So, I am back from my vacation, and back to what we dare to call "the real world." (I, of course, don't believe it for a second! But there's no point in arguing that right now.)
I spent almost the entire day of this last day "off" running errands, and cleaning, and general preparing for the daily grind to start back up. I have found, since living on my own, that coming home from work isn't so bad if you don't have to come home to a horribly messy place. So I've spent the last three hours cleaning, and I happened to make some decent progress! It's certainly not perfect, but I wouldn't be quite so embarrassed to have someone stop by unexpectedly anymore. It does happen on a rare occasion. I wish it happened more often, however. Especially when I can impress them with my cleanishness! :)
And so... twenty-six, so far, has not been so bad. In fact, my new perspective and brighter outlook on the year to come has made these days rather nice. It is amazing what a twinge of hope will do for the soul. But now I'm starting to sound like some lame Spiritual self-help book, so I must stop immediately for fear of losing my own dinner!
Tomorrow I'll be back to work, and that will be challenging and fun all at the same time. I think I have settled into this season pretty well. I am curious to see the changes that God will inevitably be bringing my way soon. I am actually shocked that things have been so... normal... for so long. Stability is so unfamiliar to me that it sometimes makes me uncomfortable.
Speaking of tomorrow, I've still got stuff I need to do before heading to bed. And I really need to get some good sleep tonight. Farewell!
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Friday, July 25, 2008
Bob Marley at the Beach
I highly recommend spending your birthday at the beach. I'm having a blast!
Yesterday, after waking up, we went to the Isle of Palms and just walked for miles. I feel so blessed just to be here, taking in the many sensations of sand beneath my toes and cool, salty water rushing around my ankles; the wind giving my hair that clumpy "beach look" that I like to pretend looks sexy, and not just unwashed.
And today I know that God is good.
I have always been in love with the ocean. My deeply romantic heart doesn't stand a chance against it's depth of beauty and mystery. No matter how cynical or sad I have become before I reach the shore, as soon as I stand before the rolling sea again, the stony walls around my heart have crumbled, and I am left in vulnerable awe.
So I will let the ocean work its magic in me, renewing me and washing the callouses off my heart again, leaving me empty and thirsty for more of God's beauty. I will search for buried treasure in the sand, and emerge with a heart intent on believing again... perhaps the greatest treasure to be found.
Another year older, but with a fresh perspective to face the coming challenges. And deep in my heart, I feel like this is going to be a good year. In fact, I know it will be.
Driving back from our day at the beach, we put in a Bob Marley CD... perfect timing and a perfect fit for the moment. And for the first time in months, I was completely and utterly content with my life.
As Bob said: "I'm happy inside, all of de time... 'feel like a sweepstakes winna..." =]
Here's to twenty-six!
Yesterday, after waking up, we went to the Isle of Palms and just walked for miles. I feel so blessed just to be here, taking in the many sensations of sand beneath my toes and cool, salty water rushing around my ankles; the wind giving my hair that clumpy "beach look" that I like to pretend looks sexy, and not just unwashed.
And today I know that God is good.
I have always been in love with the ocean. My deeply romantic heart doesn't stand a chance against it's depth of beauty and mystery. No matter how cynical or sad I have become before I reach the shore, as soon as I stand before the rolling sea again, the stony walls around my heart have crumbled, and I am left in vulnerable awe.
So I will let the ocean work its magic in me, renewing me and washing the callouses off my heart again, leaving me empty and thirsty for more of God's beauty. I will search for buried treasure in the sand, and emerge with a heart intent on believing again... perhaps the greatest treasure to be found.
Another year older, but with a fresh perspective to face the coming challenges. And deep in my heart, I feel like this is going to be a good year. In fact, I know it will be.
Driving back from our day at the beach, we put in a Bob Marley CD... perfect timing and a perfect fit for the moment. And for the first time in months, I was completely and utterly content with my life.
As Bob said: "I'm happy inside, all of de time... 'feel like a sweepstakes winna..." =]
Here's to twenty-six!
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
Dissection of a Mustard Seed
Risk is by far my least favorite board game. In fact, I became so upset the first time I played, that I have never attempted to play again. No exaggeration. There are still memories of a college Christmas break darkened by the devastation of my entire elf army when one of us received a Lord of the Rings themed Risk game from Santa. I do not believe I am one to hold a grudge under normal circumstances, but in this case I still feel a twinge of leftover frustration at the very thought...
And so goes my life. I hate the rolling of the die, not knowing what you will get when it comes to that inevitable and influential stop. For many, many years, like so many others, I had decided that I would be better off not playing, than to take the risk... and lose.
Although I would consider myself a bit of a social butterfly, I tend to be quite chameleon-like, becoming an awkward observer or a wallflower with little or no notice. For example, I am in my element at any social function, standing in the midst of it all but focusing on one or two people, having a deep discussion about past, present, and future life struggles and hopes. But then someone will decide that we're all going to play some game, or turn some music on and start to dance, and immediately I will find an inconspicuous corner from which to cower, hoping no one will force me to bring out the head or stomach ache excuse in order to avoid actually participating in said activity.
I have often made jokes in these situations that blame my social awkwardness on homeschooling. But I can no longer hide behind the overused stereotype, which is really only half-truth anyway. The real truth is that I am utterly terrified of risk-taking in most forms. I am not afraid of funky fashions, ridiculous socks, putting my foot in my mouth, or speaking even the most embarrassing truths aloud. I am not even afraid of snakes. But I am a coward in every sense of the word when it comes to taking risks with life decisions.
I told my brother recently, in a brief online chatting session, that my baggage cart was full when I first received it (parental dysfunction being the common cold of the family unit these days), so why would I want to risk adding more to the already heaping piles by my own choice? That just doesn't make sense. But the truth is that life without risk is impossible, if you desire to have any kind of life at all. And what is faith, really, but risk on a Supernatural level?
