my wonderful and very smart friend, Kara, wrote this in her Xanga, and it's brilliant.
http://www.xanga.com/sweetlittlegal/565447612/people-judge-me.html
Thursday, January 25, 2007
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
I'm It!
I never was a very fast runner. Either that, or I just really never had anything to run away from (er. . .from which to run away?). So I have been tagged by my first youth minister (sounds better than "old youth minister") to share 5 things you may not know about me.
1. I was expected to be little Seve Herron (named for Spanish golfer Seve Ballesteros) until I entered the world and to everyone's surprise I was a girl, according to my dad. My dad says I have a swing that people can't take lessons to mimic. I attribute it to my almost namesake.
2. I am so afraid of moths that if I see one flying around the room I will do everything in my power to ensure there is no possible way it could go into my ear short of actually leaving the room. In other words, I shrug my shoulders up, put my hands by my ears, and watch its every move.
3. My dentist has lectured me on more than one occasion about how I brush my teeth too often.
4. One summer I ate nothing but red-white-and-blue pops--some days eating as many as 5. I was very picky about it, too. I would ONLY eat the America's Choice brand (Farmer Jack store brand).
5. I have dedicated a very large portion of my summers in the past (and will continue in the future) to learning how to ride my bike with no hands. I've only succeeded once for a stretch longer than a quarter mile, but the bike was really well balanced and I later learned that it woldn't have tipped if I had two legs on one side of me. So I still am trying to learn, but my average is 4 pedals before I crash, tip over, or grab the handle bars.
Okay--I didn't say they'd be interesting.
I tag:
Kara
Kali
Sandy
Blake and
Niki (except you can't read hers unless you have a myspace)
1. I was expected to be little Seve Herron (named for Spanish golfer Seve Ballesteros) until I entered the world and to everyone's surprise I was a girl, according to my dad. My dad says I have a swing that people can't take lessons to mimic. I attribute it to my almost namesake.
2. I am so afraid of moths that if I see one flying around the room I will do everything in my power to ensure there is no possible way it could go into my ear short of actually leaving the room. In other words, I shrug my shoulders up, put my hands by my ears, and watch its every move.
3. My dentist has lectured me on more than one occasion about how I brush my teeth too often.
4. One summer I ate nothing but red-white-and-blue pops--some days eating as many as 5. I was very picky about it, too. I would ONLY eat the America's Choice brand (Farmer Jack store brand).
5. I have dedicated a very large portion of my summers in the past (and will continue in the future) to learning how to ride my bike with no hands. I've only succeeded once for a stretch longer than a quarter mile, but the bike was really well balanced and I later learned that it woldn't have tipped if I had two legs on one side of me. So I still am trying to learn, but my average is 4 pedals before I crash, tip over, or grab the handle bars.
Okay--I didn't say they'd be interesting.
I tag:
Kara
Kali
Sandy
Blake and
Niki (except you can't read hers unless you have a myspace)
Saturday, January 20, 2007
Fill Me Up
This was going to be a different post. But it's not. It's this one.
I don't know what it feels like to be hungry for food.
I do, however, know what it feels like to be full of food.
It's no secret that I thoroughly enjoy to taste food. I relish in the opportunity to try new and delicious new concoctions, and savor old favorites.
My favorite food group: without question the grain group. Pasta, pancakes, panera. . .you name it.
Dear God in Heaven, give us this day our daily bread.
And I promise I thank him daily for it.
Here's the trap I daily fall in:
We pray for God to give us our daily bread. But he already has. We've grown up proclaiming "man shall not live by bread alone, but by every wo-or-rd that proceeds from the mouth of God. (singing alelulia)" Boys even get to proclaim it twice as much, as the girls just sing alelulia over and over. But unevenness aside: we know. We know that praying for our daily bread has nothing to do with the food we eat, but rather the Word of the Lord. And God has already given that to us. We don't need to even go out and find it daily--it's all in one place.
My problem is that I'm already full. I don't want any more bread. I'm stuffed, I'm busting at the seams, if I stuff anything else inside I'll explode (or at least I feel like I will, and I have no desire to actually find out if physics will be defied on account of a little more stuffing).
I'm so full of Dostoevsky, SVU, grading papers, violin, Guster, and (of course) bread, that I don't want any more. I do what every nutritionist, WeighDown Workshop leader, doctor, and mother tells you to do: stop when you're full.
I stop without even receiving my real daily bread. And it leaves me hungry. And I don't understand hunger so I interpret it as boredom. And in my boredom I teach myself how to knit, and watch entire seasons of Everybody Loves Raymond, and have a 65% win rate after 300 games of Free Cell. I write songs, and I invent new pancake recepies that taste like flan. I read 900 page books and see how many songs I can hold a wall-sit through. I clip my toenails, I vacuum my carpet, I play with my fake uzzi, I make dramatic picture documentaries of my car's emergency mirror replacement surgery for Facebook. Today I even pulled out all of my Rasheed Wallace basketball cards and sorted them in order of my favorite picture.
It all left me too full to eat any more bread.
I say a prayer every night to God and I always say "I love you, God." But sometimes I wonder if I shouldn't also be praying to my books or pizza and proclaiming my love to them, too.
I always wanted to love God more than I love myself. Well, that's easy if you don't think you're all that great. But what about loving God more than I love Raymond? I'm pretty sure I do--but shouldn't actions speak louder than words?
Soooo, with that in mind, all I can do is ask for forgiveness, thank God for my daily bread, and eat it FIRST. Before I even have the chance to fill up on any of that other stuff, I have to eat the real stuff first.
fill me up, bread of Heaven, fill me
enlighten me, Bright and Morning Star
build me up, Master Builder, build me
empower me, Mighty Great I AM
and heal me up, Great Physician, heal me
inhabit me, Gentle Comforter
and use me up, Holy Master, use me
empower me, Mighty Great I AM
AMEN
I don't know what it feels like to be hungry for food.
I do, however, know what it feels like to be full of food.
It's no secret that I thoroughly enjoy to taste food. I relish in the opportunity to try new and delicious new concoctions, and savor old favorites.
My favorite food group: without question the grain group. Pasta, pancakes, panera. . .you name it.
Dear God in Heaven, give us this day our daily bread.
And I promise I thank him daily for it.
Here's the trap I daily fall in:
We pray for God to give us our daily bread. But he already has. We've grown up proclaiming "man shall not live by bread alone, but by every wo-or-rd that proceeds from the mouth of God. (singing alelulia)" Boys even get to proclaim it twice as much, as the girls just sing alelulia over and over. But unevenness aside: we know. We know that praying for our daily bread has nothing to do with the food we eat, but rather the Word of the Lord. And God has already given that to us. We don't need to even go out and find it daily--it's all in one place.
My problem is that I'm already full. I don't want any more bread. I'm stuffed, I'm busting at the seams, if I stuff anything else inside I'll explode (or at least I feel like I will, and I have no desire to actually find out if physics will be defied on account of a little more stuffing).
I'm so full of Dostoevsky, SVU, grading papers, violin, Guster, and (of course) bread, that I don't want any more. I do what every nutritionist, WeighDown Workshop leader, doctor, and mother tells you to do: stop when you're full.
I stop without even receiving my real daily bread. And it leaves me hungry. And I don't understand hunger so I interpret it as boredom. And in my boredom I teach myself how to knit, and watch entire seasons of Everybody Loves Raymond, and have a 65% win rate after 300 games of Free Cell. I write songs, and I invent new pancake recepies that taste like flan. I read 900 page books and see how many songs I can hold a wall-sit through. I clip my toenails, I vacuum my carpet, I play with my fake uzzi, I make dramatic picture documentaries of my car's emergency mirror replacement surgery for Facebook. Today I even pulled out all of my Rasheed Wallace basketball cards and sorted them in order of my favorite picture.
It all left me too full to eat any more bread.
I say a prayer every night to God and I always say "I love you, God." But sometimes I wonder if I shouldn't also be praying to my books or pizza and proclaiming my love to them, too.
I always wanted to love God more than I love myself. Well, that's easy if you don't think you're all that great. But what about loving God more than I love Raymond? I'm pretty sure I do--but shouldn't actions speak louder than words?
Soooo, with that in mind, all I can do is ask for forgiveness, thank God for my daily bread, and eat it FIRST. Before I even have the chance to fill up on any of that other stuff, I have to eat the real stuff first.
fill me up, bread of Heaven, fill me
enlighten me, Bright and Morning Star
build me up, Master Builder, build me
empower me, Mighty Great I AM
and heal me up, Great Physician, heal me
inhabit me, Gentle Comforter
and use me up, Holy Master, use me
empower me, Mighty Great I AM
AMEN
Monday, January 15, 2007
Strangers with Kari
This post is inspired by Patrick Mead's most recent post at his website.
Last night, nearly 1500 churches in Oklahoma closed their doors due to the weather. Something in me really wanted to go to church today. I was really annoyed that churches were closing because of snow and ice. Maybe it comes from my continued grudge I have with Oklahoma for not being Michigan. Maybe it comes from the fact that I'm learning to be hungry for God's word, rather than cookies. Maybe Satan was giving me yet another excuse to not go to church by making it even easier than just sleeping through it.
Whatever it was, I wanted to go to church today to worship God with Christians there for the same reason.
My roommate, Jennifer, wanted to go to church today also. Whatever her reasons were, I was glad that the two of us were going to find one and go together.
