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.



Better Than a Boston Creme Donut

I bit into the Boston creme donut. The luscious, cool vanilla creme rolled off my tongue while the chocolate glaze sang to the roof of my mouth.

I know that sounds weird.

Still, I couldn't help but wonder what genius invented such a great combination of flavors. And then I wondered about the Genius who invented the ability to taste anything at all.

I mean, think about it. Was the ability to taste really necessary? Sight, yes. Hearing, probably. But taste? Come on! Someone could have thought, "I am going to invent a masterpiece creation that will be able to see, hear, and respond to stimulus. Of course it will need to sustain itself somehow, so I will come up with food that it can eat. Naturally it will know that this food is essential for its well-being so if it has any brains at all it will eat in order to survive. It will eat like the robot that it is; it has no need to enjoy what's keeping it alive. If it's smart it will enjoy the food it's eating just because it's keeping it alive."

As ridiculous as this may sound, it's perfectly logical.

Why do we need to taste anything anyway?

I guess because God is more than just a hard, logical God.

"God, who giveth us richly all things to enjoy." (1 Timothy 6:17, italics mine)

God isn't trying to rob us of pleasure. He's the one who created it. And if we can find pleasure using the unique sense of taste, perhaps we can understand more about finding pleasure in Him.

"Oh taste and see that Jehovah is good." (Psalm 34:8)

When I taste something delectable that makes my taste buds sing, I am often able to worship their Creator more effectively. Just think how good He must taste!

I bet God tastes even better than a Boston creme donut. Or even a Krispy Kreme.

Baffling, colorful, and beautiful

I peeked out the window. A bright rainbow was sauntering up our driveway, pausing to throw pebbles at the ground. Little neighbor Jeff was coming to our door.

I ran downstairs and let him in.

"Hi Jeff! How's it going?"

"Good." He stepped inside and just looked at me.

"What's up?"

"Where's your mom?" He asked, fingering a folded paper in his hand. I assumed he had some card or message from his mom to mine.

"She's not here. She's in town at the PRC."

"Oh. Where's your dad?"

"He's not here either. I'm not sure where he is."

"Where's Craig?"

"He's out too. But if you want to leave something for any of them you can put it on the table and I'll make sure they get it."

"Oh. This is for you," and he handed me the paper. I was surprised. Surely this was a missive or picture intended for some other beloved member of my family. I could recall no instance of ever winning this lad's affection.

"You mean for me to give to someone, or for me?" I queried.

"For you," he emphasized, pointing. I was touched, though still perplexed.

Thanking him, I supplied him with candy and he went on his merry way. The picture looks like some mysterious conglomeration of clocks, sundials, compasses, gas gauges, and on-off switches. I'm baffled by it but I find it quite charming. Even though I'm still skeptical that he had originally intended it for me.

But I guess that's kind of like God's plan for each of us. It's baffling, colorful, and beautiful. We just need to accept it whole-heartedly like it was actually made for us. Because it was.

The not-so-private blog

I was about to tell someone what was going on in my life.

"I've read your blog," they told me.

I was stunned!

Taken aback!

I almost wanted to say, "That was private!" But instead I laughed on the inside. What do you expect when you blast your personal thoughts and feelings on the internet? I had asked for it.

And I was actually glad I got it.

Crystallizing reality

Late night minutes creep by. My breathing is shallow as my eyes skip across the page, drinking in every word. Even as I finish, my brimming brain makes sleep unthinkable, so I go back to read that chapter again and be sure I understood it. At last I am satisfied, and I slap the book closed with a sigh as I do with nearly every book I finish and murmur, “Good book.”

I turn out my lamp, but an inner light burns on. Why is it that epic tales of good versus evil stir us so? Why are we so moved when we read about faithful friends willing to die for you even if they do not know why? Why does something resonate within us when we read about one person being willing to die so that others may live?

Could it be that our spirits naturally respond to “Gospel vibes” like a flower responds to sunlight? Could it be that as Ecclesiastes 3:11 puts it, God “has put eternity into man’s heart”? Like a dream long forgotten but now remembered, stories crystallize reality.

Reading has been one of the key experiences in my life that has awakened a passion in me to write. A writer like C.S. Lewis injects me with awe whenever I devour his Chronicles of Narnia or The Great Divorce because they bring Biblical truths into sharper focus. My heart thrills over Aslan coming to life again and breathing vitality into stone, or over the analogy of things on earth being like ghosts compared to the realer than real things of heaven. I need not list the effects of Frodo’s quest to destroy the Ring, or Jane Eyre’s heart-wrenching determination to hold to her convictions, or Harry Potter’s march to his death so that his friends may live, because most of us have read books like this and know what it feels like.

However, as I finished this particular novel late that night, I felt not only satisfaction but disappointment. Why? Because the book came so close to pointing to the reality of God’s Story, but the lies and poor ethics of the hero made it fall just short of hitting the mark. The story lacked uncontaminated truth to testify to its own validity.

I lay then, that night, listening. Silence reigned, only interrupted by the hoarse cry of some unknown bird in the woods outside. As I listened and sought God quietly, I remembered another time I was doing the same thing in a meeting while a godly man praying out loud asked the Lord to raise up writers in our nation who would be voices of truth. As these words fell on my ears, a penetrating thought had followed, “Maybe that is what God wants me to do.”

