to keep trekking along, slowly, because this is where God has me.
Even more ridiculous blog side note of the day: "snail shells" may become my new fake swear word. Its perfect.
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
Rain
Its a day for RainyMood.
Actually, you should go there now. While you read this blog. Really. Go.
And while you're at it, open another tab, and go here or even here. But not here, because that just doesn't go with rain.
Why, you ask? Because everything is better with the soft sound of rain behind it and today is a day for rain and smiles and happy sighs.
Just because it is.
So go on, read some other actually meaningful post. But do it to the sound of rain.
Actually, you should go there now. While you read this blog. Really. Go.
And while you're at it, open another tab, and go here or even here. But not here, because that just doesn't go with rain.
Why, you ask? Because everything is better with the soft sound of rain behind it and today is a day for rain and smiles and happy sighs.
Just because it is.
So go on, read some other actually meaningful post. But do it to the sound of rain.
Sunday, July 17, 2011
Heart Words
I realized about a year ago that I had a heart word.
A word that pops into my head whenever I am silent.
A word that appears in my prayers more than any other.
It's the word that I scribble on the edges of notebook paper when I've stopped listening in class.
It's the word I ask about, talk about, live by.
I thought my heart word was "Hope" forever. I thought for the rest of my life, I'd be sketching the word "Hope" in a giant, delicate script on chalkboards. I thought I would forever pray that I be given more hope and beg God that I may never lose the hope that I had and always return to him who is my hope.
But it changed.
The last few weeks, I've written fewer capital H's, I've had fewer prayers about my hope. I've had few conservations about what people hope for. Instead, I've been talking about faith.
I drop the word Faith into every conversation. I talk about what it means to wait faithfully on the Lord. I ask God to give me more faith for this moment, for my future, for eternity.
Faith is the only thing I want to talk about.
I doodle around the bulletin at church. I point out to friends that what they really need is more faith and give myself the same recommendation.
Faith is my new heart word.
I don't know the significance of that change. I can't even tell you why a heart word matters. But what I can say is that I'm excited for this new wave of life. For this time when Faith is my priority. I am excited to see my faith grow as I learn to trust God more and let him guide my course knowing that it may not be a smooth trip but it will be the right path. I'm growing up. I'm changing gears. I'm walking in faith.
"Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen." Hebrews 11:1
A word that pops into my head whenever I am silent.
A word that appears in my prayers more than any other.
It's the word that I scribble on the edges of notebook paper when I've stopped listening in class.
It's the word I ask about, talk about, live by.
I thought my heart word was "Hope" forever. I thought for the rest of my life, I'd be sketching the word "Hope" in a giant, delicate script on chalkboards. I thought I would forever pray that I be given more hope and beg God that I may never lose the hope that I had and always return to him who is my hope.
But it changed.
The last few weeks, I've written fewer capital H's, I've had fewer prayers about my hope. I've had few conservations about what people hope for. Instead, I've been talking about faith.
I drop the word Faith into every conversation. I talk about what it means to wait faithfully on the Lord. I ask God to give me more faith for this moment, for my future, for eternity.
Faith is the only thing I want to talk about.
I doodle around the bulletin at church. I point out to friends that what they really need is more faith and give myself the same recommendation.
Faith is my new heart word.
I don't know the significance of that change. I can't even tell you why a heart word matters. But what I can say is that I'm excited for this new wave of life. For this time when Faith is my priority. I am excited to see my faith grow as I learn to trust God more and let him guide my course knowing that it may not be a smooth trip but it will be the right path. I'm growing up. I'm changing gears. I'm walking in faith.
"Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen." Hebrews 11:1
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
Sentimental Thoughts
Living with four other girls kills my productivity.
I'm trying to read a book for Loyola in the morning, when I end up on Fabi's floor talking about God and boys and life and hope.
After work, I come home, intending to take a nap and run into Laura, who I haven't seen for weeks, and chat with her about my kids, cupcakes and St. Louis.
As I walk back to my room to grab my computer to get some graduate research done, I see Sarah reading in her room and plop on the stool near the foot of her bed, inquiring about her day, realizing that I am completely distracting her.
I climb into bed at night, absolutely exhausted, only to see Talia for the first time all day and catch up with her about church and weddings and soccer.
And then have a pillow fight, for no apparent reason, at midnight, making sure to pull Fabi in from the hallway, giggling the whole time, absolutely loving that we are probably too old for pillow fights but that this is a necessary part of being 23.
And I would trade none of it. I keep thinking about how things will change come September, when I move into a smaller place with just one roommate. In some respects, I love it. The kitchen might actually stay clean. I might actually be able to put food in the freezer. When I come home, I may actually be able to rest.
Yet, I'll come home and it will often be quiet. I'll come home and the place will be mine and not ours. There will be no midnight pillow fights. There will be no giddy talks about engagement. No discussion of what comes next, because we'll all be at our next step, separately. Fabi will be moving off the blue line, serving God in marvelous ways, as the Lord has been calling her over the past few months. Talia will be a few blocks away, living life as a wife (and probably having pillow fights without me). Laura will be back in St. Louis, moving into her next stage of life. We're all moving on.
And its hard. I've only lived here for 60 days, and I already feel like its home. I know this is where I am supposed to be, and I know that it has to change. Change is hardest when I know its right because I can't dwell on the way its supposed to be. Right now, I see God in the lives of my roommates. I know that when I ask about their lives, about what's on the horizon, their answers glisten of service to the Lord. I know that as I listen to what's next, my roommates are being pulled farther from me, yet that is exactly where they are supposed to go. I know that my next stage and theirs are beautifully designed, and yet, I want to stay in this post-graduation bliss forever.
So, to my roommates: You have been a hope and an encouragement to me. You have challenged me and grown me. You have shaped who I am and I am immensely grateful for it. I wouldn't trade this summer for any other. Thanks for being Christ to me.
I'll miss you.
Romans 1:8-12
I'm trying to read a book for Loyola in the morning, when I end up on Fabi's floor talking about God and boys and life and hope.
After work, I come home, intending to take a nap and run into Laura, who I haven't seen for weeks, and chat with her about my kids, cupcakes and St. Louis.
As I walk back to my room to grab my computer to get some graduate research done, I see Sarah reading in her room and plop on the stool near the foot of her bed, inquiring about her day, realizing that I am completely distracting her.
I climb into bed at night, absolutely exhausted, only to see Talia for the first time all day and catch up with her about church and weddings and soccer.
And then have a pillow fight, for no apparent reason, at midnight, making sure to pull Fabi in from the hallway, giggling the whole time, absolutely loving that we are probably too old for pillow fights but that this is a necessary part of being 23.
And I would trade none of it. I keep thinking about how things will change come September, when I move into a smaller place with just one roommate. In some respects, I love it. The kitchen might actually stay clean. I might actually be able to put food in the freezer. When I come home, I may actually be able to rest.
Yet, I'll come home and it will often be quiet. I'll come home and the place will be mine and not ours. There will be no midnight pillow fights. There will be no giddy talks about engagement. No discussion of what comes next, because we'll all be at our next step, separately. Fabi will be moving off the blue line, serving God in marvelous ways, as the Lord has been calling her over the past few months. Talia will be a few blocks away, living life as a wife (and probably having pillow fights without me). Laura will be back in St. Louis, moving into her next stage of life. We're all moving on.
And its hard. I've only lived here for 60 days, and I already feel like its home. I know this is where I am supposed to be, and I know that it has to change. Change is hardest when I know its right because I can't dwell on the way its supposed to be. Right now, I see God in the lives of my roommates. I know that when I ask about their lives, about what's on the horizon, their answers glisten of service to the Lord. I know that as I listen to what's next, my roommates are being pulled farther from me, yet that is exactly where they are supposed to go. I know that my next stage and theirs are beautifully designed, and yet, I want to stay in this post-graduation bliss forever.
So, to my roommates: You have been a hope and an encouragement to me. You have challenged me and grown me. You have shaped who I am and I am immensely grateful for it. I wouldn't trade this summer for any other. Thanks for being Christ to me.
I'll miss you.
Romans 1:8-12
Saturday, July 2, 2011
Housesitting
There are rules about house sitting.
You see, house sitting is only half about feeding the fish, petting the cat and locking the doors. The other half is about exploring.
Its the initial walk-through when you arrive, surveying what has been specifically left out for you and finding what's hidden inside. Its about finally walking into that storage closet that you have been curious about the last 6 months with this family. Its about the upper cabinets in the kitchen that you wonder what could possibly be stored there ( only to find animal crackers that put a smile on your face — and like the toddlers you care for —sneaking a few out, making the lion roar and then eating the cookies swiftly).
After climbing into the comfy big bed, talking to the lonely cat along the way, you flip through their TiVo-ed shows and get an idea of who it is you've been working for all these years. You test out each pillow, now realizing why people buy contour and body pillows as you cuddle under their covers.
In the morning, once you hunt down the coffee, feed the pesky cat who woke you up too early, and open the blinds to let light glisten in their oversized windows, you begin the quest for the good books. It starts in the living room — with the books you see each time you read from memory Good Night Moon or Counting Kisses. You start a pile on their coffee table, starting with the childcare book that you think will make you a nanny, and transition into classics you've always wanted to read, poetry books that look captivating and finish with a novel that sounds bizarrely beautiful. You know you'll probably glance at the title pages, read a poem or two, and then hope you remember where you pulled them from, but nonetheless, the hunt is necessary. This is your sanity you're talking about.