We watched the names of closed churches scroll by on the news. All Sunday services cancelled. Then we started noticing a couple of them having an 11am service, or a 2pm service only. We started watching to see if we could find one near where we live in Edmond. We looked at Baptist, Methodist, even a Korean church. Why not? Churches of Christ were closing their doors. People gathering to worship God was what we were looking for. Much to our dismay, the open churches were quite a distance. We noticed that North MacArthur Church of Christ was not on the list. I've worshiped there a couple times before, which is why I thought to look for it. It's about 15 miles from where we live. We decided that we were going to call them and if their doors were open we would drive out.
How does this relate to Patrick's post?
His post talked about how his son drove to church in icy weather not because of a conviction to be at church, but because of the community at his church that he couldn't bear not being part of.
Community.
Did North MacArthur have a community that Jen and I couldn't bear not being a part of? No. We didn't know those people.
So why did we brave the dangerous roads and falling sleet to drive out there?
I can't speak for Jennifer, but I have lately been church hopping.
I'd only been going to Memorial Road because I made some friends who all went there. There wasn't anything about this church I liked, though. From the start.
At first I stayed because I felt convicted because Screwtape said that a good way to keep us from God is to keep us shopping for the church that suits us. But after reading Patrick's post today, I figured out why I was willing to risk my safety to find a place to worship.
I wanted Community.
I wanted any kind of community I could get.
And when I'm at a church of over 3000 people, even though I have 5 or 10 friends, there is no community to me. I think I finally cracked and even started church hopping in the first place because I just longed for the community I'd been lacking for nearly the last 8 months.
I needed it so badly.
Some people from Memorial Road were having house church today, because church was closed. That would have been easy. But I didn't want easy. I wanted community. And I wanted to rise up and go to worship God in fellowship. Whether or not I knew the people didn't matter. They didn't close their doors, and that was welcoming enough for me.
Maybe I'll find a church down here that I'll go to because I can't bear to be apart from the family. I haven't yet, but it doesn't mean I can't build and form relationships.
I want to be part of a church, not just a member.
It's hard because I already grew up with the most perfect church at Livonia I could have ever asked for. But until I move back up there, I've got to be ready to serve here.
Last night, nearly 1500 churches in Oklahoma closed their doors due to the weather. Something in me really wanted to go to church today. I was really annoyed that churches were closing because of snow and ice. Maybe it comes from my continued grudge I have with Oklahoma for not being Michigan. Maybe it comes from the fact that I'm learning to be hungry for God's word, rather than cookies. Maybe Satan was giving me yet another excuse to not go to church by making it even easier than just sleeping through it.
Whatever it was, I wanted to go to church today to worship God with Christians there for the same reason.
My roommate, Jennifer, wanted to go to church today also. Whatever her reasons were, I was glad that the two of us were going to find one and go together.
We watched the names of closed churches scroll by on the news. All Sunday services cancelled. Then we started noticing a couple of them having an 11am service, or a 2pm service only. We started watching to see if we could find one near where we live in Edmond. We looked at Baptist, Methodist, even a Korean church. Why not? Churches of Christ were closing their doors. People gathering to worship God was what we were looking for. Much to our dismay, the open churches were quite a distance. We noticed that North MacArthur Church of Christ was not on the list. I've worshiped there a couple times before, which is why I thought to look for it. It's about 15 miles from where we live. We decided that we were going to call them and if their doors were open we would drive out.
How does this relate to Patrick's post?
His post talked about how his son drove to church in icy weather not because of a conviction to be at church, but because of the community at his church that he couldn't bear not being part of.
Community.
Did North MacArthur have a community that Jen and I couldn't bear not being a part of? No. We didn't know those people.
So why did we brave the dangerous roads and falling sleet to drive out there?
I can't speak for Jennifer, but I have lately been church hopping.
I'd only been going to Memorial Road because I made some friends who all went there. There wasn't anything about this church I liked, though. From the start.
At first I stayed because I felt convicted because Screwtape said that a good way to keep us from God is to keep us shopping for the church that suits us. But after reading Patrick's post today, I figured out why I was willing to risk my safety to find a place to worship.
I wanted Community.
I wanted any kind of community I could get.
And when I'm at a church of over 3000 people, even though I have 5 or 10 friends, there is no community to me. I think I finally cracked and even started church hopping in the first place because I just longed for the community I'd been lacking for nearly the last 8 months.
I needed it so badly.
Some people from Memorial Road were having house church today, because church was closed. That would have been easy. But I didn't want easy. I wanted community. And I wanted to rise up and go to worship God in fellowship. Whether or not I knew the people didn't matter. They didn't close their doors, and that was welcoming enough for me.
Maybe I'll find a church down here that I'll go to because I can't bear to be apart from the family. I haven't yet, but it doesn't mean I can't build and form relationships.
I want to be part of a church, not just a member.
It's hard because I already grew up with the most perfect church at Livonia I could have ever asked for. But until I move back up there, I've got to be ready to serve here.
Friday, January 12, 2007
I Feel So
Sometimes I forget that I feel things.
Maybe it's because you can't tell I do by looking at me.
But I do.
I feel happy.
I feel blessed.
I feel under rested.
I feel ugly.
I feel proud.
I feel forgotten.
I feel vandalized.
I feel tricked.
I feel loved.
I feel stalked.
I feel bloated.
I feel calm.
I feel like only my dad knows how special I really am.
I feel like if I wait long enough, things will end up perfectly.
I feel impatient.
I feel like I have a lot left to learn.
I feel inadequate.
I feel dishonest.
I feel wooed.
I feel swept away.
I feel rich.
I feel annoyed.
I feel bitter.
I feel resolved.
I feel jealous.
I feel like I want to avoid entangling aliances. Or jobs. Or commitments.
I feel like running and never stopping.
I apologize to anyone who tries to figure me out and only gets my enthusiasm.
I don't wear my emotions on my sleeve.
But I really am not a robot. I promise.
Maybe it's because you can't tell I do by looking at me.
But I do.
I feel happy.
I feel blessed.
I feel under rested.
I feel ugly.
I feel proud.
I feel forgotten.
I feel vandalized.
I feel tricked.
I feel loved.
I feel stalked.
I feel bloated.
I feel calm.
I feel like only my dad knows how special I really am.
I feel like if I wait long enough, things will end up perfectly.
I feel impatient.
I feel like I have a lot left to learn.
I feel inadequate.
I feel dishonest.
I feel wooed.
I feel swept away.
I feel rich.
I feel annoyed.
I feel bitter.
I feel resolved.
I feel jealous.
I feel like I want to avoid entangling aliances. Or jobs. Or commitments.
I feel like running and never stopping.
I apologize to anyone who tries to figure me out and only gets my enthusiasm.
I don't wear my emotions on my sleeve.
But I really am not a robot. I promise.
Tuesday, January 09, 2007
Potentially Walking in a Winter Wonderland, Maybe, In a Couple of Days. Perhaps.
It's no secret that there are many things that bug me about Oklahoma. But one of the biggest things is how freaked out everybody gets about the weather. If there is a slight rainstorm on the south east corner of the state, all television programs (no matter what they are--inclusing NBA Finals, MLB Post Season, Days Of Our Lives etc.) will be interrupted no fewer than every 4 minutes to inform people in the Oklahoma City Metro that there is some rain falling on a zoomed in area of the map of some city in Oklahoma that not even native Oklahomans have ever heard of.
If there's the chance there might be lightening or Thunder, don't even dream about getting a whole picture on the television, because they will put the tv show up in the corner and make the entire screen a doppler photo of the storm and its movement.
This is from a state that is supposed to be one of the tornado magnets of the country. You would think with a history of frequent tornadoes, the state would be like "oh, it's just a little thunder." But instead, they go the other way.
I guess we "only have until Friday" to prepare for a possible weekend winter storm. They would have given us longer, but it's "moving rather quickly." Are they serious? It's Tuesday night. They wish they could have given us more notice for 1/2 inch of expected ice 3 days away? They were even nice enough to show a map of Oklahoma with three colored bands sweeping across it. The green meant "heavy freezing rain," the red meant "light freezing rain," and the other part meant just "really cold" I guess. So make sure this weekend you're "not driving anywhere in the section that's RED."
Now, I'm not downplaying the danger of driving on ice. That's perfectly legitimate--especially in a state that doesn't have the resources to handle it. Which, for the record, I find very odd because everyone I've talked to talks about how Oklahoma might not get snow for winter, but there is the constant need to scrape and/or chip ice off the car windows. Anyway, sure--driving on ice is dangerous. Be careful! I do think, however it is silly to wish we had more than 4 days warning for a possible winter storm that might hit 2/3 of the state by this weekend.
If this storm still looks probable in 2 days, I'm willing to bet that by Thursday night all school closings will be announced for Friday.
Is there such a thing as a weather hypochondriac? Because the state of Oklahoma should test the sugar pills to cure it.
If there's the chance there might be lightening or Thunder, don't even dream about getting a whole picture on the television, because they will put the tv show up in the corner and make the entire screen a doppler photo of the storm and its movement.
This is from a state that is supposed to be one of the tornado magnets of the country. You would think with a history of frequent tornadoes, the state would be like "oh, it's just a little thunder." But instead, they go the other way.
I guess we "only have until Friday" to prepare for a possible weekend winter storm. They would have given us longer, but it's "moving rather quickly." Are they serious? It's Tuesday night. They wish they could have given us more notice for 1/2 inch of expected ice 3 days away? They were even nice enough to show a map of Oklahoma with three colored bands sweeping across it. The green meant "heavy freezing rain," the red meant "light freezing rain," and the other part meant just "really cold" I guess. So make sure this weekend you're "not driving anywhere in the section that's RED."
