Still Holding On

"Do you think I am terribly ugly?" he asked her.

"Yes, I do," Beauty answered in all honesty. "But," she added quickly, "I'm sure you have a very kind heart."

So runs the fanciful yet profound tale of "Beauty and the Beast."

The Beast is often surly and unruly. Beauty is gentle and kind. The Beast is alone and hurt. Beauty reaches out and soothes. The Beast is shrouded in darkness and mystery. Beauty brings light and clarity. The Beast is hideous and unbearable to look at. Beauty gives her very self to him, hardly realizing that this very act would make him beautiful too.

Does this sound familiar?

According to G.K. Chesterton, some very valuable lessons can be learned from fairytales. From this particular tale, he announced that he had learned that one must love a thing before it becomes lovable.

Does this sound familiar?

How about this verse: "While we were yet sinners, Christ died for us"? (Rom. 5:8)

God didn't wait until we were lovable to give His Son to us. He didn't wait for us to come out of our darkness before cloaking Himself in flesh and climbing into the pit after us. He didn't wait until we were handsome princes before offering us His Beauty.

C.S. Lewis said, "To love at all is to be vulnerable." Love isn't about making some safe investment. It's about throwing off all defensive armor and stepping out, risking the deepest hurts imaginable. Lewis added, "We shall draw nearer to God, not by trying to avoid the suffering inherent in all loves, but by accepting them and offering them to Him; throwing away all defensive armour. If our hearts need to be broken, and if He chooses this as the way in which they should break, so be it."

However, God would never ask us to do something that He wasn't willing to do Himself. A thousand times. As JJ Heller put it:

I ran a thousand miles for you,

Knowing you would break my heart,

But I would do it all again

Because I couldn't stand to be apart.

 

Jesus, the very Son of God, personified Love. He chose the path of vulnerability. About two thousand years ago, He handed over His immortality and decided to confine Himself to a comparatively frail human body. The Creator of the universe went from using the planets to shine His fingernails to being cooped up in a dark and tiny womb. Talk about a demotion. Talk about vulnerability. Talk about Love.

 

And from the very beginning, He knew that we were going to break His heart. Studies show that this was the real cause of His death. His Cross was only a part of it.

 

Yet, Jesus, "for the joy that was set before him endured the cross" (Heb. 12:2). Our Beauty ignored the dark and spooky castle, the homesickness, the pain, our gruffness, and our ugliness. He may have "trembled from head to foot" at the sin He saw masking our countenance, but He saw our hearts. He saw something worth redeeming. And so, stretching across the great chasm between Heaven and Earth, He reached down and did the unthinkable:

 

He pulled us out.

 

And, for the first time, I see that this is what Christmas is really all about. We know of Santa Claus. We know of gifts. If we're lucky, we know of Mary and Joseph. And, if we're luckier still, we know of Jesus, the Greatest Gift.

 

But how often do we think of the very actions involved in the giving of that Gift? Surely if our seemingly penniless aunt handed us the car keys to a Ferrari, we would be very interested in knowing what it cost her. Why is it, then, that when our rich Heavenly Father demonstrates the extreme act of vulnerable love and goes through misery in order to pull us out of ours, we blow it off as if it's a given?

 

I say "we." I should probably say "I."

 

Honestly, the immensity of this costly Gift is starting to seep into me in a whole new way. I don't want to blow off this Gift. I want to remember the Hand behind it. I want to let this Hand transform me from my own beastliness. I want to take a hold of it and kiss it. Finally, when I can't hold onto it any longer, when I see His Blood dripping from my limp fingers and I recall that my sin carved the scars in His flesh, I want to just let Him hold me. I want to rest in that firm grip.

 

For, if the first Christmas was the day that God reached down to pull us out, then I believe that every other Christmas should serve as a reminder that He is still holding on.

 

I wrote a song to memorialize some of these thoughts. I call it, "Still Holding On."

 

Unlovable

That's what he is

Unlovable Beast

Brokenness his

But there is Hope

Flickering sure

Beauty is at the door.

 

Reaching out

In his loneliness

Bringing light

To his darkness

Giving beauty

To his ugliness

Pulling him out

And still holding on.

 

Beautiful

That's what she is

Beautiful

Her love is his

Far from her home

Her sacrifice

But she thought he was worth the price.

 

Reaching out

In his loneliness

Bringing light

To his darkness

Giving beauty

To his ugliness

Pulled him out

And still holding on.

 

Unlovable

That's what we are

Unlovable

But under a star

God stretched His hand

Through His only Son

Doing what had not been done.

 

Reaching out

In our loneliness

Bringing light

To our darkness

Giving beauty

To our ugliness

Pulling us out

And still holding on

 

Vulnerable

That's what Love is

Vulnerable

The choice was His

Taking on flesh

Knowing we'd break His heart

He knew it from the start.

 

Beautiful

That's what He is

Beautiful Christ

And we are His

Leaving His home

Loving with all His might

Saving us from our dark plight.

 

Reaching out

In our loneliness

Bringing light

To our darkness

Giving beauty

To our ugliness

Pulled us out

And still holding on

Yes, He pulled us out

And He's still holding on.

 

 

Frankly, I find it easy to get so caught up in the awe and solemnity of the whole thing that I forget one very important factor: JOY!!!

 

Jesus would not want us to mourn His suffering. He would want us to celebrate the results! "He came, He saw, He conquered!" He came to earth as a selfless, delicate baby. He saw our pain and depravity. He transformed. He healed. He has pulled us out!!!

 

How can we not rejoice when we hear news like that?

 

'Tis true, if my readers are like me, we are all surrounded by pain and suffering. My heart aches over the broken families of people who are close to me, and feelings of joy do not erupt effortlessly to the surface. Nevertheless, this joy is for them too! Because if we can rest that God has a hold of our limp hand, we can rest assured that He has a hold of theirs too.

 

If the first Christmas was the time that God reached down to pull us out, then every other Christmas is the time to celebrate the fact that He is still holding on. To all of us.

 

We can count it all joy.

 

Merry Christmas!

 

Life

"I would rather die today than live another day of this death."

Thus speaks Snow White in the recently released movie, Snow White and the Huntsman. I am not about to write a rave review or a cynical account. I'm sure you can find plenty of those elsewhere, and they are probably much better written too. However, I found this movie very striking. Yes, it was creepy and disturbing in parts, but then Real Evil, no matter how sugar coated, is just that: creepy and disturbing. I suppose some could mock the heroine for being too good and too pure to be realistic, but then Real Good, no matter how battered, is just that: good and pure.

Snow White possessed a genuine yet non-ostentatious beauty, and her womanly innocence at not being sure if she could bear to kill someone made her appealing. So much of that side of womanhood has been lost in our culture. Yes, there is a time to ride and to fight but there is also a time to cherish life. That is what defines the Good from the Evil. That is what distinguishes the mother with the work worn hands and calloused knees from the political lady screaming for battle against anyone who would ask the government to stop funding Planned Parenthood. They both fight, but one is full of blood lust and the other is full of love. Love for life.

Life. That is what Snow White brought to everyone she met. Ailments of those around her started disappearing. Her simple beauty brought out the best in people. She kindled hope wherever she went. She noted the sacrifices of her people, and though afraid she resolved to make her own sacrifice so her people could be free from the reign of evil. The Enemy had occupied Snow White's kingdom long enough.

However, the Enemy seemed to be invincible. The only one who could kill the evil Queen was Snow White herself. Why? Because her purity gave her power. Only by the fairest blood could the witch's blood be spilt. Only her sacrifice could free her people. Only she could be their weapon.

Is it just me, or does that story not yell, "Redemptive analogy!" high and low? Can't you feel the vibes of the Gospel? Can't you see Jesus peering at you through the lines? I can. Call me Miss Christian Wannabe Artist Who Makes Up Analogies Out Of Stone, but this one seems pretty obvious to me. And it excites me that things like this are lapped up by the public even today. It makes me want to shout, "This is real, people! This story has happened--is happening, right under your noses, only it's even better!!!"

