This time last year, I wrote a blog about autumn. This year, I will also write something about autumn. Not with descriptions of dying leaves but with the combination of winter and summer... What happens when you're caught in the middle...
Departing the college world is like sledding down a great hill with a jump at the end. When you reach the jump, you feel weightless, as if you could keep flying in jubilation for surviving the ride...and then you land. Landing is not nearly as fun as you thought. All the air is compressed from your lungs, leaving all vital organs wondering where the oxygen went and when it would be back. Gasping for air, and looking like an idiot, you stay exactly how you landed. At first it's for preservation of your life and then you decide you never want to move again. Eventually, you regain your senses and you look around wondering what happened and how long did you lay there looking like a deformed snow angel.
If I could describe how I feel in this moment, it would be the very last part. Looking around, I'm wondering how long I've been trying to survive, barely moving so that nothing would be uncomfortable. College is over. Pouring my heart out to some poor soul until the wee hours of the morning is no longer an option. Life revolves around making decisions and spending/earning money and balancing family and friends. It was so much easier to pretend that I could hold onto the dazed and confused Bridget who looked like a deformed snow angel. If I'm honest with myself, I don't want to stay like that. On the other hand, I don't want to feel any more discomfort. That landing was hard enough, thanks.
That isn't a choice I get to make, though. If I stay there at the bottom of the figurative hill, I'm going to get run over by somebody... and who would want that? Movement is ever-present in the world, especially in this society. Embracing it right about now would probably be a good idea. Embrace the changes, adjust, and choose to thrive. Living with my parents is just a part of the process. Getting into auto accidents happens. Feeling like a failure as a teacher is normal. I feel like I should create my own line of pop/techno music to sell to such people as myself to help pump us up, to keep moving, refuse stagnancy.
If I was supposed to thrive on my own, I think success would be easier to obtain. Instead, it requires a different perspective. My efforts are pathetic. I've been failing miserably in communicating with people, written or verbal, lately. What do I do with that? Those are basic functions of everyday life. I can't just admit silly things like that though. It takes outside help... which means more of an inside help. I have the "tools" to achieve progress. I have to use them, though... because acknowledging my possessions does nothing. That's like saying you have an iPad 2 over there, on the kitchen table, yet you sit on the sofa.
All of this to say, I'm attempting to pep-talk myself into getting off the sofa, up from the ground, and out of my defunked snow angel pose. This is life. This is what I should deal with and conquer. Summer graduation is over and the sled ride is over. I'm left in autumn, surrounded by change. Awesome. Thanks for the reminder, God.
Sunday, October 2, 2011
Friday, July 22, 2011
It's not what it seems
For the past few days, I have had my parents' house to myself. This being said, I felt the need to pour ridiculous amounts of media (aka movies, film, Hollywood...) into my life. The idea that we need to live vicariously through these scripted lies is dangerous. I would hope to God that every girl sitting and watching a rom-com knows that it's never like that and never will be... and that whoever watches explosions and slayings recognizes that it doesn't really happen like that.
I admit. It's my own fault for trying to suffocate myself with the asinine entertainment industry. At the end of the media marathon, I have realized, yet again, that nothings is as it seems.
There's a hurt, deep down that only resurfaces when I've denied its existence for an extended period of time. It's a world-shattering darkness that overturns the preconceived ideas that children dream. It's become so dark that I cannot see some of them anymore. In their absence, I have even forgotten what was so attractive about them in the first place; therefore, I do not want them anymore. My childhood world is full of shadows. I suppose this happens to everyone as they grow, mature, and move on with life. There is nothing particularly unique to any one story but the stories are painfully unique to any one person. Sob stories. Some are for attention, others for resolvement. Cadence. I find the latter more bearable than the former.
Back to the shadows because I have spent enough time justifying them. This time last summer was bittersweet. Looking back, I am glad that the circumstances are different this summer yet I mourn the loss of the goodwill and innocence I had. It's almost been a year of on-and-off festering. When I say festering, I mean that constant stirring of unpleasant emotions because you just want to make yourself feel miserable. Usually, I try to put off the temptation to dwell on pain, as most healthy human beings do, but sometimes I just can't help myself... like when I watch movies. The pity party begins when the movie ends and the boy gets the girl or vis-versa. Let the festering begin. Tears fall because I remember the gravity of the pain I felt. The memory of pain causes pain. Then, they turn into tears of anger because it all feels so stupid and I want to yell that I have lost all faith in the world. Back to reality, I am not in a movie where that would seem completely normal and not at all over-the-top. I realize that I am young and I have only seen a very small fraction of the evil/darkness/pain/etc that resides in the world. Let me say again that I know that my story is not unique to the world... it is unique to me and it is proportionally difficult for me, right now.
There has to be a healthier way of dealing with pain. Can't there be some quick cure? Does it really have to be one long stretch of time where you have allotted yourself to "get over it"?
I admit. It's my own fault for trying to suffocate myself with the asinine entertainment industry. At the end of the media marathon, I have realized, yet again, that nothings is as it seems.
There's a hurt, deep down that only resurfaces when I've denied its existence for an extended period of time. It's a world-shattering darkness that overturns the preconceived ideas that children dream. It's become so dark that I cannot see some of them anymore. In their absence, I have even forgotten what was so attractive about them in the first place; therefore, I do not want them anymore. My childhood world is full of shadows. I suppose this happens to everyone as they grow, mature, and move on with life. There is nothing particularly unique to any one story but the stories are painfully unique to any one person. Sob stories. Some are for attention, others for resolvement. Cadence. I find the latter more bearable than the former.
Back to the shadows because I have spent enough time justifying them. This time last summer was bittersweet. Looking back, I am glad that the circumstances are different this summer yet I mourn the loss of the goodwill and innocence I had. It's almost been a year of on-and-off festering. When I say festering, I mean that constant stirring of unpleasant emotions because you just want to make yourself feel miserable. Usually, I try to put off the temptation to dwell on pain, as most healthy human beings do, but sometimes I just can't help myself... like when I watch movies. The pity party begins when the movie ends and the boy gets the girl or vis-versa. Let the festering begin. Tears fall because I remember the gravity of the pain I felt. The memory of pain causes pain. Then, they turn into tears of anger because it all feels so stupid and I want to yell that I have lost all faith in the world. Back to reality, I am not in a movie where that would seem completely normal and not at all over-the-top. I realize that I am young and I have only seen a very small fraction of the evil/darkness/pain/etc that resides in the world. Let me say again that I know that my story is not unique to the world... it is unique to me and it is proportionally difficult for me, right now.
There has to be a healthier way of dealing with pain. Can't there be some quick cure? Does it really have to be one long stretch of time where you have allotted yourself to "get over it"?
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
Provision with a side of patience
Sticky notes and scraps of paper are littering my room, among the leftover college packing that has yet to take place. I kept telling myself that I would take care of the lists and the debris when I knew what was happening in the fall, such as if I was going to move or stay in my parents' house... Such dilemmas froze all motivation for cleanliness.
Unfortunately for the piles that have found residence for the past month, the time has come to cleanse.
Yes.
Looking back at the past 6 months, there are a few emotions that were always on the surface: anxiety, frustration, anticipation, and resignation. Rarely found clumped together in a sentence, I'm sure that I am not the only college grad who understands the relationship between them. I resigned myself to not finding a job. Slipping back into the job I held for 6 years, I lamented the backsliding motion of settling into my high school self/motions. My mother's encouragement prompted me to keep applying, but I convinced myself that there was no way I was going to find a teaching job in this market. The half-hearted attempts became full-hearted when I heard back from a middle school. An interview and a week later, I was in my car, shaking as I called the principal back and found that I had a job. Not only was my conundrum ordered into retreat but I could also, finally, tell people what I am doing with my degree!
A prime metaphor for this situation is this: I recently "inherited" quite a few household items, ones that I had not possessed before. Things like sturdy pots, pans, a blender, a mixer, a juicer, cutting boards, etc, now join the post-college clutter in my parents' house as well as my brother's. Obviously my parents don't need those things... they've been functioning in their kitchen without my help for quite some time. Possessing practical household items is as exciting for me as it is frustrating. I have no place nor opportunity to use said things. I have to wait. I have to wait to use the bittersweet blessing that God provided when I did not even ask. To a planner, this is immensely frustrating. This entire experience has, and will continue to be, a huge learning opportunity for me, myself, and I. Let's hope that it doesn't drag out for too long... otherwise I might start a household wares sales business as my other part-time job...
Unfortunately for the piles that have found residence for the past month, the time has come to cleanse.
Yes.
Looking back at the past 6 months, there are a few emotions that were always on the surface: anxiety, frustration, anticipation, and resignation. Rarely found clumped together in a sentence, I'm sure that I am not the only college grad who understands the relationship between them. I resigned myself to not finding a job. Slipping back into the job I held for 6 years, I lamented the backsliding motion of settling into my high school self/motions. My mother's encouragement prompted me to keep applying, but I convinced myself that there was no way I was going to find a teaching job in this market. The half-hearted attempts became full-hearted when I heard back from a middle school. An interview and a week later, I was in my car, shaking as I called the principal back and found that I had a job. Not only was my conundrum ordered into retreat but I could also, finally, tell people what I am doing with my degree!
