My Family

So I wrote this tonight to turn in for one of my classes tomorrow. This is a concept my mom and I have discussed in the past, so I thought it was the perfect thing to pull out for this assignment... I have NO idea if the paper OR the drawing is what the Prof wants, but here goes!

(Also, a disclaimer: I am NOT this good at drawing... but I am REALLY good at tracing and coloring!)

   My family consists of my dad, my mom, my older brother, and me. They are my family because they are the people who make up the group which I am biologically most closely related to. They are my family because they are the people I lived with in a house growing up. But they are more than that.
   These are the people who are always there for me. No matter what else happens in life, no matter where I go or what I do, they are there for me. If I need them, they will come quick as a blink. If I’m lonely, I know they are there. When I’m crying, they understand that the tears themselves are not that big of a deal; they know that whatever is behind the tears is what truly matters.
   My dad is represented here by a gallon of milk. He is what strengthens the “bones” of my family. If you know anything about my house, you know that there is always at least one jug of milk in the fridge, or else something has gone very awry. In the same way, my dad is always available, he is dependable. He is the go-to guy.
   Hot chocolate is one of the most comforting drinks known to anyone. It warms your heart. It knows just what to say. Drinking hot chocolate is like drinking the most sincere hug you have ever experienced, it is like knowing the comforting presence of your mom. Here you meet my mom. Occasionally, hot chocolate is too warm, too sweet, or too filling, but those occasions are few and far between.
  It is also important to notice that my parents are on the top of this picture. They are the head of the house and they are to be followed. My mom is on the right of the picture; she is Dad’s right hand. Like life would be nearly impossible without your right hand, so my dad could hardly function without my mom. At the same time, hot chocolate without milk is not even thinkable. Mom without Dad is seriously lacking. He completes her. She relies on him for her very identity. Each of my parents can stand alone when they must, but they are both functioning most fully when the other is there.
   Next, my brother. Jake is always what you expect, very reliable, few variations. You always know what to expect from him from one encounter to another, but there is a special and lovely energy and fizz to be found in him. While he may sometimes be a little flat (like a two liter which has been open too long), and he may sometimes be more fizz than flavor (like a fountain which needs to be fixed), mostly he is just the favorite choice. 
   I am the last one on the sheet. I am an Italian soda, a mix of flavors and club soda. I have been described as “sparkly and exciting, changing daily, always fun and with unexpected flair. Not always available to everyone, but highly valued when you are available!” The exact flavor of the day is always up for grabs, but be ready, because I will always bring a special weirdness with me. (I suggest a Lavender Blackberry soda today.)
   Like Italian sodas and Mountain Dew, my brother and I are at once very similar and completely different. You may even at times think I am the older of the two siblings. However, when it really comes down to it, Mountain Dew has been around since the 1964 ("PepsiCo Aims to Bring Urban Cool to Mountain Dew Image: Retail - Bloomberg", n.d.), while Monin’s Florida manufacturing site did not come around until 1996 (Monin.com, “Our Company”), making my favorite Italian soda the newer of the two drinks.
   This is a completely incomplete analogy. It says nothing about how close all of our family is, for example. (Simply saying we all live in the fridge is not nearly enough). But, it is enough to give you a basic understanding of my family.

Tribute to a Friend

I finish reading my friend’s creative non-fiction piece and look up. It’s so frustrating: the library is so loud. Her writing had drawn me in to a different world; the sounds around me seem like a rude awakening.

I wait for my other friend to pack up her things. We leave the library and decide to part ways rather than me driving her back to her dorm. I walk outside alone.

As I step into the frozen world, I realize two things. One is that I desperately want to write. In my head I narrate everything I do in her style, emulating the writing voice she has cultivated and made completely her own. She says I do well at editing her papers without interrupting her voice. Though I do not quite understand what she means, it sounds like a good thing. All I know is that her style of writing has commandeered my thinking.

“I passed by a boy on his way into the library. His was wearing shorts. It looked cold. I recognized his face, though you would never have known from watching.”

“As I got to my car it seemed a shame to clear off the snow. But it was more than that: it seemed irreverent.”