These, of course, are the rules of housesitting. You feed the cat, you change the fish's water, you read good books and sip the sangria that the family oddly left for you to finish. You daydream about your own "grown-up" life, complete with nursery rhyme rocking chairs and good books you'll never have time to read. You see, housesitting is all about being some place that is not home and making it feel like home, only to realize that this is not your home, this is not your life, and at the end of the week, you gladly go back to your dingy apartment with your four roommates and ignore your own classics sitting on your bookshelf acquiring dust. You hug your roommates, you leave the mess in the closet hidden away and you thank God that you do not have a cat.
You see, house sitting is only half about feeding the fish, petting the cat and locking the doors. The other half is about exploring.
Its the initial walk-through when you arrive, surveying what has been specifically left out for you and finding what's hidden inside. Its about finally walking into that storage closet that you have been curious about the last 6 months with this family. Its about the upper cabinets in the kitchen that you wonder what could possibly be stored there ( only to find animal crackers that put a smile on your face — and like the toddlers you care for —sneaking a few out, making the lion roar and then eating the cookies swiftly).
After climbing into the comfy big bed, talking to the lonely cat along the way, you flip through their TiVo-ed shows and get an idea of who it is you've been working for all these years. You test out each pillow, now realizing why people buy contour and body pillows as you cuddle under their covers.
In the morning, once you hunt down the coffee, feed the pesky cat who woke you up too early, and open the blinds to let light glisten in their oversized windows, you begin the quest for the good books. It starts in the living room — with the books you see each time you read from memory Good Night Moon or Counting Kisses. You start a pile on their coffee table, starting with the childcare book that you think will make you a nanny, and transition into classics you've always wanted to read, poetry books that look captivating and finish with a novel that sounds bizarrely beautiful. You know you'll probably glance at the title pages, read a poem or two, and then hope you remember where you pulled them from, but nonetheless, the hunt is necessary. This is your sanity you're talking about.
These, of course, are the rules of housesitting. You feed the cat, you change the fish's water, you read good books and sip the sangria that the family oddly left for you to finish. You daydream about your own "grown-up" life, complete with nursery rhyme rocking chairs and good books you'll never have time to read. You see, housesitting is all about being some place that is not home and making it feel like home, only to realize that this is not your home, this is not your life, and at the end of the week, you gladly go back to your dingy apartment with your four roommates and ignore your own classics sitting on your bookshelf acquiring dust. You hug your roommates, you leave the mess in the closet hidden away and you thank God that you do not have a cat.
Saturday, June 25, 2011
Real Life
On Monday, I was a reporter for an innovative new space launch to Mars. Somehow, I was able to report first hand what happened when aliens attacked the astronauts, and was there to support Mission Control to bring them home safely.
On Tuesday, I was an artist, drawing a seascape complete with a railroad station, teaching another artist how to draw jellyfish.
On Wednesday, I was a packhorse. Carrying a tired princess on my shoulders, a hello kitty bicycle with my free arm and pushing an exhausted bank robber down the road with my foot while we trekked the 8 blocks home from the library.
On Thursday, I was five years old again, jumping in a bouncy kingdom and helping a three year old do backflips. I tried my best to shoot small balls through a cannon into a net that seemed impossibly far away. I climbed up giant inflatable slides and rushed down clinging onto Hannah's small hands, giggling the whole way.
On Friday, I was the slide, letting four year old Evan slide down my legs while I laid off the side of his bed silently — because slides didn't talk.
On Saturday, I slept. I read books and cooked good food. I made homemade ice cream and took a yoga class. I danced to my favorite songs. I remembered how great it is to be a grown-up. But, 8 hours in, I miss my kids, my adventures, the chaos that ensues when toddlers are around. I miss the finger paints, the joy in the little things, the goldfish crackers. I miss stains on my shirt from half-eaten Nutrigrain bars and the bruises on my feet from preschoolers who have yet to have awareness of their bodies. I miss the laughter, the smiles and even the tears. I miss my kids.
And this is why I'm a nanny.
On Tuesday, I was an artist, drawing a seascape complete with a railroad station, teaching another artist how to draw jellyfish.
On Wednesday, I was a packhorse. Carrying a tired princess on my shoulders, a hello kitty bicycle with my free arm and pushing an exhausted bank robber down the road with my foot while we trekked the 8 blocks home from the library.
On Thursday, I was five years old again, jumping in a bouncy kingdom and helping a three year old do backflips. I tried my best to shoot small balls through a cannon into a net that seemed impossibly far away. I climbed up giant inflatable slides and rushed down clinging onto Hannah's small hands, giggling the whole way.
On Friday, I was the slide, letting four year old Evan slide down my legs while I laid off the side of his bed silently — because slides didn't talk.
On Saturday, I slept. I read books and cooked good food. I made homemade ice cream and took a yoga class. I danced to my favorite songs. I remembered how great it is to be a grown-up. But, 8 hours in, I miss my kids, my adventures, the chaos that ensues when toddlers are around. I miss the finger paints, the joy in the little things, the goldfish crackers. I miss stains on my shirt from half-eaten Nutrigrain bars and the bruises on my feet from preschoolers who have yet to have awareness of their bodies. I miss the laughter, the smiles and even the tears. I miss my kids.
And this is why I'm a nanny.
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Right Now
I love mornings.
I love homemade lattes and cold grapes.
I love dancing in the living room to Adele.
I love swimming laps early in the morning with men who actually know how to swim (which stands in noted contrast to my terrible swimming form that has resulted from a 10 year hiatus of swimming... in high school I did whatever I could to get out of swimming. Now I do laps in the morning. Who would have guessed?).
I love peanut butter. Any way. Always.
I love being a nanny and starting late in the day —Why did no one tell me that 11 am is the best start time for a job ever?
Right now, I'm incredibly happy.
Just sharing.
I love homemade lattes and cold grapes.
I love dancing in the living room to Adele.
I love swimming laps early in the morning with men who actually know how to swim (which stands in noted contrast to my terrible swimming form that has resulted from a 10 year hiatus of swimming... in high school I did whatever I could to get out of swimming. Now I do laps in the morning. Who would have guessed?).
I love peanut butter. Any way. Always.
I love being a nanny and starting late in the day —Why did no one tell me that 11 am is the best start time for a job ever?
Right now, I'm incredibly happy.
Just sharing.
Monday, June 13, 2011
Truth about the Economist
Sometimes, I read the Economist because I want to know what's going on in the world.
Sometimes, I read it because I want to feel like I care about what's going on in the world.
I read some days so that other people will think I care about what's going on in the world.
Other days, I read it so I don't feel guilty that I have a subscription I don't read.
Some days, I read it because I miss high school and miss reading "smart" things.
But somedays, like today, I flip open the Economist, half out of boredom, half out of guilt and read it for the pun-y titles and witty captions.
Man, I miss smart humor.
Sometimes, I read it because I want to feel like I care about what's going on in the world.
I read some days so that other people will think I care about what's going on in the world.
Other days, I read it so I don't feel guilty that I have a subscription I don't read.
Some days, I read it because I miss high school and miss reading "smart" things.
But somedays, like today, I flip open the Economist, half out of boredom, half out of guilt and read it for the pun-y titles and witty captions.
Man, I miss smart humor.
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
Two Anti-Chicago Tales from the Emerald City
I was proud.
I had successfully and independently navigated myself from gate A15 to baggage claim 11, found my hefty piece of plastic luggage and walked what seemed like miles to the Light Rail. I purchased my ticket, without calling for help, got on the correct train and sat down, gazing out the window on this strange monorail-like contraption admiring the mountains and the trees, wondering if there was any possible way I looked like a local.
A young family, eagerly heading to the Mariners game downtown, boarded at the next stop and sat in the seats surrounding me. I gazed out the window at the mountains and the trees and wondered if there was any possible way I looked like a local. I tried not to emote with every surprising thing they said as I shamelessly eavesdropped into their conversations.
Expectedly, their conversations moved to favorite baseball teams. An all-too-common slam on the Yankees is followed by a subsequent hatred for the Red Sox, teams that are despised simply because they win. Then, in a far too mocking tone for my liking, one of the young boys, somewhere between 7 and 10, retorts, "Yeah, my favorite team is the Cubs."
A chuckle emerges from the mouths of all 3 adults in the group. The other young boy, who at 5 or 6 is too young to understand sarcasm, responds, "But they haven't won a game in over a hundred years! They're terrible!" Smiles and laughters escalate, as everyone gains a bit of confidence in their mediocre baseball team. I gaze out the window at the mountains and the trees and wonder if there is any possible way I look like a local. I try not to emote with every surprising thing they say as I shamefully eavesdrop on their conversation.
----
It was the wrong bus. Tara was mostly certain of this fact, but Ben trusted google more than he should. We boarded the 17 and Ben stopped to ask if the bus would turn into the 2. Tara and I could not hear the driver, but judging by the long response that followed this question, it was obvious that the bus would not be morphing into a different route.
It was a cold Seattle night, and at 11:30 pm, the crowds were intriguingly bizarre. A rambling man complimented Ben's coat, a woman with a Jersey accent vocalized the question we all had in our heads.
Only 4 people boarded the 2. The three of us sat in a cluster, and the lone stranger sat directly across from us, looking us over and fiercely maintaining eye contact whenever we gazed back in his direction.
"It's warm on here." I said, making small talk mostly to myself.
"It certainly is."the lone rider retorted. When I looked shocked at his response, he mistook my surprise as a request for explication and continued, "What? It's nice. I like it warm on here."
I nodded and smiled, looking back at Tara and Ben for reassurance that this city was as crime-free as Tara believes.
The stranger takes these exchanges as an invitation to attack political leadership and begins a twenty minute attack on Obama. As three Obama voters, we were amused by his ignorant attacks followed by the occasional reference to the Wall Street Journal he had found on the floor for validation of his position.
When we became less amused with his insults, he became more belligerent.