A prime metaphor for this situation is this: I recently "inherited" quite a few household items, ones that I had not possessed before. Things like sturdy pots, pans, a blender, a mixer, a juicer, cutting boards, etc, now join the post-college clutter in my parents' house as well as my brother's. Obviously my parents don't need those things... they've been functioning in their kitchen without my help for quite some time. Possessing practical household items is as exciting for me as it is frustrating. I have no place nor opportunity to use said things. I have to wait. I have to wait to use the bittersweet blessing that God provided when I did not even ask. To a planner, this is immensely frustrating. This entire experience has, and will continue to be, a huge learning opportunity for me, myself, and I. Let's hope that it doesn't drag out for too long... otherwise I might start a household wares sales business as my other part-time job...
Friday, June 24, 2011
The girl who wore tights
Today, my sock drawer betrayed me. I was 100% sure that my dresser and I were on good terms... I don't open it to put things away unless absolutely necessary, I never allow clothes to get in the way of the drawers... You can see why I feel betrayed. I was running out the door this morning when I grabbed a dark mass from my drawer, shoved it in my purse, and drove off to have breakfast with an old friend. Already rockin' my "quick-service" restaurant uniform, I did not see the need to complete the outfit with the shoes-for-crews yet. Flip-flops were the choice and off I went. After savoring my Panera bagel and coffee, I ushered myself out of the door and into my car where I would look through my purse to find my socks... You know, just in case I was stuck at a stoplight and I had a chance to put them on...
So, I grab the dark mass and I realize that there is more fabric than I expected... My heart sinks... No... No... Nuh-uh... Sure enough, my "socks" fused together and I realized that I had three choices: 1. Work the entire day sockless 2. Call my brother and have him bring a pair of socks, while praying that I would actually have a chance to change from my tights to my socks and 3. Wear the tights for the entire day. Right. 3. Awesome.
It's moments like this where I realize that there are so many instances where people say "When life gives you lemons, make lemonade." Today, I would like to propose that chewing on the lemons and contorting your face in response is better than adding sugar and water. I mean, what if I had made "lemonade" with my tights? What would that have been? Not wearing my pants and buying a tutu? Yeah, the health inspector and my general manager would have loved that!
Maybe trying to cover the annoying situation robs us of our ability to laugh at the inconveniences of life... Sometimes you have to take it at face-value and embrace it, however uncomfortable.
If you approached me and asked me to translate this into my real life, it would include more than wearing tights under a pair of pants for 11 hours while working in a kitchen. I'm not happy that I reached into the drawer that is post-college graduation and came up with a handful of things that I am not excited about putting on. I have to put them on, though... at least until something else comes along. Waiting is the name of the game and I am a notorious loser of this game. Maybe the reminder that sharp twangs do not need to be watered-down or sugared-up. Maybe the things in our lives are there because we were supposed to look at each facet and learn. It's easier to say that when thinking about tights...not so easy when I think about employment or living arrangements...
So, I grab the dark mass and I realize that there is more fabric than I expected... My heart sinks... No... No... Nuh-uh... Sure enough, my "socks" fused together and I realized that I had three choices: 1. Work the entire day sockless 2. Call my brother and have him bring a pair of socks, while praying that I would actually have a chance to change from my tights to my socks and 3. Wear the tights for the entire day. Right. 3. Awesome.
It's moments like this where I realize that there are so many instances where people say "When life gives you lemons, make lemonade." Today, I would like to propose that chewing on the lemons and contorting your face in response is better than adding sugar and water. I mean, what if I had made "lemonade" with my tights? What would that have been? Not wearing my pants and buying a tutu? Yeah, the health inspector and my general manager would have loved that!
Maybe trying to cover the annoying situation robs us of our ability to laugh at the inconveniences of life... Sometimes you have to take it at face-value and embrace it, however uncomfortable.
If you approached me and asked me to translate this into my real life, it would include more than wearing tights under a pair of pants for 11 hours while working in a kitchen. I'm not happy that I reached into the drawer that is post-college graduation and came up with a handful of things that I am not excited about putting on. I have to put them on, though... at least until something else comes along. Waiting is the name of the game and I am a notorious loser of this game. Maybe the reminder that sharp twangs do not need to be watered-down or sugared-up. Maybe the things in our lives are there because we were supposed to look at each facet and learn. It's easier to say that when thinking about tights...not so easy when I think about employment or living arrangements...
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Henna hope
Sunshine that stretches from the blue sky and reaches your skin... it's just what we all needed. The spring in Indiana has taken a while to arrive and it is still skittish but I'm thankful it showed up today. I felt like I was shrinking inside (and I realize that this seems dramatic) and the sun reminded me that I am not dying at all. I am very much alive and in love with life and the Redeemer.
In catching up with people, what with Spring Break and other events, I realized that the two weeks since returning to Indiana from Colorado have not been my finest. In fact, when I was with a friend, she commented on how she was sorry we didn't get to talk more about what was going on in my life and I said, "Oh. That's fine! I haven't really liked myself lately, so we'll post-pone the summary until later!"
For instance, I was telling someone about a banquet I attended and I commented about how pointless and shallow events like that are... The girl looked at me and said, "Wow, you are so jaded."
I think it's funny that I was able to recognize the fact that I didn't like myself. What in the world happened? How did the small things overtake the bigger picture? I think we all know the answer to that question. The beautiful thing that pops out at me, though, is the little notes of love and encouragement that God provided through friends and situations. I definitely did not deserve to be encouraged or patted on the back for anything that happened in the past two weeks (because, let's remind ourselves, I wasn't a likable person).
I had the great reminder that He provides hope through the mire. I realize that my life is not the muggiest mire, but I also realize that problems are problems and it's important to take things in perspective. These past few days, the word "hope" has repeatedly come into conversations or readings or even academic themes. Weird. You would think that God was trying to get through to me. In my cynicism and sarcasm, you would think that "hope" would be the last thing that would get my attention, but it has. I was doing henna tattoos with my roommate and I decided to write "hope" on the inside of my wrist. The results were incredible. (Please tell me you read that with the voice of a salesperson on those infomercials.) Joking aside for a moment, the word on my wrist has caught my attention and convicted me several times. Amazing how that happens.
Today in church, we read Genesis 16 and the pastor contrasted the promises of God with the things he calls us to do. Now, this was specifically for Abram and Sarai, but it was interesting to note how the promise of God gives us hope and we have to hold onto that hope throughout the waiting, and while doing the things he has called us to do. Abram and Sarai waited for so long to see the manifestation of God's promise... I haven't had to wait nearly half that amount of time yet for things that I believe God has "promised" so I need to hold onto that hope, continuing to live in the calling He has given.
So, until the henna fades from my wrist, I will be visually reminded of the hope He gives to us... and hopefully I can remember it when the word is gone from my wrist. It's amazing how easily it is forgotten in a jaded world.
In catching up with people, what with Spring Break and other events, I realized that the two weeks since returning to Indiana from Colorado have not been my finest. In fact, when I was with a friend, she commented on how she was sorry we didn't get to talk more about what was going on in my life and I said, "Oh. That's fine! I haven't really liked myself lately, so we'll post-pone the summary until later!"
For instance, I was telling someone about a banquet I attended and I commented about how pointless and shallow events like that are... The girl looked at me and said, "Wow, you are so jaded."
I think it's funny that I was able to recognize the fact that I didn't like myself. What in the world happened? How did the small things overtake the bigger picture? I think we all know the answer to that question. The beautiful thing that pops out at me, though, is the little notes of love and encouragement that God provided through friends and situations. I definitely did not deserve to be encouraged or patted on the back for anything that happened in the past two weeks (because, let's remind ourselves, I wasn't a likable person).
I had the great reminder that He provides hope through the mire. I realize that my life is not the muggiest mire, but I also realize that problems are problems and it's important to take things in perspective. These past few days, the word "hope" has repeatedly come into conversations or readings or even academic themes. Weird. You would think that God was trying to get through to me. In my cynicism and sarcasm, you would think that "hope" would be the last thing that would get my attention, but it has. I was doing henna tattoos with my roommate and I decided to write "hope" on the inside of my wrist. The results were incredible. (Please tell me you read that with the voice of a salesperson on those infomercials.) Joking aside for a moment, the word on my wrist has caught my attention and convicted me several times. Amazing how that happens.
Today in church, we read Genesis 16 and the pastor contrasted the promises of God with the things he calls us to do. Now, this was specifically for Abram and Sarai, but it was interesting to note how the promise of God gives us hope and we have to hold onto that hope throughout the waiting, and while doing the things he has called us to do. Abram and Sarai waited for so long to see the manifestation of God's promise... I haven't had to wait nearly half that amount of time yet for things that I believe God has "promised" so I need to hold onto that hope, continuing to live in the calling He has given.
So, until the henna fades from my wrist, I will be visually reminded of the hope He gives to us... and hopefully I can remember it when the word is gone from my wrist. It's amazing how easily it is forgotten in a jaded world.
Friday, March 25, 2011
Shaking walls and bricks
It's an ominous feeling that starts in the base of your neck. Some say that their hair stands on end. For me, it was like rubbing Bengay on that part of my head and feeling the numbness sweep through my spine towards my legs.