I want to write. I haven’t written since last year. I never have time to – or do I just never chose to?

“If I am going to write like her, should I use too many commas and occasionally the wrong homophone?” I know she won’t mind the gentle teasing.

“Should I write in past tense or present?”  I am fairly sure she’ll be honored by the homage I am considering paying by writing a blog post. Maybe I’ll even write it up and then revise it before posting it online for the world to see.

#

(Who am I kidding? I never revise my writing. I realize that three sentences ago would have been a better place to end my section, but it’s too late now. I also relize that one of sentences I just wrote sounds like my pastor. They actually write in a similar style…)

(Maybe I’ll fix my botched ending to the section by making a new section… Yes. Yes, that will do.

Hmmm… I switched writing styles...)

#

The other thing I realize is more “am reminded” and less “realize”: I love this moment. Snow had been falling all afternoon, but it must have picked up in the last three hours: there are multiple inches of snow over everything. The silence is calming. The world is so peaceful.

Somewhere someone plays music a little too loudly. I stand still and soaked it up, my rubber and canvas shoes really too flimsy to keep my feet warm. The peace penetrates my soul. This is when I know God. In the night. In the peace.

#

(I know I cannot go on writing in only her style. I realize that by inserting this aside, I break the piece, but I have to be honest. I cannot write something this important to me, this deep in my heart, in someone else’s voice. I can pay tribute, but I have to write as I write. It will still sound like my friend, but I will not force myself to write as she does. If it happens, ok, but it cannot direct my writing. Part of it will be like my friend, part of it like me.

(Do I even know how *I* write? I write like whoever I have read most recently writes. Why do I suddenly care so much about writing? What is happening in my thoughts? Is it just too late at night?)

I go back to writing and hope the reader can reenter the story…)

#

 I think back to a night not too long ago when I just couldn’t go back to my apartment. It was too peaceful outside. The darkness, cold and stillness touched something so deep in my soul. Instead of turning left to go back to my apartment, I continued straight and went for a walk around the path. I had done this in a week before, but that time it was at two in the morning.

#

As I walk, I pray. I pray for my friend who struggles with trials deeper than I know how to understand.

Before I get very far, I stop walking and sit down. I stare up into the sky and just look. Before long, I also stop praying, or so it seems. But this is real prayer. I stare into the sky and just… am. The calm pierces the chaos in my mind. The stress sounds like crashing waves – constant, never ceasing – but the quiet is so loud it drowns the waves out. The paradox is beautiful.

“God. I need You! I am desperate for You!”

I know He hears me. His presence is all around. Even when I cannot feel Him, He is with me.  I think about the peace I feel as I walk alone. I know He keeps me from the enemy: I am His.

Then I see it. A shooting star. It would seem like no big deal to anyone else, outside of the fact that everyone loves a shooting star. But it’s more than that. Not only is it the first one I have ever seen, but it screams the Father’s love to me. He knows how to tell me He loves me.

I am reminded of all the times I have asked Him for something similar: a chipmunk to come close enough for me to touch it, to see a deer on the path through the woods. Every time I had known that He loves me and He is calling me, but I don’t get the “sign” I asked for. This time is different. I had considered asking for something, but knew it was pointless.

The shooting star speaks more to me than anyone will ever understand. I think I am crying. (Sometimes I don’t know if I’m crying or not – it’s not that big of a deal to cry…)

Eventually I get back up and continue my walk. I pray about issues that are on my mind. I dedicate this place and the memories that go with it to the Lord. “God, it’s Yours. You gave me this story and You will use it as You see fit. Have it. Take it.”

#

I wish I could describe the peace I feel, the way it bores down into my heart. When I get back to my apartment, I sit in my car to reply to a text. When I hit “send” I realize I don’t want to get out. It’s still. Quiet. Beautiful. The calm pierces the chaos in my mind. The stress I continually feel sounds like crashing waves, but the quiet is so loud it drowns them out. The paradox is beautiful.