"He's from Chicago! Nothing good comes from Chicago. It's one damn corrupt city."
Ben laughs and glances over to me. "Now that's true," he says, "People from Chicago are nothing but trouble."
I smile. So this is what people think of my city.
I had successfully and independently navigated myself from gate A15 to baggage claim 11, found my hefty piece of plastic luggage and walked what seemed like miles to the Light Rail. I purchased my ticket, without calling for help, got on the correct train and sat down, gazing out the window on this strange monorail-like contraption admiring the mountains and the trees, wondering if there was any possible way I looked like a local.
A young family, eagerly heading to the Mariners game downtown, boarded at the next stop and sat in the seats surrounding me. I gazed out the window at the mountains and the trees and wondered if there was any possible way I looked like a local. I tried not to emote with every surprising thing they said as I shamelessly eavesdropped into their conversations.
Expectedly, their conversations moved to favorite baseball teams. An all-too-common slam on the Yankees is followed by a subsequent hatred for the Red Sox, teams that are despised simply because they win. Then, in a far too mocking tone for my liking, one of the young boys, somewhere between 7 and 10, retorts, "Yeah, my favorite team is the Cubs."
A chuckle emerges from the mouths of all 3 adults in the group. The other young boy, who at 5 or 6 is too young to understand sarcasm, responds, "But they haven't won a game in over a hundred years! They're terrible!" Smiles and laughters escalate, as everyone gains a bit of confidence in their mediocre baseball team. I gaze out the window at the mountains and the trees and wonder if there is any possible way I look like a local. I try not to emote with every surprising thing they say as I shamefully eavesdrop on their conversation.
----
It was the wrong bus. Tara was mostly certain of this fact, but Ben trusted google more than he should. We boarded the 17 and Ben stopped to ask if the bus would turn into the 2. Tara and I could not hear the driver, but judging by the long response that followed this question, it was obvious that the bus would not be morphing into a different route.
It was a cold Seattle night, and at 11:30 pm, the crowds were intriguingly bizarre. A rambling man complimented Ben's coat, a woman with a Jersey accent vocalized the question we all had in our heads.
Only 4 people boarded the 2. The three of us sat in a cluster, and the lone stranger sat directly across from us, looking us over and fiercely maintaining eye contact whenever we gazed back in his direction.
"It's warm on here." I said, making small talk mostly to myself.
"It certainly is."the lone rider retorted. When I looked shocked at his response, he mistook my surprise as a request for explication and continued, "What? It's nice. I like it warm on here."
I nodded and smiled, looking back at Tara and Ben for reassurance that this city was as crime-free as Tara believes.
The stranger takes these exchanges as an invitation to attack political leadership and begins a twenty minute attack on Obama. As three Obama voters, we were amused by his ignorant attacks followed by the occasional reference to the Wall Street Journal he had found on the floor for validation of his position.
When we became less amused with his insults, he became more belligerent.
"He's from Chicago! Nothing good comes from Chicago. It's one damn corrupt city."
Ben laughs and glances over to me. "Now that's true," he says, "People from Chicago are nothing but trouble."
I smile. So this is what people think of my city.
Friday, June 3, 2011
A New Kind of Busy
I have been busy lately.
Not the bad kind of busy where you sit in an office from 7 until 6 and type away somewhat meaningless documents for little pay.
And not the kind of busy that has you coming home at night exhausted and stressed and stops you from sleeping well.
No, I have been the happy kind of busy, which I have yet to decide if it is good.
I have had dinners with friends, hosted small dinner parties, tried out new recipes, taken dance classes, went to the beach, celebrated engagements, bought beautiful clothes. I've tried out new coffee shops, read delightful books, watched tidbits of movies I'd always hoped to see and planned outings with friends I've missed. I've made new friends over meals and planned future careers. I've booked flights halfway across the country and discovered new bands worthy of being obsessed over.
I've had a lot of fun and loved a lot of people and been happy.
But that pessimist in me, that little girl who thrives off of elegies and dirges, wonders if this isn't all an illusion, if maybe grown-up life is supposed to be something other than coffee dates and dinner parties. For the moment, however, I'll soak in the summer sun and smile with glee, because this week has been delightful.
Not the bad kind of busy where you sit in an office from 7 until 6 and type away somewhat meaningless documents for little pay.
And not the kind of busy that has you coming home at night exhausted and stressed and stops you from sleeping well.
No, I have been the happy kind of busy, which I have yet to decide if it is good.
I have had dinners with friends, hosted small dinner parties, tried out new recipes, taken dance classes, went to the beach, celebrated engagements, bought beautiful clothes. I've tried out new coffee shops, read delightful books, watched tidbits of movies I'd always hoped to see and planned outings with friends I've missed. I've made new friends over meals and planned future careers. I've booked flights halfway across the country and discovered new bands worthy of being obsessed over.
I've had a lot of fun and loved a lot of people and been happy.
But that pessimist in me, that little girl who thrives off of elegies and dirges, wonders if this isn't all an illusion, if maybe grown-up life is supposed to be something other than coffee dates and dinner parties. For the moment, however, I'll soak in the summer sun and smile with glee, because this week has been delightful.
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
So this is what love feels like.
Yesterday, after building a hopscotch that went to 42 and impressing Evan, my favorite 4 year old, with jumping backwards the whole way, we ate popsicles and made up songs about ladybugs and butterflies.
When his sweet younger sister woke up, we trekked off to the park for an afternoon of monkey bars and tire swings underneath the rumbling train tracks.
2 blocks from our destination and 8 from home, the sky darkened and raindrops starting falling on their toes and my face. With a quick turn around and and a walk that bordered on a jog, we headed home, hoping that the storm would wait for us to get inside before it turned torrential.
"ri-SSSSA," Evan screamed, "I'm getting wet!"
"I know, kiddo. But I promise you, I am getting more wet than you are."
After a quick explanation of the benefits of a roofed stroller and what it means to be without an umbrella, Evan began to understand that I was, in fact, experiencing more of the rainstorm than he was.
"I hope the rain doesn't get any heavier until we get home!" I exclaimed, half to myself.
"Why, Rissa? Why do you hope that the rain doesn't get any heavier until we get home?" Evan, unusally articulate but appropriately curious for his age, asks me matter-of-fact-ly.
I, also unusually articulate for my age, begin to detail the difference between our two similar situations. We might be together in the same storm, but Evan is curled up in a ball under the hood of the stroller, gazing at me through those strange clear patches above children's heads in most commercial strollers, and I am briskly walking down the street in a white dress that has turned almost entirely clear. I also explain to him that I have no spare clothes at his house, while he has plenty of dry outfit choices, hoping that my plight will be made clear to him.
Evan does not understand.
He understands even less when, after I tuck the stroller in the lobby of their condominium, I suggest we go play in the rain and take their hands and dance in the front yard while rain soaks every garment and piece of exposed skin that we have.
"Rissa." He says sternly. "I'm getting wet. I don't want to be wet anymore." And begins to pout.
I pick up his little sister, who has her face to the sky and rain dripping down her chin, and place her on my hip while I hold Evan's hand and we trek ourselves and the rain back into their condo.
Two hours later, complete with a change of clothes, a time out, a few cat scratches, a game of tag that ended in his sister being knocked to the ground and both kids crying, a healthy snack, a sing along of Veggie Tales, and series of spinning circles that seemed to last forever, Evan and I sit down to play a game of Hi-Ho-Cherry-Oh while his mother makes dinner.
"Rissa, I had fun with you today." He says, and I know he means it.
"Me too, Ev. Me too."
When his sweet younger sister woke up, we trekked off to the park for an afternoon of monkey bars and tire swings underneath the rumbling train tracks.
2 blocks from our destination and 8 from home, the sky darkened and raindrops starting falling on their toes and my face. With a quick turn around and and a walk that bordered on a jog, we headed home, hoping that the storm would wait for us to get inside before it turned torrential.
"ri-SSSSA," Evan screamed, "I'm getting wet!"
"I know, kiddo. But I promise you, I am getting more wet than you are."
After a quick explanation of the benefits of a roofed stroller and what it means to be without an umbrella, Evan began to understand that I was, in fact, experiencing more of the rainstorm than he was.
"I hope the rain doesn't get any heavier until we get home!" I exclaimed, half to myself.
"Why, Rissa? Why do you hope that the rain doesn't get any heavier until we get home?" Evan, unusally articulate but appropriately curious for his age, asks me matter-of-fact-ly.
I, also unusually articulate for my age, begin to detail the difference between our two similar situations. We might be together in the same storm, but Evan is curled up in a ball under the hood of the stroller, gazing at me through those strange clear patches above children's heads in most commercial strollers, and I am briskly walking down the street in a white dress that has turned almost entirely clear. I also explain to him that I have no spare clothes at his house, while he has plenty of dry outfit choices, hoping that my plight will be made clear to him.
Evan does not understand.
He understands even less when, after I tuck the stroller in the lobby of their condominium, I suggest we go play in the rain and take their hands and dance in the front yard while rain soaks every garment and piece of exposed skin that we have.
"Rissa." He says sternly. "I'm getting wet. I don't want to be wet anymore." And begins to pout.
I pick up his little sister, who has her face to the sky and rain dripping down her chin, and place her on my hip while I hold Evan's hand and we trek ourselves and the rain back into their condo.
Two hours later, complete with a change of clothes, a time out, a few cat scratches, a game of tag that ended in his sister being knocked to the ground and both kids crying, a healthy snack, a sing along of Veggie Tales, and series of spinning circles that seemed to last forever, Evan and I sit down to play a game of Hi-Ho-Cherry-Oh while his mother makes dinner.
