Fanatic

If someone had asked me a mere two months ago what I thought of baseball, he or she would be overwhelmingly bored by my response.  I'm a fair-weather fan of the truest form: I attend games because it's an excuse to spend 3 hours in the sun on a beautiful day.  I don't do bad weather, and night games are only acceptable if there isn't a neighboring day game that will work just as well.

As the Giants, the only good team near my home, found themselves winning the National League Division Series, I found myself suddenly becoming excited.  I was ready for something good to happen.  As they began the National League Championship Series, something completely unexpected happened in my life: I began to talk baseball.  I'd watch games in between classes at a local pizza joint or watch the play-by-play coverage on a classmate's computer if the game happened to overlap a lecture.  I'd tell people about how wonderful Matt Cain must be and joke with friends about Tim Lincecum's girly hair.  I even corrected a few guys on the lineup for an upcoming game.  As they won the NCLS and headed to the World Series, even more unexpected happened.  I began recording games on MyDVR to watch later so I could see the good plays.  An orange ribbon suddenly graced the locks of my blonde hair on game days, which more than anything was an excuse not to do my hair. (Or was it?) I became superstitious, blaming the one game loss on my failure of ribbon wearing.

And then it happened.

The San Francisco Giants won the World Series.  In the shortest game of the series, lasting only 2 hours and 32 minutes, Brian Wilson and his incredible beard pitched a scoreless ninth inning, leading the team to a 3-1 victory over the Texas Rangers.  I was sitting in the middle of a lecture, after being told by our professor that if we were to continue watching the game, we weren't allowed to disrupt the class.  Talk about a challenge.  I managed to keep my rear end glued to the chair for the next 37 minutes until class was over and I was free to celebrate.

But suddenly it didn't matter.

I didn't care anymore.  My passion and my excitement were gone.  By the time I was free to share about the sweet taste of victory, tweets were already pouring in of the world being sick of it.  "I'm not there yet," I wanted to scream at them. "Let me get in my two cents."  It was over.  The excitement, the buzz, the craze.  I'd missed the moments of celebration while in class, and I did what I could to milk what little conversation I could before settling back into a normal day with a normal classload and a normal commute home.  I felt like I'd once again missed out on something seemingly important by spending my night paying attention to another lecture.  My lengthy list of sacrifices I've made in the hopes of medicine was growing by the second.  Yet, it only seemed to do so for a few of those seconds.

I still have my pink Giants hat hanging from the bulletin board behind me, but neither the team nor the sport come up in my conversations anymore.  I may have relished in the photos from the parade commemorating the win and laughed about the ridiculous traffic for it, but I was done.

This whole process has started the churning wheels in my brain along a track of wondering how many times I do this exact thing in life:  invest my heart and time (and wardrobe) into something for a few seconds, minutes, hours or days, suddenly to have it be over.  How often do I care about something or someone, to simply not be bothered by it the next day?  Even when it works my way?  I make every effort I possibly can to make sure this doesn't happen with the people in my life.  I'm not a "here one minute and gone the next" kind of girl.  But how many times do I pick a favorite restaurant, or favorite movie, or favorite friend?  I simply have to have that new dress.  Until I get it home and the excitement is wears off, that is.

I'm a fair-weather fan to the core, and I prove it everyday it seems.  Thankfully, the One who's a fan of me doesn't lose passion or excitement.  He knows exactly what's coming, including disappointments and joys, ups and downs.  He knows it all because He willed it all.  And even through the wild turns on the crazy adventure of life, He remains my biggest fan.

Will Who?

For many years I've prided myself on my willingness to follow God at the drop of a hat.  It was pretty simple when He called me to Danville, which is a mere fifteen minute drive from where I've spent the majority of years.  I was no less willing when He called me to Boulder, Colorado, and even accepted the news when He told me to stay instead.  However, when He called me to Modesto on a Thursday in the middle of the day, I was less than enthusiastic about answering.

Before you judge, there are a few things you must understand, dear reader.  First, I love the Lord.  A lot.  I've spent the last week wrapped up in Him, and my life, whether in theory or in practice, has always been His.  Second, Modesto isn't exactly where I love to spend my weekday afternoons.  It takes approximately an hour and a half to get there thanks to a ridiculous amount of ceaseless traffic, and for the time being I don't necessarily receive a warm welcome.  Third, Thursdays are a work day.  Enough said.