Now, I'm not downplaying the danger of driving on ice. That's perfectly legitimate--especially in a state that doesn't have the resources to handle it. Which, for the record, I find very odd because everyone I've talked to talks about how Oklahoma might not get snow for winter, but there is the constant need to scrape and/or chip ice off the car windows. Anyway, sure--driving on ice is dangerous. Be careful! I do think, however it is silly to wish we had more than 4 days warning for a possible winter storm that might hit 2/3 of the state by this weekend.
If this storm still looks probable in 2 days, I'm willing to bet that by Thursday night all school closings will be announced for Friday.
Is there such a thing as a weather hypochondriac? Because the state of Oklahoma should test the sugar pills to cure it.
Wednesday, January 03, 2007
This Stupid, Stupid Wind.
Sometimes bad days just happen.
Everybody says that bad days happen when bad attitudes are present, but I don't think that's always true. Sometimes bad days just happen--and no amount of positiveness can make them better. No amount of theraputic running, guitar playing, reading, eating (which I didn't do, thank goodness), or crying can make them less bad. Bad days come every once in a while, and we just have to stand back and take them.
I woke up this morning with every positive intention to have a wonderful Wednesday.
I did ten jumping jacks to get me moving, and went to the corner to do my little morning Bible study. I reflected a little, prayed for a good day, prayed to teach well, make good choices, and to be blessed. Feeling good, I started to get ready for my day.
I decided that I should stop dressing so casually for school. I own dress clothes and shoes--I should show my kids (and myself) enough respect to dress nicely. I even put on pearls.
Then, I washed my face. This is where it all started to go wrong.
My face has been peeling lately--I'm not sure why. I've been moisturizing it like crazy morning and night, and it's just been pink and sore and peeling. I washed it, put on moisturizer, and it was worse than it had been all last week. My eyelids were peeling, my chin was flaking, my cheeks were red. I knew if I even tried to put on makeup, it would just look like I had flakes of makeup all over my face. So I hid my peely eyelids with my glasses, and I left my face as it was (and if you've ever seen my face before I put on makeup, it's not a pretty sight. I've got what you call "really bad acne.").
It's okay, though. I look nice, I'm ready for school.
I open the door to go start my car, but it's not too cold outside, so there's no need this particular morning. I enjoy my bowl of Grape Nuts, brush and floss my teeth, grab my bag, and head out the door. I walk up to my car and I notice something funny.
My rear view mirror on the driver's side is hanging by its wires, and the red casing is smashed off and missing. Somebody hit my car, broke my mirror off, and then left it.
I sigh, get in my car, and think to myself, "this isn't so bad. I made it from Detroit to Oklahoma City without a hitch. Praise God for keeping me safe." You think I'm being cheesy--but I really did. I called my dad and asked him if insurance would cover something like this and he said he'd call and they'd get hold of me. I very carefully (because I use that mirror a LOT) drive to school.
I got to school 40 minutes early, so I can get all my ducks in a row. It's hard coming back from a 2 week vacation where school is the last thing on my mind. I set up for the day, and start to relax. My face looks pretty awful, and my allergies are making my eyes look really glassy, but kids don't notice those things, do they?
The day went by very quickly. I was very thankful for that--because I just felt so tired.
After school, my basketball girls usually hang out in my room until practice at 4:15. Today was no different. I started organizing my next two weeks--making copies and lesson plans--and one of the girls says, "can I use your phone to call my mom and tell her about late practice today?"
Late practice? What? Well, aparently, practice wasn't going to start today until 5:15 and would go until 6:45. Why didn't anyone tell me? When am I supposed to get my run in? I didn't plan for dinner, I still needed to take pictures of my car before it got dark. . .wasn't going to happen.
I made the most of the time (all 3 hours of it) and got all my copies made and lesson plans done through next Friday. That felt good.
I thought practice would NEVER end, but as all things do, it did. I got in my car to drive home. It's already too late for church, so I decide I'm going to run.
I get out of my car and look around the street to see if I can find the remains of my mirror casing. As I'm picking up the shattered pieces of my car, I start to feel really hurt. It hurt my feelings that somebody broke my car. I took it really personally.
And then Kali calls. I remember that she asked me if I could feed the dog she's dog sitting tomorrow night, but I can't. So I tell her it's going to be impossible between school, practice, and the Pistons' game tomorrow night. She asked why I couldn't do it after I got back from the game, and I said because it was 1) going to be too late, and 2) out of my way. I asked her why she couldn't do it--after all, she had taken on the responsibility. She said she was going to be spending the night in Lawton. I told her what I thought about that: basically you shouldn't make other plans if you've committed to doing something. She said "well, maybe I can find somebody else." I said, again, "Kali, it's your responsibility. You're getting paid to do this. "
(In case you don't know me very well--one of my biggest pet peeves is when people shirk their responsibilities.) "Don't commit to things you can't follow through."
I'm getting kind of upset, but then she takes the cake. "Well, I'm sorry for ever even asking you"
A guilt trip? You're trying to send me on a guilt trip for not taking over your responsibilities while you go off and do something else? No way. If I could have done it, I would have. No questions asked. But I couldn't. So she's trying to make me feel bad for not biding my time to her schedule?
Well, it worked. I was miserable. I was angry, I was frustrated, and I was tired.
I went for a run, and it all started to fall down. I ran harder and harder, and with each step I delivered more and more deliberately. And the more I pushed myself, the harder and faster the wind blew. . .in my face. Angrier than ever, I pounded through it, thinking about my skin, my car, 3 extra hours at school, shattered pieces of my car lying in the street, my sister's selfish behaviour, and this stupid wind. This stupid stupid wind.
Sometimes bad days just happen. They just start to spiral, and the only place to go is to sleep.
I have one continuous comforting promise, however:
God is in control.
That means I'm not.
Bad days will come and go, but God doesn't leave.
And I'm okay with that.
Everybody says that bad days happen when bad attitudes are present, but I don't think that's always true. Sometimes bad days just happen--and no amount of positiveness can make them better. No amount of theraputic running, guitar playing, reading, eating (which I didn't do, thank goodness), or crying can make them less bad. Bad days come every once in a while, and we just have to stand back and take them.
I woke up this morning with every positive intention to have a wonderful Wednesday.
I did ten jumping jacks to get me moving, and went to the corner to do my little morning Bible study. I reflected a little, prayed for a good day, prayed to teach well, make good choices, and to be blessed. Feeling good, I started to get ready for my day.
I decided that I should stop dressing so casually for school. I own dress clothes and shoes--I should show my kids (and myself) enough respect to dress nicely. I even put on pearls.
Then, I washed my face. This is where it all started to go wrong.
My face has been peeling lately--I'm not sure why. I've been moisturizing it like crazy morning and night, and it's just been pink and sore and peeling. I washed it, put on moisturizer, and it was worse than it had been all last week. My eyelids were peeling, my chin was flaking, my cheeks were red. I knew if I even tried to put on makeup, it would just look like I had flakes of makeup all over my face. So I hid my peely eyelids with my glasses, and I left my face as it was (and if you've ever seen my face before I put on makeup, it's not a pretty sight. I've got what you call "really bad acne.").
It's okay, though. I look nice, I'm ready for school.
I open the door to go start my car, but it's not too cold outside, so there's no need this particular morning. I enjoy my bowl of Grape Nuts, brush and floss my teeth, grab my bag, and head out the door. I walk up to my car and I notice something funny.
My rear view mirror on the driver's side is hanging by its wires, and the red casing is smashed off and missing. Somebody hit my car, broke my mirror off, and then left it.
I sigh, get in my car, and think to myself, "this isn't so bad. I made it from Detroit to Oklahoma City without a hitch. Praise God for keeping me safe." You think I'm being cheesy--but I really did. I called my dad and asked him if insurance would cover something like this and he said he'd call and they'd get hold of me. I very carefully (because I use that mirror a LOT) drive to school.
I got to school 40 minutes early, so I can get all my ducks in a row. It's hard coming back from a 2 week vacation where school is the last thing on my mind. I set up for the day, and start to relax. My face looks pretty awful, and my allergies are making my eyes look really glassy, but kids don't notice those things, do they?
The day went by very quickly. I was very thankful for that--because I just felt so tired.
After school, my basketball girls usually hang out in my room until practice at 4:15. Today was no different. I started organizing my next two weeks--making copies and lesson plans--and one of the girls says, "can I use your phone to call my mom and tell her about late practice today?"
Late practice? What? Well, aparently, practice wasn't going to start today until 5:15 and would go until 6:45. Why didn't anyone tell me? When am I supposed to get my run in? I didn't plan for dinner, I still needed to take pictures of my car before it got dark. . .wasn't going to happen.
I made the most of the time (all 3 hours of it) and got all my copies made and lesson plans done through next Friday. That felt good.
I thought practice would NEVER end, but as all things do, it did. I got in my car to drive home. It's already too late for church, so I decide I'm going to run.
I get out of my car and look around the street to see if I can find the remains of my mirror casing. As I'm picking up the shattered pieces of my car, I start to feel really hurt. It hurt my feelings that somebody broke my car. I took it really personally.
And then Kali calls. I remember that she asked me if I could feed the dog she's dog sitting tomorrow night, but I can't. So I tell her it's going to be impossible between school, practice, and the Pistons' game tomorrow night. She asked why I couldn't do it after I got back from the game, and I said because it was 1) going to be too late, and 2) out of my way. I asked her why she couldn't do it--after all, she had taken on the responsibility. She said she was going to be spending the night in Lawton. I told her what I thought about that: basically you shouldn't make other plans if you've committed to doing something. She said "well, maybe I can find somebody else." I said, again, "Kali, it's your responsibility. You're getting paid to do this. "
(In case you don't know me very well--one of my biggest pet peeves is when people shirk their responsibilities.) "Don't commit to things you can't follow through."