Nearly a year later, I was only more convinced of it. And as I considered the book I had just finished reading and this nudge in my heart, an unspeakable yearning awoke within me, a yearning to rewrite that tale as it should have been written. Not literally that same story, but one all my own. Yes, I did experience some despair because in my own strength the task seems mountainous, but I am not alone. God is beckoning me into this path, and with Him all things are possible. I may not be a genius, but I know these three things: I am passionate about God and His truth, I am passionate about art in writing, and I am passionate about seeing the world come to know truth and God Himself. Why not connect the three? If God is for it, who can stand against it? He is in the habit of turning mountains into plains.

And so although my bedside lamp was out, the light inside kept burning. My mind buzzed with questions, but my heart glowed with a newly ignited zeal: the zeal to write and point others to the truth of Jesus. And maybe, just maybe, they will be stirred to let Him into their lives as well.

Below is a picture I took to encapsulate the vision God has given me. The nail represents Christ’s redeeming sacrifice on the cross; without it, I would have no real purpose or message. The lion signifies Aslan as one of many ways Christ’s character can be revealed in story, just as C.S. Lewis did. Finally, of course, the globe stands for the whole world, and it is the world that I want to impact. I do not wish to write merely to satisfy myself. I wish to write so that people all over the world can learn to be satisfied in Jesus.

A fair share of drama

Perhaps sitting with a little old lady doesn't seem like a very exciting job. Well, I've got news for you.

You're right.

It isn't.

Some people might prefer baby sitting. Kids are cuter, after all, and there's also the romantic idea of shaping a young child's mind so they turn into the respectable citizen society wants them to be.

And yet, old people are cool too. You're not shaping their lives; they've already lived. They're not dead-end streets; they're bustling highways with hundreds of miles of history behind them. They have thousands of more experiences (if not thousands of more memories) and a full life that we can only imagine. And every once in awhile, if we're lucky, we can peek into their past like a beloved book and get a whiff of what life was really like.

A few weeks ago, I was sitting with my elderly lady friend. It's hard to recall her well-told story perfectly, but I'll do my best.

"I was expecting our baby," she told me, "and I knew it was time. So my hubby took me in the car and we were on our way to the hospital. But after awhile, I knew we weren't going to make it in time. So I said, 'Dear, can you deliver this baby?' And he said, 'I sure can't!'" She laughed heartily.

"So he drove me right up to the hospital door and ran inside. And he came out with six nurses running after him! I laughed when I saw that. They all came running out to the car."

"What happened?" I asked. "Did they all get inside the car?"

"Now, that's a good question," she said. "I can't remember what they did!"

We laughed together.

She went on to tell me how the baby didn't live more than a few days. "And we had them do a--what's that surgery called?"

"An autopsy?"

"That's it, an autopsy. They did an autopsy, and we found out that the baby's lungs and heart had been misplaced. That was why he couldn't breathe properly. Oh, and I was so sad," her sweet wrinkled face clouded. "I felt so bad for my poor baby! But then my dear husband reminded me that the baby was in a better place, and he can breathe well now. I felt much better after that."

Her story was simple. A humorous caricature of a frantic husband refusing to deliver his wife's baby and retrieving a string of harried nurses who trailed outside to all peer into the car. Then, scene two. The painful death, but blessed assurance. No fanfare or hyped up drama, but real. Incredibly real.

Yes, she is rapidly going downhill. She's not as "bad" as my grandmother, who convinced herself that my mom had married a black man (nothing against black men, but in their 30+ years of marriage, my dad has never been and never will be black) and kept asking for her sister who had been in heaven for ten years or more. However, after I left this lady for her nap she came out and started yelling up the stairs for her grandson.

"Dave! Dave!"

"What is it, Mrs. H?" I asked her.

"Oh, I just wanted to ask Dave if this is a good time for me to take a nap."

"Yes, this is a good time."

"It is? Oh good." She went back to her bedroom.

I may not be shaping young minds, wrestling bad guys, or becoming a new sensation, but even in my quiet job, I see my fair share of drama.

I saw it as I helped my lady unpack her box of clothing, pictures, and trinkets that had been mailed to her from her daughter across the States. She oohed over her plastic green beads like they were precious emeralds, and she gasped over her rich purple coat that she had forgotten she possessed. (Perhaps losing your memory can be a fun thing sometimes?) Then she nearly wept over the photographs of her son, who died of cancer in the past few years. She almost lost it again when she saw the picture of her and her deceased husband on their 60th wedding anniversary. My heart went out to her as I gently rubbed her back, sympathizing with her pain even if I couldn't empathize with it.

This lady has seen real joy, and real sorrow. She may never be famous, just like my working life may never be exciting. Yet she has had an adventure all her own, and she has sensed the Lord with her through it all. That is a life worth living.

Seeing bits of her small adventure and her fortitude, I'm encouraged about my own. There is an adventure for all of us; the art of life is to see it.

Life is a highway, so go out and live it.

My job has its fair share of drama.

Something sensational to read in the train

Forgive me, friends. If you read the Times of Restoration, you are about to get a repeat.

When I got back from my road trip last week, I found a mysterious handwritten letter waiting for me. Illinois? I know only one family from there, and this name certainly wasn't it! Curious, I tore the envelope open and discovered a dear note from a precious elderly lady who told me that she has wanted to write me ever since she read my article. Eh, which article? I thought back. Surely not my yearbook testimony. Aha, that's right; an article by yours truly HAD been published in our church magazine in the Bible school ministry/Monadnock Beacon section. I had written it my first year of Bible school for our student website, and the editor of Times of Restoration had requested it for a spring issue. I polished it a little (I'm constantly trying to self-critique and improve my untrained writing) and turned it in for the the March/April issue.