At eleven o'clock this morning when God decided it would be funny to lay on my heart a desire to drive to Modesto, I accused Him of insanity.  It seemed silly and beyond reason.  Accordingly, I ignored the desire, which lasted me a whopping 10 minutes.  I called work and realized that I needed to be there despite being in the midst of a seemingly slower week.  I made up my mind to drive to Modesto as soon as I was done, though I still had no idea why I was going.  Four hours of antsy work later, I was on my way.  Home.  Not to Modesto.

I still knew I needed to go, but couldn't rationalize the $20 in gas and hours of time it would take.  Ironic, since the only reason I have money at all is because God has crazily blessed me with not one, but two, decently paying jobs.  As I melted into the couch I began to understand more of God's nudging to me.  Serve.  Go serve.

So I did.  It involved hopping a fence four different times and a minor contusion to my right elbow.  (Don't you love that doctor talk?!)  It involved washing machines, picture frames and many, many Clorox wipes.  If God had asked my opinion, it would have played out completely differently.  I think the person I went to serve might be MORE mad at me than he was before.  Whoops.

The good news is that I'm not orating this tale to make myself look good.  Rather, it seems to be a perfect example of how God's will frequently does not make sense.  Thankfully, that doesn't change the fact that it's His will.

Before I left today, I attempted to call two of my closest friends to make sure I wasn't losing my mind.  My life is filled to the brim with stress, so before making decisions that matter, I like to double check my judgement right now, especially when it comes to things of a spiritual nature.  Neither of the friends picked up the phone, and then I was overwhelmed with the feeling that I already knew the answer.

I wish I had a conclusion to this tale of my epic fail, but alas, I do not.  I know that God's will is working every detail for the best.  Perhaps in a few days, weeks or months I will be able to update you on how God used me tonight.  Until then, I'll leave you with a passage of Truth I've been grasping to for the last three days.

"Meanwhile, the moment we get tired in the waiting, God's Spirit is right alongside helping us along. If we don't know how or what to pray, it doesn't matter. He does our praying in and for us, making prayer out of our wordless sighs, our aching groans. He knows us far better than we know ourselves, knows our pregnant condition, and keeps us present before God. That's why we can be so sure that every detail in our lives of love for God is worked into something good."  -Romans 8:26-28

I'm not just a set of scrubs.

This morning I was reading from Isaiah 45 and was struck by verse 9.

"Woe to the one who quarrels with his Maker--
An earthenware vessel among the vessels of earth!
Will the clay say to the potter, 'What are you doing?'
Or the thing you are making say, 'He has no hands'?"

See, I spend a decent amount of time asking God what he's doing. What He's up to. Why I'm hurting. Why certain people push me away. This verse convicted me so deeply, and I think it's in part because I've been making scrubs lately.

Scrubs are expensive, especially for me because my legs are so long. It's been easier and cheaper to buy fabric and make them myself. But fabric is expensive too, so I've been buying flat sheets and cutting them up. Then I realized that what I'm doing, and what is being talked about in Isaiah, is kind of all the same.

I take my flat sheet, who if it could think would think that he was completely finished and ready to serve a great purpose of protecting my really pretty comforter, and I cut it up. Usually I'm not very nice about it and I use super sharp scissors. I shove pins into it to mark my place, and when I'm done it looks like a hot mess. Then I shove a needle into it over and over again, inflicting more pain. I fold it over onto itself and cut some more.

But in the end, I have a new outfit.  The flat sheet that thought it was finished has now become something more purposeful and more useful for what I'm up to.

The same thing is happening with me.

God is at work cutting me and trimming me. So often I feel like a hot mess. He's shoving a needle into me over and over and over again. But when he's done, I'll be something so much more incredible than a simple set of scrubs, and not just because I started out more complex than I piece of fabric.

The same is true with you.  God is at work. He's cutting and pinning. Stitching and folding. Working. Hurting. Making. Shaping. And the end result will be so much better than anything you or I could ever imagine. I can't wait for that.