"Rissa, I had fun with you today." He says, and I know he means it.
"Me too, Ev. Me too."
Monday, May 30, 2011
Patience In Preschool
Its been a waiting kind of week.
Waiting to find out about jobs.
Waiting for this big test to be over.
Waiting to get the mail sorted out.
Waiting for the guy to finally propose (not to me, silly).
And I'm learning something I think.
Saturday night, teaching a preschool Sunday School class on a Saturday at a church I do no attend, I grabbed the lesson plan fifteen minutes before I was supposed to teach.
Story: Abraham and Sarah.
Lifeskill: Patience
Moral: Sometimes waiting is hard, but God always comes through in the end.
Okay, fine, God. You want me to learn patience alongside these cute 4 year olds? Fine. I'll sit and listen... as long as its over quickly.
Waiting to find out about jobs.
Waiting for this big test to be over.
Waiting to get the mail sorted out.
Waiting for the guy to finally propose (not to me, silly).
And I'm learning something I think.
Saturday night, teaching a preschool Sunday School class on a Saturday at a church I do no attend, I grabbed the lesson plan fifteen minutes before I was supposed to teach.
Story: Abraham and Sarah.
Lifeskill: Patience
Moral: Sometimes waiting is hard, but God always comes through in the end.
Okay, fine, God. You want me to learn patience alongside these cute 4 year olds? Fine. I'll sit and listen... as long as its over quickly.
Friday, May 27, 2011
Unemployed and Unanswered
Usually, you're hired or you're not hired.
Usually, things are pretty clean-cut. You start work, or you keep hunting for another job.
Somehow, I have been in the middle of nanny chaos. After numerous near-hires, I'm now in a weird "am I hired?" phase. It started out with emails in the middle of April with a decline for an interview at Easter. However, after one family hired me and then got cold feet, I called to reschedule.
Another month later, 2 interviews, a trial run and a paid evening babysitting, I have no idea what I've agreed to.
Sure, we've talked about all the issues: vacation pay, hours, expectations, hourly rate, childcare responsibilities, start date, etc. But we've missed one key one: whether or not I'm actually hired. I keep reading into everything:
"If she wants me to learn their bedtime routine, does it mean I'm hired?"
"She said she wanted to wait to talk until after she called my references, what does that mean?"
"So... she said that she'll just call me for random nights... does that mean I'm just another sitter now?"
Everything is a mess.
I give it 4 more days before I admit to being utterly confused.
Usually, things are pretty clean-cut. You start work, or you keep hunting for another job.
Somehow, I have been in the middle of nanny chaos. After numerous near-hires, I'm now in a weird "am I hired?" phase. It started out with emails in the middle of April with a decline for an interview at Easter. However, after one family hired me and then got cold feet, I called to reschedule.
Another month later, 2 interviews, a trial run and a paid evening babysitting, I have no idea what I've agreed to.
Sure, we've talked about all the issues: vacation pay, hours, expectations, hourly rate, childcare responsibilities, start date, etc. But we've missed one key one: whether or not I'm actually hired. I keep reading into everything:
"If she wants me to learn their bedtime routine, does it mean I'm hired?"
"She said she wanted to wait to talk until after she called my references, what does that mean?"
"So... she said that she'll just call me for random nights... does that mean I'm just another sitter now?"
Everything is a mess.
I give it 4 more days before I admit to being utterly confused.
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Birthday Blog
I've stopped blogging.
It seemed that when I had too much to do, I always had time to procrastinate by blogging. Now that I'm working less than full time, have no homework and a pretty relaxed social life, I seem to have no time to blog.
Not that I don't want to.
I walk the streets on my commute to the grocery story or dance class with narratives running through my head. Its like I live Stranger Than Fiction except that I don't wear a watch and I am at least unaware of a chain-smoking author plotting my death. I think in prose — in third person literature — about every aspect of my life. Maybe its from my recent obsession with Nick Hornby novels. Or maybe it has to do with my mind being free for creative indulgences. Nevertheless, story lines float through my brain and I remember why I wrote screenplays as a child.
My stories are not limited to the present tense. I've even been thinking a lot about my past and have jotted down story ideas. Yet, I haven't even put a pen on a page to begin these journeys in half-fictions. I'm just unmotivated. It seems as though, now that I have no homework to do, I have no reason to blog. Blogging was my oasis from the stress of life. Now that life is not stressed, I have no need to blog, no reason to share my thoughts.
Today, I'm blogging solely because I'm supposed to be studying. Old habits die hard, and with a GRE book open next to me, I'm checking birthday messages on facebook and writing these wondering thoughts. Soon, I'll have an idea of where these tangential thoughts will lead me. Soon I'll have processed enough to share some thoughts but today, this short rambling is all I have.
And today is my 23rd birthday. And now, I have written you 23 sentences — enjoy.
It seemed that when I had too much to do, I always had time to procrastinate by blogging. Now that I'm working less than full time, have no homework and a pretty relaxed social life, I seem to have no time to blog.
Not that I don't want to.
I walk the streets on my commute to the grocery story or dance class with narratives running through my head. Its like I live Stranger Than Fiction except that I don't wear a watch and I am at least unaware of a chain-smoking author plotting my death. I think in prose — in third person literature — about every aspect of my life. Maybe its from my recent obsession with Nick Hornby novels. Or maybe it has to do with my mind being free for creative indulgences. Nevertheless, story lines float through my brain and I remember why I wrote screenplays as a child.
My stories are not limited to the present tense. I've even been thinking a lot about my past and have jotted down story ideas. Yet, I haven't even put a pen on a page to begin these journeys in half-fictions. I'm just unmotivated. It seems as though, now that I have no homework to do, I have no reason to blog. Blogging was my oasis from the stress of life. Now that life is not stressed, I have no need to blog, no reason to share my thoughts.
Today, I'm blogging solely because I'm supposed to be studying. Old habits die hard, and with a GRE book open next to me, I'm checking birthday messages on facebook and writing these wondering thoughts. Soon, I'll have an idea of where these tangential thoughts will lead me. Soon I'll have processed enough to share some thoughts but today, this short rambling is all I have.
And today is my 23rd birthday. And now, I have written you 23 sentences — enjoy.
Sunday, May 15, 2011
Closing Time
So, its done. My time at Moody has drawn to a close with a beautiful but hectic day of moving, cleaning and eating out.
My time with my floor has come to an end, and two great years with amazing women is over.
I'm sure this summer will be filled with blog posts mourning those losses and celebrating what's next, but today is a lament for Romans 12.
Today is the last day of my semester of Christian character building via Romans 12. For the last 2 or 3 weeks, I've dropped the ball on blogging on the subject matter, from feeding my enemies to overcoming evil with good.
I'd love to tell you how God has used those things in my life — because he has— but today is a day to mourn the last of my spiritual structure and the start of a very confusing time free of detailed time commitments and clear boundaries on my spiritual exercises. Now I'm in for a period of forging ahead, and finding out what comes next on my own.
It's terrifying. I'm excited for what is next and have confidence that my faith will flourish, but there is a piece of me that fears I will fall apart.
And I very well might.
So today, I'm drawing a close to my Romans 12 semester, and not sure what comes next in my world of blogging, but I'm signing off in the grace of God and clinging onto what I know is good — Christ himself.
To him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we can ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations for ever and ever. Amen.
My time with my floor has come to an end, and two great years with amazing women is over.
I'm sure this summer will be filled with blog posts mourning those losses and celebrating what's next, but today is a lament for Romans 12.
Today is the last day of my semester of Christian character building via Romans 12. For the last 2 or 3 weeks, I've dropped the ball on blogging on the subject matter, from feeding my enemies to overcoming evil with good.
I'd love to tell you how God has used those things in my life — because he has— but today is a day to mourn the last of my spiritual structure and the start of a very confusing time free of detailed time commitments and clear boundaries on my spiritual exercises. Now I'm in for a period of forging ahead, and finding out what comes next on my own.
It's terrifying. I'm excited for what is next and have confidence that my faith will flourish, but there is a piece of me that fears I will fall apart.
And I very well might.
So today, I'm drawing a close to my Romans 12 semester, and not sure what comes next in my world of blogging, but I'm signing off in the grace of God and clinging onto what I know is good — Christ himself.
To him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we can ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations for ever and ever. Amen.
Monday, May 9, 2011
Trust in the Lord
I keep saying the same thing lately, "I know I'm where God wants me."
Its my code word for, "I have no effing idea what is happening or how on earth this good, but I have confidence that it is right."
First it was an unexpected new co-worker at Loyola. I told one of the girls I was staying, and expected her to ooze with excitement (which she did), but what startled me was her response, "Larissa! That is so exciting! God is preparing something awesome at Loyola with you and Taylor."
Taylor, a good unisex name. I hoped it was male, so I could still own my female discipleship title. No such hope.
At first, I was bitter and jealous, and asked everyone to pray for my pride, jealousy and territorial-ness.
I still don't know what it will look like, but I'm excited nonetheless. In some ways, its freeing. Another woman to bond with the girls so that I can focus on the few that really connect with me. Another woman to lead bible studies so that I can be freed to focus on theology. I have no idea how it will work out, but I am confident that God is working in this for my good, and definitely for the good of the girls at Loyola.
Then, I called everyone I knew on Saturday telling them about my awesome new job with a family I loved. I couldn't wait to spend time with a precocious but fantastic 2 year old and her shy but energetic 4 year old brother. I imagined days spent at the Farmer's Market, afternoons at the Zoo, imaginary safaris around their River West condo.
They essentially told me I had the job on Saturday. We talked hours, vacation time, commuting adjustments when they moved to the suburbs. We talked discipline policies and childcare philosophies. We talked pay rate and they made sure the kids got 5 times to say goodbye to me.