Interested to read this article from the perspective of this sweet yet complete stranger, I dug it out and read it.

And it blessed me all over again.

Is it weird or arrogant to be blessed by something you've written yourself? I hope not. Because, I confess, I am often blessed when I go back to read my testimonies or many of my journal entries. I feel like Gwendolyn from The Importance of Being Earnest:

"I never travel without my diary. One should always have something sensational to read in the train."

I hope I'm not quite so obsessed with myself, but I can still chuckle and relate to her. After all, one should always enjoy your own writing, or nobody else will. Vibes are contagious.

Therefore, because it fit my current situation and blessed me, perhaps God can use this article to bless somebody else. Here goes:

"The Desert Road"

Face it. Life is not always a bed of roses. Sure, we can be cheerful, and we may be able to rejoice in our salvation, but sometimes we need more. Here's the question: Is it possible to be glad in spiritually dry times?

This morning I was reading my Bible as usual. Unfortunately, I'd had a busy week and my quiet times with God had been a bit rushed, but this Sabbath morning I wanted to soak more in God's Word. As I was reading, I came across the account in Acts about Philip and the Ethiopian eunuch. However, it wasn't the story I noticed, but what happened right before the story.

Philip had just come from Samaria where he had blazed a trail for Christianity. The crowds had hung on his words, eating up every syllable. More importantly, they had responded and many were saved. Oh, and don't forget that God had also performed great miracles through him. Basically, Philip was on a spiritual high, ready to evangelize the whole globe if God spoke the word, and perhaps his ear was just itching to hear the command.

What he heard was not what he expected.

An angel of the Lord told him to follow a certain road. That sounded promising. Surely the road would take him to some great city that would soon fall on its knees when its inhabitants heard what Philip had to say. But not this road. We're told quite simply that this was a desert place.

Huh?

If I had been Philip, I would have been protesting, "Hello! Didn't you just see what I've been doing? There are no people in the desert! How am I supposed to spread the good news? If you send me into the desert, I won't be of any use!" Although it may be natural to feel this way, I now realize how inaccurate that outlook really is.

First of all, usefulness isn't dependent on how we think we should be used, but on how the One who designed us chooses to use us. Just because we're a hammer doesn't mean that all we're going to do is drive nails. What if we're called to pull out nails? Or what if, as a gung-ho fork ready to stab any food, you're called instead to have food shoved against you so that the spoon can scoop up the edibles? Has the hammer or fork lost its usefulness just because it's not driving nails or stabbing victuals? Of course not! Each is merely being plugged in to fill a different job. Maybe we are designed to be someone who brings hundreds of people to the Lord; but if the Holy Spirit calls us to a desert place to do one small task for Him, that can be just as effective.

What stood out even more to me is that sometimes the Holy Spirit Himself may send us into the desert. As Christians, we know that spiritually dry times are almost inevitable, but should we be discouraged just because we don't sense God's work in our lives? No, He may be choosing to send us into a wasteland, and if so, He knows exactly what He's doing. After all, how are we supposed to have faith in God's goodness if He's constantly showering us with blessings? In essence, we could be saying, "Yes, God, I know you're good and faithful because I've seen all these wonderful things happening to me, but why aren't you faithful to me now when I need you most?"

Wrong question!

God will never stop His faithfulness, but He can stop His blessings. Let me repeat that. God will never stop His faithfulness, but He can stop His blessings; we just need to recognize the difference. However, what we need to realize even more isn't just that the Holy Spirit sometimes send us into a desert.

He's also right there in the desert with us.

And if that's the case, suddenly the desert doesn't seem quite so desert-like.

So it's okay if we experience dry times. Perhaps that is exactly where God wants us to be. His power is not limited by a lack of rain.

A fine example of the wrong approach occurred when Jesus fed the multitudes in the wilderness. In one of the cases, they wanted to make Him king by force, but their motives weren't pure. They loved Jesus not for who He was, but for what He had given them. Are we followers of Christ because we're hungry for the Bread of Life, the only One who can satisfy, or because we're hungry only for the bread of blessings we receive from Him?

When we talked about this in class a little while ago, I felt convicted because I tend to love the blessing (the "bread") rather than the Blesser (the "Bread"). Do I seek Jesus, or the things that He offers? And remember that although the blessings might not follow us into the desert, the Blesser does! So even in a barren land, we can still cling to the heart of God, knowing that we're where we're supposed to be.

One thing I've learned at Bible School is that in the end, almost every spiritual lesson boils down to one thing: Stay connected to Jesus. He is the answer to every problem, every care, and every burden. Nothing lies outside His scope or ability. He can use any situation no matter how bleak. He's with us in the desert. And what He has in store for us is beyond the limit of our imaginations.

So what if we're in a desert? Do we have a fervent longing to see Jesus no matter what it takes? Does a desire for Him burn within us? We need not be discouraged if we're unable to strike the match ourselves. The Holy Spirit can set the blaze burning even in  a shriveled wilderness. Fire usually kindles best in the driest of deserts.

Northern stars

The day had arrived.

A few weeks ago, I wrote about the letter. Once I broke its seal, I saw that its seal on my fate was unbreakable. My world was rocked that day, but I took solace in the One who holds tomorrow. Although I started exploring other options, my dad didn't want us to make any final decisions until a few weeks had gone by. Three days before my college bill was due, we would decide.