Break Down

Sometimes it's easier to destroy something completely and start over than it is to fix the damage done.

Ever watch the show "Extreme Makeover: Home Edition"?  I know, it's a little 5 years ago.  The point is still valid.  For those who have been deprived of this sob-inducing goodness, the premise of the show is that the staff find a family in desperate need of a help in fixing their home.  The first episodes usually involved fixing the bones of an older or worn down home, and typically building an addition to help the family.  The more recent episodes rarely salvage much from the primary structure, because it's much easier to start from scratch than to work around what's falling apart.  Makes perfect sense.

Sunday at church Pastor Danny was speaking out of Haggai, which is a book I honestly have never had the desire to read.  When I try to read through the OT chronologically, I get discouraged by the Kings.  I've always known Haggai was there but it's never been high on my priority reading list.  God scolds the Israelites for being stupid yet again.  Hmmm...  In order to understand what's going on in Haggai, you have to understand the story of the Israelites.  You know -- the one where God had this sweet plan of incredible promise, and the people managed to screw it up because they thought they knew better.  Funny.  I seem to know that story well.  Too well, really.  It's my story too.

Luckily for the Israelites and for me, God is good.  He doesn't flake out just because the going gets tough.  That doesn't mean that He'll let us keep floundering in our mistakes or in the consequences they bring.  Sometimes it means He has to break down what we've put up.  Sometimes it means He has to break down what He's put up.  Either way, it's so He can rebuild well.  Maybe it's a friendship.  Maybe it's a relationship.  Maybe it's a hope, a dream or a passion.  Or maybe it's an entire being.

Either way, I'm ready to be broken.

I'm Not an Uninspiring Dewdrop.

When is conviction not enough?  Is there ever a point where God's calling isn't enough to rationalize doing something?  Are there ever too many hurdles or too much impending drama?  Are there bridges He can't mend?  Is there a point where God's will changes?  Is God disappointed in us for misunderstanding Him the way we become disappointed when others don't understand us?  Does God tell us His will years in advance so we have time to prepare?  Is that deja vu?  Or do we simply not understand it because we're not ready?  The God of the impossible is more than capable of handling the possible if only we let Him.  So let Him.

Unanswered Questions

Do you ever feel like the answer to one question clarifies a situation just enough to leave you with 100 new questions?  Most of my faith journey has been spent this way, from trying to understand the concept of unconditional love to figuring out humility.  If you look at love, for example, the Bible tells you directly what it is in 1 Corinthians.  However, as nice as that definition is, it requires you to know what patience, kindness, humility and other such terms mean.  Not so nice.

Lately I've been discovering that my relationships in life are exactly the same way.  A friend and I sat down and were talking after months of being rather horrible to each other.  The major reason I'd wanted to talk with him was to figure out if we were or could get along and actually fulfill our title as friends.  As I drove home, I realized that from the simple question had stemmed so many more, and yet I'd lost the opportunity to ask them.  He's not particularly going anywhere, but the moment of freedom and honesty was gone.  The more I process our conversation, the more questions arise confusing me more.

I wonder if the same thing is true about our relationship with the Savior.  In the moments of honesty and truth, do we get so wrapped up in having an answer that we forget to think of the hundreds of new questions that will follow?  I pray that my relationship with Him would be so intimate that we never leave a state of truth sharing.

Maybe then my human relationships will follow suit.

Bartender

Not Good Enough

"The world bursts at the seams with people ready to tell you you’re not good enough. On occasion, some may be correct. But do not do their work for them. Seek any jobs; ask anyone out; pursue any goal. Don’t take it personally when they say 'no'—they may not be smart enough to say 'yes'."

--Keith Olbermann

For as long as I can remember, my mother would compare me to anyone or anything she could.  I would become frustrated and angry, but she relentlessly continued to the point of it affecting our relationship so deeply that we are not currently in communication.  I realized that until I either (a) no longer needed comparison to feel like a valid and worthy human being, or (b) could compare myself to the One worth the comparison that it would continue to tear me apart to hear her comments.  Guess what.  The old comments are still doing a mightily fine job of tearing me apart.