I'll never see them again. The e-mail from the nanny agency was sweet. They loved me. They called me a breath of fresh air. And then they said they we're hiring me. All for good reasons. All reasons, that if I were honest, should have stopped me from saying yes. I don't really want to commute an hour to work. I don't want to be a with a family that lives in the burbs. But I loved them.
I have been freaking out for the last few hours about that reality. Partly embarrassed that I told everyone I got the job. Mostly concerned that as of next week, I will only be working 7 hours a week. But I know God will provide. If I am patient and discerning, God will put me in a job that is right for me.
I already have one interview scheduled and a mother that hopes this family that rejected me was providential so I could work with them.
There is hope.
I'm just working on taking what I have cranialized and believing it with my heart.
Its my code word for, "I have no effing idea what is happening or how on earth this good, but I have confidence that it is right."
First it was an unexpected new co-worker at Loyola. I told one of the girls I was staying, and expected her to ooze with excitement (which she did), but what startled me was her response, "Larissa! That is so exciting! God is preparing something awesome at Loyola with you and Taylor."
Taylor, a good unisex name. I hoped it was male, so I could still own my female discipleship title. No such hope.
At first, I was bitter and jealous, and asked everyone to pray for my pride, jealousy and territorial-ness.
I still don't know what it will look like, but I'm excited nonetheless. In some ways, its freeing. Another woman to bond with the girls so that I can focus on the few that really connect with me. Another woman to lead bible studies so that I can be freed to focus on theology. I have no idea how it will work out, but I am confident that God is working in this for my good, and definitely for the good of the girls at Loyola.
Then, I called everyone I knew on Saturday telling them about my awesome new job with a family I loved. I couldn't wait to spend time with a precocious but fantastic 2 year old and her shy but energetic 4 year old brother. I imagined days spent at the Farmer's Market, afternoons at the Zoo, imaginary safaris around their River West condo.
They essentially told me I had the job on Saturday. We talked hours, vacation time, commuting adjustments when they moved to the suburbs. We talked discipline policies and childcare philosophies. We talked pay rate and they made sure the kids got 5 times to say goodbye to me.
I'll never see them again. The e-mail from the nanny agency was sweet. They loved me. They called me a breath of fresh air. And then they said they we're hiring me. All for good reasons. All reasons, that if I were honest, should have stopped me from saying yes. I don't really want to commute an hour to work. I don't want to be a with a family that lives in the burbs. But I loved them.
I have been freaking out for the last few hours about that reality. Partly embarrassed that I told everyone I got the job. Mostly concerned that as of next week, I will only be working 7 hours a week. But I know God will provide. If I am patient and discerning, God will put me in a job that is right for me.
I already have one interview scheduled and a mother that hopes this family that rejected me was providential so I could work with them.
There is hope.
I'm just working on taking what I have cranialized and believing it with my heart.
Monday, May 2, 2011
Unrelated Thought
When I graduate, what will happen to my iCal?
What will I do with my ten color coded calendars and my overwhelming to do list? When I am living with 3 girls instead of 38, when I'm teaching theology at only one place, when I'm babysitting as my only job, when I'm reading because I want to, when I'm not spending all day applying to jobs and writing papers, what will become of my detailed list of requirements?
What will happen to my sense of worth, validated by each assignment I check off? What will become of me when each day has one assignment (work) instead of a rainbow of mixed obligations. Where will I find my identity when I'm not running off to meetings and getting A's on papers?
Who will I be when I am no longer a student?
Right now, I can tell you my identity is in Christ, and you will believe me when I show you my sparkling ten page paper which I received a 92 on. But next year, I will tell you my identity is in Christ and you will believe me because my life proves it. Only in Christ am I made whole.
What will I do with my ten color coded calendars and my overwhelming to do list? When I am living with 3 girls instead of 38, when I'm teaching theology at only one place, when I'm babysitting as my only job, when I'm reading because I want to, when I'm not spending all day applying to jobs and writing papers, what will become of my detailed list of requirements?
What will happen to my sense of worth, validated by each assignment I check off? What will become of me when each day has one assignment (work) instead of a rainbow of mixed obligations. Where will I find my identity when I'm not running off to meetings and getting A's on papers?
Who will I be when I am no longer a student?
Right now, I can tell you my identity is in Christ, and you will believe me when I show you my sparkling ten page paper which I received a 92 on. But next year, I will tell you my identity is in Christ and you will believe me because my life proves it. Only in Christ am I made whole.
Saturday, April 30, 2011
A Royal Wedding
There are few things that can get me out of bed at 4:30 in the morning. This morning was one of those rare occasions: a royal wedding.
Note that I knew very little about the wedding before Tuesday when I was invited to view it at 4:30 in the morning and I have not followed the royal family since I was a twelve year old girl convinced Prince Harry would marry me (that was before the drugs and the rehab, and after I concluded that Prince William was really not that attractive. Besides, as my mother would testify, Harry looks quite a bit like my kindergarten crush on the principal's son). But there I was, sitting on the floor of a dark apartment with a cup of black coffee and a blueberry scone, commenting on everything from the ruffled collars of the choir boys to the rather prim and bored expressions of the Prince.
All of that was frivolity and entertaining. What amazed me, was how God spoke through it.
I'm coming to an end of my Romans 12 semester and it has been an adventure. In some ways, I feel like I have grown more through it and in some ways, I feel like it was all meaningless. Yet, I keep having these verses run through my head and the thought of community done rightly at the forefront of my mind. Sitting at a banquet I wasn't too sure I wanted to attend, I heard someone commission my graduating class with my verse of the week, "Do not be haughty, but associate with the lowly. Never be conceited. Repay no one evil for evil, but give thought to do what is honorable in the sight of all." (says something about what the junior class thinks of the senior class, doesn't it?)
At 4:30 in the morning, sitting in my pajamas eating homemade biscotti and sipping coffee, I hear Princess Kate's brother read Romans 12:9-12, the summary of all the verses I have read thus far this semester.
Who knows what it means except that I am being reminded of what I am learning and how crucial these words are to my life and the Christian life, generally. So, if God brings these verses back into my head while I gush over a lovely wedding dress and a glorious wedding ceremony, I'll take them and remember that all of my life, even the passive moments, are to look like Romans 12:9-21.
Note that I knew very little about the wedding before Tuesday when I was invited to view it at 4:30 in the morning and I have not followed the royal family since I was a twelve year old girl convinced Prince Harry would marry me (that was before the drugs and the rehab, and after I concluded that Prince William was really not that attractive. Besides, as my mother would testify, Harry looks quite a bit like my kindergarten crush on the principal's son). But there I was, sitting on the floor of a dark apartment with a cup of black coffee and a blueberry scone, commenting on everything from the ruffled collars of the choir boys to the rather prim and bored expressions of the Prince.
All of that was frivolity and entertaining. What amazed me, was how God spoke through it.
I'm coming to an end of my Romans 12 semester and it has been an adventure. In some ways, I feel like I have grown more through it and in some ways, I feel like it was all meaningless. Yet, I keep having these verses run through my head and the thought of community done rightly at the forefront of my mind. Sitting at a banquet I wasn't too sure I wanted to attend, I heard someone commission my graduating class with my verse of the week, "Do not be haughty, but associate with the lowly. Never be conceited. Repay no one evil for evil, but give thought to do what is honorable in the sight of all." (says something about what the junior class thinks of the senior class, doesn't it?)
At 4:30 in the morning, sitting in my pajamas eating homemade biscotti and sipping coffee, I hear Princess Kate's brother read Romans 12:9-12, the summary of all the verses I have read thus far this semester.
Who knows what it means except that I am being reminded of what I am learning and how crucial these words are to my life and the Christian life, generally. So, if God brings these verses back into my head while I gush over a lovely wedding dress and a glorious wedding ceremony, I'll take them and remember that all of my life, even the passive moments, are to look like Romans 12:9-21.
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Wrath for the Beloved
"Beloved, never avenge yourselves, but leave it to the wrath of God."
I've been waiting for this week. How I love the wrath of God! If you've talked to me anytime in the last 3 months, I have told you a thousand reasons why divine wrath is good and essential. I have waited to tell you all about it and declare it good and righteous and holy.
But, having written a twenty page document on the subject matter, I thought I would steer this week a different direction.
Saints, you are beloved. Paul does not use this word flippantly, he is speaking a profound theological truth. You are loved by God. Not our secular love that is mere kindness and permissiveness. As C. S. Lewis says it in The Problem of Pain, God's love is "not a senile benevolence that drowsily wishes you to be happy in your own way, not the cold philanthropy of a conscientious magistrate, nor the care of a host who feels responsible for the comfort of his guests, but the consuming fire Himself, the Love that made the worlds, persistent as the artist's love for his work and despotic as man's love for a dog, jealous, inexorable, exacting as love between the sexes."
Saints, you are loved by God in that way. God's love is not passive. It is not common or like anything you experience. God's love is wholly other, fully consuming and deeply concerned with who you are. Therefore, since you are loved, let your love be genuine and act according to the promises of God.
For those of you who want to hear me affirm the wrath of God, you can read my paper here.
I've been waiting for this week. How I love the wrath of God! If you've talked to me anytime in the last 3 months, I have told you a thousand reasons why divine wrath is good and essential. I have waited to tell you all about it and declare it good and righteous and holy.
But, having written a twenty page document on the subject matter, I thought I would steer this week a different direction.