The day had arrived.

On that day I actually drove back from Pennsylvania by myself. I did not put on sack cloth and ashes. I had no spiritual revelations. Just peace. Peace that it would all work out.

That evening, my parents and I set a time and gathered in our living room. We prayed and we talked. Then we made our decision.

I'm not going to my dream college this year.

Although I felt that we were making the right decision, that didn't keep the disappointment from seeping in. No friend-making in the clean atmosphere of a classy college. No great sculpting of my intellect over the Constitution and truths that really matter. No playing volleyball with my cousin. No rooming with my best friend.

I felt like I was watching my "Isaac" being tied to the altar.

Death to that vision.

Problems at my job,

Wondering what to do,

I know I should be working but I'm thinking of You.

Just when I feel this crazy world is going to bring me down

That's when Your smile comes around.

I love the way You hold me

By my side You'll always be

You take each and every day

Make it special in some way

I love the way You hold me

In Your arms I'll always be

You take each and every day

Make it special in some way

I love you more than the words in my brain can express

I can't imagine even loving You less

Lord, I love the way You hold me.

(Jamie Grace, "Hold Me")

Recently I've been reading a book called Captivating by John and Stasi Eldridge. It digs deep into a woman's heart, how God treasures it, and how it can be healed and soar the way it was designed. Although I have had a wonderful upbringing with zero complaints, Eve's choice before the Fall has had its repurcussions in my own heart like any girl's. The timing of this book really couldn't be any better. Here's something I read this past week:

"You are the glorious Image Bearer of the Lord Jesus Christ--the crown of his creation. You have been assaulted. You have fallen to your own resources. Your Enemy has seized upon your wounds and your sins to pin your heart down. Now the Son of God has come to ransom you, and to heal your broken, wounded, bleeding heart, and to set you free from bondage. He came for the brokenhearted captives. That's me. That's you. He came to restore the glorious creation that you are. And then set you free . . . to be yourself.

". . . Why did God curse Eve with loneliness and heartache, an emptiness that nothing would be able to fill? Wasn't her life going to be hard enough out there in the world, banished from the Garden that was her true home, her only home, never able to return? It seems unkind. Cruel, even.

"He did it to save her. For as we all know personally, something in Eve's heart shifted at the Fall. Something sent its roots down deep into her soul--and ours--that mistrust of God's heart, that resolution to find life on our own terms. So God had to thwart her. In love, he has to block her attempts until, wounded and aching, she turns to him and him alone for her rescue.

'Therefore I will block her path with thornbushes;

I will wall her in so she cannot find her way.

She will chase after her lovers but not catch them;

she will look for them but not find them.' (Hosea 2:6-7)

"Jesus had to thwart us too--thwart our self-redemptive plans, our controlling and hiding, thwart the ways we are seeking to fill the ache within us. Otherwise, we would never fully turn to him for our rescue. Oh, we might turn to him for our 'salvation,' for a ticket to heaven when we die. We might turn to him even in the form of Christian service, regular church attendance, a moral life. But inside, our hearts remain broken and captive and far from the One who can help us.

"And so you will see the gentle, firm hand of God in a woman's life hemming her in. He'll make what once was a great job miserable, if it was in her career that she found shelter. He'll bring hardship into her marriage, even to the breaking point, if it was in marriage that she sought her salvation. Wherever it is we have sought life apart from him, he disrupts our plans, our 'way of life' which is not life at all . . ."

". . . We construct a life of safety (I will not be vulnerable there) and find some place to get a taste of being enjoyed or at least of being 'needed.' Our journey toward healing begins when we repent of those ways, lay them down, let them go. They've been a royal disaster anyway . . ."

". . . Not only does he thwart, but at the same time he calls to us . . . 'Set it down. Set it down. Turn from your ways to Me. I want to come for you."

"Therefore I am now going to allure her;

I will lead her into the desert

and speak tenderly to her."

(Hosea 2:14)

(John and Stasi Eldridge, Captivating, pp. 95-99)

It's okay if God calls you to go to college. The danger is when you unconsciously try to make your dreams of college fill the void in your heart that only God is supposed to fill. I'm afraid I was close to doing that.

But it's okay, because now I can't. Not having my happy visions to pillow my head, I'm forced to pillow my head on the shoulder of the One who is holding me.

"Every long lost dream

Led me to where You are

Others who broke my heart

They were like Northern stars

Pointing me on my way

Into Your loving arms

This much I know is true

That God blessed the broken road

That led me straight to You."

(Nitty Gritty Dirt Band/Rascal Flatts, "Bless the Broken Road")

And when I'm there, I'm truly Home.

"And I got my heart set on what happens next
I got my eyes wide it's not over yet
We are miracles and we're not alone

This is home
Now I'm finally where I belong
Where I Belong
Yeah, this is home
I've been searching for a place of my own
Now I've found it
Maybe this is home
This is home

And now after all my searching
After all my questions
I'm gonna call it home
I've got a brand new mindset
I can finally see the sunset
I'm gonna call it home."

(Switchfoot, "This is Home")

When all is said and done, I'm very excited. I'm still uncertain what God has in mind for me exactly, but the silver linings to what seemed like a thunderhead are endless. I get to go to my friend's wedding. I get to be here when Bible school starts. I'm going to be at the Fall Convention. I might get to travel.

Best of all, I get to follow the Lamb whithersoever He goest.