Sometimes that numbness is interrupted by phrases or memories that jolt me out of the supposed acceptance of "this is how life is." Like someone is karate-chopping my shoulder blades, forcing my upper body to lurch forward in some strange jerking motion. My mom spoke some words to me today that I had not heard in a long time. They almost brought me to tears. Sometimes, all it takes is one person to acknowledge that you've been through pain and that pain isn't over...and that is acceptable. Cradled in my mother's arms on the couch, as only a college student can, my trance was broken when she said something along the lines of "...really hurt you..."
That line, the full line, has been running in my head all day. Hurt does funny things. It causes us to build walls and become frightened at the sight of our own shadow. I have been creating a fortress. As I walk through the streets, everything is the same color, ever aspect is the same. The long process of deconstructing a wall is causing me discomfort. I am being jolted and prodded but I don't want to move. Moving necessitates acceptance and release. The fortified city is littered with tattered bricks. I cannot ignore them. I should pick up some of them, see what caused that aspect/brick to become a part of my wall and then give it up so that God can use it otherwise. Even as I feel like the bricks are falling on my head, I guess I should continue in the painstaking work of cleaning the streets, giving the debris to the One who actually knows what to do with pain.
I know that beauty comes from pain and suffering. This is a promise I can hold onto when I cannot see the point in life events. That sounds really dramatic and I'm not saying that my life is horrible. I am exploring the idea that the burdens I bear at this moment in time seem to have more purpose than helping me realize my fallibility. It is through this weakness that Christ is proven mighty and powerful. This paradox always shakes my core, which isn't hard to do. I hold onto the Anchor that will never be moved and I trust in the Keeper and Provider.
Sometimes that numbness is interrupted by phrases or memories that jolt me out of the supposed acceptance of "this is how life is." Like someone is karate-chopping my shoulder blades, forcing my upper body to lurch forward in some strange jerking motion. My mom spoke some words to me today that I had not heard in a long time. They almost brought me to tears. Sometimes, all it takes is one person to acknowledge that you've been through pain and that pain isn't over...and that is acceptable. Cradled in my mother's arms on the couch, as only a college student can, my trance was broken when she said something along the lines of "...really hurt you..."
That line, the full line, has been running in my head all day. Hurt does funny things. It causes us to build walls and become frightened at the sight of our own shadow. I have been creating a fortress. As I walk through the streets, everything is the same color, ever aspect is the same. The long process of deconstructing a wall is causing me discomfort. I am being jolted and prodded but I don't want to move. Moving necessitates acceptance and release. The fortified city is littered with tattered bricks. I cannot ignore them. I should pick up some of them, see what caused that aspect/brick to become a part of my wall and then give it up so that God can use it otherwise. Even as I feel like the bricks are falling on my head, I guess I should continue in the painstaking work of cleaning the streets, giving the debris to the One who actually knows what to do with pain.
I know that beauty comes from pain and suffering. This is a promise I can hold onto when I cannot see the point in life events. That sounds really dramatic and I'm not saying that my life is horrible. I am exploring the idea that the burdens I bear at this moment in time seem to have more purpose than helping me realize my fallibility. It is through this weakness that Christ is proven mighty and powerful. This paradox always shakes my core, which isn't hard to do. I hold onto the Anchor that will never be moved and I trust in the Keeper and Provider.
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Radical
This is the "catch-all" phrase found in Christian thinking today. It's the popular phrase that illustrates some people's awareness of how things should change.
Here's the question, though. When will "radical" become just like the word "epic" or "awesome"? The original meaning of those words encompassed huge ideas and a sense of shaking reverence... Like saying "WOAH...." all the time. Now, they are at the same level as "cool" or "great." How did that happen? This is just a thought, but overuse seems to fit the culprit description.
I'm reading two books right now (reading in a sense that I pick up the books when I have time): "Radical" by David Platt and "Radical Hospitality" by Lonni Collins Pratt and Daniel Homan. When I starting reading the latter, I felt like the word "radical" was the right term. Some of the concepts hit my head like a suction cup, just sitting there until I tried to wrap my mind around it. Then, I came home from school for Spring Break and my parents told me I had to read this book "Radical." An alarm went off in my head. Wait... I like all of these "radical" books. What does that mean?
All I can say that I know about this is that I don't want to use the word radical. This word makes me sad more than it encourages me now. How did the Church get to the point where living in the example of Christ is considered radical? And with its frequent use, it will become a catch-all phrase, one that people will throw around and not understand. "Yeah! Let's get radical!" Okay...cool. What does that mean? You're saying one thing and I don't see any different actions.
I know that we are humans. (Yeah. Crazy, huh?) As humans, we cannot be at our peak performance all the time. We fall and fail and crash and burn. (Maybe a little to emphatic on the failure?) So, allowing for there to be room for disappointment, I realize that we do not follow through with the things we say. I realize that some people just say things to make it seem like they are going to be better... With all of that realization, I cannot help being disappointed with the cultural influence I find intertwined with Christianity. The notion of being radical is counter-cultural. Yeah. That gets me excited! We are supposed to be in this world and not of this world. That line is hard for us to see, though.
The biggest part of this issue is money. How do we, as Christians, and, more specifically, "young adults" deal with this? I personally do not have any money to speak of. I owed money when I filed my taxes. Here's the best rationale I can come up with: The entirety of my money belongs to God. He has entrusted me with it and whatever I spend it on should glorify him and not me.
That seems pretty simple until you start thinking: Well, does a decorated apartment glorify God or me? Does painting my nails or getting a nice haircut glorify me or God? There are so many other questions and I struggle with placing myself on the radical scale. If it ranges from 1 to 10 (10 being the most minimalist you could get), I would want to be above 5, maybe even 7, but I am realizing that in order to be "radical" in the truest sense of the word, the phrase "die to yourself" assumes another meaning. That idea, dying to oneself, is not one that I like all the time. Sometimes, I feel so miserable in this earthly skin that it's a pleasant thought to give up my decaying self. Other times, I'm content with the material blessings and I rely on them too much to give "dying to myself" another thought. Where do I fall on the "radical" scale? Wanting to be between a 5 and a 7 doesn't mean I actually there. I might actually be a 3.
I guess all of this is to say that in the midst of this newest "fad" in Christianity (and it pains me to say fad, but I have a feeling that this will come and go in American evangelicalism just like the "Emergent Church" idea), I wish that people would follow through with their words. If being radical is speaking from the pulpit and telling the congregation how great they are at giving and how the surplus has helped the little poor churches, then I don't want any. If being radical is cutting back on our own material desires and sacrificing some of that cultural allure in order to pour into a community, then count me in. Don't talk about it and make the congregation feel like they're being patted on the back. Encouragement is great, but giving the surplus of your already-over $3 million budget isn't that much of a sacrifice. In fact, I choke everything I try to swallow the idea of a $3 million budget. Money is the language Americans speak. American Christians are one of the best at speaking money. So, here's a suggestion: be radical with your money. Think about how you are using it and pray about how you SHOULD be using it. I'm going to have to struggle with that for a while longer because I don't want to think about sacrificing a comfortable living style. Sacrificing is uncomfortable. Giving up a theology of celebration is uncomfortable. I hope that the idea of "radical" does not lose its steam and that it prods people to pursue the uncomfortable and dig for answers rather than accepting the words of an earthly authority figure.
Here's the question, though. When will "radical" become just like the word "epic" or "awesome"? The original meaning of those words encompassed huge ideas and a sense of shaking reverence... Like saying "WOAH...." all the time. Now, they are at the same level as "cool" or "great." How did that happen? This is just a thought, but overuse seems to fit the culprit description.
I'm reading two books right now (reading in a sense that I pick up the books when I have time): "Radical" by David Platt and "Radical Hospitality" by Lonni Collins Pratt and Daniel Homan. When I starting reading the latter, I felt like the word "radical" was the right term. Some of the concepts hit my head like a suction cup, just sitting there until I tried to wrap my mind around it. Then, I came home from school for Spring Break and my parents told me I had to read this book "Radical." An alarm went off in my head. Wait... I like all of these "radical" books. What does that mean?
All I can say that I know about this is that I don't want to use the word radical. This word makes me sad more than it encourages me now. How did the Church get to the point where living in the example of Christ is considered radical? And with its frequent use, it will become a catch-all phrase, one that people will throw around and not understand. "Yeah! Let's get radical!" Okay...cool. What does that mean? You're saying one thing and I don't see any different actions.
I know that we are humans. (Yeah. Crazy, huh?) As humans, we cannot be at our peak performance all the time. We fall and fail and crash and burn. (Maybe a little to emphatic on the failure?) So, allowing for there to be room for disappointment, I realize that we do not follow through with the things we say. I realize that some people just say things to make it seem like they are going to be better... With all of that realization, I cannot help being disappointed with the cultural influence I find intertwined with Christianity. The notion of being radical is counter-cultural. Yeah. That gets me excited! We are supposed to be in this world and not of this world. That line is hard for us to see, though.