My favorite scene of the movie is not when Snow White finally slays the Witch (I'm pretty sure you would have guessed that ending anyway). It's when she speaks to her people. She has just "risen from the dead," brought back by love that is stronger than death, and she has wandered out to the courtyard where her people are. The night is dark, but her long white dress lights up the evening. Every eye is on her. She begins to speak. Although some have called her speech "tepid," I found it warming my blood in a way such people wouldn't understand.

She proposes her plan: she will offer herself as the only weapon that can slay the witch. They must not be content with the way things are. They must fight. Fight for freedom. Fight for light. Fight for life. And then she utters these words that have imprinted themselves firmly on my brain:

"I would rather die today than live another day of this death!"

Then,

"Who will ride out with me? Who will be my brother?"

How could a script writer know the kind of effect such words could have? Do they know that Jesus has invited me to ride out with Him? Do they know that one day Christ's people will have the chance to ride at His side in the white cavalry? Do they know that Hebrews 2:11-12 calls those who believe in Him brothers of Christ? I believe He is extending this invitation out to everyone every day. "Who will ride out with Me? Who will be My brother?"

And then there's that first sentence, resembling an onion it's so full of layers.

I would rather die today than live another day of this death.

Do we ever allow ourselves to live in death? Do we refuse to see the love and compassion of God because we don't want to be accountable to somebody besides "our own truth"? Do we labor to win the love of God and end up enslaved in self-condemnation (Romans 8:1)? Do we hold onto our worries instead of casting them on God (1 Peter 5:7)? Remember that Jesus came so that we can have life, and have it ABUNDANTLY!!! (John 10:10) We don't have to live lives of death anymore; Jesus died so we could live lives of life.

At the same time, are we content to just live that life all to ourselves? Shouldn't we develop that same Snow White spirit that says that we would rather die than see the world continue to live in death? Shouldn't we be yearning to see that covering swallowed up for all time and living in faith for it to happen (Isaiah 25:7)? Shouldn't we be fighting for that life for others? Shouldn't we be waiting in breathless expectation for the time when Jesus returns and we can join Him in ending this living death for good?

I'm not saying that I live this way. But I am saying that I want to. I want to make those choices: to live to the full today, to fight for life for others, and to live longing for the day when Christ shall come and we can ride with Him to end this death forever. We already have our Weapon. He is fairest of them all. His blood has proven it.

Let's live lives of life.

Free Gifts

What is my purpose?

Has God called me to anything?

How do these messages apply to me?

Do I need to change myself?

Am I seeking my pleasure above the glory of God?

Am I not being evangelistic enough?

Is it really that obvious that I'm troubled?

Am I going about with a frown on my face?

Am I behaving too much like Martha instead of Mary?

What are people thinking of me?

These and other self-centered questions raged in my mind. I chased after their answers in vain, like I so often do when I try to catch falling leaves on a windy autumn day. Uncertainty and worry are ravenous animals. But in the midst of their devouring, I read this passage:

"I, I am he who comforts you; who are you that you are afraid of man who dies, of the son of man who is made like grass, and have forgotten the LORD, your Maker, who stretched out the heavens and laid the foundations of the earth, and you fear continually all the day because of the wrath of the oppressor, when he sets himself to destroy? And where is the wrath of the oppressor? He who is bowed down shall speedily be released; he shall not die and go down to the pit, neither shall his bread be lacking. I am the LORD your God, who stirs up the sea so that its waves roar--the LORD of host is his name. And I have put my words in your mouth and covered you in the shadow of my hand." (Isaiah 51:12-16)

It was perfect. But then why does it surprise us again and again that the living Word of God can speak directly to our hearts today? Why should we be taken aback when just a few verses of the active Word can comfort, convict, remind us not to fear, encourage, magnify God's bigness, equip with fresh vision, and reveal God's compassionate love? Surely if God can speak a universe into existence with just a few words then He can speak life into my brittle heart with just a few verses.

I also recalled a handful of lessons I learned at the Feast. It's important to take in the breath of the Gospel and remember that God is in control no matter what the future holds. The hands that hold the seven stars are the same hands that hold you and me, and we need to listen to truth instead of the lies and despair clamoring inside and around us. Besides, God is caring and sovereign. We can look to the future with breathless expectation.

About this time I was striding in the great outdoors, my arms folded around my laptop. The air was fresh yet still. The trees still blazed their colorful anthems all around, and few leaves had begun to fall. I reflected on my questions, but I no longer reached out grasping fingers for the answers. Hope was clinging to me instead.

In the midst of this, a lone leaf landed in my arms. I hadn't reached for it, hadn't changed my pace for it, or even seen it coming. But there it lay, with absolutely no effort on my part. God's gift to me.

God's free gifts usually fall into our laps when we aren't expecting them or trying to earn them.

Where I'm supposed to be

An entire month has passed.

Oh yes, I like stating the obvious. Obviously.

I glance over the scrawly pages of my journal. My eyes light on September 22.

"A day or two ago Aunt Sharon thanked me for all my help with the Bible school. I said I didn't think I was doing that much, and she said, 'But I keep seeing you with the girls, helping with cooking, leading choir, and doing the Feast display. That's quite a bit. Thank you for just being here!'

'Well, thank God,' I told her, 'because my plan wasn't to be here!'"

It's true. If it had been left up to me, I wouldn't be here right now. I would have been far away, buried in classes on ancient Greece and the U.S. Constitution. I would have had evening catch-up sessions with my friend each night as we flossed our teeth together. I would have been chirping through Handel's Messiah with the choir. I would have gotten to sample my cousin's gourmet cooking in his very own kitchen.

But it wasn't meant to be.

And yet--and yet . . . I don't regret it. Do I still miss that lovely dream? Sure I do, but neither am I sad about it. If I had gone far away to college I wouldn't have gotten to buy bowls of chocolates for the Bible school girls or run down the sand dunes with them or make a choir happen for the Convention. I wouldn't have gotten to play sports twice a week in the dearest gym I know or had the thrill of creating a unique display for the Convention or the delight of attending almost every single meeting in that same Convention. I wouldn't have had that awesome impromptu prayer meeting or had that same focus to battle for people I love or have gone on that crazy expedition in the woods. I wouldn't have talked about Jesus with with my former English student on that mountain hike or had that chance to visit my brother in Pennsylvania or the opportunity to mail odd packages to college buddies. I wouldn't have flooded my friend's room with sticky notes reminding her of her identity in Christ or have seen my brother conduct his choir or curled up and watched that thought-provoking movie with that friend. I wouldn't have heard that song of trust that my brother sang, moving me to tears. I wouldn't have had that song singing in quite the same way in my own life.

I don't always think like this. Usually I either enjoy the moment and move carelessly on or ask analytical questions about the purpose of my life. But sometimes, at unexpected moments, I have this sensing:

I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be.

And for that, I am thankful.

Weapons

I was angry.

Not just a little. A lot. In fact . . .

I WAS ABSOLUTELY FURIOUS!!!!!!!

 If you know me, I may seem phlegmatic on the outside, but you'll know that I feel very strongly about some things on the inside. However, anger is rarely one of those feelings.

But this time it was.

Tears pricked my eyes. I shoveled in my breakfast mindlessly; I barely noticed the sweet pineapple Greek yogurt mixed with my Mom's homemade granola. I fumbled a text on my phone and sent it to several people before grabbing my stuff and heading out the door to work. I was going to need some reinforcements.

Knowing that I was running late, I shoved my stuff into our red Subaru Forester and clambered in. But not before donning my "tops'l." I had some heavy winds to sail through and I wanted to show that I was under authority. Besides, there's nothing like putting on a pure white prayer shield to make you feel like you're girding your loins for battle.