And I get to share this journey of trust with you. It's true that I nearly allowed blogging to creep into that aching void. Expression gives me such a sense of fulfillment that I almost forgot Who is my fulfillment. However, one comment about my writing turned out to be a Northern star. I hate the idea of being a disappointment to anybody. However, as I had a little talk with Jesus He assured me that I wasn't a disappointment to Him.

And when I realized that His opinion was the only one that really mattered, I was at peace. Knowing who you are in Him can free you more than you think possible.

If I live to be a hundred
And never see the seven wonders
That'll be all right
If I don't make it to the big leagues
If I never win a Grammy
I'm gonna be just fine
'Cause I know exactly who I am

So when I make big mistake
When I fall flat on my face
I know I'll be all right
Should my tender heart be broken
I will cry those teardrops knowin'
I will be just fine
'Cause nothin' changes who I am

(Jessica Andrews, "Who I Am")

I'm thankful that I know who I am in Christ and that everything is going to be just fine.

Even if it took a few Northern stars to see it.

You are not alone
I will always be with you
Even to the end

You don't have to work so hard
You can rest easy
You don't have to prove yourself
You're already mine
You don't have to hide your heart
I already love you
I hold it in mine
So you can rest easy

Do not be afraid
Nothing, nothing in the world
Can come between us now

(Andrew Peterson, "Rest Easy")



It was very good

GOD IS SO FAITHFUL!!!

If you like, you can fore go reading the rest of this post now that you've gotten the summary. It may be that you will tire of reading about God, my life, and my gratefulness. But if you want to risk it, I invite you to read further...

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The step creaked in protest beneath my tired tread. Winding up the wood stairs to the third floor bedroom, I set the rinsed out trash can by the desk and collapsed on the bed where my sister sat working. I had taught my first lesson that day. I had only started learning how to teach yesterday and already I'd been tossed into the deep end of the swimming pool. Trying to swim had thrown me into a whirl pool of headache, sobs, and vomit. Just that afternoon I had been washing my hands in a restroom in Faneuil Hall, looking at my tear stained face and sighing, "I feel so weak."

Then in it flashed.

I say flashed. When God whispers to my heart it is more like a loving impression, too random and perfect to be any thought of my own.

"My power is made perfect in weakness."

Now I lay on my bed. It was about 8:30 p.m. and all I wanted to do was sleep off my headache and exhaustion. I didn't feel capable of doing anything at all, and yet I knew I had a mountain to swallow before 9:00 a.m. the next morning: my first forty-minute lesson to plan. I knew there was no way I could accomplish such a feat with a passing grade in the condition I was in.

"My power is made PERFECT in weakness."

I had God's power and there was nothing I could do to make it any more or less perfect. Now was the time to "ride out" with God and see Him work. Now was the time to see the rubber hit the road. I knew I couldn't do it as I was. The Holy Spirit would have to take over and plan the lesson through me.

So I sat up and set to work, tapping into that perfect power. I finished four hours later.

The next day I taught my first forty-minute lesson. That is, I asked the Holy Spirit to teach through me, and He ended up getting the best grade that I would receive for the entire course. That week I read about how "nevertheless, David took the stronghold." A note I made in my margin during Bible class blessed me: "The Davidic spirit is one that overcomes the impossible. This comes from faith in God's ability."

God had taken one more tiny stronghold through me.

I've neglected to recount God's goodness to me over the summer so far. I wish to do so now. After all, my purpose here is not just to sing of my woes or selfish concerns, but to sing of the faithfulness of the One who has loosed my tongue. The Bible reference in my blog heading includes the following words: "Say to those who have an anxious heart, "Be strong; fear not! Behold, your God will come with vengeance, with the recompense of God. He will come and save you."5 Then the eyes of the blind shall be opened, and the ears of the deaf unstopped;6 then shall the lame man leap like a deer, and the tongue of the mute sing for joy. For waters break forth in the wilderness, and streams in the desert."

My summer was kicked off in early May with my Bible school graduation. Three years of intense feeding on God's Word--over. I didn't have much time to mope about it though, because I spent the next week packing, cleaning out, throwing stuff away, signing yearbooks, and completing pre-course homework for the following week.

And then It began.

To put it in an egg shell, for some strange reason, my dad and I felt that God wanted me to take a Teaching English to Speakers of Other Languages course with my sister. So, knowing that spending a couple thousand isn't really the most logical thing to do when you're saving for college, we took the plunge of faith and signed me up for the CELTA course (Certified English Language Teaching to Adults). What is the CELTA? Only the Cadillac of TESOL courses, certified by Cambridge across the Pond. Known for its communicative approach and hands on practice built into the course, the four-week version of the CELTA course places an emphasis on the word "intense."

It wasn't long before I learned that they weren't joking. Not. One. Bit.

Honestly, going into the course in the middle of Boston, I was terrified and I was at peace. I was terrified because I knew it would probably be the most challenging task I'd ever undertaken and I had no idea what it would look like. I was at peace because I knew that since God had called me to take it, He would back me up and see me through it.

And so, as I read on the first morning before taking my first bus and train ride into the city, I put my devotions from that morning into practice. "But David strengthened himself in the LORD his God." (1 Samuel 30:6)

I had a lot of "impossibles" to face.

Over the next four weeks, I got to know and like my twelve classmates, who soon became eleven. Half of them were recent college graduates, with majors including Russian, Chinese, English, and Spanish. Another was a Muslim girl from the Midwest who has her degree in nursing ("This course is harder than nursing school," she confided in me. I wasn't sure I believed her, but it did help justify some of the stress I was feeling). My sister and I had opportunities to show her love. Once, after our class had been plotting on going bar hopping, I conspiratorially told her that I didn't want to go.