The biggest part of this issue is money. How do we, as Christians, and, more specifically, "young adults" deal with this? I personally do not have any money to speak of. I owed money when I filed my taxes. Here's the best rationale I can come up with: The entirety of my money belongs to God. He has entrusted me with it and whatever I spend it on should glorify him and not me.
That seems pretty simple until you start thinking: Well, does a decorated apartment glorify God or me? Does painting my nails or getting a nice haircut glorify me or God? There are so many other questions and I struggle with placing myself on the radical scale. If it ranges from 1 to 10 (10 being the most minimalist you could get), I would want to be above 5, maybe even 7, but I am realizing that in order to be "radical" in the truest sense of the word, the phrase "die to yourself" assumes another meaning. That idea, dying to oneself, is not one that I like all the time. Sometimes, I feel so miserable in this earthly skin that it's a pleasant thought to give up my decaying self. Other times, I'm content with the material blessings and I rely on them too much to give "dying to myself" another thought. Where do I fall on the "radical" scale? Wanting to be between a 5 and a 7 doesn't mean I actually there. I might actually be a 3.
I guess all of this is to say that in the midst of this newest "fad" in Christianity (and it pains me to say fad, but I have a feeling that this will come and go in American evangelicalism just like the "Emergent Church" idea), I wish that people would follow through with their words. If being radical is speaking from the pulpit and telling the congregation how great they are at giving and how the surplus has helped the little poor churches, then I don't want any. If being radical is cutting back on our own material desires and sacrificing some of that cultural allure in order to pour into a community, then count me in. Don't talk about it and make the congregation feel like they're being patted on the back. Encouragement is great, but giving the surplus of your already-over $3 million budget isn't that much of a sacrifice. In fact, I choke everything I try to swallow the idea of a $3 million budget. Money is the language Americans speak. American Christians are one of the best at speaking money. So, here's a suggestion: be radical with your money. Think about how you are using it and pray about how you SHOULD be using it. I'm going to have to struggle with that for a while longer because I don't want to think about sacrificing a comfortable living style. Sacrificing is uncomfortable. Giving up a theology of celebration is uncomfortable. I hope that the idea of "radical" does not lose its steam and that it prods people to pursue the uncomfortable and dig for answers rather than accepting the words of an earthly authority figure.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Rain
Drop. Drop. Drop.
When you first step out into the rain, each drop is annoying, just a reminder that you forgot your umbrella or a reminder that you have an important electronic device on your person which you would prefer to remain as a functioning device.
After a while, though, you can't feel the individual drops because everything is wet. Walking back from class today, I had an umbrella, but my feet still became soaked. I didn't even know the tweed-like fabric of my flats had become so wet until I tried to put them on an hour after taking them off. Due to my laziness, I decided to keep wearing those shoes rather than switching to my rain boots. My shoes remained wet for the rest of the day.
Why is rain significant? Why go into that kind of detail? Allow me to explain.
At Taylor University, there is a week called "Sex and the Cornfields." Please note that it is not "Sex in the Cornfields." This is a week where a speaker comes and talks about the things that Christian colleges tend to gloss over, such as sexuality and our biggest fears in relationships. The speaker this week is talking about two themes in particular: hope and fear.
We, as young Christian college students, are hopeful people. That's what the survey says, the one that 500-some of us took online. I sat in the auditorium and I felt misrepresented. Maybe it's the fact that I feel very raw and broken in this stage of my life, but I do not feel that hopeful. I do not feel fatalistic, but I sure as hell don't feel hopeful. The reason I went to the session tonight was the second theme: Fear.
I get fear. Fear is like that rain for me. It was annoying at first... I was so aware of each insecurity and broken hope. After a while, I did not even notice that I was drenched in the hopelessness of fear: fear of someone else taking and not giving back, someone else deciding that he did not feel like sticking it out, someone else vanishing into thin air without any indication that he was here at all, fear that no one will love me as much as I want to love, fear of being duped. I am drenched.
Every once in a while, I am able to step into a dry environment where I feel safe and loved. I was so close to being there. I had dealt with some issues that I wanted to forget. Tonight, being in that auditorium, was like putting those shoes back on. I resent the coldness of that habit of fear, but I don't know what else to do with it, now that I have been reminded of my insecurities. The speaker did not help me deal with that fear... he just pointed out that my shoes were cold and wet... colder and wetter than I remember.
As I try to put off this horrible reminder and come back to the place where I had found shelter before the session tonight, I feel paralyzed. So much of what I had been telling myself seems like empty promises and stupid self-consolation techniques. This makes it sound like the speaker was inept, which he was not. He presented facts that provoked thought in a lot of people who had never been exposed to those particular issues before. For that, I am glad. I am glad that he gave us challenges as a community to redefine beauty and how to understand the opposite gender, giving them more grace and compassion. However, for a session claiming to talk about fear, that is all it was. I was not comforted by the fact that we are products of our society's definitions nor was I soothed by knowing the major problems that each gender faces in relationships. So what? What do you say to the people who have experienced these things and are trying to rebuild? You can't give us broad communal answers and expect us to feel better. I feel worse. I feel like I have been painfully reminded of the fears I was trying to forget.
Rain can be a good thing with expressions like "rain down love" or cleansing imagery. If that's the way you see it, I am sincerely glad for you. I am able to view it in that way sometimes. Today, however, the weather fits perfectly with the reminder that I am stuck wearing cold wet shoes without a solution in sight.
When you first step out into the rain, each drop is annoying, just a reminder that you forgot your umbrella or a reminder that you have an important electronic device on your person which you would prefer to remain as a functioning device.
After a while, though, you can't feel the individual drops because everything is wet. Walking back from class today, I had an umbrella, but my feet still became soaked. I didn't even know the tweed-like fabric of my flats had become so wet until I tried to put them on an hour after taking them off. Due to my laziness, I decided to keep wearing those shoes rather than switching to my rain boots. My shoes remained wet for the rest of the day.
Why is rain significant? Why go into that kind of detail? Allow me to explain.
At Taylor University, there is a week called "Sex and the Cornfields." Please note that it is not "Sex in the Cornfields." This is a week where a speaker comes and talks about the things that Christian colleges tend to gloss over, such as sexuality and our biggest fears in relationships. The speaker this week is talking about two themes in particular: hope and fear.
We, as young Christian college students, are hopeful people. That's what the survey says, the one that 500-some of us took online. I sat in the auditorium and I felt misrepresented. Maybe it's the fact that I feel very raw and broken in this stage of my life, but I do not feel that hopeful. I do not feel fatalistic, but I sure as hell don't feel hopeful. The reason I went to the session tonight was the second theme: Fear.
I get fear. Fear is like that rain for me. It was annoying at first... I was so aware of each insecurity and broken hope. After a while, I did not even notice that I was drenched in the hopelessness of fear: fear of someone else taking and not giving back, someone else deciding that he did not feel like sticking it out, someone else vanishing into thin air without any indication that he was here at all, fear that no one will love me as much as I want to love, fear of being duped. I am drenched.
Every once in a while, I am able to step into a dry environment where I feel safe and loved. I was so close to being there. I had dealt with some issues that I wanted to forget. Tonight, being in that auditorium, was like putting those shoes back on. I resent the coldness of that habit of fear, but I don't know what else to do with it, now that I have been reminded of my insecurities. The speaker did not help me deal with that fear... he just pointed out that my shoes were cold and wet... colder and wetter than I remember.
As I try to put off this horrible reminder and come back to the place where I had found shelter before the session tonight, I feel paralyzed. So much of what I had been telling myself seems like empty promises and stupid self-consolation techniques. This makes it sound like the speaker was inept, which he was not. He presented facts that provoked thought in a lot of people who had never been exposed to those particular issues before. For that, I am glad. I am glad that he gave us challenges as a community to redefine beauty and how to understand the opposite gender, giving them more grace and compassion. However, for a session claiming to talk about fear, that is all it was. I was not comforted by the fact that we are products of our society's definitions nor was I soothed by knowing the major problems that each gender faces in relationships. So what? What do you say to the people who have experienced these things and are trying to rebuild? You can't give us broad communal answers and expect us to feel better. I feel worse. I feel like I have been painfully reminded of the fears I was trying to forget.
Rain can be a good thing with expressions like "rain down love" or cleansing imagery. If that's the way you see it, I am sincerely glad for you. I am able to view it in that way sometimes. Today, however, the weather fits perfectly with the reminder that I am stuck wearing cold wet shoes without a solution in sight.
Sunday, March 6, 2011
A cup o' joe
Sitting in a coffee shop can encourage academic endeavors, but it can also foster a sense of uselessness. Here, in this booth, I have my feet propped on the bench across from my slouching body. Music blaring in my ears, I occasionally glance at the fellow students. They, too, are slouched, flipping pages of textbooks and furrowing their brows as if to absorb its contents. I am not as successful. Obviously at my computer, my mind swarms with thoughts that bounce like Flubber in my skull.
If I'm completely honest, Shakespeare and his shrew don't have my full attention. I'm supposed to be writing about the disguises the great playwright and poet used in "The Taming of the Shrew" but the thought that keeps thrusting itself to the forefront is the applicability of disguises/masks in my life.