Saints, you are beloved. Paul does not use this word flippantly, he is speaking a profound theological truth. You are loved by God. Not our secular love that is mere kindness and permissiveness. As C. S. Lewis says it in The Problem of Pain, God's love is "not a senile benevolence that drowsily wishes you to be happy in your own way, not the cold philanthropy of a conscientious magistrate, nor the care of a host who feels responsible for the comfort of his guests, but the consuming fire Himself, the Love that made the worlds, persistent as the artist's love for his work and despotic as man's love for a dog, jealous, inexorable, exacting as love between the sexes."
Saints, you are loved by God in that way. God's love is not passive. It is not common or like anything you experience. God's love is wholly other, fully consuming and deeply concerned with who you are. Therefore, since you are loved, let your love be genuine and act according to the promises of God.
For those of you who want to hear me affirm the wrath of God, you can read my paper here.
Monday, April 25, 2011
Live Peaceably with Everyone
"If it is possible, as far as it depends on you, live peaceably with all."
I had a lot of thoughts about the right blog for this one: a fantastic story about a roommate conflict that resolved itself by one girl declaring to the other that she was acting selfishly, and a reciprocal response; a road trip that thought me far more about who I am than I ever could have expected; a series of Apologetics lectures on thinking Christianly; a biblical/theological inquiry about what "peace" means biblically.
I don't want to tell you those stories today. I just have one thing I want to drive home:
Paul seems so skeptical here about peace. He doesn't think its possible. He gives you all of these outs. If it is possible, as far as it depends on you... Paul couldn't be less committal unless he simply didn't write it.
And I think there is a reason for it.
Peace isn't easy. It defies our natural instinct; its the reversal of what Genesis 3 promises the human race. Peace is the opposite of self-preservation and it is difficult in the face of diversity.
Note that Paul didn't tell the Romans to be permissive. In the same paragraph, they were called to HATE what is evil. But he asks them for something much harder — to strive to be peaceable amid opposition.
This morning in the office, Danica and I started a witty banter about a theology book, and she smirked, "Yeah, doesn't the Bible say carry your cross until its too heavy, and then put it down?"
I retorted, "Yep. Its right after store up all your wealth for yourself so that you can be happy."
Our mockery had a point. The Bible calls for hard things of us. It calls us to act contrary to our human nature and against our instincts. The human life calls for suffering and opposition. People will hate you for your beliefs, but you are still to strive to be peaceable in your declaration of what is right.
I had a lot of thoughts about the right blog for this one: a fantastic story about a roommate conflict that resolved itself by one girl declaring to the other that she was acting selfishly, and a reciprocal response; a road trip that thought me far more about who I am than I ever could have expected; a series of Apologetics lectures on thinking Christianly; a biblical/theological inquiry about what "peace" means biblically.
I don't want to tell you those stories today. I just have one thing I want to drive home:
Paul seems so skeptical here about peace. He doesn't think its possible. He gives you all of these outs. If it is possible, as far as it depends on you... Paul couldn't be less committal unless he simply didn't write it.
And I think there is a reason for it.
Peace isn't easy. It defies our natural instinct; its the reversal of what Genesis 3 promises the human race. Peace is the opposite of self-preservation and it is difficult in the face of diversity.
Note that Paul didn't tell the Romans to be permissive. In the same paragraph, they were called to HATE what is evil. But he asks them for something much harder — to strive to be peaceable amid opposition.
This morning in the office, Danica and I started a witty banter about a theology book, and she smirked, "Yeah, doesn't the Bible say carry your cross until its too heavy, and then put it down?"
I retorted, "Yep. Its right after store up all your wealth for yourself so that you can be happy."
Our mockery had a point. The Bible calls for hard things of us. It calls us to act contrary to our human nature and against our instincts. The human life calls for suffering and opposition. People will hate you for your beliefs, but you are still to strive to be peaceable in your declaration of what is right.
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Love Wins What?
I wrote my senior thesis on the wrath of God. Halfway through my research, Rob Bell published Love Wins, a book about God's love trumping all else in the divine essence. Now that the debate has ceased and the blogs have stopped ticking out rebukes, I thought I'd throw my own out there.
Here is simply my review, the remainder of the paper, or portions of it, are likely to surface later because, let's face it, I spent a month of my life devoted to this piece and I heartily affirm its contents. Also, it should have footnotes, but blogger and I aren't particularly friends when it comes to formatting, so if you care for the references and witty side comments, e-mail me and I'll gladly send them on to you.
Rob Bell, the noted rockstar preacher of young, hip evangelicalism, recently questioned the wrath of God in his book, Love Wins. In this controversial best-seller, Bell repeatedly reminds his readers that his views on hell and God’s anger are a part of historic, orthodox Christianity. Yet, he veers quite far from this orthodoxy as he suggests that God’s love conquers his wrath, resulting in the salvation of all people, since God wills that none should perish. According to Bell, for the wrath of God to remain on a person eternally denies God’s grace, sovereignty, mercy, and most importantly, his love. Ascribing to a hierarchy of divine attributes, Bell sees God’s very essence as love, thus love must ultimately trump any other characteristic of God.
Yet, it is hard to say that Bell leaves any room for divine wrath at all. Without explicitly denying the wrath of God, Bell seems to reduce wrath to earthly social evils. God is love — to such an extent that he can do nothing unloving. Bell sees wrath as so far removed from God’s nature that God’s whole personality must become cruel and vicious in order for God to respond in wrath. Thus, while Bell certainly denies that God’s wrath is eternal, he leaves little room for God’s wrath in the here and now. Bell’s questions lead a reader to believe that God is so loving that wrath simply cannot be a part of his nature.
As an evangelical, Rob Bell cloaks his denial in the affirmation of Christian truths. At the surface, his argument against God’s wrath is compelling. For Bell, God’s wrath must not exist because God is love. Certainly, one must have sympathy with such positions because God’s love is vital to one’s understanding of God. Anything which contradicts God’s love should be denied. The problem, however, is that Bell sees contradiction where no contradiction exists. He sees love to the exclusion of all else. As Kevin DeYoung declares, “In Bell’s theology, God is love, a love that never burns hot with anger and a love that cannot distinguish or discriminate.” Because Bell’s love is isolated, it fails to be the love described in Scripture. Love in abstract is not love at all, for love requires many complementary doctrines which Bell eschews.
Instead, Bell’s god is loving, forgiving and gracious above all else. Such attributes make this god easy to digest and accept. Tertullian’s words seem fitting, “a better God has been discovered, one who is neither offended nor angry nor inflicts punishment, who has no fire warming up in hell, and no outer darkness wherein there is shuddering and gnashing of teeth: he is merely kind. Of course he forbids you to sin -- but only in writing.” When absolute and unconditional love is the supreme attribute of God, it requires all other characteristics of God to be diminished. Thus, God cannot be wrathful, and with his wrath goes his justice and holiness. Additionally, his mercy must be abandoned for God cannot be merciful if he is not angry in the first place. While Bell desperately wishes for people to feel the love of God, his theology so reduces this love that it becomes meaningless. By denying wrath, Bell’s cross becomes a mere demonstration of good feelings and misses out on the gospel’s central message of the Father’s loving sacrifice of his son. Bell states in his book, “ We shape our God, and then our God shapes us. A distorted understanding of God...can leave a person... without the thriving life Jesus insists is right here, all around us, all the time.” Bell’s words ring alarmingly true. He has shaped his god and his god has left him without the thriving life that comes through the propitiatory act of Jesus on the cross.
Bell’s god, in final analysis, looks no different than the flattened idols of liberalism and neo-orthodoxy. While many describe Bell as an evangelical, his beliefs about God’s wrath tell a far less orthodox story. DeYoung suggests that there is no room for Bell’s god within the “deep, wide, diverse stream” of Christianity for Bell’s view of God is irreconcilable with historic, orthodox faith. Bell’s god is a cheap knock-off of the vibrant deity who so loved the world that he wished to cleanse it of its sin. With wrath removed, Bell’s god looks like an idol of heterodox faith.
Here is simply my review, the remainder of the paper, or portions of it, are likely to surface later because, let's face it, I spent a month of my life devoted to this piece and I heartily affirm its contents. Also, it should have footnotes, but blogger and I aren't particularly friends when it comes to formatting, so if you care for the references and witty side comments, e-mail me and I'll gladly send them on to you.
If Love Wins, Then God Loses
Rob Bell, the noted rockstar preacher of young, hip evangelicalism, recently questioned the wrath of God in his book, Love Wins. In this controversial best-seller, Bell repeatedly reminds his readers that his views on hell and God’s anger are a part of historic, orthodox Christianity. Yet, he veers quite far from this orthodoxy as he suggests that God’s love conquers his wrath, resulting in the salvation of all people, since God wills that none should perish. According to Bell, for the wrath of God to remain on a person eternally denies God’s grace, sovereignty, mercy, and most importantly, his love. Ascribing to a hierarchy of divine attributes, Bell sees God’s very essence as love, thus love must ultimately trump any other characteristic of God.
Yet, it is hard to say that Bell leaves any room for divine wrath at all. Without explicitly denying the wrath of God, Bell seems to reduce wrath to earthly social evils. God is love — to such an extent that he can do nothing unloving. Bell sees wrath as so far removed from God’s nature that God’s whole personality must become cruel and vicious in order for God to respond in wrath. Thus, while Bell certainly denies that God’s wrath is eternal, he leaves little room for God’s wrath in the here and now. Bell’s questions lead a reader to believe that God is so loving that wrath simply cannot be a part of his nature.