 "I don't want to go bar hopping either," she said. "I don't drink."

"Neither do I."

In her ecstasy, she high fived me, and I was delighted to share such a bonding moment with her. I've heard that some Muslims tend to think of Christians as hypocrites who dress like Hollywood, eat pork, and drink alcohol, and I felt like I was able to show her that we're not all that way. As followers of Christ, we do have convictions about certain things; Muslims aren't the only ones who know how to make a stand in personal areas. I'm not saying you can't be a perfectly good Christian and drink alcohol. What I am saying is that if I didn't have that one small conviction in my life then I would never have been able to share such a bonding moment with my Muslim friend. By the end of the course, she told us that she used to think she would never like Christians if she ever met one, but getting to know us had changed her mind. We are not so very different. Different, yes, but not so very.
.
 Besides my Muslim classmate, we also had a chic lady who informed us that she "works for the government." My sister had fun speculating that this meant the F.B.I or something, but I wouldn't make any claims here. Another was a tall, balding 40ish guy who kept calling his new German wife his "girlfriend." People got after him for it but he persisted. He often said some awkward things, but we loved him anyway (or some of us did).

"Hey, nice kids' pants," he smiled at the government lady.

"They're capris, Jim," our put-together ex-Catholic classmate told him, "they're quite stylish."

"It's okay if she wants to wear a ten-year-old's pants," Jim chuckled. "It doesn't bother me."

Yes, our class was very interesting. Whether bound for China, Sweden, Georgia, Spain, Brazil, South Korea, or the Middle East, we somehow made it to one place, sweat blood and tears side by side, and got along splendidly.

Except when swearing at each other in Arabic.

Which brings me to my group. In order to practice teaching, we taught live international students. They were divided into three levels on the intermediate scale, and our teacher class of twelve were divided into three groups so we could take turns teaching each level. We watched each other teach every day, took notes, gave feedback, and received feedback. Basically we were brothers and sisters for four weeks. My group began with five, but after the first week our lawyer lady dropped out. She was extremely distraught on her last day, and I had a chance to offer to pray for her and build her up before she dropped off the face of the earth and we heard no more of her. Another member of our group included a beautiful, stylish lass with a brilliant white smile, an ebullient personality, and an independent spirit. I felt a little bit like I was hanging out with my cousin Cara. Secondly, I got to know a guy who just graduated from college, can wiggle his scalp, knows all there is to know about linguistics and Russian, and flirts with the girls at the desk. He seemed smart and kind enough toward me, but he took a mischievous delight in tormenting the other ladies in our small group. Which brings me to the last character of our foursome, debatably my favorite.

I'll call her Marie.

When I first saw Marie, I thought she looked like a woman who had just stepped out of Whoville. A long, slightly snubbed nose, tall, and short white hair swooped back in the way a Dr. Seuss character might keep it. On the first day of class, we played a little icebreaker game where we had to go around with a sheet of unique facts and ask three questions of each person to determine which unique fact belonged to whom. When she was free, I stepped straight up to Marie and immediately asked, "Have you been engaged five times?"

Yes.

She promptly responded with, "Do you play the guitar, violin, and piano?"

Yes.

Thus we began our friendship understanding each other perfectly.

We were about as different as two people could be. She opened her mouth to speak in class at almost every opportunity. I did not. She had lived in Boston her entire life, couldn't stand living in Manchester for ten months because it was too small, and she lives in a house right near the highway so she can have the "white noise" of traffic. I am a country girl through and through. She knows a smattering of half a dozen languages, from old Russian (her parents' tongue) to Mandarin, and she knows how to swear and ask for beer in each of those languages. I only know a little Spanish, and I could barely swear in English even if I wanted to. She's in her forties and has been engaged five times. I'm twenty years younger and don't even have a boyfriend. She's tough and just quit working in construction where she taught rough guys in the classroom and held her own. Well, the toughest thing I've done is yelled at twenty-five teenagers to be quiet and told a girl to get out of a guy's lap at camp.

We were destined to be great friends.

One thing we did have in common: compassionate natures. Beneath her tough exterior, Marie has a heart of gold. The first thing that popped into both of our heads as to why we wanted to teach English was so that we could help people.

Marie also had a way of making me laugh, if for no other reason than that she was a good storyteller and I couldn't relate to her. After my second or third day of teaching, I sat down next to her after delivering my assigned topic of blind dates.

"You know, Kayla," Marie told me, "you almost made me want to go on a blind date again. The last time I went on a blind date was a long time ago. It was a Russian guy, and he came back with me to my apartment. But then he wouldn't leave! I said, 'What are you doing?!' And he said, "We're going to leeve together.' And I said, "Well, I'm sleeping on the couch!" And before I knew it he had filled my refrigerator with cheese and the bedroom with cheese (it's a Russian thing) and the place smelled--it was awful. Finally after three weeks I told him that if he didn't leave I was going to kill him! So he left. I know it was my own fault he stayed so long. I should have put my foot down right away."  (very rough quote)

Marie and I also differ in our family situation. On the last day of our course, she shared with me how she hardly has any family in this country. All she has is a half brother, a father who doesn't care for her, and an uncle. That's all. She's been on her own since she was seventeen and in a way she's used to it, but there's still a part of her that never gets over it. A part of her that still feels lonely. A part that is partially missing.