Masks. They really are everywhere. I have a few. Well, more than a few. They are safe...at least, that's what I let myself believe. As I'm discovering through my paper on Shakespeare, I can don any exterior mask but the internal thoughts remain the same. It is not until the internal are exposed that change occurs.
Here's the kicker: What if I don't want change? What if I like my secrets? What if the idea of being separated from everyone else is more appealing than subjecting myself to constructive criticism and accountability?
In reality, it only takes one secret to turn one week into a hard week, a week that you look back and wish you had slept through all those hours. The frustration pounds your morale into the floor and the shame only helps you burrow your secret deeper into your being. That secret, that shame, will more than likely make the following week harder and you will feel beaten into the ground again.
Trampled, holding onto a coffee mug, I convince myself that I have the power to pick myself up again and face another week of living a half-life. Do secrets have that much power? To take away half of my life value? Let me tell you, I believe it does. We spend so much time protecting that secret, caressing it in our minds, scolding ourselves for the caresses, trying to throw it away, and only succeeding in putting it back where it was before.
I can philosophize about secrets but I have to challenge myself and ask why I'm letting these ideas dominate my mind. All of the mental space that God gave me should not be filled with thoughts of self-preservation or control. Where did I get the idea that all of that was acceptable? It's going to take strength stronger than espresso to break my mask and that is only one. Maybe you identify with what I'm saying. That secret you've coddled no longer belongs in your arms. It belongs in God's. I don't know how to get mine there, so only you and God can know how to solve that dilemma. All I know is that my white-knuckled grip isn't going to let go easily.
If I'm completely honest, Shakespeare and his shrew don't have my full attention. I'm supposed to be writing about the disguises the great playwright and poet used in "The Taming of the Shrew" but the thought that keeps thrusting itself to the forefront is the applicability of disguises/masks in my life.
Masks. They really are everywhere. I have a few. Well, more than a few. They are safe...at least, that's what I let myself believe. As I'm discovering through my paper on Shakespeare, I can don any exterior mask but the internal thoughts remain the same. It is not until the internal are exposed that change occurs.
Here's the kicker: What if I don't want change? What if I like my secrets? What if the idea of being separated from everyone else is more appealing than subjecting myself to constructive criticism and accountability?
In reality, it only takes one secret to turn one week into a hard week, a week that you look back and wish you had slept through all those hours. The frustration pounds your morale into the floor and the shame only helps you burrow your secret deeper into your being. That secret, that shame, will more than likely make the following week harder and you will feel beaten into the ground again.
Trampled, holding onto a coffee mug, I convince myself that I have the power to pick myself up again and face another week of living a half-life. Do secrets have that much power? To take away half of my life value? Let me tell you, I believe it does. We spend so much time protecting that secret, caressing it in our minds, scolding ourselves for the caresses, trying to throw it away, and only succeeding in putting it back where it was before.
I can philosophize about secrets but I have to challenge myself and ask why I'm letting these ideas dominate my mind. All of the mental space that God gave me should not be filled with thoughts of self-preservation or control. Where did I get the idea that all of that was acceptable? It's going to take strength stronger than espresso to break my mask and that is only one. Maybe you identify with what I'm saying. That secret you've coddled no longer belongs in your arms. It belongs in God's. I don't know how to get mine there, so only you and God can know how to solve that dilemma. All I know is that my white-knuckled grip isn't going to let go easily.
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Locked In
I knew yesterday, from the moment my alarm went off, was going to be a good day. As I trudged through the freshly fallen snow that crept into the top of my boots with each step, I hid my face in my hood. This snow came out of nowhere and no one was expecting it, but it was gorgeous. By the time I came back from working out, my sluggish tracks were covered with windblown snow and I struggled to keep my balance. I wasn't at all upset by the snow because it reminded me of home.
By the time I left the apartment, the sun had come out and everything was sparkling. I couldn't help but smile because it reminded me of home. By 1 o'clock, the plowed sidewalks were clear and the snow was leaving small puddles in the uneven pavement. Yep. Definitely like home.
It helps to have such a great day when you know you're going to be staying up all night. I had known for a couple of weeks that I would be helping out with a local youth lock-in and I had become uneasy. What if I wasn't excited? What if I fail at being a trooper with a bunch of middle school and high school students? Through out the day, I only felt my excitement grow. I knew that whatever was coming, God would provide energy to do it.
The Lock-In was great. It doesn't take a series of incredible events to make something great...It only takes one moment. One beautiful and raw moment to validate anything and everything else that happened. Don't get me wrong, the entire night went well and I'm sure that God touched kids in so many different ways but I want to focus on something that I realized. Maybe that's extremely individualistic, but maybe it's not all bad to share something you've realized.
When the girls and guys separated from the hours of 3am to 7am, we had a Q and A session where the girls could write down any question they had and a few of us college girls would answer them. The questions were expected: all pertaining to relationships and boys. The questions were mostly "What do you do if a boy likes you..." Or "What if you like a boy and..." Then, all of a sudden, the questions became more serious until this question came up: "How do you deal with a broken heart?"
My own heart dropped to the floor as I hear myself emit a chuckle. I remember thinking, "Really, God? Really? Do you think I've had enough time to be able to talk about this?" So, I heard myself volunteer to answer that one. The three other women on the panel, all freshmen and admitting to their happy relationships with their new college boyfriends, looked at me with relief. I took a deep breath and haltingly spoke the words I thought God had put on my heart.
It's been six months in dealing with that type of brokenness. As everyone knows, pains lessens over time but remembering that pain in the first few months was, in itself, painful. It's funny, though, because in the midst of my sleep deprivation as I drove to Starbucks to coax myself to stay awake through my morning shift at the campus post office, I had an epiphany. If the struggle that has been the past 6 months of my life was meant solely for that moment of honesty, where some girl in a crowd of 30-40 heard something that God wanted her to hear, then all of it was worth it. As I realized that, tears came to my eyes. If you had asked me if I would be able to do that a month ago, I would have laughed.
How can there be such contentment in something that's mending? I don't quite understand it. The only phrase that goes through my head when I play last night over in my head is "Glory to God. Glory to God. Glory to God forever."
By the time I left the apartment, the sun had come out and everything was sparkling. I couldn't help but smile because it reminded me of home. By 1 o'clock, the plowed sidewalks were clear and the snow was leaving small puddles in the uneven pavement. Yep. Definitely like home.
It helps to have such a great day when you know you're going to be staying up all night. I had known for a couple of weeks that I would be helping out with a local youth lock-in and I had become uneasy. What if I wasn't excited? What if I fail at being a trooper with a bunch of middle school and high school students? Through out the day, I only felt my excitement grow. I knew that whatever was coming, God would provide energy to do it.
The Lock-In was great. It doesn't take a series of incredible events to make something great...It only takes one moment. One beautiful and raw moment to validate anything and everything else that happened. Don't get me wrong, the entire night went well and I'm sure that God touched kids in so many different ways but I want to focus on something that I realized. Maybe that's extremely individualistic, but maybe it's not all bad to share something you've realized.
When the girls and guys separated from the hours of 3am to 7am, we had a Q and A session where the girls could write down any question they had and a few of us college girls would answer them. The questions were expected: all pertaining to relationships and boys. The questions were mostly "What do you do if a boy likes you..." Or "What if you like a boy and..." Then, all of a sudden, the questions became more serious until this question came up: "How do you deal with a broken heart?"
My own heart dropped to the floor as I hear myself emit a chuckle. I remember thinking, "Really, God? Really? Do you think I've had enough time to be able to talk about this?" So, I heard myself volunteer to answer that one. The three other women on the panel, all freshmen and admitting to their happy relationships with their new college boyfriends, looked at me with relief. I took a deep breath and haltingly spoke the words I thought God had put on my heart.
It's been six months in dealing with that type of brokenness. As everyone knows, pains lessens over time but remembering that pain in the first few months was, in itself, painful. It's funny, though, because in the midst of my sleep deprivation as I drove to Starbucks to coax myself to stay awake through my morning shift at the campus post office, I had an epiphany. If the struggle that has been the past 6 months of my life was meant solely for that moment of honesty, where some girl in a crowd of 30-40 heard something that God wanted her to hear, then all of it was worth it. As I realized that, tears came to my eyes. If you had asked me if I would be able to do that a month ago, I would have laughed.
How can there be such contentment in something that's mending? I don't quite understand it. The only phrase that goes through my head when I play last night over in my head is "Glory to God. Glory to God. Glory to God forever."
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Challenges
It's not the spires of rock that jut into the atmosphere or the steep slope leading to the smoky crevice in a volcano, nor the chasm hidden beneath ever-dancing waves... The average person does not encounter these physical phenomena in everyday life. It's the construction of words, crafted carefully by the author, which rubs you the wrong way; which causes your mind's fingers to fumble through the files of your mind, desperate for knowledge that proves the construction false.
What if you don't know the answer? I enjoy challenges, especially when I am able to stand on it and say, "Ha. I conquered you. What now?" (Please imagine my arms spread wide and my head to the side with a little attitude. Because that's what I want to look like in this instance.)