I'm getting kind of upset, but then she takes the cake. "Well, I'm sorry for ever even asking you"
A guilt trip? You're trying to send me on a guilt trip for not taking over your responsibilities while you go off and do something else? No way. If I could have done it, I would have. No questions asked. But I couldn't. So she's trying to make me feel bad for not biding my time to her schedule?
Well, it worked. I was miserable. I was angry, I was frustrated, and I was tired.
I went for a run, and it all started to fall down. I ran harder and harder, and with each step I delivered more and more deliberately. And the more I pushed myself, the harder and faster the wind blew. . .in my face. Angrier than ever, I pounded through it, thinking about my skin, my car, 3 extra hours at school, shattered pieces of my car lying in the street, my sister's selfish behaviour, and this stupid wind. This stupid stupid wind.
Sometimes bad days just happen. They just start to spiral, and the only place to go is to sleep.
I have one continuous comforting promise, however:
God is in control.
That means I'm not.
Bad days will come and go, but God doesn't leave.
And I'm okay with that.
Monday, December 25, 2006
It's a True Story!
Imagine, if you will, a dark morning. Tongo (the dog) is running around the house looking for an open door and a fresh face to lick. Mom is downstairs, getting the downstairs presentable for whomever decides to wake up next. The sun has barely risen.
Dad wakes up to Tongo's jingling dog tags, and decides it's time to get up. He stumbles around in the dark, looking for his clothes. Tongo is sitting on the bed, doing anything but minding her own business.
Mom opens the bedroom door to see my dad standing in his underwear, stumbling into a pair of pants; Tongo sitting on the bed; the lights are out.
Dad glances to the door and sees mom standing there and quickly explains, "I thought you were asleep. . .I didn't want to turn on the light. . .I thought the dog was off her leash."
My mom just stands there, on the verge of laughing, and my dad adds very defensively, "It's a true story!"
What we're wondering, now, as we laugh at this is: What does he think the fake story was?
Dad wakes up to Tongo's jingling dog tags, and decides it's time to get up. He stumbles around in the dark, looking for his clothes. Tongo is sitting on the bed, doing anything but minding her own business.
Mom opens the bedroom door to see my dad standing in his underwear, stumbling into a pair of pants; Tongo sitting on the bed; the lights are out.
Dad glances to the door and sees mom standing there and quickly explains, "I thought you were asleep. . .I didn't want to turn on the light. . .I thought the dog was off her leash."
My mom just stands there, on the verge of laughing, and my dad adds very defensively, "It's a true story!"
What we're wondering, now, as we laugh at this is: What does he think the fake story was?
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
Thirteen Going on Thirty
I heard about this great new thing today.
I guess it's some really great way to cut down on stress.
You know, take your mind off all your problems.
Aparently it makes them much smaller.
Okay, you dragged it out of me, I'll tell you:
You get this razor blade, and you run it back and forth across your wrists.
Ends stress just like that! It's a miracle.
Well, when you put it that way, sign me up!
Where do I get my razor?
It really ends my stress?
That's amazing!
How does it work?
Oh, I turn all of my stress into something physical so I can shift my focus from internal things I can't control to something external that I can control. Brilliant!
Who actually believes that?
Who actually believes that self mutilation is a really good idea?
Who actually believes that gaining control over one aspect of your life will negate all of the things you can't control?
7th grade girls. That's who.
7th grade girls in upper-middle class suburbia do.
7th grade girls who have their closest friends introducing them to "new ideas."
13 year old girls.
Thirteen.
A little girl today found a razor blade in her friend's purse and little pink lines on her wrists.
"Promise you won't tell anyone!"
Run like the wind and tell the first adult you see, sweet girl. Your friend is in trouble!
What do you do?
What do you do when the life of a thirteen year old girl is so stressful she has to externalize her pain?
What do you accomplish by suspending her?
What do you accomplish by kicking her off the basketball team?
She thought she had stress before. . .
When does she get better?
Does the cutting continue?
She's out of school.
She's off the team.
She's embarassed because everybody *thinks* they know what's goin on.
How will she deal with all of that without her friends to help keep her in check?
How will we get past judging her, and help her heal?
How can we make her know we're holding her accountable because we love her, not because she messed up?
Did she mess up? Sure. But we can't fix the past--all we can do is change the future.
Back to my original questions:
Who actually believes that?
Who actually believes that self mutilation is a really good idea?
Who actually believes that gaining control over one aspect of your life will negate all of the things you can't control?
We all do, my friends.
Where is your line drawn for self mutilation?
Is it food?
Is it pornography?
Is it overworking yourself?
Is it drinking?
Lack of sleep?
This little girl had little pink lines on her wrists--easily hidden behind long sleeves.
How do you hide yours?
All of us try to take control of something. Don't lie. You know you do.
You take control of something because you can't control anything else.
Solution?
I'll give you a hint--it doesn't involve razor blades.
Maybe there are things we need to take control over.
How about making them things that lead us to the faith we need to actually really (not just say it and not do it) give our lives (wholly and completely) over to God.
How about taking control over waking up early every morning and reading your Bible?
Even if it's just random verses.
How about taking control over our bedtime routine and actually getting down beside our beds and praying to God?
7th grade girls are very impressionable.
They pick their friends, and they start to rub off on one another.
They start to act like each other.
All of us are the same way--whether or not we'd like to admit it.
We assimilate to the company we keep. The movies we watch (how many people started saying "gosh" and "sweet" after Napoleon Dynamite came out?).
You spend enough time with someone, you are going to be changed.
Who is changing your 7th grade girls?
Who is changing you?
I guess it's some really great way to cut down on stress.
You know, take your mind off all your problems.
Aparently it makes them much smaller.
Okay, you dragged it out of me, I'll tell you:
You get this razor blade, and you run it back and forth across your wrists.
Ends stress just like that! It's a miracle.
Well, when you put it that way, sign me up!
Where do I get my razor?
It really ends my stress?
That's amazing!
How does it work?
Oh, I turn all of my stress into something physical so I can shift my focus from internal things I can't control to something external that I can control. Brilliant!
Who actually believes that?
Who actually believes that self mutilation is a really good idea?
Who actually believes that gaining control over one aspect of your life will negate all of the things you can't control?
7th grade girls. That's who.
7th grade girls in upper-middle class suburbia do.
7th grade girls who have their closest friends introducing them to "new ideas."
13 year old girls.
Thirteen.
A little girl today found a razor blade in her friend's purse and little pink lines on her wrists.
"Promise you won't tell anyone!"
Run like the wind and tell the first adult you see, sweet girl. Your friend is in trouble!
What do you do?
What do you do when the life of a thirteen year old girl is so stressful she has to externalize her pain?
What do you accomplish by suspending her?
What do you accomplish by kicking her off the basketball team?
She thought she had stress before. . .
When does she get better?
Does the cutting continue?
She's out of school.
She's off the team.
She's embarassed because everybody *thinks* they know what's goin on.
How will she deal with all of that without her friends to help keep her in check?
How will we get past judging her, and help her heal?
How can we make her know we're holding her accountable because we love her, not because she messed up?
Did she mess up? Sure. But we can't fix the past--all we can do is change the future.
Back to my original questions:
Who actually believes that?
Who actually believes that self mutilation is a really good idea?
Who actually believes that gaining control over one aspect of your life will negate all of the things you can't control?
We all do, my friends.
Where is your line drawn for self mutilation?
Is it food?
Is it pornography?
Is it overworking yourself?
Is it drinking?
Lack of sleep?
This little girl had little pink lines on her wrists--easily hidden behind long sleeves.
How do you hide yours?
All of us try to take control of something. Don't lie. You know you do.
You take control of something because you can't control anything else.
Solution?
I'll give you a hint--it doesn't involve razor blades.
Maybe there are things we need to take control over.
How about making them things that lead us to the faith we need to actually really (not just say it and not do it) give our lives (wholly and completely) over to God.
How about taking control over waking up early every morning and reading your Bible?
Even if it's just random verses.
How about taking control over our bedtime routine and actually getting down beside our beds and praying to God?
7th grade girls are very impressionable.
They pick their friends, and they start to rub off on one another.
They start to act like each other.
All of us are the same way--whether or not we'd like to admit it.
We assimilate to the company we keep. The movies we watch (how many people started saying "gosh" and "sweet" after Napoleon Dynamite came out?).
You spend enough time with someone, you are going to be changed.
Who is changing your 7th grade girls?
Who is changing you?
Monday, December 11, 2006
On Being a Big Sister
Saturday morning, I wake up at 5:30 to my phone ringing. It's Kali, so I answer it.
"Kari?" she asks very slowly. "Can you come pick me up? [pause] I got in an accident."
Now, being the calm, logical, levelheaded person I am I quickly ask, "where are you?"
"I'm out by the airport--by North Pole City."
Slightly alarmed that she would have to be at work so early on a Saturday morning, I ask, "What are you doing out there?"
"I was coming back from Lawton."
Most likely without masking the shock in my voice I ask, "what were you doing in Lawton?"
"I was at a Christmas party and it was late, so I went to sleep instead of driving home tired. I woke up early because I knew I had to work today."
"Good decision." I say. "Are the police there? Have you gotten all the paperwork filled out?"
"I'm sitting in the police car right now."
"Was anybody else involved?"
"No, I just hit the median when a car cut me off."
"Are you OK?"
"Yeah, just have an airbag burn. I'm alright."