I need not tell you exactly what went on in the next ten minutes. In fact, it would be too personal if I did. A fellow warrior was down, and I was angry. Not angry at her, but angry at the Enemy. How DARE he attack a child of God like that? How DARE he try to bring down my sister in Christ? How DARE he touch a person I love so deeply? I channeled my rage into my faith. I knew that I couldn't do anything on my own to help her, but I knew Who could. Yelling, crying, singing, I wielded the two weapons I knew best: the Name of Jesus and the Blood of Jesus. I didn't go to three years of Bible school for nothing. I KNEW that before these mighty instruments of power the Enemy had no choice but to flee.

Suddenly, I was not just a silly girl driving a muffler-less car with a doily on her head.

I was Eowyn, daughter of kings, standing between the Nazgul lord and my comrade. Cold and terrible, I knew my power was pathetic in comparison to my foe's. I knew I was but a weak young woman. That I could wither beneath the dark lord's gaze. But I also knew that the weapons in my hands were more powerful than any I could have imagined. I knew that the Enemy would cower before them. I knew that the One inside of me was just itching for me to use the tools He'd given me so He could finish the job.

 And with that knowledge I struck. Again. And again.

I fought as a woman fights when she is defending all she holds dear.

When I knew that I couldn't sustain the anger any longer, I left my fellow soldier in God's hands. While sitting with my elderly lady at work, I read in Philippians these well-known verses:

"The Lord is at hand; do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus." (Philippians 4:5-7)

 

After a little more battling, I felt like the rest was really God's job. So, having brought my friend to the Lord at the altar, I left her there.

 

And you know something else? After I got home from work that evening, I found out that Jesus had suddenly broken through a brick wall for my friend. In one of her darkest hours, He broke through a brick wall wielding flaming ninja swords against her Enemy, just like He did in a dream she told me she once had.

 

When?

 

 Right about the time I was driving to work.

 

This is not a story about how great I am. This is a story about how great God is. About how He answers prayer. Not just my prayers either; I know there were other people praying and battling right by my side--why else do you think I texted in reinforcements? Christians aren't meant to fight alone.

 

I am here to testify that the weapons we have been given WORK. I know a lot of Christians today get nervous about spiritual warfare, but like it or not spiritual warfare is going on whether we choose to engage in it or not. It might be scary at first, but we don't need to be afraid because greater is He who is in us than he who is in the world. The Name of Jesus is Power itself. The Blood He shed for us is just as effective today.

 

And we know the End of the Story.

 

Jesus wins.

 

My friend still needs prayer. It will be awhile before she leaves the woods for good, but I believe the blackest part of the forest is behind her. Jesus brought her through it.

 

Praise the Lord!!!



Dumping the Tragedy Queen

I dragged myself out of bed. Every fiber in my body screamed for sleep. Every organ screamed for wakefulness.

The organs won the screaming match. Besides, I had to throw up. Again.

Going back to bed was out of the question. We had a schedule to follow, and about fifteen other people were waiting for me. I followed my parents and a solemn Craig out to the bus. The morning on the shores of the Sea of Galilee was glorious. Too glorious. I braced myself for the thirty-some eyeballs swivelling in my direction as I boarded. The night I had just undergone was too miserable to mention. I debated in my mind whether I would rather look very pale and old, like one who had undergone great suffering, or whether I would rather look brave and noble like one who had just battled through a frightful ordeal.

I did my best to look both. This entrance onto the bus was an important one for a just-turned-twelve-year-old. Especially since I was the youngest in my group, the only one enduring food poison in a foreign land. I felt satisfied with my weak yet stately entrance. Never mind that on everyone's exit they had to file past me as I vomited into a grocery bag.

I must have won their respect, I told myself. I was pathetically heroic. It wasn't until I heard that Craig referred to me as a "poor kid" in his written report that I started realizing that the impression I had made might have been different than I had supposed. There is nothing inspiring in being referred to as a "poor kid." It plunges one's ego to an all-time low.

I hope you find this as ludicrous as I do now. But the fact is, I realize that this love for the dramatic impression didn't die when I was twelve.

I was jerked awake as I watched a lecture on the works of my hero, C.S. Lewis. As I listened to an explanation of Perelandra, our professor announced that C.S. Lewis hated the "tragedy queen." This was a new term for me. I sat up straighter.

"The expression on her face, revealed in the sudden light, was one that he had not seen there before. Her eyes were not fixed on the narrator: as far as that went, her thoughts might have been a thousand miles away. Her lips were shut and a little pursed. Her eyebrows were slightly raised. He had not yet seen her look so like a woman of our own race; and yet her expression was one he had not very often met on earth - except, as he realised with a shock, on the stage. 'Like a tragedy queen' was the disgusting comparison that arose in his mind. Of course it was a gross exaggeration. It was an insult for which he could not forgive himself. And yet ... and yet

... the tableau revealed by the lightning had photographed itself on his brain. Do what he would, he found it impossible not to think of that new look in her face. A very good tragedy queen, no doubt. The heroine of a very great tragedy, very nobly played by an actress who was a good woman in real life. By earthly standards, an expression to be praised, even to be revered: but remembering all that he had read in her countenance before, the unselfconscious radiance, the frolic sanctity, the depth of stillness that reminded him sometimes of infancy and sometimes of extreme old age while the hard youth and valiancy of face and body denied both, he found this new expression horrifying. The fatal touch of invited grandeur, of enjoyed pathos - the assumption, however slight, of a roles - eemed a hateful vulgarity. Perhaps she was doing no more - he had good hope that she was doing no more than responding in a purely imaginative fashion to this new art of Story or Poetry. But by God she'd better not! And for the first time the thought 'This can't go on' formulated itself in his mind." ~C.S. Lewis, Perelandra

Oh dear. You see, I love to act. I love drama. I love books, music, art, movies, and plays. If something bad happens to me, it's easy to magnify the suffering and write about it as a noble struggle. Who knows? Maybe it is. And yet, it is no way to live.

The fact is, Jesus didn't die so that we could live a tragedy.

He died so that we could live a fairytale.

Yes, yes, you don't need to roll your eyes that vigorously. I almost did when this thought just came to me a minute ago. I'm sure many people think of fairy tales as unrealistic myths of princes, princesses, and predictable happily ever afters. But think about it. How many of those fluffy endings had fluffy beginnings? Cinderella had to face the dirt and grime of the daily grind. Snow White had to flee for her life. Belle endured ridicule and loneliness.

As for a predictable ending, think again! Don't we already know the end of our Story?

"Jesus wins."

Of course, I would much rather say that Jesus died so that we could live a tale with an epic battle in it. That might be partially true, but it wouldn't be the whole story. It's true that we all are part of a Great Battle, and we have reason for our souls to stir within us at the thought of having a role in it. However, Jesus didn't come so that we could fight. Jesus came so that we could have life, and have it abundantly. We may have to fight for others to have that life, but the fight isn't what we're to dwell on. The tragedies that we encounter aren't what we are to obsess over. The drama of each moment isn't what we're to revel in. It's the happy ending. Predictable, but sweet.

Jesus wins.

I want to dump the tragedy queen. Yes, things aren't always easy, and it's okay to be honest about it, but that doesn't mean we should go around living a tragedy. Let's live a fairytale, full of hardships, but also full of adventure, life, and joy. And, of course, a satisfactory ending.

Jesus wins.

The Suction Telephone

Have I mentioned that I hate making phone calls?

Because I do.

I'm convinced that there is a built-in suction device in the ear of every telephone. Its purpose? To suck out every word from my brain that I had been planning on saying. With no flesh and blood person nodding or huffing sympathetically before me, I'm sure this thing with a human voice on the other end will slay me with a single thought regarding my stupidity. And I have no defense but to memorize my entire speech before making the phone call so that the words aren't noiselessly siphoned into the phone box and the person listening is left with my stammering silence.

If I get a voicemail, my speech is ruined and I generally have to hang up and try again with a new speech prepared for the unexpected scenario.

True story.