More than likely, I do not know how to mount the challenge or if there is even a right answer. I have a choice: run away or hammer it to death with thinking. I'm in a class called "Ethnic and Minority Issues" and, as you can guess, there are already issues that I can't put into a category or solve right away. For instance, in reading a book called "The Next Evangelicalism," I became angry with the author who pointed fingers at the American White church and its ignorance. I became defensive, then I became confused. Am I proving the author right by writing him off and ignoring thinking it through? What if all the things I have been taught, growing up in middle class America, are biased and wrong? Why does my head feel so unorganized and tainted?
The author was very tactful when he said in the introduction of his book that there would be things that would make the reader angry and that would seem biased, prejudiced. I respect that he recognizes that and it immediately deflated my arguments. Why is it that I accept what people say when they preface things with "I know you're going to be upset" or "This may rub you the wrong way, but..." It's because I can see it coming. I can size up the challenge and prepare for it accordingly. It's when I don't see something coming that I cross my arms and stick out my tongue.
Unfortunately, God likes to operate, at least in my observations, when we say we know what is going on and we have a plan. God's operations rarely follow our plans and we become upset. We knew how we were going to approach that hurdle and we've just found out that we'll be doing gymnastics... on the balance beam that we thought was the hurdle. I don't know if that analogy even makes sense, but to someone who feels challenged with the unknown every day, it makes some sense. Encountering hard and distasteful things is a part of life. If we did not have those situations, we would wonder if we were really living. Christ calls us to be in the world, but not of the world.
So... get in the world. Face challenges and admit to some ignorance. You can't know everything. No one expects that. Unless you are their doctor, and you're probably not. I am trying to release myself of that pressure... hopefully I'll be successful. And hopefully you will be as well.
What if you don't know the answer? I enjoy challenges, especially when I am able to stand on it and say, "Ha. I conquered you. What now?" (Please imagine my arms spread wide and my head to the side with a little attitude. Because that's what I want to look like in this instance.)
More than likely, I do not know how to mount the challenge or if there is even a right answer. I have a choice: run away or hammer it to death with thinking. I'm in a class called "Ethnic and Minority Issues" and, as you can guess, there are already issues that I can't put into a category or solve right away. For instance, in reading a book called "The Next Evangelicalism," I became angry with the author who pointed fingers at the American White church and its ignorance. I became defensive, then I became confused. Am I proving the author right by writing him off and ignoring thinking it through? What if all the things I have been taught, growing up in middle class America, are biased and wrong? Why does my head feel so unorganized and tainted?
The author was very tactful when he said in the introduction of his book that there would be things that would make the reader angry and that would seem biased, prejudiced. I respect that he recognizes that and it immediately deflated my arguments. Why is it that I accept what people say when they preface things with "I know you're going to be upset" or "This may rub you the wrong way, but..." It's because I can see it coming. I can size up the challenge and prepare for it accordingly. It's when I don't see something coming that I cross my arms and stick out my tongue.
Unfortunately, God likes to operate, at least in my observations, when we say we know what is going on and we have a plan. God's operations rarely follow our plans and we become upset. We knew how we were going to approach that hurdle and we've just found out that we'll be doing gymnastics... on the balance beam that we thought was the hurdle. I don't know if that analogy even makes sense, but to someone who feels challenged with the unknown every day, it makes some sense. Encountering hard and distasteful things is a part of life. If we did not have those situations, we would wonder if we were really living. Christ calls us to be in the world, but not of the world.
So... get in the world. Face challenges and admit to some ignorance. You can't know everything. No one expects that. Unless you are their doctor, and you're probably not. I am trying to release myself of that pressure... hopefully I'll be successful. And hopefully you will be as well.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Ripples
Yesterday, I brought a binder to my Intro to Geology class. No big deal. In fact, that's normal. The funny thing is that the binder has calendar nature pictures from who knows how long ago. One of the pictures has mountains with a lake below, reflecting the peaks. Those types of pictures have always been my favorite because you have to strain to see where the real mountain ends and the reflection begins.
As I was sitting this morning in the student union, sipping on some coffee, I had a revelation; something struck me so I had to write about it, not only in my journal but someplace where I could share it with others.
Imagine you're standing in front of a mountain lake, with all the wonderful pine trees and wildflowers around you and the snow-capped peaks in the background. It's a wonderful place where you feel safe and full of joy. Looking at the peaks causes your neck to cramp so you look at the reflection. You forget that you're looking at a lake and you think that you're actually looking at the mountains. Gazing at the reflection, you immerse yourself in the details and the beauty of the nature around you. Suddenly, a breeze pushes across the lake and the mountain is lost. It's a myriad of colors. In your little world, your mountain has disappeared. You panic because you think that something horrible is happening because mountains don't just disappear. You don't know what to do and you despair. You've forgotten that the real mountains are waiting to be seen; they've never left.
I don't know if you can see through this analogy and you became annoyed with it, but let me flesh it out. So many times, in a young woman's life, she becomes enamored with the reflection of love. As Christians, we have an idea of what God's love is and our desire to receive that love from a young man. We become so infatuated with what we think is the real deal that we forget what God's love is truly like. Maybe your reflection is something other than a significant other, but bear with me.
When something happens and the person (or thing) into whom we've been pouring all our attention shows that he/it isn't as trustworthy or God-like as we thought, everything falls apart. Our hearts are broken and we think that everything that looks good and whole is just a figment of our imaginations. We lose faith. We've forgotten that there is a perfect and whole being (God)who can never be a myriad of blurring colors because he is steadfast and is with us always and everywhere. We look at the world and we say that all we want is to be whole and safe and protected when all we feel is hurt, alone, and betrayed. Finding our desires seems impossible because we've negated the best option, due to our forgetfulness: God.
I have to be thankful for the ripples. I would much rather be learning how to gaze upon the true mountain rather than investing time in a reflection that disappears as soon as a slight breeze hits it. I'm not saying this as an "I'm dating Jesus" cop-out. That's not what this is at all. In my limited experience, I have discovered that I have claimed true what is false, what is flawed as perfect, and what is human as infallible. As I pursue healing, I discover facets and perspectives of God I had never realized before the hurt. I suppose that makes the hurt worthwhile. At least for all immediate purposes and coping mechanisms.
As I was sitting this morning in the student union, sipping on some coffee, I had a revelation; something struck me so I had to write about it, not only in my journal but someplace where I could share it with others.
Imagine you're standing in front of a mountain lake, with all the wonderful pine trees and wildflowers around you and the snow-capped peaks in the background. It's a wonderful place where you feel safe and full of joy. Looking at the peaks causes your neck to cramp so you look at the reflection. You forget that you're looking at a lake and you think that you're actually looking at the mountains. Gazing at the reflection, you immerse yourself in the details and the beauty of the nature around you. Suddenly, a breeze pushes across the lake and the mountain is lost. It's a myriad of colors. In your little world, your mountain has disappeared. You panic because you think that something horrible is happening because mountains don't just disappear. You don't know what to do and you despair. You've forgotten that the real mountains are waiting to be seen; they've never left.
I don't know if you can see through this analogy and you became annoyed with it, but let me flesh it out. So many times, in a young woman's life, she becomes enamored with the reflection of love. As Christians, we have an idea of what God's love is and our desire to receive that love from a young man. We become so infatuated with what we think is the real deal that we forget what God's love is truly like. Maybe your reflection is something other than a significant other, but bear with me.
When something happens and the person (or thing) into whom we've been pouring all our attention shows that he/it isn't as trustworthy or God-like as we thought, everything falls apart. Our hearts are broken and we think that everything that looks good and whole is just a figment of our imaginations. We lose faith. We've forgotten that there is a perfect and whole being (God)who can never be a myriad of blurring colors because he is steadfast and is with us always and everywhere. We look at the world and we say that all we want is to be whole and safe and protected when all we feel is hurt, alone, and betrayed. Finding our desires seems impossible because we've negated the best option, due to our forgetfulness: God.
I have to be thankful for the ripples. I would much rather be learning how to gaze upon the true mountain rather than investing time in a reflection that disappears as soon as a slight breeze hits it. I'm not saying this as an "I'm dating Jesus" cop-out. That's not what this is at all. In my limited experience, I have discovered that I have claimed true what is false, what is flawed as perfect, and what is human as infallible. As I pursue healing, I discover facets and perspectives of God I had never realized before the hurt. I suppose that makes the hurt worthwhile. At least for all immediate purposes and coping mechanisms.
Monday, January 17, 2011
Pro-cras-tin-a-tion
By idleness, I really mean procrastination. One of my friends recently showed me a DVD of one of Ellen DeGeneres's shows and her theme of choice is procrastination. You would have to see it to appreciate all of the clever and witty things she says, but trust me. If you have ever procrastinated, you know exactly what I'm talking about. If you're a procrastinator, maybe you should put off reading the rest of this blog so you don't feel guilty about putting off all the things you should be doing rather than reading this blog.
For instance, instead of going running or finishing the waxing job on my car, I am sitting here, in my lovely room, thinking about doing those things. Why am I avoiding those activities? Well, partially because I'm lazy and I enjoy sitting in my bed and typing on the computer but also because I know those activities mean that my day has started and my "speedometer" will be at a high speed for the rest of the day. Who wants to start out weary? Not me. No way, Jose. So, I'll sit here and agonize and complain to whoever reads this.