As an evangelical, Rob Bell cloaks his denial in the affirmation of Christian truths. At the surface, his argument against God’s wrath is compelling. For Bell, God’s wrath must not exist because God is love. Certainly, one must have sympathy with such positions because God’s love is vital to one’s understanding of God. Anything which contradicts God’s love should be denied. The problem, however, is that Bell sees contradiction where no contradiction exists. He sees love to the exclusion of all else. As Kevin DeYoung declares, “In Bell’s theology, God is love, a love that never burns hot with anger and a love that cannot distinguish or discriminate.” Because Bell’s love is isolated, it fails to be the love described in Scripture. Love in abstract is not love at all, for love requires many complementary doctrines which Bell eschews.
Instead, Bell’s god is loving, forgiving and gracious above all else. Such attributes make this god easy to digest and accept. Tertullian’s words seem fitting, “a better God has been discovered, one who is neither offended nor angry nor inflicts punishment, who has no fire warming up in hell, and no outer darkness wherein there is shuddering and gnashing of teeth: he is merely kind. Of course he forbids you to sin -- but only in writing.” When absolute and unconditional love is the supreme attribute of God, it requires all other characteristics of God to be diminished. Thus, God cannot be wrathful, and with his wrath goes his justice and holiness. Additionally, his mercy must be abandoned for God cannot be merciful if he is not angry in the first place. While Bell desperately wishes for people to feel the love of God, his theology so reduces this love that it becomes meaningless. By denying wrath, Bell’s cross becomes a mere demonstration of good feelings and misses out on the gospel’s central message of the Father’s loving sacrifice of his son. Bell states in his book, “ We shape our God, and then our God shapes us. A distorted understanding of God...can leave a person... without the thriving life Jesus insists is right here, all around us, all the time.” Bell’s words ring alarmingly true. He has shaped his god and his god has left him without the thriving life that comes through the propitiatory act of Jesus on the cross.
Bell’s god, in final analysis, looks no different than the flattened idols of liberalism and neo-orthodoxy. While many describe Bell as an evangelical, his beliefs about God’s wrath tell a far less orthodox story. DeYoung suggests that there is no room for Bell’s god within the “deep, wide, diverse stream” of Christianity for Bell’s view of God is irreconcilable with historic, orthodox faith. Bell’s god is a cheap knock-off of the vibrant deity who so loved the world that he wished to cleanse it of its sin. With wrath removed, Bell’s god looks like an idol of heterodox faith.
Friday, April 15, 2011
Merton On Easter
Holy Week is almost here. I haven't been this excited since my childhood when I still thought that the Easter Bunny was real.
My Merton readings lately have been on the Lenten season, ironically enough. The past few days, however, I have refused to move on, I keep savoring the same words over and over again, utterly in love with what Merton is saying. I couldn't help but share his beautiful words on the Easter vigil and the new creation:
"I am aware that the Easter vigil retains many vestiges of primitive nature rites, and I am glad of it. I think this is perfectly proper and Christian. The mystery of fire, the mystery of water. The mystery of spring — Ver sacrum. Fire, water, spring, made sacred and explicit in the Resurrection, which finds in them symbols that point to itself. The old creation is made solely for the new creation. The new creation (of life out of death) springs from the old, even though the pattern of the old is falling away of life in death.
"Instead of stamping down the force of the new life rising in us by our very nature, let the new life be sweetened, sanctified by the bitterness of the Cross, which destroys death. We are no longer marked like Cain, but signed with the Blood of the Paschal Lamb."
-- Thomas Merton from Conjectures of a Guilty Bystander
I have much to say, and will gladly spent hours telling you of the glory of Gid as it is manifested in creation and the power of Cross to sanctify what is unholy, not merely what is human. But for now, I will let Merton's words stand alone, crying out a glorious Christian truth. One that can be heartily affirmed by Catholics and Protestants alike. Make God's glory shine in his creation.
My Merton readings lately have been on the Lenten season, ironically enough. The past few days, however, I have refused to move on, I keep savoring the same words over and over again, utterly in love with what Merton is saying. I couldn't help but share his beautiful words on the Easter vigil and the new creation:
"I am aware that the Easter vigil retains many vestiges of primitive nature rites, and I am glad of it. I think this is perfectly proper and Christian. The mystery of fire, the mystery of water. The mystery of spring — Ver sacrum. Fire, water, spring, made sacred and explicit in the Resurrection, which finds in them symbols that point to itself. The old creation is made solely for the new creation. The new creation (of life out of death) springs from the old, even though the pattern of the old is falling away of life in death.
"Instead of stamping down the force of the new life rising in us by our very nature, let the new life be sweetened, sanctified by the bitterness of the Cross, which destroys death. We are no longer marked like Cain, but signed with the Blood of the Paschal Lamb."
-- Thomas Merton from Conjectures of a Guilty Bystander
I have much to say, and will gladly spent hours telling you of the glory of Gid as it is manifested in creation and the power of Cross to sanctify what is unholy, not merely what is human. But for now, I will let Merton's words stand alone, crying out a glorious Christian truth. One that can be heartily affirmed by Catholics and Protestants alike. Make God's glory shine in his creation.
Thursday, April 14, 2011
A Belated Thought From Last Week
Rom 12:16 “Live in harmony with everyone. Do not be haughty but associate with the lowly; never be conceited.”
Funny. My calendar misses out on the “live in harmony with everyone” part.
Funny. I apparently wanted to make this week about pride — a powerful monster.
But why? Why is haughtiness and conceitedness a problem?
Because it destroys harmony.
Funny then, that this week, my problem wasn’t pride despite numerous opportunities for me to become overly arrogant and vain. I presented my senior thesis to rave reviews. I was hit on frequently by well-meaning men on public transportation. Haughtiness would have been expected.
No, this week, my problem was harmony. I was excessively annoyed. Temperamental.
I’ve wanted to leave fellowship. Let disharmony continue. Live selfishly.
Ironic, isn’t it.
Live in harmony with one another.
It’s all he needed to say — the lack of haughtiness, the associations with the lowly, the lack of conceitedness. These are just outpourings of our harmony.
Monday, April 11, 2011
Living Nobly Against My Will
“Do not repay evil with evil but take thought for what is noble in the sight of all.”
I wanted to postpone this week. I wanted to say that Monday was a free day, that I would start being noble tomorrow — because today I want to take revenge. Today, I want to give someone what she deserves. I want to treat her like she treated me. The cultural rewriting of the Golden Rule.
To live nobly: “showing fine personal qualities or high moral principles and ideals.”
Fine personal qualities.
High moral principles.
Making her experience the same kind of pain she caused me.
Which one of these things does not belong?
Live nobly, universally.
Fine. I will love and respect her, treat her like a sister in Christ and express the way that she has hurt me so that we can be reconciled in truth.
But know that I would rather perpetuate hurt.
So is my fallen humanity.
Thursday, April 7, 2011
Discernment
What does assurance feel like?
How do you know your choice is right? Is it a sinking feeling gut that no other decision could be right? Is it an indiscernible voice from above uttering sweet nothings into your ear? Is it just the confidence when reason triumphs over feelings and one's emotional quibbling ends?
Don't ask me. I have no idea.
But I can tell you this: Discernment is always messy in the moment, and clear in hindsight. God is always giving us signs and we are always playing Gideon with the dew, asking for the opposite of what we wanted the first time, and never content with what he gives us.
I wanted to share something I wrote last night on the train (for those who know the story: before I met Roy):
How do you know your choice is right? Is it a sinking feeling gut that no other decision could be right? Is it an indiscernible voice from above uttering sweet nothings into your ear? Is it just the confidence when reason triumphs over feelings and one's emotional quibbling ends?
Don't ask me. I have no idea.
But I can tell you this: Discernment is always messy in the moment, and clear in hindsight. God is always giving us signs and we are always playing Gideon with the dew, asking for the opposite of what we wanted the first time, and never content with what he gives us.
I wanted to share something I wrote last night on the train (for those who know the story: before I met Roy):
God, I get it.
I'm trying but I've got nothing.
I can't make this decision based on logic — it doesn't work.
Mind of Christ?
I have it. I want to use it, but I don't know how.
Mind of Christ?
Let him do the work. Let him decide.
God, where are the signs you supposedly send?
If you're trying to tell me, make it a little more obvious.
I won't play Gideon so don't dampen my carpet.
God, I just don't know.
Do I stay or do I go?
Because when all of my reasoning seems like rationalizing and my feelings are out of control, when the Spirit isn't moving and God isn't speaking, how do I decide?
The irony of it all: this next week I'm teaching on discernment.
As if I have any idea how to do that well.
God, you know what I do not. You have my best plans in mind and I have full confidence that you will aid me in this journey. This unknowing, this uneasiness, is all according to your will. I have faith that you will move mightily even if I miss it, yet again.
Sunday, April 3, 2011
Reciprocal Actions
Two weeks ago: Rejoice with those who rejoice.
This week's theme: Weep with those who weep.
Each is worthy of a blog post on its own accord, but reality steps in and says they get merged.
This Monday, I'm teaching on the importance of community for one's prayer life.
This weekend, I spent a beautiful day and a half with 10 extraordinary women in a somewhat sketchy hotel, sharing life together.
This past week, I stepped back into life with my Moody community, reminding myself of the beautiful joy of friendships and true relational intimacy.
This coming week, I decide what community I want to be a part of — if I stay in Chicago with the people I have grown to love and appreciate from all over the city or if I'm packing my bags and moving to LA, to live in a co-op with a set of diverse Christians who all mean different things by that word.
Community matters.
Why all this nonsense about community (or all this rehashing of my life), well, partly because I'm a verbal processor and partly because I'm realizing the essential nature of community. Without community, without a network of people who you love and care about, life falls apart. It matters who you rejoice with, who you weep with.
The beauty of authentic community is that while you are sometimes by yourself, you are never alone. The beauty is, that each terrifying step of the way, someone else is going through the motions with you, reciprocating your behaviors, assisting your direction, supporting your decisions. The beauty of community is that it reciprocates. It doesn't merely pour into you, but it needs your support as well.