This, at least, is how I've behaved most of my life. But I am wrong to think this way. You see, God hasn't given me a spirit of timidity. He's given me a Spirit of love, power, and self-control. And I've learned that as the ringer beeps ominously in my ear, I can breathe a prayer to this Holy Spirit to give me words to say.

He usually says things better anyway.

The Sweet Duet

The bright, cold zippers rumbled to the side in pip squeak fashion. The brass lock clicked softly. The jaws of the navy case opened wide. Inside was my precious friend, blanketed in velvet. I blinked. I couldn't believe it had been so long since I'd last laid my eyes on her. What had it been, six months? Considering all we'd been through together, it was more than woeful neglect. It was like abusing one of your best pals. Only I had forgotten that she was my pal.

Still scarred yet lovely, I lifted out the centenarian instrument and dusted her off. Then, after tightening the sleepy bow hair and hunting around for a tuneful A, we began our duet. I stroked her, giving her everything I could manage in my rusty condition, and she sang her heart out. Her voice was pure and sweet despite my pathetic skills. I'd forgotten how much we enjoy each other's company. It made me wonder why I had abandoned my friend for so long.

It probably started with the extra dose of busyness. Running in circles trying to make graduation dresses, get presents ready, sign year books, invent skits, and write speeches isn't exactly conducive to quality time with your violin. Then I started the most hectic four weeks of my life when I took CELTA, which were immediately followed by my brother's wedding, running drama for the Family Convention, and a camp vacation in Maine.  By that time, nearly four months had slipped by.

You would have thought I'd have taken my next chance to reunite with my music buddy, but I didn't. The inertia was too great. I had "too many other things" to do. It looked like a chore. It had already been so long, why should I break the absence now?

Then fear started nudging. And guilt. I tried to ignore it, but it persisted. What if someone were to ask me to play my violin for a church service during the upcoming convention? What would I say? "Uh, I can't. I haven't touched my violin for six months"? Since starting to take lessons thirteen years ago, I have never ignored my partner for so long; I wasn't sure if I could still play. And yet I hated the idea of having to turn somebody down. Wasn't that really the reason why I played vioin to begin with, so I could bless people? So that I could further the Kingdom of God by bringing Him glory through my music? And yet I had let this small talent gather dust. I had let it--and myself--get out of tune.

No more.

As my right handed glided and my left hand flew, my friend sang. And I remembered why I love my vioin so much.

I couldn't help but wonder, "Why did I wait so long?"

I think spending quality time with God is kind of like playing a violin. First, if we're not careful, we become too busy for it. Then we start to look at it as a chore. Suddenly we start prioritizing everything but the thing that really matters. And if we've gone so long ignoring our best Friend, why stop? It takes too much energy to keep up the relationship.

Yet the whole time He waits. He waits in that corner that we've relegated Him to. He's not powerless of course, but He's patient. He wants us to choose Him. He wants us to want to spend time with Him. Perhaps it takes a little conviction or a little fear to bring us to our senses. What if we get to Heaven and we can't remember when we last spent time in His presence? What a terrifying thought!

But when we do finally pull Him out of that corner, the terror is gone. The joy is infinite. The melody that our hearts make together is sweet. It's a song that nobody but the two of us can understand. It's personal. Real.

And we wonder, "Why did we wait so long?"

Let's not wait.

The Dance

Rich shadows prance on the walls. Laughter murmurs in your ears. Sumptuous scents trigger your salivary glands.

In the midst of the feast, the King's eyes are on you. Suddenly he extends his hand in your direction. His eyes are on no one else. He is inviting you to the dance floor. Surprised, you follow him, trying to ignore the mixed reactions of everyone else in the room. You have been preparing your heart for this moment. You sense that you are beautiful, and yet . . .

"We wouldn't want to end up in a heap," you say. There. Your fear is out in the open. You wait to see what his answer will be.

"I am King. I will lead."

Whew! What a relief! The rest is history.

That same invitation is being extended to each one of us. To dance with our King. To let Him lead. Every day.

Who knows what kind of dance He has in store for us?

I want to respond to that invitation.

"My beloved speaks and says to me:

'Arise, my love, my beautiful one,

and come away.'"

Song of Solomon 2:10

Inspired by the book Captivating and Anna and the King of Siam.

Look up!

It's so easy to get swallowed by yourself.

I picture myself, mouth transfigured into a bottomless maw, lips stretching like elastic over the rest of my body until it's completely covered. All it takes is one swallow. Maybe a few hearty chomps to shred me into digestible bits first. Then gulp. Life is snuffed. I am invisible. Gone.

Sound funny?

It should.

Because it is!!!

I'm afraid it's gotten so easy to get wrapped up in myself, but guess what? Life isn't all about me. Or you. We all need to stop taking ourselves so seriously.

What do we do instead?

Easy.

Look up.

Only when we fix our eyes on Jesus does the race before us start looking bearable. Then and only then. Consider a couple of examples from the Bible, like Stephen. He kept his gaze fixed on his Savior so that even his murder seemed like a glorious experience to him.

No matter what kind of suffering experiences we have to go through, turning our eyes on Jesus reminds us who is in control.

Take Peter walking on water. What happened to him when he let his eyes waver for an instant off his Lord? He started sinking! He was looking at the waves instead of the Master of the waves. He was looking at the problem instead of the Answer. Which one do you think looked bigger?

I feel convicted about this. I keep forgetting to keep my eyes fastened on Jesus during these times of uncertainty. But I'm tired of forgetting. It's too exhausting. It makes the impossible look like it's actually impossible.

But when we turn our eyes on Jesus, He enables us to do the impossible.

We can walk on water.

We can lift up our heads because our redemption is drawing nigh.

It's even okay to go shopping with friends or sit around strumming guitars, laughing and being silly. It's all a way of not taking yourself too seriously. Not swallowing yourself. Enjoying life.

Because He's got it all under control.

This post was inspired by a sermon by my dad and today's Blimey Cow video.

A Cheerful Greeting

Why do I like him so much?

I lay in bed thinking of an elderly man far away. I decided quite some time ago that I'm a little more fond of him than the average elderly man I know. Good old Mr. Morgan. But why? I don't even know him very well.

Then it hit me. It's not just his testimony for the Lord or his personality or even just his gutsy cheerfulness through pain. It's the way he greets me. He says hello to me as if he actually liked me. Like we were best friends.

You see, I've realized that the way someone greets me can often make or break my day.

I think of Mr. Adams, dad to some of my friends. He has a knack for saying hello as if you were the most important person in the world. I noticed this one time when he came to a convention in my mid-teens. The way he beamed at me, shook my hand, and exclaimed, "Kayla! Good to see you!" as if he really meant it warmed my heart like you wouldn't believe.

I think of Mr. Brown. All three that I know. In their own way, they have a tendency to say hello as if I really meant something. Not every time, but often enough. Mr. P. Brown has a way of smiling gently at everybody as if they were special. You can see it in his eyes.

Mr. Maxwell makes a point of asking how you are like he really cared. I've seen him go out of his way to encourage somebody who could use it. Mr. Peterson twinkles his merry salutations. Uncle Tim can channel all of his forceful energy into the sunniest of welcomes. And I'll never forget how Uncle Dave came running up the hill behind me, arms open wide to give me a big hug eight years or so ago.

Wow, this is turning into a hymn about older men. Let's change that.

My mom is one of my favorite people with whom to exchange a greeting. Her name means "bright one" and boy does she show it. I still remember her waking me up to my first day of school, full of smiles and good cheer. But she's like this day after day. Only when something is bothering her does she relinquish her warm "good morning" to me. Then I know that something is wrong. Maybe that's why I'm so easily affected when I say "good morning" to somebody and they only mumble a reply. It's like somebody poked a hole in my entire day and my joy is about to deflate into nothing.

My brother Craig is another good example of this. Whenever he walks into a room, my day gets a little brighter. I know that if I say "hi" to him with a smile he will invariably reflect the same warmth back. Unless he's teasing me and pretending I'm weird if I've overdone it.