The quote at the top was on my coffee cup a few months ago, and it now resides on the bulletin board above my bed as a constant reminder.  I'm desperately afraid that I won't be good enough to pursue my dreams.  I'm afraid someone will find a flaw in me so great that they can't love me.  I'm afraid the schools will find a hole in my resume or I'll be too cliche, or even worse, simply not up to their standard.  I'm afraid that if I can't find the perfect Christmas gifts or know the right thing to say at the right time, the families that have so graciously taken me in as their own will suddenly treat me the way my own does, as an outcast who's simply not good enough.  Thankfully, each and every time I spiral down the path of destruction, I'm reminded that my acceptance into a school doesn't change who I am.  It doesn't change the way my Father looks at me.  It doesn't change the truth of the love I'm here to share.  And He knows that in those moments I'm struggling to find who He is as I try to find myself in Him.

Please pray.

Nothing sudden or really even out of the ordinary, but I could really use some prayer.

I've struggled pretty much every day of my life with the answer to a simple question. "What do you want to be when you grow up?" I remember as a child starting a list to answer that question. Every time I decided on a new life profession I would jot down. After two months and 30+ professions, I gave up. It didn't seem to serve a purpose if every profession I could think of went onto the list.

I changed my major so many times in college that I stopped telling the school -- it was easier to wait until they needed the information than to update them every 2 weeks. I graduated with a degree in some meaningless field knowing I didn't want to pursue it. Thinking and planning on moving out of state for a ministry internship was definitely God at work, and I thought I'd finally discovered what he had for me. I moved home so I could organize and pack before following the Lord to the great unknown. Until He stopped me.

Now looking back I feel like I've wasted the last year of my life. I dated a guy who decided his plan was better than God's when it came to ministry and life. I loved on students and then was told I was no longer welcome to be anywhere near them. My first job is and always will be shallow, meaningless work. I faced my biggest challenge in months convincing Mexicans to cook rice pasta for a customer with Celiac's. My second job is essentially a dead-end with no hope of advancing without significant self-funded training and causes me to lack compassion. It's hard to care that someone needs ranch dressing or didn't get a prescription for Adderall when last week I was talking with a friend about a six-year-old girl with a brain tumor, and when that brain tumor was removed she became completely paralyzed from the neck down.

Here's where the prayer part comes in.

I'm tired of wasting God's time and mine. This leaves a few different options.
1. He can reveal to me that He's not wasting either of our time and show me a little bit of what He's up to right now.
2. I pursue the most rediculous mission trip I've ever dreamed of. One year and 11 countries.
3. I pursue school. But not just any school. I've been told that what I'm considering will mean I'm sacrificing my entire life for my career. I think the Lord may be leading me towards this, but it's a "smart person" profession that especially as a woman, may cause people to be more than a little intimidated by me. (You know, because that doesn't happen already...)
4. I pour myself into launching a business. I've been working on it a bit lately and would completely love doing it, but I'm not sure the challenge would satisfy me.

I'm waiting one day at a time for the Lord to show me His will, and in all honesty, I'm tired of waiting. I need to make decisions rather quickly and this isn't exactly a simple chain of events to decide upon.

Pray that our Savior would lead me to become the woman He desires for me to be, whatever path that means I must follow.

Story of My Life

Walking

I didn't write this, but I'm stealing it in it's entirety, and only kind of giving credit where credit is due.

"My friend Greg used to talk about how a kid learns to walk. Parents are so proud when their little one takes his first teetering steps on his own. And they'll spend hours walking around the house letting him hold onto their fingers as he learns to pick his feet up and put them down. As he learns to balance on his own. And they'll hold him up before he starts to fall down. But gradually, he learns how to do it on his own. Slowly, they start to pull their hands away. At some point he realizes he doesn't need their hands anymore. He makes his way holding onto couches and chairs, toys and coffee tables. And parents' hands become more useful for picking up when he falls down. For comforting when he needs it. But eventually, he doesn't even need that. Eventually he is running and jumping on his own. Parents' hands are no longer needed at all. And that's the mark of success.