Just kidding. I'm not going to complain. I want to explore the idea of procrastination because it's a curious concept. Consider this: There's a deadline approaching. It's for something pretty important to your life. It's kind of a big deal that you do this because it could determine what you do for the next year or so of your life. The result, however, is unknown and that is petrifying, paralyzing. You are so intimidated by the unknown that you put off facing the unknown until you absolutely have to face it, which, of course, will be last minute.
Many of my friends who are graduating this May with their undergraduate degree are facing this intimidating concept- grad school. There's also the phenomena of finding a job in a difficult economic atmosphere. I don't know about you, but the idea of being unemployed after attending a private university is enough to make me sweat. Ok. Let's not think about that until absolutely necessary. Let's watch the playoffs instead, even though our favorite team failed to even make a wild card game.
With the boom of technology and the conveniences we are accustomed to as Americans, we have too much at our fingertips to provide distractions, which fuel our tendencies of procrastination. I'm not complaining about laptops, internet, cell phones, etc... I am merely identifying several enablers. It's like the saying: "Saying that guns kill people is like saying that pencils cause misspellings." It has to do with the user. Now I sound like I'm referring to Tron. Shoot.
But seriously. The user of the conveniences is always faced with a choice. I usually chose the option that provides the least amount of stress and work for the immediate moment... and I would like to think that I have a strong work ethic. That choice is imperative, yet the gravity of it is lost on me. The culture of instant gratification has impeded our abilities to see further down the road. The cultivation of the 4G network is an example. Paying $19.99/mo for faster internet is another. Ok. Yeah, let's use all the technology we have to be more organized and to network and to keep in touch, but let's also never let the phone leave our hands and let's get all the apps we can on our iPhone or whatever because Heaven forbid us to have a moment of silence, or non-stimulation, where we realize what we're really doing, or the things we're missing, or even the things we're avoiding.
Procrastination doesn't only apply to deadlines. It applies to emotions. So many people have baggage and they leave it as baggage. The heavy things stay in neat compartments until someone decides he or she wants to know the real person. Then the baggage has to be heaved out and it's painful. Some baggage might never go away but some will. Putting off the processing of those things is a defense mechanism.
"I don't have time to deal with this right now."
"If I let myself process all of this, then I will be rendered useless to the world and I can't afford that right now."
"It will be less painful to deal with that later. I have too much on my plate."
Those are all things that I know I've said. I've said those relatively recently, too. How can I expect the baggage to disappear or to be less heavy when I don't open it and take some things out? That's insane and we all know the definition of insanity: Doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.
So why is procrastination so easy to use as an excuse? If we think about it, putting things off can be more harmful in the long run. Why are we so intimidated by the future and the unknown?
I take comfort in this: I can be intimidated by the future because there is Someone in charge who is not. I cannot see down the road any further than the next person but there is someone who created that road and is guiding me along. The unknown is scary to me...and I think it comes down to how much I trust God with my life, which is silly, considering he gave me life and he's orchestrating it...and everything goes better when I don't try to take over.
Long story short: Procrastination is for pansies who can't handle facing the progression of life. Change your perspective and realize that you were never in control nor expected to be in control. There are tasks we must complete and we are not able to to those with our own strength. So, let's resolve, among our failing New Year's resolutions, to stop procrastinating with stopping procrastination. We have nothing to fear and no reason to put off the important things.
For instance, instead of going running or finishing the waxing job on my car, I am sitting here, in my lovely room, thinking about doing those things. Why am I avoiding those activities? Well, partially because I'm lazy and I enjoy sitting in my bed and typing on the computer but also because I know those activities mean that my day has started and my "speedometer" will be at a high speed for the rest of the day. Who wants to start out weary? Not me. No way, Jose. So, I'll sit here and agonize and complain to whoever reads this.
Just kidding. I'm not going to complain. I want to explore the idea of procrastination because it's a curious concept. Consider this: There's a deadline approaching. It's for something pretty important to your life. It's kind of a big deal that you do this because it could determine what you do for the next year or so of your life. The result, however, is unknown and that is petrifying, paralyzing. You are so intimidated by the unknown that you put off facing the unknown until you absolutely have to face it, which, of course, will be last minute.
Many of my friends who are graduating this May with their undergraduate degree are facing this intimidating concept- grad school. There's also the phenomena of finding a job in a difficult economic atmosphere. I don't know about you, but the idea of being unemployed after attending a private university is enough to make me sweat. Ok. Let's not think about that until absolutely necessary. Let's watch the playoffs instead, even though our favorite team failed to even make a wild card game.
With the boom of technology and the conveniences we are accustomed to as Americans, we have too much at our fingertips to provide distractions, which fuel our tendencies of procrastination. I'm not complaining about laptops, internet, cell phones, etc... I am merely identifying several enablers. It's like the saying: "Saying that guns kill people is like saying that pencils cause misspellings." It has to do with the user. Now I sound like I'm referring to Tron. Shoot.
But seriously. The user of the conveniences is always faced with a choice. I usually chose the option that provides the least amount of stress and work for the immediate moment... and I would like to think that I have a strong work ethic. That choice is imperative, yet the gravity of it is lost on me. The culture of instant gratification has impeded our abilities to see further down the road. The cultivation of the 4G network is an example. Paying $19.99/mo for faster internet is another. Ok. Yeah, let's use all the technology we have to be more organized and to network and to keep in touch, but let's also never let the phone leave our hands and let's get all the apps we can on our iPhone or whatever because Heaven forbid us to have a moment of silence, or non-stimulation, where we realize what we're really doing, or the things we're missing, or even the things we're avoiding.
Procrastination doesn't only apply to deadlines. It applies to emotions. So many people have baggage and they leave it as baggage. The heavy things stay in neat compartments until someone decides he or she wants to know the real person. Then the baggage has to be heaved out and it's painful. Some baggage might never go away but some will. Putting off the processing of those things is a defense mechanism.
"I don't have time to deal with this right now."
"If I let myself process all of this, then I will be rendered useless to the world and I can't afford that right now."
"It will be less painful to deal with that later. I have too much on my plate."
Those are all things that I know I've said. I've said those relatively recently, too. How can I expect the baggage to disappear or to be less heavy when I don't open it and take some things out? That's insane and we all know the definition of insanity: Doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.
So why is procrastination so easy to use as an excuse? If we think about it, putting things off can be more harmful in the long run. Why are we so intimidated by the future and the unknown?
I take comfort in this: I can be intimidated by the future because there is Someone in charge who is not. I cannot see down the road any further than the next person but there is someone who created that road and is guiding me along. The unknown is scary to me...and I think it comes down to how much I trust God with my life, which is silly, considering he gave me life and he's orchestrating it...and everything goes better when I don't try to take over.
Long story short: Procrastination is for pansies who can't handle facing the progression of life. Change your perspective and realize that you were never in control nor expected to be in control. There are tasks we must complete and we are not able to to those with our own strength. So, let's resolve, among our failing New Year's resolutions, to stop procrastinating with stopping procrastination. We have nothing to fear and no reason to put off the important things.
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
It's bitter, it's cold
I couldn't help but re-post a rather peculiar sentence I read in the newspaper yesterday: "If days were lattes, today would be bitter and icy." It was referring to the weather, but I found the phrasing humorous. If days were lattes... what an interesting notion. Heaven help the day that's non-fat, no whip, extra hot with an extra shot of espresso with half the syrup.
It makes a person think, though. Of course metaphors are used for a greater and deeper meaning, which would lend an expression to different situations. For instance, comparing lattes to days would also cross over to comparing lattes to attitudes. There are those people who feel the need to be the prettiest drink... you know, the drink with the whipped cream and the sprinkles and the 400 calories for the smallest size... There are also those people who don't feel the need for all the "bells and whistles," so they are an americano, which seems strong but is really watered down espresso... or they're drip-brewed... Whatever the presentation, each metaphor stands for something.
Now that you're thinking in metaphors, let me dissect the aforementioned one from my viewpoint.
Coffee is the metaphor for life; life experiences, beliefs, overall perspective of life.
The "pretty" drink is not a reference to make-up or the amount of time one spends in the morning with his or her appearance. It is the personality, the appearance, of having everything together. It looks so good on the outside. The majority of people like it... mostly the not-so-much-of-a-coffee fans. Translation: Those people who have difficulty facing what is really going on tend to be the prettiest drinks. Truth is, the prettiest drinks have the most calories, so following the illustration: you'll realize one day or another that you can't handle the syrup and the sprinkles and the whipped cream all the time. Whether you've gained a ton of weight from the 400 calorie drink (hyperbole, obviously) or you've grown tired of the taste, it's when you realize that there is something amiss. The drink that used to bring you to your happy place now makes you sick to your stomach.
This is how it is when we try to be the prettiest drink. We make ourselves presentable to the outside world: the pretty package that has everything together. In American culture, showing weakness or telling people about your problems is horribly inconvenient and burdensome. Culture emphasizes that only high-profile people are allowed to have problems. Those or fictional characters. So, we take the time to make everything seem perfect. As time passes, we realize that we can't do this all the time. We're exhausted and depressed because we've covered over our lives with the things that culture tells us will make the hurts and the troubles go away.
Back to the metaphor.