Jane, great friend and now sister-in-law, is one of the best examples of all. Not only does she give rib crunching hugs and sunny smiles when I see her, she can voice it too. I enjoyed being in Bible school with her because she was the only one who really knew how to give a hearty good morning. My enthusiasm paled in comparison to hers, but we took extra pleasure in exaggerating our ebullience to the point of irritation. Only it didn't irritate us, just those around us. I missed her after she was gone. No longer did I have a partner who enjoyed the same level of morbid cheerfulness. It wasn't that we always felt that cheerful, but if we pretended we were then it usually set the tone for the day and we would follow it.

After feeling deflated a few times when she was gone I started to unconsciously tone myself down, stuffing away the bubbliness for the sake of myself and others. Being deflated was too depressing. If they didn't reflect my warmth right back then I felt hurt and wasted. I went to all the trouble to express, not my cheerfulness, but my desire to be cheerful, and after all my effort I just got a limp reply? One may as well try to rouse a dead soldier than encourage a live one. I'd just as soon ignore the person than feel the snub of a dim answer.

But I know this is wrong. I started understanding after I'd expressed to the girls in my class last year that I appreciate a lively greeting. "It's not that I don't like you," one of them told me (actually, that's an extremely rough quote since I don't quite remember all she said), "it's just that I can't do it."

What?!? You mean everyone doesn't have the ability to be insanely cheerful even when you don't want to be? Oh. That makes sense. Maybe I have a gift. My problem is that for the sake of being normal I've started not using it. I like being real with people so I don't even bother putting on the chipper front, even though usually when I do the rest of me genuinely follows.

However, I started understanding the world a little bit better. I realized that we're not all the same. Once we had that little communication about not being able to duplicate morning cheerfulness, I could almost smile on the glares and mumbled replies. People can't help it if they're not geared the same way, and I shouldn't be bothered by it. Although I may still pull myself back in order to be sensitive to others, it's also important to not hold back our gifts just because they're different. We shouldn't hold them back even when we're afraid of being hurt.

And of course, we all have unique gifts. You might give good hugs or massages. Maybe you can make people laugh. Perhaps you can feel pain for other people, or notice if they're having a bad day. Maybe you can say and do what needs to be done in the fewest possible words. Or you have a knack for coming up with tiny, spontaneous gifts. Possibly you can give a thoughtful compliment. Or you can inspire people. Perhaps you can rhyme and make up songs on the spot like nobody's business. Or draw a unique picture that builds someone up. Whatever it is, we need to treasure these gifts, not look on them as oddities, because God gave them to us for a purpose. Stuffing them away isn't going to do anybody any good.

I need to remember that.

Perhaps the stranger with the dead soldier demeanor is the one who needs to see my smile.

Perspective





I've always wanted to go to Niagara Falls. Technically, I've already been there (more than once even), but I probably wasn't more than ten years old and I barely remembered my brief encounter with the falls. My mom was trying to think of one more vacation option before the Bible school year starts and in a stroke of genius she hit upon the idea of revisiting this world famous landmark. And not just a "hi and bye" meeting. This time we'd visit it for real, taking almost every tour we could.

 

So one week we weren't planning on going. The next week we were. We hopped in the car and were off, stopping at antique shops and thrift stores as it struck our fancy. I did a lot of the driving, at least until we were a hundred miles from Buffalo. The rest of the time I spent lying down in the back seat being swallowed by The Hunger Games.
 

I was enthralled when we first stopped to see Niagara at night.
 

The stark beauty of the number six rapids made you think a lot when you read about the stunt people who had drowned in them.

We strolled along the peaceful walkway by the rapids below the Falls.

I was mesmerized by the huge waves. The camera's attempts to capture them are pitiful.



One can't quite compare the excitement you feel when you see a rainbow like this. Or get to feel the blast of mist and hear the roar of the falls when you ride a boat right up near its base. (Too wet to get a good picture, hence I'm showing none)

 

 





I felt like I would never grow tired of gazing at the water booming over the edge. To some, it looks like a lot of water. I see the raw majesty and breathtaking power of a Creator. It makes me want to cry when I think that so many others choose not to see it too. Not only is it awe-inspiring, it seems to make problems shrink in comparison. Who can worry about nuclear threats, presidential elections, petty emotions, or questions of the future when you know that a huger power is in control of it all?

 

It helps put things into perspective.

Real or Not Real?

It was time. Time to see what all the fuss was about. They say that The Hunger Games is the most talked about book/trilogy right now, and that it has exceeded the number of Harry Potter book sales on Amazon. I had to find out why. As a writer and lover of fiction, I've started feeling the necessity of reading great or popular books to find out what their secret is, or at least find out why people can't stop talking about it.

I soon discovered why.

The gripping writing style. Short, choppy sentences. The creativity. The action. The morbid fascination. The rebellion against the bigger powers, the Evil in the world. That deep struggle between good and evil. The feeling that you can have an impact, even if you seem alone at first. The strong yet human heroine, Katniss. Her confusion over how she feels about the two young men in her life, the firebrand that knows her better than anyone and the gentle sunshine that won't stop laying his life down for her even when there are times she almost hates him.

In three words, an emotion shredder.

Or that's how it affected me.

The books sucked me in and swallowed me whole, digesting me by squeezing me through its high packed action and squirting me with emotional gastric juices. I laughed. I cried. I discovered myself trembling almost uncontrollably as I read, until after many hours of doing this I commanded myself to relax. I came on the brink of feverishness. My dreams were but a continuation of the story (even though my version tended toward the heroine finally seeking God for help). It caused me to gasp. To grope in confusion. To hurt.

I'm not sure if being so affected is a credit to the writer or a danger to me.

***If you haven't read The Hunger Games trilogy, I suggest you don't continue reading unless you want me to spoil it for you.***

The books were violent, very violent. I wouldn't let my kids read them until they're practically old. However, the story wasn't glorifying violence, it was pointing out how sickening it was. The plot was solid and engaging, even though I admit that it starts to digress a little bit after the first book. Still, it beckoned you to keep reading, either in dreamy hopes that it would end well or in desperation to end the nightmare because the version you start imagining might be worse than reality.

If the violence and death weren't trampling hard enough on your emotions, the romance finished the job. (Here's where I start sounding grotesquely girly.) To me her choice became obvious. Although it takes awhile to warm up to the truth of his good motives, Peeta, the gentle sunshine, won me over completely. But not Katniss. Not completely. Fear, stubbornness, and confusion hold her back. And, unlike many book characters, she's complicated. Just like me. Too late, she starts to realize all that Peeta is to her when he's captured. Eventually when she starts going nuts thinking of the torture he must be suffering, they rescue him. But he's not the same. When she goes to hug the boy who has loved her most of his life and who would die for her in an instant (he almost has repeatedly), he tries to strangle her. The torture he'd undergone had twisted his love for her into hate.

I felt like a spear had just stabbed me in the gut. I realize that "gut" is not a refined term, but the emotions I was feeling weren't very refined. They were raw. And as the story continued, it felt like the spear was being twisted deeper.

You see, I finally realized that I had unconsciously considered Peeta to be a sort of Christ figure. Not in an idol sort of way, but a reflection of His character sort of way. Of all the things that dip and change in the story, one thing stayed constant: his love for her. Unselfish love. The kind that will die for her in a heartbeat. Or lack thereof. That's why choosing him seemed obvious even when it wasn't to Katniss. But I don't blame her. She was only acting the way I do when I forget that the Love of my life is Jesus.

But then the one constant changes. Peeta's love. Christ's love. And my world starts reeling. Reeling because there's some truth to Peeta's accusations against Katniss. Against me. Reeling because there's nothing she or I can do about it. My one constant is removed. A life without Christ's love is like peering into an empty chasm of death. It's more than unbearable.

It absolutely terrifies me.

NEVERTHELESS!!! Jesus is not Peeta. And Peeta recovers. Yes, it takes time and convincing ("games" of "Real or Not Real?"), and with flashbacks of horror he's never the same, but his love for Katniss gradually breaks through. It's not portrayed as fiercely, but it returns. And Katniss loves him back.