Somewhere along the way, we've been taught to believe that's how the Lord works. That he totters around with us holding onto his fingers while we start to figure things out. That he rejoices when we start to let go, when we start to hold onto other things instead. That he's proud of us when we start running and jumping on our own. That he stands there like a proud father with his chest puffed out, saying, "Look at my kid! Look what he can do!"

And so we try. We try to become good enough to let go. To fly and soar on our own. And with each step we take, we break His heart a little more. Not in the "I can't believe I'm watching my baby grow up" kind of way; but the "I never meant for him to do this on his own" kind of way.

Because the whole point is to totter around holding onto our Father's hands forever. Our success is not measured by how far we make it on our own, but by how tightly we are gripping his fingers with our grubby little hands.

So, no, I don't know why I keep waiting for this to get easy. But when I say it's hard, it's not a measure of difficulty, but of dependence. And I stop trying to pry my hand away and wrap my fingers a little tighter."

Forgiveness

While interning at CPC I was forced into giving a sermon for our high school students. I debated for months on what to speak about, but when push came to shove I was handed the book of Philemon. It's only got one chapter, and is actually a somewhat short letter to a dude named Philemon from Paul. The main point of the letter was that Paul was trying to convince Philemon to forgive his old slave for running away. At the time, I was pretty much the worst public speaker around, and I was also pretty confident that I knew what forgiveness was and had done all the forgiving I needed to do for the time being. Apparently not.

See, I went to lunch with an amazing friend and mentor yesterday. We spent almost three and a half hours talking and thinking and discussing. One of the things I love most about having older, wiser women in my life is they can often see me growing in ways that I cannot. The also tend to be able to see my flaws more easily than I can, which is rather scary. This friend in particular called me on the fact that I have yet to forgive myself. She was discussing it in regards to certain events in my life within the last year, but once she spoke truth I realized that it's been years since I truly have forgiven myself for mistakes I've made. I like to think I have a gift of waking up with forgiveness. Some people wake up happy, some people wake up pretty, and I wake up with forgiveness in my heart. As much as I try to not let the sun set on my anger, I've found that nothing can calm my temper and readjust my perspective like sleep. Because of this, I seem to be decently ok at forgiving other people. I often do it without realizing I have, and rarely do I have to make a conscious effort to forgive. Until now.

I have to forgive myself. I'm a screw up, and I can't keep thinking of myself that way. I've made mistakes and I know that God and everyone involved has forgiven me already, that is, everyone except myself. I haven't forgiven myself for not noticing things I should have, or for intentionally doing things I knew I should run far away from, or for letting opportunities pass me by. Instead, I chalk them up as mistakes that I don't want to repeat and I avoid them like the plague. I never let go of my mistakes and I most certainly never give myself a chance to move on.

Well, here goes nothing. I would love your prayers as I try something new: giving myself the forgiveness I've given to everyone around me. It's time for me to seize the forgiveness that Christ has given me and it's time to walk in freedom.

Camp, Part Deux

If you remember, I said in February that I never wanted to go to a camp again. (If you don't, no big deal, you can read why here.) I think I figured out my issues.

One of the things we as Christians do is judge. Especially me, and especially when I'm cranky. I want things to be my way all the time because as we all know my way is the best way to do everything. Even as I type this I'm waiting for the lightening to strike me. (I think I made it out ok...) I think I was so incredibly frustrated at camp because I felt judged. I felt like if I spent time with one student rather than another I was judged. I felt like if I was with a group of students I was judged. I felt like if I took a picture of my students I was judged. I felt like if I walked around with a camera but didn't take pictures I was judged. I felt judged for my t-shirt size and judged for my hugs and judged for my excitement and judged for my thoughts. I felt judged when I talked and judged when I didn't. I felt judged for having quiet time away with the Lord. Get the picture? Doesn't seem very fun. It wasn't.

What kind of group of people are we that we are so busy judging? I felt so judged and attacked that I was afraid to do anything, especially things that were a little daring and therefore had the potential to be amazing.

In October I went to NYWC, and one of my favorite speakers has started an organization reaching out to the gay and lesbian community in Chicago. He said a few things that have stuck with me to this day and have changed how I think about Christ. He said that one of the things that is wonderful about the gay and lesbian community is how accepting they are. They accept everyone. Isn't acceptance what we as human beings crave? We want someone to love us, to respect us, and to care for us. The sad news is that we as Christians are being out-loved by non-Christians. The Red Cross did a better job post-twin towers than the church did. Oh yeah. Huh. So how does this relate?