We talk for a couple seconds longer and I head out the door to pick her up. I call my parents and ask if they'd heard from her yet, and let them know I was on my way to pick her up.
Why recount this conversation word-for-word, you ask? I'd like you to look over it again. And see how many questions it took me to ask "Are you OK?" The first words that should have come out of my mouth, and they were close to the last. This has been really bugging me for the past couple days. Why was I so concerned about what my sister had been doing, rather than if she was okay?
These 5am phone calls are what being a big sister is all about. If your little sister is in trouble, you drop what you're doing and you get her out of it. I've been a big sister for 21 years.
This was my first big sister phone call.
This was my chance to be there, as the big sister, and it took me half a conversation to even ask if she was okay.
I've always prided myself in my ability to put my emotions aside in an emergency and assess the situation calmly. One of my patients codes, I follow the necessary procedure. A kid cuts his hand and is bleeding profusely, I follow necessary procedure. Like a robot.
My sister calls and needs me to come get her--aparently I follow necessary procedure.
I'm a pretty protective person. But sometimes I let it come out as judgement. I take it personally when people I love make bad choices, and I proceed to try to fix the situation.
If I can fix it, maybe I'm doing my job as a big sister.
Maybe part of me was thinking my sister made a dumb choice, so before I'd go get her I needed to know how dumb it was. That way, as the big sister I could think about how to fix it on the ride there. Maybe when I found out it wasn't anything I could have fixed, I felt like I had to do something else to make up for it.
I still feel like I have to do something to make up for it.
Being a big sister is hard for me for some reason. I think it means that I have to be okay with being looked up to. And I think it means that I have to be comfortable with not having all the answers. I think it means I am required to be there, and shouldn't expect anything in return.
"Kari?" she asks very slowly. "Can you come pick me up? [pause] I got in an accident."
Now, being the calm, logical, levelheaded person I am I quickly ask, "where are you?"
"I'm out by the airport--by North Pole City."
Slightly alarmed that she would have to be at work so early on a Saturday morning, I ask, "What are you doing out there?"
"I was coming back from Lawton."
Most likely without masking the shock in my voice I ask, "what were you doing in Lawton?"
"I was at a Christmas party and it was late, so I went to sleep instead of driving home tired. I woke up early because I knew I had to work today."
"Good decision." I say. "Are the police there? Have you gotten all the paperwork filled out?"
"I'm sitting in the police car right now."
"Was anybody else involved?"
"No, I just hit the median when a car cut me off."
"Are you OK?"
"Yeah, just have an airbag burn. I'm alright."
We talk for a couple seconds longer and I head out the door to pick her up. I call my parents and ask if they'd heard from her yet, and let them know I was on my way to pick her up.
Why recount this conversation word-for-word, you ask? I'd like you to look over it again. And see how many questions it took me to ask "Are you OK?" The first words that should have come out of my mouth, and they were close to the last. This has been really bugging me for the past couple days. Why was I so concerned about what my sister had been doing, rather than if she was okay?
These 5am phone calls are what being a big sister is all about. If your little sister is in trouble, you drop what you're doing and you get her out of it. I've been a big sister for 21 years.
This was my first big sister phone call.
This was my chance to be there, as the big sister, and it took me half a conversation to even ask if she was okay.
I've always prided myself in my ability to put my emotions aside in an emergency and assess the situation calmly. One of my patients codes, I follow the necessary procedure. A kid cuts his hand and is bleeding profusely, I follow necessary procedure. Like a robot.
My sister calls and needs me to come get her--aparently I follow necessary procedure.
I'm a pretty protective person. But sometimes I let it come out as judgement. I take it personally when people I love make bad choices, and I proceed to try to fix the situation.
If I can fix it, maybe I'm doing my job as a big sister.
Maybe part of me was thinking my sister made a dumb choice, so before I'd go get her I needed to know how dumb it was. That way, as the big sister I could think about how to fix it on the ride there. Maybe when I found out it wasn't anything I could have fixed, I felt like I had to do something else to make up for it.
I still feel like I have to do something to make up for it.
Being a big sister is hard for me for some reason. I think it means that I have to be okay with being looked up to. And I think it means that I have to be comfortable with not having all the answers. I think it means I am required to be there, and shouldn't expect anything in return.
Thursday, November 16, 2006
Am I Captivating?
I'm reading the book Captivating by John and Stasi Eldridge. I'm only about 1/4 of the way through it, so I could very well have this figured out by the time I finish it, but here's what I've learned:
I've learned that I'm uncomfortable admitting that I want people to see me as captivating. For some reason I didn't think it was okay to want people to look at me and say "wow, she's amazing!" I want the attention, but only secretly. And I've learned that it's okay to want to be wanted. And to need to be needed. It doesn't make me vain, or selfish, or self-absorbed. Aparently it's part of what it means to be a girl.
I'm always fascinated by the whole "God made me in his image" thing. I love to read through the Psalms and see this anger, joy, sorrow, love, and even jealousy that God has given us. And I love to see how he has them too. I love the thought that as the creator, God formed us in him image and we are constantly a people creating our own art. We are like God in so many ways.
What I never thought to look at has been pointed out to me in Captivating when it talks about how God is a God who wants to be saught after. He wants us to seek him, to know him, and to delight in him. It's okay for me to feel like this because it's more than likely that part of God directly in me. God made me like him, which is why (even though I constantly fight it) I want to be saught after. And it's why I want to be delighted in and celebrated. It's why I want to be known and understood.
And I fight it so much. I am so uncomfortable with being celebrated, even though somewhere inside I want to be delightful. I fight tooth and nail the fact that I want somebody to love me and need me, but somewhere I know I want to be (and will be) the perfect wife to someone.
Why am I fighting who I am as a woman made in God's image?
Why is it so hard to give in to this part of my nature God has programmed in?
How do I hold onto humility and selflessness while asking the question "am I captivating?"
Where is that happy medium between secretly wanting to be desired, and overtly making sure people think I'm desireable?
God's will and Satan's tricks look so similar sometimes.
I've learned that I'm uncomfortable admitting that I want people to see me as captivating. For some reason I didn't think it was okay to want people to look at me and say "wow, she's amazing!" I want the attention, but only secretly. And I've learned that it's okay to want to be wanted. And to need to be needed. It doesn't make me vain, or selfish, or self-absorbed. Aparently it's part of what it means to be a girl.
I'm always fascinated by the whole "God made me in his image" thing. I love to read through the Psalms and see this anger, joy, sorrow, love, and even jealousy that God has given us. And I love to see how he has them too. I love the thought that as the creator, God formed us in him image and we are constantly a people creating our own art. We are like God in so many ways.
What I never thought to look at has been pointed out to me in Captivating when it talks about how God is a God who wants to be saught after. He wants us to seek him, to know him, and to delight in him. It's okay for me to feel like this because it's more than likely that part of God directly in me. God made me like him, which is why (even though I constantly fight it) I want to be saught after. And it's why I want to be delighted in and celebrated. It's why I want to be known and understood.
And I fight it so much. I am so uncomfortable with being celebrated, even though somewhere inside I want to be delightful. I fight tooth and nail the fact that I want somebody to love me and need me, but somewhere I know I want to be (and will be) the perfect wife to someone.
Why am I fighting who I am as a woman made in God's image?
Why is it so hard to give in to this part of my nature God has programmed in?
How do I hold onto humility and selflessness while asking the question "am I captivating?"
Where is that happy medium between secretly wanting to be desired, and overtly making sure people think I'm desireable?
God's will and Satan's tricks look so similar sometimes.
Saturday, November 04, 2006
How I Like to Remember It.
Friday night, we'd all go to bed. All of our friends had their Christmas trees up and brightly lit, but our living room widow had just our window clings and some colored light bulbs. There was snow on the ground, and Santa was due any day now but the Herron family had no tree. "It's not time yet," my dad would say whenever we'd ask. "We won't find the perfect tree if we go before it's time."
Then, there would come that Saturday morning. We'd get up and eat breakfast and my dad would announce, "last night, I looked out the window, and the stars were lined up just right. Our Christmas tree is ready for us." And we'd bundle up in our long-johns and snowpants, hats, coats and gloves and pile into the car. Dad would take his saw, mom would help us buckle up in our chubby bundle of winter clothes, and we'd drive to the Christmas tree farm.
It was well over a 30 minute drive, but we'd get there and march out to the tractor that would pull us deep into the endless rows of trees. "Douglas Fir!" the driver would call out as most of the families on the wagon would pile off for the giant soft needles of their soon-to-be Christmas trees. Our family did not move. We knew to wait for the call, "Spruce!" There it was! This was our stop! Now to find the tree that was waiting for our family.
We'd run through the rows and rows of trees, looking for our tree. Too tall. Too fat. That one has a hole in the side. That's a two-trunker. We'd split up--mom would take half and dad would take the other half. We'd mark a tree here or there and bring the whole family together to look at it.
Then, like some sort of miracle, all of us would find it at the same time. Mom would circle around it. Niki, Kali, Drew and I would yell "we found it! We found it!" Dad would hold his hand up to make sure it was the right height. We'd check the shape. Lay down on the ground and check the trunk. The branches looked as if they could hold our assortment of hand-made and store-bought ornaments. "This one's the one," my mom would announce, and my dad would nod in agreement and get down on the ground with his saw.
Gleefully, my siblings and I would call out, "tiiiimmmbeerrrrrr!" as the tree would fall to the ground. Dad would grab the trunk and we'd all pile at the top and carry it to the aisle to wait for the tractor.
Getting the tree tied up was always fun. We'd look around at the other trees and I'd be so proud that we found the perfect one, and all the other families had to settle for second best. Into the trunk the tree would go, and we'd all pile back into the car for the long drive home.