It seems like torture to get out of the car. I grab my backpack from the back seat and close the doors. Half way to the building I stop. Do I have to go in? I’m not cold – except for my feet. I should have worn other shoes…

I turn around and watch the snow fall in front of the light. A car pulls in and people get out. They talk and laugh, oblivious to the irreverence I feel they show. Only because I know I cannot stay outside all night, I turn and head inside.

#

Together

At Evensong tonight, I had some really good discussions with a friend. We talked about a number of things, but among them was one I thought I'd share.

We were talking and I said something along these lines:
"You know how if you and I were to go to a professor and ask if we could do an assignment together, we'd be going TOGETHER to bring our request to the professor? I feel like there are those special few people when you pray.
Usually when you're praying with others, it's like you're all just sitting in a group, all happening to be before God at the same time... but then there are those few. Those few with whom you come before God together. Those people with whom you are united in prayer. When you pray with them, you are members of one body."
We continued to talk about it and discuss it a bit more.

We discussed how we want more of that. We discussed the boundaries that have to be laid out (guy/girl intimacy issues, etc.). We also discussed how this could potentially happen in groups, not only in pairs.

But why are there not more times or people with whom we come together before God? When we pray together, we may be praying for your prayer requests, or we may be praying for mine. But we are doing so together. We didn't just happen into God's throne room at the same time. We came together, united in Christ.

I can think very specifically of one such friend in my life. Prayer with her is different. It's deep and meaningful. I can tell when I haven't prayed with her lately - when we haven't gone together before God our Father. She is a mentor, a peer, a leader, an example, and a friend. I thank God for her so often. She has helped me learn what it is to truly "do life" with a sister in Christ.

May we find more friends with whom we can connect on a deeper level. May you experience going together with a friend before our God. You'll know when you do. You'll know it's different.

"You think about that."

In Those Moments

Sometimes the pain is too much. Sometimes all we are is mad at God. Sometimes it just doesn't make sense.

In those moments, we don't want to worship. We don't want to praise. We know God loves us, but we don't feel it... (or is it that we don't feel like we love Him?) All we have to hold on to are the "knows". Despite it all, we know that God is good. We know that He loves us. We know that He's got it under control. And we know that God causes all things to work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose.
In those moments, we barely hold on by a thread, but we do hang on. He gives us the strength we need. As we run to Him, He draws us in and pours out His goodness, strength, mercy, comfort and love onto us.

Our anger, questions and hurt are not more than He can bear. It's ok. He knows. While we are angry, we know in our heart of hearts that He is good. While we don't understand, we know that He is working in us to make us into the men and women He wants us to be.

Yet, in those moments, we choose to worship and we choose to hold on to His promises. We don't want to, but it's what He has required of us and we know that it is how we will make it. We choose to run to Him in our pain, when we want to run away.

He is good. He is all we need. When we cannot handle it, we choose Him anyway. We run to Him. Not because we can or because we want to, but because we know we must. We know that's the only way we'll make it through. We choose those things which we know.

Awestruck

Filled with wonder,
Awestruck wonder
At the mention of Your Name
Jesus, Your Name is Power
Breath, and Living Water
Such a marvelous mystery

As we sang Revelation Song tonight, this verse really struck me. Who among us is actually "awestruck with wonder" simply "at the mention of [Jesus'] name"?? We should be. He is worthy of such awe. Yet here we sit.
We hear people use His name in vain. We as Christians often throw His name around as if it were a magic cure-pill. Does the mention of His name strike us with awe? Are we taken aback (one definition of "taken aback" is "said of a ship, when the wind, suddenly changing, forces the sails aft against the mast.") by the thought of Him?

Jesus is more than we can ever think. I was recently in a conversation with some girls who were raised overseas on the mission field. As they talked, I was struck with the power my God has. They spoke of the spiritual warfare and spiritual movings in their home countries, of people who would discuss good and bad spirits in a place, of the ways parents would use the spiritual world to keep their kids in line... As the continued to relate their experiences, I struggled with fear of what I didn't understand. Of what I knew was real and powerful.
I began praying and I remembered that my God is bigger. The battle is already won. Oh! The POWER that My God has!!!
Yet, how often do we pray that way? Do we not instead say "Oh, God. Could you do this or do that? If it's your will..."? At that point, we proceed to not really expect Him to work. What would our world look like if instead we prayed in the power of the God we claim?? What if we understood that the battle is already won?!