Community is beautiful and I am blessed to be seeped in it.
I don't know where I'm going with this one, but let's throw in Thomas Merton for good measure:
"In Louisville, at the corner of Fourth and Walnut, in the center of the shopping district, I was suddenly overwhelmed with the realization that I loved al those people, that they were mine and I theirs, that we could not be alien to one another even though we were total strangers... It is a glorious destiny to be a member of the human race, though it is a race dedicated to many absurdities and one which makes terrible mistakes: yet, with all of that, God Himself gloried in becoming a member of the human race. A member of the human race! To think that such a commonplace realization should suddenly seem like news that one holds the winning ticket in a cosmic sweepstakes." -- from Conjectures of a Guilty Bystander
This week's theme: Weep with those who weep.
Each is worthy of a blog post on its own accord, but reality steps in and says they get merged.
This Monday, I'm teaching on the importance of community for one's prayer life.
This weekend, I spent a beautiful day and a half with 10 extraordinary women in a somewhat sketchy hotel, sharing life together.
This past week, I stepped back into life with my Moody community, reminding myself of the beautiful joy of friendships and true relational intimacy.
This coming week, I decide what community I want to be a part of — if I stay in Chicago with the people I have grown to love and appreciate from all over the city or if I'm packing my bags and moving to LA, to live in a co-op with a set of diverse Christians who all mean different things by that word.
Community matters.
Why all this nonsense about community (or all this rehashing of my life), well, partly because I'm a verbal processor and partly because I'm realizing the essential nature of community. Without community, without a network of people who you love and care about, life falls apart. It matters who you rejoice with, who you weep with.
The beauty of authentic community is that while you are sometimes by yourself, you are never alone. The beauty is, that each terrifying step of the way, someone else is going through the motions with you, reciprocating your behaviors, assisting your direction, supporting your decisions. The beauty of community is that it reciprocates. It doesn't merely pour into you, but it needs your support as well.
Community is beautiful and I am blessed to be seeped in it.
I don't know where I'm going with this one, but let's throw in Thomas Merton for good measure:
"In Louisville, at the corner of Fourth and Walnut, in the center of the shopping district, I was suddenly overwhelmed with the realization that I loved al those people, that they were mine and I theirs, that we could not be alien to one another even though we were total strangers... It is a glorious destiny to be a member of the human race, though it is a race dedicated to many absurdities and one which makes terrible mistakes: yet, with all of that, God Himself gloried in becoming a member of the human race. A member of the human race! To think that such a commonplace realization should suddenly seem like news that one holds the winning ticket in a cosmic sweepstakes." -- from Conjectures of a Guilty Bystander
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Stay or Go?
Somewhere, tucked away in the recesses of my brain is a lovely blog post entitled, "Reciprocal Emotions."
In my head, it is a pretty fantastic little post about rejoicing with those who rejoice, weeping with those who weep, laughing with those who laugh and being absolutely ridiculous with the absurd.
But other things keep getting pressed to the front of my mind and cannot be gotten rid of until something is said:
I have a job offer. A job offer, two weeks ago, I said I would accept if it were offered to me.
I have another job offer. A job offer, 8 months ago, I said I would accept if I were offered it and it was paid — last week it went from unpaid to paid.
I stand between two wonderful opportunities, two amazing chances to grow and change and represent Christ. I know not which to choose.
Do I stay or do I go?
A few days ago, I told a friend I was sick of God choosing "stay." For 5 years, I have stayed. I have been offered opportunities in Alabama, in Europe, New York, Oregon. Each time, I choose Chicago. Each time, I choose what was right.
Is this like all the others? A chance to go so that God makes it clear that it is he and not fate which keeps me here, or is this the time that he has prepared me for, to take flight and go?
I know not what to do.
In my head, it is a pretty fantastic little post about rejoicing with those who rejoice, weeping with those who weep, laughing with those who laugh and being absolutely ridiculous with the absurd.
But other things keep getting pressed to the front of my mind and cannot be gotten rid of until something is said:
I have a job offer. A job offer, two weeks ago, I said I would accept if it were offered to me.
I have another job offer. A job offer, 8 months ago, I said I would accept if I were offered it and it was paid — last week it went from unpaid to paid.
I stand between two wonderful opportunities, two amazing chances to grow and change and represent Christ. I know not which to choose.
Do I stay or do I go?
A few days ago, I told a friend I was sick of God choosing "stay." For 5 years, I have stayed. I have been offered opportunities in Alabama, in Europe, New York, Oregon. Each time, I choose Chicago. Each time, I choose what was right.
Is this like all the others? A chance to go so that God makes it clear that it is he and not fate which keeps me here, or is this the time that he has prepared me for, to take flight and go?
I know not what to do.
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Failing Gracefully or Failing to be Graceful?
Ah, precious blogging time. Who am I kidding? I have no time, but time I have made, for I am eager to divulge of the adventures of this week.
Last night, I started dance class. I was consistently terrified on our trek out west to the Lou Conte Dance School and I feared I was getting myself into a mess. Afraid that I would be asked to make a fool of myself or worse, make a fool of myself when I was asked to perform.
And with unexpected accuracy, I found myself fuddling through dance moves I had never learned, merely mimicked. I dougied — or attempted to at least. I lunged left, I waved imaginary dirt off my hand, I leaned back and drove my imaginary car and I thought, "I look ridiculous."
Twenty minutes into class, I was ready to be done. I leaned over to Danica and informed her that I would have more fun, and get more exercise in, if I simply ran laps around the building.
An hour into the class, I had given up on the learning the steps, realizing that their definition of "beginner" and my own were worlds apart. I chose a few favorites — the side lunge to high kick, the shoulder pops, the wheelchair. I performed my version of my favorite moves and laughed the whole way through, deciding resiliently, that I would not step foot into another beginner dance class without more basic help. At which point, Danica leaned over and said, "We came. We saw. We did not conquer."
With smiles on our faces and laughter pouring out of our mouths, we headed home — the long way — and decided to try again the next day.
Tonight, we knew we would look foolish. We knew we were far behind the class, and we knew that this was our last hope of succeeding in our pre-purchased dance classes.
We didn't get the steps right consistently. We didn't know how to prance. We turned the wrong direction on our solitary spin and we did our pikes seconds after the count. But we had fun and we learned something. We sighed with relief as we watched our fellow classmates make the same errors and we knew that this was going to be a good course for us.
One thing our teacher told us tonight, came as no surprise, but was nevertheless enlightening: "You have to let go. Modern dance is about freeing yourself and dancing like no one is watching and letting your body move without restraint."
Another friend of mine is in improv classes and is consistently learning that she must loosen up and have fun. She has to be herself and be freed from expectations for the second your humor becomes about response, is the second it falls.
Step out. Do something you'll fail at, and love every moment of it.
I could spend hours telling you about how rare it is for me to do something which I might fail at. I could tell you hundreds of stories of giving up on things that were hard or that I had a low chance of success in. But there is something for me in this next season of life. There are a lot of limbs I must step out on and a lot of places where failure is imminent. And I have never been more excited.
To failing along the way, to knowing that this journey won't end in fame or glory, to freeing myself from the expectations of those around me — here is a big sigh of relief, followed by a gasp of fear.
Let's do this.
Last night, I started dance class. I was consistently terrified on our trek out west to the Lou Conte Dance School and I feared I was getting myself into a mess. Afraid that I would be asked to make a fool of myself or worse, make a fool of myself when I was asked to perform.
And with unexpected accuracy, I found myself fuddling through dance moves I had never learned, merely mimicked. I dougied — or attempted to at least. I lunged left, I waved imaginary dirt off my hand, I leaned back and drove my imaginary car and I thought, "I look ridiculous."
Twenty minutes into class, I was ready to be done. I leaned over to Danica and informed her that I would have more fun, and get more exercise in, if I simply ran laps around the building.
An hour into the class, I had given up on the learning the steps, realizing that their definition of "beginner" and my own were worlds apart. I chose a few favorites — the side lunge to high kick, the shoulder pops, the wheelchair. I performed my version of my favorite moves and laughed the whole way through, deciding resiliently, that I would not step foot into another beginner dance class without more basic help. At which point, Danica leaned over and said, "We came. We saw. We did not conquer."
With smiles on our faces and laughter pouring out of our mouths, we headed home — the long way — and decided to try again the next day.
Tonight, we knew we would look foolish. We knew we were far behind the class, and we knew that this was our last hope of succeeding in our pre-purchased dance classes.
We didn't get the steps right consistently. We didn't know how to prance. We turned the wrong direction on our solitary spin and we did our pikes seconds after the count. But we had fun and we learned something. We sighed with relief as we watched our fellow classmates make the same errors and we knew that this was going to be a good course for us.
One thing our teacher told us tonight, came as no surprise, but was nevertheless enlightening: "You have to let go. Modern dance is about freeing yourself and dancing like no one is watching and letting your body move without restraint."
Another friend of mine is in improv classes and is consistently learning that she must loosen up and have fun. She has to be herself and be freed from expectations for the second your humor becomes about response, is the second it falls.
Step out. Do something you'll fail at, and love every moment of it.
I could spend hours telling you about how rare it is for me to do something which I might fail at. I could tell you hundreds of stories of giving up on things that were hard or that I had a low chance of success in. But there is something for me in this next season of life. There are a lot of limbs I must step out on and a lot of places where failure is imminent. And I have never been more excited.
To failing along the way, to knowing that this journey won't end in fame or glory, to freeing myself from the expectations of those around me — here is a big sigh of relief, followed by a gasp of fear.
Let's do this.
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