We always had perfect Christmases, and we always had the perfect tree. Sometimes it would reveal itself the night before Christmas, other times it would come as early as the first week of December. But we always found it. Every single time. My dad would wait for the stars to line up juuuuust right, and when that perfect moment came, we were up and running.
Patience is a virtue. But when the waiting is over, run as fast as you can for the prize. It will always be the most perfect then that it ever will be.
Then, there would come that Saturday morning. We'd get up and eat breakfast and my dad would announce, "last night, I looked out the window, and the stars were lined up just right. Our Christmas tree is ready for us." And we'd bundle up in our long-johns and snowpants, hats, coats and gloves and pile into the car. Dad would take his saw, mom would help us buckle up in our chubby bundle of winter clothes, and we'd drive to the Christmas tree farm.
It was well over a 30 minute drive, but we'd get there and march out to the tractor that would pull us deep into the endless rows of trees. "Douglas Fir!" the driver would call out as most of the families on the wagon would pile off for the giant soft needles of their soon-to-be Christmas trees. Our family did not move. We knew to wait for the call, "Spruce!" There it was! This was our stop! Now to find the tree that was waiting for our family.
We'd run through the rows and rows of trees, looking for our tree. Too tall. Too fat. That one has a hole in the side. That's a two-trunker. We'd split up--mom would take half and dad would take the other half. We'd mark a tree here or there and bring the whole family together to look at it.
Then, like some sort of miracle, all of us would find it at the same time. Mom would circle around it. Niki, Kali, Drew and I would yell "we found it! We found it!" Dad would hold his hand up to make sure it was the right height. We'd check the shape. Lay down on the ground and check the trunk. The branches looked as if they could hold our assortment of hand-made and store-bought ornaments. "This one's the one," my mom would announce, and my dad would nod in agreement and get down on the ground with his saw.
Gleefully, my siblings and I would call out, "tiiiimmmbeerrrrrr!" as the tree would fall to the ground. Dad would grab the trunk and we'd all pile at the top and carry it to the aisle to wait for the tractor.
Getting the tree tied up was always fun. We'd look around at the other trees and I'd be so proud that we found the perfect one, and all the other families had to settle for second best. Into the trunk the tree would go, and we'd all pile back into the car for the long drive home.
We always had perfect Christmases, and we always had the perfect tree. Sometimes it would reveal itself the night before Christmas, other times it would come as early as the first week of December. But we always found it. Every single time. My dad would wait for the stars to line up juuuuust right, and when that perfect moment came, we were up and running.
Patience is a virtue. But when the waiting is over, run as fast as you can for the prize. It will always be the most perfect then that it ever will be.
Saturday, October 14, 2006
Coming Full Circle.
I don't really have anything in particular on my mind. But I feel like writing.
I have gotten in this odd habbit lately of going out and doing exactly what I want. If I decide I want ice cream, I will go out and get some. Tonight I really wanted to shoot hoops, so I went to the store and bought a basketball. Yesterday I wanted to make t-shirts for a friend and myself so I bought iron-on letters and spent a couple hours on that.
So it seems I'm good at knowing what I want and then going after it.
Or it means I'm good at finding ways to occupy myself.
I very consciously have made the decision three nights in a row to not actually write in my prayer journal. I got it about 3 weeks ago at a Bible study and had written in it every night until 3 nights ago when I decided not to.
Last week I made a choice to not grade these papers when I had a bunch of free time because I wanted to take a break. They're still sitting on my floor.
I chose to stop going to bed at 9:30 every night because I wanted to spend more time with my friends. I went from getting 8 hours of sleep every night to less than 7.
I very purposefully make these little choices every day, and they're not bad choices, but they're certainly not the greatest ones. I can't quite place why. Why is it I'll go to strange, and sometimes expensive lenghts to satisfy a whim, but I can't stay awake an extra ten minutes to write in my prayer journal?
I love God with all my heart. But Satan knows I will put other things before what's best for me sometimes. He knows that I could be in dying, but if somebody needed something from me I would drop everything and try my best to be there. He knows that I don't look at what I need before what I want to do.
I need God and a better, more consistent relationship with him.
I want to play basketball.
I need to eat my daily bread and stay in God's word and learn it more.
I want to read Moby Dick.
I need to be well rested to be a productive soldier for Christ daily.
I want to walk at night in the delicious fall air.
I need these things to survive. I am nothing without my relationship with God. But I let it fill in my free time instead of outlining and defining my free time.
If you want to get really technical, my time isn't even free.
It was bought and paid for on good faith that I will use it and treat it respect.
I've got some reading to go do.
Over and out.
I have gotten in this odd habbit lately of going out and doing exactly what I want. If I decide I want ice cream, I will go out and get some. Tonight I really wanted to shoot hoops, so I went to the store and bought a basketball. Yesterday I wanted to make t-shirts for a friend and myself so I bought iron-on letters and spent a couple hours on that.
So it seems I'm good at knowing what I want and then going after it.
Or it means I'm good at finding ways to occupy myself.
I very consciously have made the decision three nights in a row to not actually write in my prayer journal. I got it about 3 weeks ago at a Bible study and had written in it every night until 3 nights ago when I decided not to.
Last week I made a choice to not grade these papers when I had a bunch of free time because I wanted to take a break. They're still sitting on my floor.
I chose to stop going to bed at 9:30 every night because I wanted to spend more time with my friends. I went from getting 8 hours of sleep every night to less than 7.
I very purposefully make these little choices every day, and they're not bad choices, but they're certainly not the greatest ones. I can't quite place why. Why is it I'll go to strange, and sometimes expensive lenghts to satisfy a whim, but I can't stay awake an extra ten minutes to write in my prayer journal?
I love God with all my heart. But Satan knows I will put other things before what's best for me sometimes. He knows that I could be in dying, but if somebody needed something from me I would drop everything and try my best to be there. He knows that I don't look at what I need before what I want to do.
I need God and a better, more consistent relationship with him.
I want to play basketball.
I need to eat my daily bread and stay in God's word and learn it more.
I want to read Moby Dick.
I need to be well rested to be a productive soldier for Christ daily.
I want to walk at night in the delicious fall air.
I need these things to survive. I am nothing without my relationship with God. But I let it fill in my free time instead of outlining and defining my free time.
If you want to get really technical, my time isn't even free.
It was bought and paid for on good faith that I will use it and treat it respect.
I've got some reading to go do.
Over and out.
Friday, September 15, 2006
The Jesus I Serve
I was at lunch with my grandma and grandpa Herron last Sunday, and my grandma was talking about her opinion on something. And she made a comment about how people interpret something Jesus did in different ways. She said, "I just don't think Jesus would [do that]. Not my Savior. Not the Jesus I serve."
It took a little while for that to turn around in my head. I let it sit there for a while and wondered if she was right. But then I just set the issue aside and took the words she said: "not the Jesus I serve."
Does that imply that she serves a different Christ than other people?
Does it mean he caters to various stances on certain things?
I am certain that there are many things that Jesus said that scholars and uneducated Christians alike disagree on. They interpret them differently, and take different meanings from them. We have the tendancy to say things like "well, that letter was targeted at this particular group of people, so there had to be a specific emphasis to help them get the point." Or we say, "oh, he didn't really mean that. It's figurative language. His apostles didn't even understand him sometimes!"
So are we changing the gospel to suit our beliefs?
Are we defining God, rather than letting his word define us?
More importantly, does my Grandma have a different savior than I do?
I don't like to disrespect my elders. And I really don't like to call out people on their personal beliefs. But I really think, in this case, that my grandma is wrong. I think that if she is serving a specific Jesus who wouldn't do something based merely on the logic that she doesn't want to think he would have done it, then he's not the Jesus I'm serving.
Would I serve a Jesus who hung out with prostitutes?
Would my savior call his companions Satan if they said the wrong thing?
Would the Jesus I trust pick a follower who he knew was going to betray him to help spread the gospel?
Honestly, I don't really get to make that call.
He died to save me. And it's because of the Jesus I serve that I have a place in Heaven.
My grandma's Jesus should be the same one as mine. He should be the same savior to everyone forever and ever. Because he doesn't change.
So if you find yourself saying things like that: not my Lord; not my Savior
make sure to remember that before he is yours, you are His.
He doesn't change.
And if He changes from person to person, then perhaps it's a version of Jesus that the person created.
It took a little while for that to turn around in my head. I let it sit there for a while and wondered if she was right. But then I just set the issue aside and took the words she said: "not the Jesus I serve."
Does that imply that she serves a different Christ than other people?
Does it mean he caters to various stances on certain things?
I am certain that there are many things that Jesus said that scholars and uneducated Christians alike disagree on. They interpret them differently, and take different meanings from them. We have the tendancy to say things like "well, that letter was targeted at this particular group of people, so there had to be a specific emphasis to help them get the point." Or we say, "oh, he didn't really mean that. It's figurative language. His apostles didn't even understand him sometimes!"
So are we changing the gospel to suit our beliefs?
Are we defining God, rather than letting his word define us?
More importantly, does my Grandma have a different savior than I do?
I don't like to disrespect my elders. And I really don't like to call out people on their personal beliefs. But I really think, in this case, that my grandma is wrong. I think that if she is serving a specific Jesus who wouldn't do something based merely on the logic that she doesn't want to think he would have done it, then he's not the Jesus I'm serving.
Would I serve a Jesus who hung out with prostitutes?
Would my savior call his companions Satan if they said the wrong thing?
Would the Jesus I trust pick a follower who he knew was going to betray him to help spread the gospel?