Wow. Looking at my own close immediate and extended family, I can't even imagine how she must feel. At the same time, I think of my huge spiritual family and how special it is to be part of God's family. I long for Marie to experience that same sense of belonging.

Perhaps you'd like to know what a typical day on the CELTA course included for me. Well, between 6:15 and 6:55 a.m. I would arise, depending on how late I'd been up the night before. Get ready for the day, squeeze in a little Bible, print any papers I need, shove in some breakfast, and dash out the door at about 7:54. After a three minute trek to the bus station, two of which are spent at the crosswalk, we wait another five minutes for the bus. It pulls in, we hop on, and we're out of there for a ten-fifteen minute drive.

A word about bus drivers. I wanted to be friendly with every one I met, but once I gave a friendly hello to our bus driver and he just gave me an oily smile and leered at me behind his dark sunglasses. I decided to be a bit more choosy about who I lavished my cheerfulness on. However, our usual bus driver was my favorite. A lanky man wearing pants that were a little too short, he gave a casually warm "Good mohning" or "How ah ya" to each passenger in a perfect Boston accent.

 I decided that I liked him.

On the bus I either did class prep (usually handwriting sources at the bottom of each student handout) or people watched. Off the bus we got and onto the train. Usually it was on the crowded side in the mornings and wasn't conducive for conversation, so I picked those twelve minutes or so to pray over the day and for the city of Boston. "This city for King Jesus" rang in my heart repeatedly.

Off the train, up the stairs, and into the bustling city of Boston. After awhile I started becoming downright fond of the busy streets crawling with people of every ethnicity and class, like so many ants striding down a channel of the earth. Past Starbucks brimming with early morning coffee lovers, around the corner and in the back door of Faneuil Hall.

From 9:00 to about 11:20 we had input sessions. These were basically lectures, but we learned a lot of teaching methods by having them practiced on us. From 11:30 to 12:00 we had lesson planning. This was our opportunity to go over our lessons for the next day in our small groups and ask our instructor any questions we had. As time went on we got less and less help. At 12:00 was lunch break if you were lucky enough to be able to eat. After not eating right on my second day I made a point of sitting down and eating every day, if only to maintain my health and sanity. After feverishly downing some food, we scurried about getting our lessons ready. At 1:00 teaching began and kept going until 3:00. We usually had about a fifteen minute break, then dove into feedback from 3:15 until we were finished, whether at 4:00 or 4:45. If you were smart or didn't have a copier at home, you stuck around for awhile like we did, often until 5:00 or 5:30. Then back out into the street and onto the train. If the day was nice and we weren't too stressed, we walked home from the train station, about a half hour walk. If not, we rode back on the bus. Into the house we ran, and usually took a slight breather to gobble dinner and check e-mail. Then into lesson planning we plunged, filling out grammar analysis sheets, procedure pages, phonemic scripts, coming up with things that could go wrong and solutions, inventing concept checking questions, finding visuals, and the like. For me, I was lucky if I finished and went to bed by 12:30 a.m. Between 1:00 and 2:00 was probably my average, though 2:30 was not unusual. 2:42 a.m. my record. Then I'd wake up four hours later, begging God to help me survive through another day of the same thing.

In spite of this, it was amazing. I found myself growing more than I could have imagined, and gaining more and more confidence. And I discovered that I loved teaching. But more especially, I loved my students. Whether from Morocco, Russia, or Brazil, they nestled into a special place in my heart and stayed there. I wanted nothing more than to see them succeed and have fun while doing it.

That is, when I wasn't sweating through class.

It wasn't the students who ever intimidated me. Most of them were warm, encouraging, and eager to learn. What was scary was that instructor sitting in the corner gauging my every move. If you sat in your chair too much, they'd say so. If you paced about the room too much, they'd write it down. If you echoed the students, turned your face to the board while talking, talked too much, moved the lesson too quickly or too slowly, didn't chest your handout, didn't keep your board work tidy, didn't get their attention quickly enough, didn't notice students getting off topic, went three minutes over, or a million other things that are impossible to remember at once unless you've been doing this for a long time, they would write it down. And of course each instructor had different definitions about things, such as what was a fast pace or a slow pace.

Maybe you can see another reason why this course is called "intense."

I found myself learning to trust God just one step at a time. I took each lesson day by day and clung to Him for survival. He was pretty much the only reason I didn't panic. Even though most of my devotional time was spent on the Sabbath, I felt more connected to God than usual because I was in almost constant prayer to make it through each day.

After two weeks of this, I summed up my week this way on Facebook (it was the best way I could describe it): When I had every reason to cry, I didn't. When I had every reason to feel overwhelmed, I wasn't. When I had every reason to drop from exhaustion, I didn't. Someone must have been praying for me, and Someone must have been answering, because when I've cried, I've cried over God's goodness, when I've been overwhelmed, I've been overwhelmed with peace, and when I was exhausted, I was exhausted thinking what it would be like if I didn't have the stamina of Christ coursing through me. Thanks be to God! (And may it continue for two more weeks!)

Crying over God's goodness was no joke. I read 1 Samuel 22 and tears started streaming, it seemed to describe exactly how I felt.

But it wasn't over yet.

On Sunday, I had two papers to write, and I felt drained. Just talking on the phone for two minutes to a stranger left me crippled emotionally. I was afraid to go to church because the effort to not cry while sitting on the front row seemed too huge. So at my parents' suggestion I stayed home and worked. And worked. Then rode back to Boston and worked some more.