We, as lovers of God and followers of Christ, are called to live for the glory of God and the good of others (see Matthew 22:36-40). How is us judging included in us living for the glory of God or the good of others? Because I felt so constantly judged, I started to think through every single action I made to think about what it would say to those judging me. I became so caught up in what others were thinking and doing that I stoped focusing on what God was doing. In the process I'm pretty sure I became more of a hindrance than a help to his kingdom. I think it's about time we all step up and start living for our King rather than focusing on others mistakes and mis-actions so much.

Footnote: I did a little bit of judging at camp, too. At first my judging was somewhat pure -- more of an evaluation if you will -- since we were attending the camp they always put on. After about 3 days of feeling constantly judged, I became frustrated and wanted to feel better about myself so I started judging back. Did it solve anything? No. Did it make me feel better? No. Did it distract me from what God was doing? Yes. Moral of the footnote is this: love, don't judge. Seems like the same moral from the whole post, really.

God's a Fool?

While sitting in Borders on Sunday night, I was reading a new book by Brennan Manning entitled, "the furious longing of God". Even though I only got through about 20 pages of the book, I love it. It's not really even the book what Manning says that I love, it's the way what he says makes me think. For example, he quotes an old French hymn that essentially says "The love of God is His folly" and it started me thinking. I spent February reading the book of Proverbs, which is chock full of verses of fools and their folly. One that popped into my mind as I was reading was Prov. 26:11, which says, "As a dog returns to its vomit, so a fool repeats his folly." Hence the dilemma.

IF "The love of God is His folly" AND "a fool repeats his folly", does that mean God is a fool? And if no, which is what I suspect, does the all mighty, all powerful, perfect Creator do things foolishly? Think about it. From a human perspective, yes! The way God pursues us really is foolish. He constantly speaks, constantly shows His love for us, constantly shows us how much we need Him, and He waits. He lets us make the decision. He allows us the free will to CHOSE Him.

Isn't that what love truly is? Absolutely beautiful.

Slow Club

In October I joined a club that some of you may have heard of. It's called "Slow Club". There are two rules to Slow Club: (1) NO running, and (2) NO hurrying. Sounds great, right? That's because it is. See, I love the peace and quiet of early mornings. I love driving my car with no music on so God and I can chat. I love slowing down enough to notice the goodness of God in everything.

Unfortunately, I let myself be dragged out of the club. It's hard to slow down life around you when life keeps racing faster and faster. In the process I started to lose who I am. I am a confident young woman who still has so much growing to do, but who is in no rush to do so. Part of me is so ready to grow up, but after enough days of waking up and wishing a day is over I've realized how much I LOVE Slow Club. Maybe that's because Slow Club never meets. It solely exists. Slow Club, unlike many other groups and clubs, has grace like God. It gives free will to leave and come back. If it had a preference, it wants us to stay and enjoy it's goodness.

So, Slow Club, I'm back! No more hurrying. No more rushing. Y'all can wait. Because I really am worth it. And so is He.

I am a selfish bitch.

Now that I've gotten it out on the table, please let me clarify. Let's start at the end. I am really opinionated. Duh. You'd be hard pressed to find someone who isn't this way. Unfortunately, you'd be just as hard pressed to find someone I haven't tried to force my opinion on. You see, I'm right. And not just some of the time. Every single word that comes out of my mouth (or in this case, fingers) is like dewdrops of knowledge from heaven. Right? Ok, seriously. We ALL know this is nowhere near true. But most of the time I definately live this way. People tend not to see this as a benefical characteristic, and because I'm a woman I generally earn the title of "bitch". Since we've all gotten over me swearing, let's move onto the selfish part.