Honestly, I don't really get to make that call.
He died to save me. And it's because of the Jesus I serve that I have a place in Heaven.
My grandma's Jesus should be the same one as mine. He should be the same savior to everyone forever and ever. Because he doesn't change.
So if you find yourself saying things like that: not my Lord; not my Savior
make sure to remember that before he is yours, you are His.
He doesn't change.
And if He changes from person to person, then perhaps it's a version of Jesus that the person created.
Sunday, August 27, 2006
Timing is Everything
Raise your hand if you've ever been a victim of bad timing.
Raise your hand if you've ever met somebody just a little bit too late.
Raise your hand if you've ever met somebody just a little bit too soon.
Raise your hand if you've ever just been too late to decide?
How about too quick to decide?
Have you ever lost somebody who you felt like should have lived longer?
Have you ever had somebody overstay his or her welcome?
Why is it that things in life seem to happen at just the wrong times?
I am under the firm belief that timing is everything.
However, it takes much more faith for me to realize that "timing" isn't anything I have control over.
I think that bad timing is another way of saying our timing didn't line up with God's timing.
And I think it's not a good habbit to call God's plan "bad."
I don't think that God has one specific path laid out for each of us. I think he calls us to certain places at certain times, but if we don't listen or go it doesn't mean we messed up his plan. God lets us have choices, and what we need to do is pray for the wisdom to make them.
I have almost moved to Oklahoma like every year since I was a senior in high school. And I'm only just now here. To tell you the truth, I don't really know what that means. I don't know if it means that I finally let go and let God bring me here. Or if it means that I took charge and defied everything that was keeping me in Michigan.
I don't know if it means the people I meet here are all just here when I needed people. Or if I met them just because I moved here.
I have a hard time differentiating.
Some people I was friends with left not too long after I got here.
Did I miss them? Was I too late? Were those relationships lost because of bad timing? If I'd moved down sooner would we just have never met?
I don't know.
I don't understand God's timing, and I wish I did.
I don't understand when he decides to give and then take away.
I don't get his reasoning.
And I don't get why it seems like I'm responsible when I miss out on something with which I think I should have gotten a fair chance.
Why do I always feel like I could have just done something differently?
Jacob waited 7 years on Rachel.
The Israelites waited 40 years on Canaan.
Abraham and Sarah waited 90 years on Isaac.
Noah waited 100 years on the rain.
We're all waiting for the return of Jesus.
Why does time seem to go by much more quickly in chapters and verses?
How do we make the paradigm shift from "bad timing" to "God's timing?"
Raise your hand if you've ever met somebody just a little bit too late.
Raise your hand if you've ever met somebody just a little bit too soon.
Raise your hand if you've ever just been too late to decide?
How about too quick to decide?
Have you ever lost somebody who you felt like should have lived longer?
Have you ever had somebody overstay his or her welcome?
Why is it that things in life seem to happen at just the wrong times?
I am under the firm belief that timing is everything.
However, it takes much more faith for me to realize that "timing" isn't anything I have control over.
I think that bad timing is another way of saying our timing didn't line up with God's timing.
And I think it's not a good habbit to call God's plan "bad."
I don't think that God has one specific path laid out for each of us. I think he calls us to certain places at certain times, but if we don't listen or go it doesn't mean we messed up his plan. God lets us have choices, and what we need to do is pray for the wisdom to make them.
I have almost moved to Oklahoma like every year since I was a senior in high school. And I'm only just now here. To tell you the truth, I don't really know what that means. I don't know if it means that I finally let go and let God bring me here. Or if it means that I took charge and defied everything that was keeping me in Michigan.
I don't know if it means the people I meet here are all just here when I needed people. Or if I met them just because I moved here.
I have a hard time differentiating.
Some people I was friends with left not too long after I got here.
Did I miss them? Was I too late? Were those relationships lost because of bad timing? If I'd moved down sooner would we just have never met?
I don't know.
I don't understand God's timing, and I wish I did.
I don't understand when he decides to give and then take away.
I don't get his reasoning.
And I don't get why it seems like I'm responsible when I miss out on something with which I think I should have gotten a fair chance.
Why do I always feel like I could have just done something differently?
Jacob waited 7 years on Rachel.
The Israelites waited 40 years on Canaan.
Abraham and Sarah waited 90 years on Isaac.
Noah waited 100 years on the rain.
We're all waiting for the return of Jesus.
Why does time seem to go by much more quickly in chapters and verses?
How do we make the paradigm shift from "bad timing" to "God's timing?"
Friday, August 04, 2006
There's Just Something About That Name
There really hasn't ever been a doubt in my mind about how great Michigan is--except maybe in the middle of any given February when everything is grey. But living in Oklahoma for three months has only confirmed that I could never live there permanently unless I had to.
Don't get me wrong, I am having a great time in Edmond. I'm meeting more people than I ever have, and I'm seeing my family all the time as opposed to just once or twice a year. I'm growing more and more independent, and I've even got a great job. But Oklahoma isn't Michigan.
Michigan has a distinct smell that I can only remember in my dreams when I'm not in it.
And Michigan summers have more green that can only be rivaled by Tulsa--but never anywhere in Oklahoma City short of Mayfair Church of Christ's auditorium.
Only in Michigan can you drive across 5 whole miles of suspension bridge, only to hop on a ferry to ride to an island boasting one of the oldest links golf courses still in operation. On a rainy day. And still have a fabulous time.
Michigan white pine trees line the roads and highways, growing taller than any tree I'll ever see in Oklahoma. Bright birch trees grab your eye, pulling your attention from the road at the flash of bright white teasing your periferal.
In Michigan you can drive for 2 hours across undeveloped land and not be bored.
You can climb 490 feet at a 60 degree incline of soft, deep sand down to Lake Michigan and put your feet in to find that it's a refreshing 78 degrees, only to turn around and grasp and strain your way back up to the top--all while wearing a long sleeved t-shirt and shorts if you please.
You can go on a rowboat to fish for your very first time ever and catch not 1, not 2, but THREE 4 pound large mouth bass and feed your entire family for dinner.
I don't understand why more people my age are in Oklahoma, and not in Michigan.
I love Oklahoma, and I'm very happy with my job, friends and life down there.
But Oklahoma can never be home.
And Oklahoma can never be Michigan.
And Oklahoma will never own me.
I bleed Michigan.
And even if I don't get to live here when I'm married and have kids, I will never ever consider anywhere else my home.
Don't get me wrong, I am having a great time in Edmond. I'm meeting more people than I ever have, and I'm seeing my family all the time as opposed to just once or twice a year. I'm growing more and more independent, and I've even got a great job. But Oklahoma isn't Michigan.
Michigan has a distinct smell that I can only remember in my dreams when I'm not in it.
And Michigan summers have more green that can only be rivaled by Tulsa--but never anywhere in Oklahoma City short of Mayfair Church of Christ's auditorium.
Only in Michigan can you drive across 5 whole miles of suspension bridge, only to hop on a ferry to ride to an island boasting one of the oldest links golf courses still in operation. On a rainy day. And still have a fabulous time.
Michigan white pine trees line the roads and highways, growing taller than any tree I'll ever see in Oklahoma. Bright birch trees grab your eye, pulling your attention from the road at the flash of bright white teasing your periferal.
In Michigan you can drive for 2 hours across undeveloped land and not be bored.
You can climb 490 feet at a 60 degree incline of soft, deep sand down to Lake Michigan and put your feet in to find that it's a refreshing 78 degrees, only to turn around and grasp and strain your way back up to the top--all while wearing a long sleeved t-shirt and shorts if you please.
You can go on a rowboat to fish for your very first time ever and catch not 1, not 2, but THREE 4 pound large mouth bass and feed your entire family for dinner.
I don't understand why more people my age are in Oklahoma, and not in Michigan.
I love Oklahoma, and I'm very happy with my job, friends and life down there.
But Oklahoma can never be home.
And Oklahoma can never be Michigan.
And Oklahoma will never own me.
I bleed Michigan.
And even if I don't get to live here when I'm married and have kids, I will never ever consider anywhere else my home.
Sunday, July 02, 2006
Not a Lot Changes in a Year.
In other news:Here's just some thinking, because sometimes it just has to be done. (Can we get an Amen?) [AMEN!] Thank you, Cecil. I have been thinking about Art lately. Garfunkel, you ask? No. Linkletter? Not particularly. I mean like expression. Museums. Art. Sometimes when you go into a museum there's a display where a yellow chair is hanging out behind a velvet rope pole and there's a popcorn kernel on the floor by the back left leg of the chair. There's a plaque next to it that reads "Lonely Screening" and the name "Hershey P. Flugerniffen" is nicely italicized below it. Now, I'm not going to argue the validity of Mr. Flugerniffen's artwork. What I am curious about, however, is who one would go to to say "this wadded up kleenex with kool-aid on it should go into a museum." I mean, seriously. If I could make some money off of my old shoes stapled to a board, than sign me up! Just tell me where to go! I can paint a blue box on a yellow canvas! I can bend a fork around a wooden spoon! I am an artist, too!
On the same track, what about these books we purchase for our toddlers today? 6 pages long. Text reads: Look at the firetruck; VROOM!; See it race to the fire.; WWEEEEEEEIIIIWWWWW!!!!; Oh no, Billy! Don't get wet!; Thanks Mr. Fireman!
Seriously! I could SO be a children's author. Especially because I'd like my children to grow up illiterate by wasting their 5 year old time on that crap.
Once I did a connect-the-dot that had 450 numbers in it, and also the letters of the alphabet. It turned out to be an owl. Not that's art.