The very NAME of Jesus, of our God, should fill us with awe. It should knock us back, as if the wind had suddenly changed directions!
Have you imagined, lately, what it would be like to walk into God's throne room? I challenge you to re-read the descriptions of the throne room of Heaven in Revelation 4. Stop and take the time to vividly imagine the scene. You wouldn't even be able to stand on your feet.

So let the very NAME of Jesus, of our God, should fill you with awe. It should knock us back, as if the wind had suddenly changed directions! Pray in the POWER that comes in His name. Dwell on those thoughts.
Dwell in Him.

Worship

Worship is a sacrifice ("offer your bodies as living sacrifices...this is your spiritual act of worship", "let us continually offer God a sacrifice of praise").
Worship is a choice. Think of the Psalms. They say things along the lines of "I worship/praise You because You are worthy." It's not "I worship You when I feel like it" or "I worship You only when I feel you near me."

I have often wondered what is meant by a "sacrifice of praise". I just did a short Google search. What I came up with is things like "The sacrifice of praise passage in Hebrews 13 is immediately followed with 'and do not forget to do good and to share with others, for with such sacrifices God is pleased.'" (Here.) Yeah. Great. I don't feel helped. :P
I want to know how praise is a sacrifice. Is it not only because I live in a culture where I won't be persecuted for praising and worshiping my God? There's gotta be more to it.

I'm still not sure what a "sacrifice of praise" is. (Btw. Google ALSO tells me that worship and praise are synonyms for each other. Likewise, it tells me that they are different. I'm still not sure on this point, too. For now, I'm considering it irrelevant.)
But, I think...
I think it starts with choosing to act worshipfully when we don't feel like it. Just as I choose to act lovingly when I don't want to, I choose to worship when I don't want to. The feelings are not far behind.

I thank God for the men and women in my life who are following Him. These people see me in my messed up states and pull me up. The bring me alongside themselves and walk with me towards our Heavenly Father.

Choose this week to act worshipfully. The feelings won't be far behind.


(For the record. I feel like my pastor as I say that.^) :)

Falling in Love with the Ordinary

           This week, the thought that has really stood out to me has been “we need to fall in love with the ordinary”. We talked on Tuesday in Theology II class about how when we do “the next right thing” we are being filled with the Holy Spirit and He is working in our lives. He is in us and so close to us that we cannot recognize Him in ourselves.
            On top of being “blinded” to His work due to His proximity to our lives, He does not come to draw attention to Himself. Of COURSE we struggle to recognize Him! That’s not why He’s here!
            We seek for the sensational. We’re not content with living our daily lives as the Bible teaches us: looking for ways to help people, being humble, living a consistent life… We need to learn to see the Bible as the Word of God. It is our “mountain top” experience! Moses went up on the mountain to hear from God. We can hear from God every day… but we take that for granted.

            Since we have the Word of God, we need to follow it. When I respond to the Words spoken to me, that is a religious encounter. Religious encounters are not marked by racing hearts or sweating hands. A dream is not indicative of a religious encounter. I’m not made to always be on a “Spiritual-adrenaline high”.
            Mow a widow’s yard. Fix the single college girl’s car. Pick up the boot a toddler threw out of her cart and handing it back to her mom. Do the next right thing. Fall in love with the ordinary. Find your fulfillment in following God’s lead in the little things.
            The Bible tells us that “Whoever can be trusted with very little can also be trusted with much, and whoever is dishonest with very little will also be dishonest with much. So if you have not been trustworthy in handling worldly wealth, who will trust you with true riches?” (Luke 16:10-11, NIV84). I believe we must see the daily “grind” differently. It’s not “have to”, but “get to”. It’s not “just doing the next right thing”, it’s doing what we are called and made to do. It’s learning to be faithful in the small religious encounters so that we are prepared and “worthy” of something more.
            We must fall in love with the ordinary. For there, we learn contentment. We grow. We practice. We prepare. Only then can we experience the glory of the life God has called us to, made us for and prepared uniquely for each one of us.