"Peeta and I grow back together. There are still moments when he clutches the back of a chair and hangs on until the flashbacks are over. I wake screaming from nightmares of mutts and lost children. But his arms are there to comfort me. And eventually his lips. On the night I feel that thing again, the hunger that overtook me on the beach, I know that this would have happened anyway. That what I need to survive is not Gale's fire, kindled with rage and hate. I have plenty of fire myself. What I need is the dandelion in the spring. The bright yellow that means rebirth instead of destruction. The promise that life an go on, no matter how bad our losses. That it can be good again. And only Peeta can give me that.

"So after, when he whispers, 'You love me. Real or not real?'

I tell him, 'Real.'"

~Suzanne Collins, Mockingjay

I took a break from reading for hours in the back of the car to drive the rest of the way home from Niagara Falls with my parents. It provided some time for reflection over what I was experiencing.

Gut-wrenching pain as I realize what my worst fear is, the fear of losing Christ's love. Despair. Despair over the lack of noble excitement in my own story, and despair at ever being able to write one someday. The words of the music I'm listening to wash over me, and some of them lick gently at my wounds:

And when I think

That God His Son not sparing

Sent Him to die

I scarce can take it in

That on a cross, my burden gladly bearing

He bled and died

To take away my sin.

 

And I realize in an instant, foggy yet clear, that I am a part of the most breathtaking Story imaginable. And that I might be able to dimly portray it in a story.

 

 

Then sings my soul . . .

How great Thou art!

 

Yes, I need to get my gaze upward.

 

When peace like a river attendeth my way

When sorrows like sea billows roll

Whatever my lot, Thou has taught me to say

It is well

It is well with my soul.

 

Tho Satan should buffet

Tho trials should come

Let this blest assurance control

That Christ hath regarded my helpless estate

And hath shed His own blood for my soul.

 

 

Sometimes the way is lonely

And steeped and filled with pain

And if your sky is dark and pours the rain

Cry to Jesus

Cry to Jesus

Cry to Jesus

And live.

 

 

You are my Hiding Place

You fill my broken heart with song.

 

 

Oh Love that wilt not let me go

I rest my weary soul in Thee.

 

 

Oh what blest assurance! Peeta Mellark is only human. Made up in fact. His love may falter in spite of himself, but Jesus Christ's love never will!!!!! He's not about to let go of me now. I gratefully grip the cool stone on which I wrote the words from that last stanza: "Oh Love that wilt not let me go . . ." Jesus is my Anchor.

 

 

On top of all this, I've still been struggling with questions about what I should be doing. They say that God steers a moving ship, but I don't feel like a moving ship. I feel like a lost ship. However, as I shared some of this with my mother, she reminded me of the words to yet another song:

 

The Guest within told me He is

In all of life's experiences

To make them work for good to me.

 

I know this is true, just as I know now that my worst fear will never come to pass. The love of God is changeless. And then of course what do you think God had me read in my Bible reading next?

 

Oh give thanks to the Lord, for he is good,

for his steadfast love endures forever!

...Some wandered in desert wastes,

finding no way to a city to dwell in;

hungry and thirsty,

their soul fainted within them.

Then they cried to the LORD in their trouble,

and he delivered them from their distress.

He led them by a straight way

till they reached a city to dwell in.

Let them thank the LORD for his steadfast love,

for his wondrous works to the children of man!

For he satisfies the longing soul,

and the hungry soul he fills with good things.

(Psalm 107:1,4-9 ESV)

 

I may feel like I'm in a desert. But despite my cooling love, God's love burns brightly forever. He's prepared to lead me by a straight way, if I'll let Him.

 

And that is much cause for rejoicing.

 

When Satan appears to stop up our path

And fills us with fears

We triumph by faith;

He cannot take from us,

Tho' oft he has tried

The heart-cheering promise,

"The Lord will provide."

 

He tells me to trust, and never be afraid,

He tells me to trust, and never be afraid,

He tells me to trust, and never be afraid,

But joy in the God of my salvation.

 

Yes, I will rejoice,

Rejoice in the Lord;

Yes, I will rejoice,

Rejoice in the Lord;

Yes, I will rejoice,

Rejoice in the Lord;

And joy in the God of my salvation.

 

I don't feel jubilant, but I choose to rejoice in Christ's enduring love today.

 

"For he will not much remember the days of his life because God keeps him occupied with joy in his heart." (Ecclesiastes 5:20)

 

"What I need is the dandelion in the spring. The bright yellow that means rebirth instead of destruction. The promise that life can go on, no matter how bad our losses. That it can be good again. Infinitely good. And only Jesus can give me that.

 

"So after, when I whisper, 'You'll love me always. Real or not real?'

 

He tells me, 'Real.'"

What He really thinks

"No man can tell you who you are as a woman. No man is the verdict on your soul . . . The ache is real. But the verdict is false. Only God can tell you who you are. Only God can speak the answer you need to hear . . . our core validation, our primary validation has to come from God. And until it does, until we look to him for the healing of our souls, our relationships are really hurt by this looking-to-each-other for something only God can give." -John and Stasi Eldridge, Captivating

Several years ago, I wrote a blog post called "Defining a Man." I don't recall it was especially deep; it was mostly inspired by a breakfast conversation with the Bible school while I was still in high school. The amusing epilogue to that story is that after posting my article I was later informed that most all of the Bible school guys had read it. Since I'm pretty sure most of them hadn't read my blog before and haven't since, it tickled my funny bone. If you want a guy to read your stuff, write about him! (I'm partially kidding.)

However, I realize I never wrote a post about Defining a Woman. It is late and I don't really want to tackle that challenging topic, but I would like to touch upon it.

As you may have gathered, I've been reading John and Stasi Eldridge's book, Captivating, and I have found it to be very rich, enlightening, and true. Truer than I knew. I don't think I could even dream of besting their job of "Defining a Woman," they summed it up so well. Still, I want to make a personal observation or two.

Every girl longs for adventure. Every girl wants to be considered beautiful. Every girl wants to be thought of as captivating. A few months ago I would have recoiled from making such drastically girly statements. Although romantic at heart (shh--don't tell!), I scorn gushy romance novels, squirm in movie kissing, gag over sappy Facebook comments, roll my eyes at some of the behavior of new couples, and tease some of my "pink and pretty" friends. But I have gone past the point of self-denial. The three sentences that started this paragraph are true for me too.

What's more, in the Curse God gave Eve an aching void. She thinks that the only thing that can fill this is Adam, but she is to learn that she is wrong. The only thing that can fill that void is God. This is nothing new. "In every human heart there is a God-shaped void" and that sort of thing has been told to me over and over again. But there is a unique aspect, a poignant truth in how this relates to women. If you are one, you'll understand.

For years I have consoled my own aching heart by telling myself, "Jesus thinks I'm tops," (a phrase I actually wrote when I was fifteen), "Jesus thinks I'm beautiful," and that sort of thing. It isn't bad to tell yourself things like this, especially since they're true. They helped me at the time, but in the long run it wasn't enough. It was like trying to slap a band-aid on a gaping wound.

In the past two years, I've discovered another balm-giving phrase: "Jesus satisfies my longing soul." And it's true. I want to emphasize this. However, so often I didn't even know what I was longing for, so how was I to know that He'd satisfied it? I long for Jesus Himself, yes, but I also craved validation. Validation that would answer my Question.

I didn't know what my Question was until I read Captivating. I hadn't fully realized that I could actually bring my Question to Jesus and expect a reply. So I did. And for my first time, I got my answer.

It was, "Yes."

My life hasn't changed in an instant. I'm still the same too-sensitive, wanting-people-to-like-me, sometimes-people-loving and sometimes-people-avoiding person, but deep down, I believe something is different. I have a liberating confidence I didn't have before.