I like me. Well, only kind of. I definately like my thoughts and dreams. If you don't listen to my opinons you're in for a verbal lashing, just ask anyone who dares not to listen. There was a time not too long ago where I rarely shared my opinions, mostly out of fear that no one wanted to hear what I had to say. I realized today that I've now turned into the opposite. I'm too busy telling everyone what they need to hear that I can't hear anyone. I'm so concerned about being listened to that I've forgotten to listen. Hense, "selfish". Me first. Listen to me before I'll ever listen to you. Love me before I'll ever love you. Serve me before I'll ever serve you. Funny thing is I was just nagging Danny a few weeks ago about his heart for missions. It's not exactly something he's focused on, which is ok. I have my areas that need growth too. But the words that came out of my mouth were from Romans 5:8. Christ died for me before I was a twinkling in my father's eye, before I could do anything in return. What a statement. UNSELFISH love. I've got so far to go...

Anyways, I'm working on no longer being selfish or a bitch. If I seem more quiet than ususal, it's because I'm biting my tongue. Give me a popsicle or offer me some ice cream. Most likely this will be a really painful process for me. But most of all, please encourage me when I succeed and pray for me either way.

Thanks,
The hopefully-no-longer selfish bitch

Throwback and Sunday Mornings

I just found my blog from high school. I remember being way into it back then, but it was really cool to read my thoughts and rants from what some people consider the greatest time of life.

The whole reason I came across my old blog was out of frustration. It seems like Sunday mornings on the way to church are the single most trying time for me. Regardless of anything the day before, Sunday mornings SUCK. Danny and I seem to fight, I fail to drive, the alarm doesn't go off, my room is too cold, and I always seem to forget something I really needed. It's almost as if someone knows that if he pokes enough at my morning I'll forget why I'm here...

The sad part is sometimes he's right. It is so easy to forget the God of goodness and grace when I'm mad that Danny doesn't like my cat or that my shirt is too wrinkled because it was balled up on my floor. It's funny to me that I let silly things distract me from the great news that I get to tell a bunch of middle schoolers that Jesus died so they could live.

Ironically (or not so much), as I sit her and rant, the verse card in front of me says this:
"We can rejoice, too, when we run into problems and trails, for we know that they are good for us -- they help us learn to endure." Romans 5:3

I'd say they do a heck of a lot more than just teaching us to endure. They remind us that the main thing is to keep the main thing the main thing. God is the main thing of every morning, not just Sundays.

If only we lived like that was true in our lives.

I Don't Wait Around

As Alex and Chris get closer to becoming a married couple, I'm getting to spend huge amounts of time with Alex helping things come together, but also just hanging out. In the process I am quickly realizing why God provides us with friends who love Him just as much if not more than we do.
Tonight I had a conversation that left me extraordinarily confused, and knowing that it would be taking place I set up an afterparty with my dear friend Alex. As we sat and talked she stroked my hair and wiped my tears. She shared wisdom and advice. And best of all, she told me to wait on the Lord.
What?
Wait on who?
The Lord?
While I was in Colorado it seemed to normal to spend an hour a day with Him and wait for His voice. I've not even been back for two weeks and already I find myself inundated with things that claim to be more important that Him. And now He expects me to wait on Him? I wait on customers at work, but only because it's my job. I wait on the silly people who drive 60 on the freeway, but only when I have to or when I'm feeling really poor and want to make my gas last. I do not wait well.
It's funny to me how our Father knows our weaknesses and tends to remind us of them just as soon as we're feeling confident and a bit prideful.

The Beginning...Sort Of

As I head off for Colorado, I've decided to start a blog. Maybe no one else will read it, but I feel like I should do this anyways. You all can share in my journey if you choose, or at least pretend you do so I feel better about all of this.
This time around I'll be gone for nine days - three of which are wedding related, and the rest of my time will be spent at The Week, the summer camp put on by First Presbyterian Church of Boulder, Colorado, where I will be spending the next year of my life (maybe). My cousin is getting married a little south of Denver, so I'll be there schmoozing it up and looking pretty in heels and dresses before heading up north to Boulder for camp. I'm really nervous because I know approximately 3 people at FPC and they all will be focused on putting camp on. Regardless, a week of camp is a week well spent, so I don't think I can go wrong.
Honestly, I'm still not sure I'll be in Colorado in the fall, but am praying that God will reveal His plan a bit this week. Please be covering me in prayer if you think about it (or even if you don't).
Thanks.