You switch to a basic latte. Less sprinkles, less whipped cream, but still full of syrup. Just enough espresso to remind people that there really is coffee in the drink. You'll be yourself but not straight up. No one wants to know all about your life, except for those closest to you. Guess what, though... with the different types of lattes, you can still be bitter and cold. At least, that's what the newspaper tells me.
When it comes down to the basics, we have to realize something: we have to be real at some point. We have to be honest. We have to leave the whipped cream and the sprinkles and the syrup behind. Some people won't be able to handle the americano or the espresso shot, or even a drip coffee, but we've got to be real sometime. Even if you try to put on a show, you won't be able to keep that up for forever. It's not bad to be cheerful. It's bad to be fake and shallow.
Sometimes, you have no other choice, no other energy, but "to make" a bitter, cold latte. Let's call it as it is, because if you try to pass that off as a hot chocolate, it won't go over very well. There are things that will take the energy from you. I have felt like there were many times this past semester and at the beginning of this year where I had to be a bitter, cold latte. I'll call it like it is. At the same time, I realize that I cannot stay this way forever. I may not be the person to have heartwarming conversations with, but I will guarantee my genuine words. The great things about that situation is that my friends have allowed me to be the bitter, icy latte. They've allowed me to be in that stage and call it like it is. I have realized the blessing and, just maybe, because of that, my bitter/icy stage will be shortened. Who knows?
I've rambled on enough about coffee and metaphors, but I want you to think. Are you trying to pass yourself off as a frappaccino with all your pieces in place? Just remember that no one reacts well to drinking cold black drip coffee when they wanted a Starbucks Java Chip Frappaccino...
It makes a person think, though. Of course metaphors are used for a greater and deeper meaning, which would lend an expression to different situations. For instance, comparing lattes to days would also cross over to comparing lattes to attitudes. There are those people who feel the need to be the prettiest drink... you know, the drink with the whipped cream and the sprinkles and the 400 calories for the smallest size... There are also those people who don't feel the need for all the "bells and whistles," so they are an americano, which seems strong but is really watered down espresso... or they're drip-brewed... Whatever the presentation, each metaphor stands for something.
Now that you're thinking in metaphors, let me dissect the aforementioned one from my viewpoint.
Coffee is the metaphor for life; life experiences, beliefs, overall perspective of life.
The "pretty" drink is not a reference to make-up or the amount of time one spends in the morning with his or her appearance. It is the personality, the appearance, of having everything together. It looks so good on the outside. The majority of people like it... mostly the not-so-much-of-a-coffee fans. Translation: Those people who have difficulty facing what is really going on tend to be the prettiest drinks. Truth is, the prettiest drinks have the most calories, so following the illustration: you'll realize one day or another that you can't handle the syrup and the sprinkles and the whipped cream all the time. Whether you've gained a ton of weight from the 400 calorie drink (hyperbole, obviously) or you've grown tired of the taste, it's when you realize that there is something amiss. The drink that used to bring you to your happy place now makes you sick to your stomach.
This is how it is when we try to be the prettiest drink. We make ourselves presentable to the outside world: the pretty package that has everything together. In American culture, showing weakness or telling people about your problems is horribly inconvenient and burdensome. Culture emphasizes that only high-profile people are allowed to have problems. Those or fictional characters. So, we take the time to make everything seem perfect. As time passes, we realize that we can't do this all the time. We're exhausted and depressed because we've covered over our lives with the things that culture tells us will make the hurts and the troubles go away.
Back to the metaphor.
You switch to a basic latte. Less sprinkles, less whipped cream, but still full of syrup. Just enough espresso to remind people that there really is coffee in the drink. You'll be yourself but not straight up. No one wants to know all about your life, except for those closest to you. Guess what, though... with the different types of lattes, you can still be bitter and cold. At least, that's what the newspaper tells me.
When it comes down to the basics, we have to realize something: we have to be real at some point. We have to be honest. We have to leave the whipped cream and the sprinkles and the syrup behind. Some people won't be able to handle the americano or the espresso shot, or even a drip coffee, but we've got to be real sometime. Even if you try to put on a show, you won't be able to keep that up for forever. It's not bad to be cheerful. It's bad to be fake and shallow.
Sometimes, you have no other choice, no other energy, but "to make" a bitter, cold latte. Let's call it as it is, because if you try to pass that off as a hot chocolate, it won't go over very well. There are things that will take the energy from you. I have felt like there were many times this past semester and at the beginning of this year where I had to be a bitter, cold latte. I'll call it like it is. At the same time, I realize that I cannot stay this way forever. I may not be the person to have heartwarming conversations with, but I will guarantee my genuine words. The great things about that situation is that my friends have allowed me to be the bitter, icy latte. They've allowed me to be in that stage and call it like it is. I have realized the blessing and, just maybe, because of that, my bitter/icy stage will be shortened. Who knows?
I've rambled on enough about coffee and metaphors, but I want you to think. Are you trying to pass yourself off as a frappaccino with all your pieces in place? Just remember that no one reacts well to drinking cold black drip coffee when they wanted a Starbucks Java Chip Frappaccino...
Saturday, January 8, 2011
When something is heavy
"Lift with your legs! Lift with your legs!"
I hear that every time I go to lift something heavy like a box of books or furniture or some other unreasonably heavy thing. My father has had back problems since I can remember, so maybe that is why I always hear that bouncing around in my head... maybe that's also why I tend to yell it to whoever is within earshot, which proves more amusing to me than to them.
I wish there was a "safe saying" like that for life. Oh wait. There already is: "Run to the Lord. Run to the Lord." Why is this easier to forget than "Lift with your legs"? Even though both actions are done with the legs, they are completely different. Rather than standing still and relying on your own strength to take care of a heavy object, you must run to God so that he can make those heavy things beautiful.
When you run to something with all your might, you are not able to turn right around and walk away. I don't know about you, but when I sprint, I am breathless and literally useless to the world while I recover. I have to stay at my destination and try to regain my bearings. To follow the analogy through to completion, during that time of breathless recovery, I must listen. Listening to people is not a problem for me. I like that. I enjoy that. Listening to God... not so easy for me. I tremble at the idea of projecting my ideas as God's. I fear that he will ask me to do something uncomfortable or life-changing. I am afraid that he will let me be vulnerable and I won't recover. If God is the loving and gracious Father he claims to be, all of these fears are irrational. They are the seeds of lies. I am probably not the only person to wrestle with the head knowledge and what the heart is saying.
There is a song by CASCADA that says "Listen to your heart... there's nothing else you can do..." That doesn't really work. Your heart is a part of fallen nature and the only redemptive quality in it is the Holy Spirit, which is not of the human body at all. Sure, God gave us emotions and he gave us brains. He also knows that we are unable to maintain perfection and we are far too easily satisfied with the mud pies of this world (C.S. Lewis).
The heaviness that sin brings is unbearable on our own. We have all the tools we need to survive if we truly believe that Christ intercedes for us and we pursue relationships. Here's the thing about relationships: they go both ways, which means you cannot pour your heart out to God and walk away. There are times when you need to sit down and shut up. This is a lesson I'm learning because there is no other option. When something is heavy, sit down. Shut up. LISTEN.
I hear that every time I go to lift something heavy like a box of books or furniture or some other unreasonably heavy thing. My father has had back problems since I can remember, so maybe that is why I always hear that bouncing around in my head... maybe that's also why I tend to yell it to whoever is within earshot, which proves more amusing to me than to them.
I wish there was a "safe saying" like that for life. Oh wait. There already is: "Run to the Lord. Run to the Lord." Why is this easier to forget than "Lift with your legs"? Even though both actions are done with the legs, they are completely different. Rather than standing still and relying on your own strength to take care of a heavy object, you must run to God so that he can make those heavy things beautiful.
When you run to something with all your might, you are not able to turn right around and walk away. I don't know about you, but when I sprint, I am breathless and literally useless to the world while I recover. I have to stay at my destination and try to regain my bearings. To follow the analogy through to completion, during that time of breathless recovery, I must listen. Listening to people is not a problem for me. I like that. I enjoy that. Listening to God... not so easy for me. I tremble at the idea of projecting my ideas as God's. I fear that he will ask me to do something uncomfortable or life-changing. I am afraid that he will let me be vulnerable and I won't recover. If God is the loving and gracious Father he claims to be, all of these fears are irrational. They are the seeds of lies. I am probably not the only person to wrestle with the head knowledge and what the heart is saying.
There is a song by CASCADA that says "Listen to your heart... there's nothing else you can do..." That doesn't really work. Your heart is a part of fallen nature and the only redemptive quality in it is the Holy Spirit, which is not of the human body at all. Sure, God gave us emotions and he gave us brains. He also knows that we are unable to maintain perfection and we are far too easily satisfied with the mud pies of this world (C.S. Lewis).
The heaviness that sin brings is unbearable on our own. We have all the tools we need to survive if we truly believe that Christ intercedes for us and we pursue relationships. Here's the thing about relationships: they go both ways, which means you cannot pour your heart out to God and walk away. There are times when you need to sit down and shut up. This is a lesson I'm learning because there is no other option. When something is heavy, sit down. Shut up. LISTEN.
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