I know what my Savior thinks of me. Not because I told myself, or because somebody else told me. I know because He told me. Certain worries and fears gradually start to melt--who cares what people think anyway? The desperate need for human validation--in any form--diminishes.

After all, once you realize you have the good opinion of the Creator, the good opinion of His creation doesn't seem to matter quite so much.

Would that we all took the time to ask our Creator what He really thinks of us.

A Red Shoe Lace and a Rubber Finger

The earth stood still.

For one awful moment, I thought that the vacuum cleaner was going to ruin my sneaker's red shoe laces! The laces that my dear friend Meredith had given me! The laces that had splashed color so cheerily into my sports experiences! The laces that had turned my five-year-old running shoes into brand-spanking-new pedals of power!

And they were from Meredith; the best part of all.

In other words, they were irreplaceable. In that one horrendous moment, a thought darkened my brain like the inevitability of death. "She will probably never give me red shoe laces again!"

Then the moment passed.

I stopped the vacuum, removing the blood-red lace from the maws of the roaring beast, now silenced. The string was hale and hearty.

And I was very happy.

It's funny how the safety of a shoe lace or the purchase of a rubber finger can mean so much. What about a rubber finger? Well, three years ago I worked for TD Bank as a data entry clerk, mostly in printing and file maintenance.

This was where I discovered the power of the Rubber Finger.

No more slippery finger tips. No more paper cuts. No more painstakingly slow counting of pages. With the mighty Rubber Finger, you can whip through page counting like Thor in a thunderstorm. It is the file maintenance clerk's Hammer of Thor, bow of Robin Hood, and spinach of Popeye the Sailor. (Except you don't eat it.)

But then I left the bank and started Bible school, and my precious Rubber Finger got lost. I didn't think I'd want it again--until I started collating Times of Restoration. Ever since then I don't think a time goes by that I don't wish I had my rubber finger to make the collating go a little faster. No more clumsy fumbling. Just efficiency. Efficiency and ease.

After three years of Bible school, I finally got around to purchasing a whole box of rubber fingers today, and I am unbelievably delighted because of it. It makes me want to start collating Times of Restoration every day just for the pleasure of trying it out again. Quickly my General's brain snaps into outfitting an army of collaters with the mighty Rubber Finger. Because of this outstanding strategy, we will soon cut collating time down by a third. I'm convinced of it.

Two small things: a red shoe lace and a rubber finger. Who would have thought that they could make one so happy? Who would have thought that they'd even matter so much? Think of it; we are complicated human beings, souls created for eternity. We shouldn't even bother with mundane things like shoe laces! The Bible tells us not to look at the things which are seen, but to look at the things which are unseen and eternal. Still, I don't think that means we can't get a little innocent pleasure from seen things. I think that we are actually meant to.

What if many of the seen things are placed there for a reason? What if they're designed to point us beyond them, toward the unseen things?

What if a red shoe lace can point me right back to the heart of God?

I'm not going to try to philosophize much more as I this tongue of my mind flaps "out loud," but thinking about these small things that bring joy has made me realize something. If small things matter to me, a human who was made in the image of God, do you think that small things matter to God?

Somehow, I think the answer is "yes."

 Although a rubber finger doesn't matter in the light of eternity, it matters to me. And if it matters to me, it matters to God. Even though the rubber finger means nothing, just the fact that it matters to God is what matters. He cares about details. Therefore, if you let them, considering seen things can pull you into considering the unseen things, such as the care of God that lasts forever.

And that's something worth pondering.

"Every happening, great and small, is a parable whereby God speaks to us, and the art of life is to get the message." -Malcolm Muggeridge

I have a life and I'm thankful for it

I suppose if you don't know me, you might imagine me as a pensive, shifty-eyed nerd who hunches over a laptop and wails all day.

Well, I've got news for you.

I'm not.

Therefore, I want to list some things from this past week for which I am thankful. #1 Because I really am thankful, #2 To prove I actually do have a life, and #3 For variety.

Are you ready?

• A delightful lunch with some dear girl friends, Katherine, Katie, Andrea, and Kimberly. I discovered a quaint local cafe for my first time where I feasted on pita stuffed with Greek olives and marinated vegetables, and gelato for dessert.
• Watching The Hunger Games with my brothers and some of the aforementioned friends. Since this is supposedly the most talked about book/movie I may as well add myself to the masses. The movie both disturbed and intrigued me. It made me ask a lot of deep questions as a movie watcher, a writer, and a Christian. I haven't read the books yet (they're on my "next to read" list) so I will refrain from discussing them here.
• Playing games at Diane's--mostly Pictionary.
• The arrival of Mariah, former classmate and like a sister.
• Going for a spontaneous run in the dark to the lake with Mariah. I wore her shoes, her shorts, and her socks. I almost never run with somebody else, I've never run in the dark, and I've never run AND swum in the lake in one trip. It was a grand mini adventure, complete with barking dogs.
• A sister who willingly makes suggestions on my college admissions essays even when she's overseas.
• A mother who woke me up only minutes before Andrea and Kimberly arrived first thing in the morning. Unfortunately, I had overslept, and they were supposed to arrive one minute after I awoke. They were pretty relaxed when they did get there so I relaxed too. We left only nine minutes after I had waken up.
• Going to a political rally with Aaron, Kim, and Andrea. Complete with country music, Rudy music, lots of sunshine, and games of Alphabet and I Spy as we waited for it to begin. Also, we got to be on TV and had our picture taken for a political ad.
• Marinating chicken, one of my favorite cooking pastimes. It makes me think of my dear friend and new sister-in-law who taught me how.
• Grilling chicken outside to music! Another delightful activity. Such sport brings to mind my cousin Cara who made it look cool and my friend Klara who taught me how.
• Watching Early Edition with my parents in the evenings.
• Bills paid.
• Important phone call(s) made.
• A de-clutter-the-nightstand project done.
• Going for a 4-5 mile run in the morning and then turning around and climbing the mountain with Mariah in the evening.
• Taking pictures with Mariah on the mountain as the sun went down. We had the top completely to ourselves!
• Finding my pepper spray.:) It had fallen out of my pocket in the first fifteen minutes as we jogged up. Thankfully some kind hiker had picked it up and left it at the entry booth at the bottom of the trail.
• Having a campfire in our back yard, complete with s'mores and friends.
• The recalibrating Word of God.
• Delighting Gretchen by giving her my Northern States fake money (result of my de-clutter project). She's about to start teaching her boys the Civil War!
• Finishing my resumes and turning in the last of my on-line college application paperwork.
• Cleaning the house to the sound of Josh Groban and Newsies.
• A Friday evening with family.
• Working on my quote book given to me by Katie.
• A quiet Sabbath day reading outside with iced coffee, e-mailing friends, and blogging.
• Watching a movie with my brother Craig on his last night home before he moves back to boarding school to teach.
• God's goodness.

There, you see? I do have a life. And I thank God for it. He is good.

Captivating Quotes

Four quotes, all from Captivating by John and Stasi Eldridge:

"We know that we are not all that we long to be, all that God longs for us to be, but instead of coming up for grace-filled air and asking God what he thinks of us, shame keeps us pinned down and believing that we deserve to suffocate."

". . . the more his we become, the more ourselves we become; more our true selves."

"A woman in her glory, a woman of beauty, is a woman who is not striving to become beautiful or worthy or enough. She knows in her quiet center where God dwells that he finds her beautiful, has deemed her worthy, and in him, she is enough. In fact, the only thing getting in the way of our being fully captivating and enjoyed is our striving."

"Beauty flows from a heart that is alive."

Lost and Found

I am going to make a terrible old lady someday.

Why?

Because I lose everything!!! Just ask my classmates. At one time or another, I've lost my volleyball, my tie-dye knee sock, my thumb drive, my metronome, my journal, my retainer case, my Japanese coin, my fingernail clippers, my necklace, my eye liner, my pepper spray, my pen, my keys, my CDs, my toy cockroach, you name it!