The next morning it was too much, so I got smart and brought my feelings to God. I was pretty sure He answered, "Who said riding out with Me was always easy?" I remembered that God had called me to take this course, and in taking it I was carrying out His will and riding with Him in this small battle. Then the words to my own song came to me, "Trust Me, Elijah, I have a plan. Join Me in the wilderness."

This was a wilderness if I ever saw one. And I got to experience it with God.

By the time I got off of the train that morning, I had recommitted everything to Him.

It's only in His will that I am free, after all.

The fourth week was hard, but through Christ, it was bearable. I hardly knew what to do with myself after I had taught my last lesson. For the first time in nearly four weeks I didn't have something stressful hanging over my head every second! It was a freedom so foreign and so delicious.

Two days after CELTA ended, we left for NY and GA where we attended my friend Becca's high school graduation and my brother's wedding to one of my best friends. I had the privilege of being one of her bridesmaid's, and I had fun being helpful and wearing a gorgeous aqua summer dress that was made just for me. They got hitched outside, though not over the dead horse's grave like I had suggested. I wasn't too offended they didn't take me up on my idea though. Somehow it was a joyous occasion anyway.

I would say a lot more, but frankly everything was so blissful I don't think I could quite capture it, and this post is gargantuan already. I could speak of how Jane's brother Jeff accidentally made his car alarm go off while acting out a story about Jane or how the bridal party started getting ready at 5:30 a.m. or how ants were crawling all over my feet during the wedding and it took all of my composure to keep myself from leaping about during the ceremony or how I borrowed a friend's guitar and sang my heart out in the new gazebo after everyone was gone until I gave myself a blister or how I got to comfort my crying brother one last time on the eve of his wedding day. But that would take too much time. And if you've gotten this far in the post, you are probably already getting bored.

After we got back from the wedding, I had two days. Two days to job dig. I had already made about a dozen phone calls in the car looking for teaching jobs, to no avail. So I checked Craig's list, the newspaper, and on-line sites. I applied, I e-mailed, I called. Nothing worked out. I so badly wanted to do everything I could to find a job that it took me awhile to realize I had to trust God to help me find a job as well. Having done everything I could for the time being, I decided to wait on Him.

So I decided to run drama for the Family Convention again. Tackling it for my third time, I chose to be smart this time. No more trying the run the show on my own. Regular consultations with God were in order, and together we planned drama day by day. God is the Source of creativity, so to that Source I fled. Often I didn't know what we were going to be doing that day or the next, but somehow I made it through, despite late nights, tense mornings, little food, and having to continually surrender it to the Lord.

At the same time, I had a lot of fun. It's funny how stressful things and fun things can coincide so closely.

Also, during the Family Convention, I came to truly appreciate the fellowship I experienced. Whether it was getting to listen to or unload feelings to Katie or Kimberly, listening to and encouraging Emily or Sarah as they graduate from high school, having one-on-one conversations with my buddies Meredith or Klara, or just having a short connection with Mr. Brown or young Chloe, I was grateful for the Body of Christ. Especially when some of us got to stay up until 12:30 a.m. playing volleyball outside.

A couple days after the Family Convention ended, my family went to a camp in Maine for vacation. Ah, what euphoria to sit in the sun on a rocking dock and devour hours of Dickens and fantasy fiction! Plus plundering yard sales, going on a boat ride, and getting some coveted exercise. I started gaining back the 4-8 pounds I'd lost this spring (which is a good thing).

Since then, things have been a bit more quiet. Quite the contrast to the first part of my summer. I've had doctors' appointments to get ready for college, I've filled out sundry paperwork, I've helped out a little at my school, I've made Clyde and Jane's wedding present, and I've worked. I didn't find a "real" job (despite filling out yet another application), but I am occasionally babysitting and helping take care of an elderly lady in our church. She's a dear thing and very easy to please; perhaps later I'll share an anecdote or two about working with her.

Besides that, I attended a Summer Bible school here (a grand time to study the book of I John with about thirty other youngish people). It was also another great opportunity to lap up more Christian fellowship. I felt quite boosted getting to sing, laugh, canoe, pray, dance in the rain, and share our hearts.

Then I took a spontaneous road trip to NY and PA by myself. Simply because I could. And because I wanted to see people and to do something with myself. And because I was pretty sure God put it in my heart to do it. I folded piles and piles of laundry, chased cows, flipped hamburgers, went swimming in the creek, hiked to a waterfall, studied the Bible, star gazed, went to campfire and graduation parties, went to the Imax, grocery shopped, and drank smoothies--all with people I was happy to reunite with or meet (with the exception of the laundry). Also, it was the longest I'd driven by myself. I made the most of it by playing my music very loudly and singing as loud as I could, whether it was Newsies, Jamie Grace, Josh Turner, Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, or Rascal Flatts. I have some eclectic music tastes.

And that pretty much sums up my summer, except for all the roller coaster drama of the unknown future school year. I'll probably write more of that later. However, I just wanted to take this opportunity to look back and share some of my summer memories. They are so many and scattered I feel like it would take months to write a really good post about them, so I'll just settle for this patchy job instead. Now you know a little more about my recent life, whether you wanted to or not. But hey, I guess if you got this far then you must have wanted to. Unless you're just plain weird or masochistic.

However, this is more than just about my life. You see, through it all, I see a common thread: the faithfulness of God. He has been so good to me, in big ways and little ways.

Sometimes it's good to look back and remember it.

I saw my summer, and it was very good.