The Bible is actually quite encouraging on this matter. Loosely translated, if your faith is as big as a mustard seed, it says, you will say to this mountain, "move" and the mountain shall tumble. Just think about that for a minute...
I have a close friend who does not believe that God is personal, or interested in our daily struggles, delights, or the mountains we face. Supposedly He created us, set us down here, and has taken a "hands off" approach ever since. Though he is dear to me, I am certain that my friend is terribly wrong. Have you ever actually seen a mustard seed? Any God who knew to use a mustard seed to describe the kind of faith I possess must know me intimately. And despite the intensity of my fears, I have been known to move a mountain or two with my wee little mustard seeds of faith.
I believe this goes hand-in-hand with the short verse hidden in the Psalms that says: "Be still, and know that I am God." It is one of my favorites. I grew up in the kind of church where it was all about performance; what you did or didn't do, and you were always trying, trying, trying to grow as a Christian and be a Christian, and all that mattered was what you did for God... it makes me feel infinitely tired just to write about it.
I am doomed to failure without grace, because there are months (as you know by now if you're a regular reader) where I can barely remember to pay my bills, and get my 40 hour work week in, and leave my apartment somewhat presentable in the morning. Add the pressure of saving souls or being perfectly sinless to that list, and I may as well go on to heaven now before I add any more disastrous failures to it. The truth surely does set you free, for I am blessed by the knowledge that such a list is nonexistent.
I love this, though... another translation of the same verse reads: "Cease striving, and know God." Though simple, it is one of the most difficult truths I have to accept. I have lived enough, and failed enough, and cried enough, and run back to God enough in the last couple of months that I am ready to give up. In a good way. I am ready to give up me getting in the way of what God is doing. I am ready to cease striving... and find God there.
And that is one of the scariest risks I know to take. But I suppose I might have about a mustard seed sized faith left, so I may as well turn and face the mountain...
I am finding, though it has proven to be a frighteningly treacherous path, that each new step of faith, each risk, grows another seed and reveals a higher mountain. What are we to do, but take the next step in the direction of the towering peak, and with our small measure of faith, simply utter the word "move"?
And so goes my life. I hate the rolling of the die, not knowing what you will get when it comes to that inevitable and influential stop. For many, many years, like so many others, I had decided that I would be better off not playing, than to take the risk... and lose.
Although I would consider myself a bit of a social butterfly, I tend to be quite chameleon-like, becoming an awkward observer or a wallflower with little or no notice. For example, I am in my element at any social function, standing in the midst of it all but focusing on one or two people, having a deep discussion about past, present, and future life struggles and hopes. But then someone will decide that we're all going to play some game, or turn some music on and start to dance, and immediately I will find an inconspicuous corner from which to cower, hoping no one will force me to bring out the head or stomach ache excuse in order to avoid actually participating in said activity.
I have often made jokes in these situations that blame my social awkwardness on homeschooling. But I can no longer hide behind the overused stereotype, which is really only half-truth anyway. The real truth is that I am utterly terrified of risk-taking in most forms. I am not afraid of funky fashions, ridiculous socks, putting my foot in my mouth, or speaking even the most embarrassing truths aloud. I am not even afraid of snakes. But I am a coward in every sense of the word when it comes to taking risks with life decisions.
I told my brother recently, in a brief online chatting session, that my baggage cart was full when I first received it (parental dysfunction being the common cold of the family unit these days), so why would I want to risk adding more to the already heaping piles by my own choice? That just doesn't make sense. But the truth is that life without risk is impossible, if you desire to have any kind of life at all. And what is faith, really, but risk on a Supernatural level?
The Bible is actually quite encouraging on this matter. Loosely translated, if your faith is as big as a mustard seed, it says, you will say to this mountain, "move" and the mountain shall tumble. Just think about that for a minute...
I have a close friend who does not believe that God is personal, or interested in our daily struggles, delights, or the mountains we face. Supposedly He created us, set us down here, and has taken a "hands off" approach ever since. Though he is dear to me, I am certain that my friend is terribly wrong. Have you ever actually seen a mustard seed? Any God who knew to use a mustard seed to describe the kind of faith I possess must know me intimately. And despite the intensity of my fears, I have been known to move a mountain or two with my wee little mustard seeds of faith.
I believe this goes hand-in-hand with the short verse hidden in the Psalms that says: "Be still, and know that I am God." It is one of my favorites. I grew up in the kind of church where it was all about performance; what you did or didn't do, and you were always trying, trying, trying to grow as a Christian and be a Christian, and all that mattered was what you did for God... it makes me feel infinitely tired just to write about it.
I am doomed to failure without grace, because there are months (as you know by now if you're a regular reader) where I can barely remember to pay my bills, and get my 40 hour work week in, and leave my apartment somewhat presentable in the morning. Add the pressure of saving souls or being perfectly sinless to that list, and I may as well go on to heaven now before I add any more disastrous failures to it. The truth surely does set you free, for I am blessed by the knowledge that such a list is nonexistent.
I love this, though... another translation of the same verse reads: "Cease striving, and know God." Though simple, it is one of the most difficult truths I have to accept. I have lived enough, and failed enough, and cried enough, and run back to God enough in the last couple of months that I am ready to give up. In a good way. I am ready to give up me getting in the way of what God is doing. I am ready to cease striving... and find God there.
And that is one of the scariest risks I know to take. But I suppose I might have about a mustard seed sized faith left, so I may as well turn and face the mountain...
I am finding, though it has proven to be a frighteningly treacherous path, that each new step of faith, each risk, grows another seed and reveals a higher mountain. What are we to do, but take the next step in the direction of the towering peak, and with our small measure of faith, simply utter the word "move"?
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