Sometimes I like to think it's not so much because I lose things but because I'm so aware of my surroundings and belongings that I'm more aware when I lose things. While others are blissfully ignorant that their pencil has gone missing until it shows up, I'm tearing my hair out seconds after it has disappeared.

But I'm pretty sure that theory is wrong.

Somebody in my yearbook sure knew me well when they said that I was most commonly found "seeking and finding."

Aha, but there's the clincher. Although I often lose things, I also often find them again.

Do you have any idea how EXCITING it is to lose something when you've believed it lost? I still remember the time in my first year of Bible school when I had misplaced my volleyball. I had searched everywhere for this prized possession, and so had my mom (that's saying something!). I had advertised to my school and everything. No sign.

Weeks went by.

Then one day I was digging in my tiny--er, closet. Behind all of my clothes crammed inside, there was a nail in the wall. And on that nail hung a bag. And in that bag was my volleyball.

"PRAISE THE LORD!!!!" I cried. I was tingling with excitement. My neighbor from the room next door came bounding into the room, immediately guessing the source of my joy.

"Did you find it? Did you find it?" Jayne asked, her eyes sparkling. She was just itching to share my joy.

I burst my elation upon her, and I continued to beam forth the rich news upon everybody I met for quite some time. I was ecstatic, and everyone just had to share my ecstasy! And many did, although I was too happy to notice if they didn't.

Then there was that time this summer that I discovered my tie-dye knee sock under the bed of a camp house in Maine that I had visited two years before then. Imagine my delight to discover my sock that had been sitting under another person's bed for two years! Luckily, I had been stubborn enough to save the other sock all this time.

Another time I lost my Australian opal necklace pendant during a free weekend in New York. I had purchased it myself on my trip to Australia so I was quite sorry to lose it. The girls had searched their home to no avail. I gave it up for lost. But one day, a year and a half later, I saw my opal around the neck of one of my friends. It was pretty unique, and I recognized it instantly.

"Um, I think that's my necklace," I told Becca uncomfortably. It had shown up in Elizabeth's things and she had passed it on to her younger sister. However, she was more than willing to part with it, and as I was reunited with my long-lost trinket, I was awed by the love of God.

Seven years or so ago, I lost a Japanese coin from my foreign coin collection. It was only missing for a few days, but still I was distraught. Then one night I was depressed after a night of sports and I got on my knees to seek God. When I opened my eyes, I looked down and saw the coin inside the shoe that I had just been wearing. God loves me indeed. And I was very happy.

And finally, on my terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day, while in search for my thumb drive my brother found something that I had been missing for four years. It was my toy cockroach. I have never been so elated to see something so disgusting.

These are only a few of my lost and found stories, but they have taught me so much. Because while others are either blissfully ignorant or too organized to lose anything, I get a tiny glimpse of how God must feel when He finds something that is lost.

"Or what woman, having ten silver coins, if she loses one coin does not light a lamp and sweep the house and seek diligently until she finds it? And when she has found it, she calls together her friends and neighbors, saying, 'Rejoice with me, for I have found the coin that I had lost.' Just so, I tell you, there is joy before the angels of God over one sinner who repents." (Luke 15:8-10)

That surge of contagious joy that pierces through the gloomiest of days. I feel that every time I find something I've lost.

Just imagine how God must feel.

When you find something you've lost, remember that you're getting a small glimpse into the heart of God. And every glimpse is precious. I treasure it every time. It makes losing things seem not quite so terrible.

Even if it does mean I'll make a terrible old lady some day.

The Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

" . . . giving thanks always and for everything . . ." (Ephesians 5:20)

How nice.

I read that in my Bible a couple of days ago, and blithely wrote "I want that kind of attitude" in my journal.

Oops.

Have you ever noticed that if you ask God for patience or humility that things will start going wrong? I have. In fact, I've gotten to the point when I almost laugh when things go wrong after asking for humility--God likes to answer prayer! And if you ask for patience or humility, God will give you chances to grow in those areas. Even if it hurts.

My day started out well enough. But somehow, things started going wrong. A virus tried to attack my brand-new laptop. The resume I was going to work on had been lost so I had to start from scratch. I couldn't get the formatting programs I was working in to do anything I wanted them to do. I spent hours laboring on the one big thing on my to-do list, and had gotten almost nowhere.

Like the favorite children's book I read to the kids in nursery, "I was having a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day."

I hate to whine, but there you have it. I can usually find silver linings and still manage to have an "okay" day, but for a little while I hated my life in general. I didn't know what the future held. I was directionless and almost purposeless. I had too much and too little to do at the same time. If I tried to find a job I might lose in the long run and if I don't find a job I lose in the long run. Everyone else has a good life except me. My bedroom was depressing because I hadn't completely finished a decluttering project from the day before. I couldn't even get a good start on the one thing on my to-do list that day. What is God thinking?!?

Blah, blah, blah.

Just call me Little Miss Grumpy. Even though I knew at the same time that my problems were silly compared to most people's problems.

It seemed almost devilish. I recalled a testimony that a man gave in church this past Sunday. He talked about how everything was going wrong in their house the night before and no one was sleeping well. In the middle of then night, their youngest child woke up screaming, and as his dad went up the stairs to go get him he thought, "This is just devilish." So he honored the Name of Jesus repeatedly as he mounted those stairs.

By the time he had reached the top, their infant was quiet. Everyone slept well for the rest of the night.

Weakly, I honored the Name Above All Names. Somewhere in there my sweet mother offered to help me by straightening my bedroom. I tried something different on my project.

I knew my mom was praying for me, because suddenly life started getting brighter. And brighter. Things flew together, and I ended my evening as a happy camper.

As I went to bed, two thoughts came to me. I hadn't put on the armor of God that morning, and we're in a battle. I had forgotten my warhorse spirit.

The next morning, the passages in Ephesians and Job about the armor of God and the warhorse were both in my regular Bible reading. I think God is trying to tell me something.

God's Word also brought conviction and recallibration to my spirit. As I read God's words to Job, ("Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth? Tell me, if you have understanding . . . Have you commanded the morning since your days began, and caused the dawn to know its place . . .?" etc.) I started feeling smaller and smaller. God is SO BIG!!!! Who am I to question Him? Who am I to complain in the pride of my heart? He has everything under control, including my measly little future, which is big too if I remember the bigness of the One who is giving it to me. Yes, I had enjoyed peace and even the allurement of my Savior in the wilderness, but I had allowed impatience and doubt to cloud my trust.

"Behold, I am of small account; what shall I answer you? I lay my hand on my mouth . . . I know that you can do all things, and that no purpose of yours can be thwarted . . . I had heard of you by the hearing of the ear, but now my eye sees you; therefore I despise myself, and repent in dust and ashes." (Job 40: 4, 42:2, 5-6)

 

 

The good news? I am not alone. EVERYONE is on a similar journey to the future, looking for adventure and purpose. My experiences are not unique. At least, I hope I'm not the only one who has had a grumpy day, though sometimes it wouldn't surprise me. But we all can have the same Savior by our side each step of the way.

 

Farewell--Henceforth my place

Is with the Lamb who died.

My Sovereign! While I have They love,

What can I want beside?

Thyself, blest Lord, art now

My free and loving choice,

In whom, though now I see Thee not,

Believing, I rejoice.

 

Shame on me that I sought

Another joy than this,

Or dreamed a heart at rest with Thee

Could crave for earthly bliss!

These vain and worthless things,

I put them all aside:

His goodness fills my longing soul,

And I am satisfied.

 

--Margaret Mauro (age 22), "The Young Christian"

 

Besides, no matter what our various callings are, we all have purpose. We get to glorify God. We get to fight in the spiritual battle raging around us all the time. And we get to encourage each others' hearts.

 

"I have sent him to you for this very purpose . . . that he may encourage your hearts." (Eph. 6:22)

 

I pray that I have accomplished this last point just a little right here.

 

And now, I thank God for terrible, horrible, no good, very bad days. Sometimes they teach us the most.