On the same track, what about these books we purchase for our toddlers today? 6 pages long. Text reads: Look at the firetruck; VROOM!; See it race to the fire.; WWEEEEEEEIIIIWWWWW!!!!; Oh no, Billy! Don't get wet!; Thanks Mr. Fireman!
Seriously! I could SO be a children's author. Especially because I'd like my children to grow up illiterate by wasting their 5 year old time on that crap.
Once I did a connect-the-dot that had 450 numbers in it, and also the letters of the alphabet. It turned out to be an owl. Not that's art.
Monday, June 26, 2006
More than Enough
When an evil spirit comes out of a man, it goes through arid places seeking rest and does not find it. Then it says, "I will return to the house I left." When it arrives, it finds the house unoccupied, swept clean and put in order. Then it goes and takes with it seven other spirits more wicked than itself, and they go in and live there.
-Matthew 12: 43-45a
The part of this little anecdote that stands out to me the most is the part where Jesus says that the evil spirit comes back to an empty house. I'd say that's a very bold statement for him to make. Because it assumes that while the evil spirit was inside the body, the person was whole. And by making a vacancy when leaving, the spirit has a place to come home to when it returns.
How often do we recognize sins and try to eliminate them from our lifestyles? You know, break bad habbits. Stop overeating. Kill pornography addictions. Watch foul language. Stop judging people. There's many, I'm sure you know what your vices are. So, when you finally break the habbit--or drive out the demon--what are you using to occupy the now empty space? Are you going to stop overeating by keeping yourself busy? Are you killing pornography by not being on the computer as much? Watching your language by not talking as much? What is your strategy for breaking your habbit? Call me brash, but I doubt it's going to help you put down that 8th beer when you say your memory verse for the day. But yet anyone will say "oh, you have to fill that empty space with God." Let's face it, people--if we even get the space empty in the first place, we fill it with anything we can that will help us forget the original problem. Sometimes not realzing that the new thing might potentially be as dangerous.
Many people argue that while their lives are filled with sin, they don't feel complete. They feel somewhat empty. I'm not going to lie, it's easy to jump right in and say it's because when you're sinning you're seperated from God. And it makes sense. But I don't buy it. And even if you do use more Godly practices to get rid of your sin, I think Jesus was making a point when he said there would be an empty house. I don't think it was a "be careful to not keep your house empty" point, but rather "if something leaves, you're going to have space for it."
That being said, I really do think that it's important to fill holes. Because I think it's important to be complete. And, yes, as cliche as it sounds, I think that the Holy Spirit plays a huge part in helping us to be complete. But I don't think that holes are God-shaped. If they were, they'd be a whole lot easier to fill. We'd know what we needed, and how big to make it. It's easy to fill something to the top, when we know how much we need. But I don't think God works like that. There's no such thing as "just the right amount of God."
Taking sin out of our lives is something that is really important, but whatever we take out is going to leave a hole. And we have to understand that those holes have to be filled, but there's no way of knowing how big they are. They're not God-shaped, and if they were I'd hate to think that the same amount of sin I previously needed is equal to the same amount of God I'm replacing it with. God is bigger. And he is what needs to fill the holes. But since there's no way of knowing how much God to squeeze in there, we just have to strive for nothing less than everything.
No matter how much of whatever I have filling up myself right now, there is still my whole entire life and being that needs to continuously occupied. And for every vacancy I create, I can only either lose weight, or know God more.
-Matthew 12: 43-45a
The part of this little anecdote that stands out to me the most is the part where Jesus says that the evil spirit comes back to an empty house. I'd say that's a very bold statement for him to make. Because it assumes that while the evil spirit was inside the body, the person was whole. And by making a vacancy when leaving, the spirit has a place to come home to when it returns.
How often do we recognize sins and try to eliminate them from our lifestyles? You know, break bad habbits. Stop overeating. Kill pornography addictions. Watch foul language. Stop judging people. There's many, I'm sure you know what your vices are. So, when you finally break the habbit--or drive out the demon--what are you using to occupy the now empty space? Are you going to stop overeating by keeping yourself busy? Are you killing pornography by not being on the computer as much? Watching your language by not talking as much? What is your strategy for breaking your habbit? Call me brash, but I doubt it's going to help you put down that 8th beer when you say your memory verse for the day. But yet anyone will say "oh, you have to fill that empty space with God." Let's face it, people--if we even get the space empty in the first place, we fill it with anything we can that will help us forget the original problem. Sometimes not realzing that the new thing might potentially be as dangerous.
Many people argue that while their lives are filled with sin, they don't feel complete. They feel somewhat empty. I'm not going to lie, it's easy to jump right in and say it's because when you're sinning you're seperated from God. And it makes sense. But I don't buy it. And even if you do use more Godly practices to get rid of your sin, I think Jesus was making a point when he said there would be an empty house. I don't think it was a "be careful to not keep your house empty" point, but rather "if something leaves, you're going to have space for it."
That being said, I really do think that it's important to fill holes. Because I think it's important to be complete. And, yes, as cliche as it sounds, I think that the Holy Spirit plays a huge part in helping us to be complete. But I don't think that holes are God-shaped. If they were, they'd be a whole lot easier to fill. We'd know what we needed, and how big to make it. It's easy to fill something to the top, when we know how much we need. But I don't think God works like that. There's no such thing as "just the right amount of God."
Taking sin out of our lives is something that is really important, but whatever we take out is going to leave a hole. And we have to understand that those holes have to be filled, but there's no way of knowing how big they are. They're not God-shaped, and if they were I'd hate to think that the same amount of sin I previously needed is equal to the same amount of God I'm replacing it with. God is bigger. And he is what needs to fill the holes. But since there's no way of knowing how much God to squeeze in there, we just have to strive for nothing less than everything.
No matter how much of whatever I have filling up myself right now, there is still my whole entire life and being that needs to continuously occupied. And for every vacancy I create, I can only either lose weight, or know God more.
Friday, June 02, 2006
On Having a Purpose
There is a vine that is overtaking trees in the south. It's called the Kudzu vine, and in the last ten years it has pretty much been slowly climbing its way over trees all over Tennessee, Georgia and whatever other states are down that way. When I was in high school I learned about it, and how much trouble it was causing. I came home from a trip down south and told my boyfriend about it. He looked at me with a straight face and said, "why is it a problem?"
"Because it's killing the trees," I said.
"But what is the purpose of trees anyway? The plant is still removing carbon dioxide and producing oxygen. Why is it a problem?"
I didn't have an answer. I mean, sure--the vine wasn't as pretty as the trees, but what were they really there for?
Looking back on this now, I'd like to think that there is more to purpose than believing that something else can accomplish it.
What is my purpose? I used to think it was along the lines of teaching. Because I have been given the gift of teaching, it only makes sense that it's my purpose.
But after thinking about it for a while, I could be covered up in sin and still able to teach. I could be dead to God and still teach. Teaching isn't my purpose.
What am I here for that dies when I let sin cover it up?
THAT is my purpose.
"Because it's killing the trees," I said.
"But what is the purpose of trees anyway? The plant is still removing carbon dioxide and producing oxygen. Why is it a problem?"
I didn't have an answer. I mean, sure--the vine wasn't as pretty as the trees, but what were they really there for?
Looking back on this now, I'd like to think that there is more to purpose than believing that something else can accomplish it.
What is my purpose? I used to think it was along the lines of teaching. Because I have been given the gift of teaching, it only makes sense that it's my purpose.
But after thinking about it for a while, I could be covered up in sin and still able to teach. I could be dead to God and still teach. Teaching isn't my purpose.
What am I here for that dies when I let sin cover it up?
THAT is my purpose.
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
What is it? It's Tricky Tricky Tricky.
There are a lot of times that God's will is not terribly clear. Looking back on things, sometimes it's easy to see right and wrong choices. But while living life, it's rarely glaringly obvious what God's will for our lives is.
I will very confidently tell you that winter is my favorite season if you ask me at any random time. Any random time that is not February, I mean. I think God's will is a lot like that.
I understand very clearly and know very surely that God has a plan for my life. And I know that it's not my place to understand its timing, or logic until God chooses to reveal it to me. But when I'm in the situation where I don't know what God's plan is, or when I'm going to know, it's hard to remember that he has one and that whatever it is is best for me.
It's hard to know when something is Satan's distraction, or God's will. At least for me I know I can't always tell. Because I look at opportunity sometimes, and see it as God opening doors all over, but I get so confused and worried about making a wrong choice. But someone said something today that I had to think about for a little while. God doesn't try to trick his followers.
Why would God want to trick his followers? Does confusing us and frustrating us show us his love? People who have alterior motives use tricks. God gave us free will--he doesn't use reverse psychology on us. It's really up to us to decide to follow him. God doesn't try to tease and trick his people. Tricks are for magic, and we all know where that comes from.
God is the Rock. Satan is the shifting sand. No matter how firmly I plant my feet, if they're planted in sand, they're going to shift. So I take this to mean that when I'm following a plan that I think is right--and I'm taking heed to coincidences, good luck, and unexpected detours that seem too good to be true I have to examine the possibility that I could be on a gravel path lined with flowers rather than a narrow road leading me to Heaven.
God isn't out to trick me. He's out to save me. He's out to bring me to him by showing me that he blesses me daily, commands my obedience, and will never leave me. He calls me to trust him, to follow him wherever he leads. If he says "go," then I say "lead on" in full confidence that the path is secure. If I can't hear his call, it's most likely because I'm listening too hard for my own voice.
I can't mess up God's plan. If I could, why would I need a God anyway? But God says that if I seek him, I'm going to find him. If I seek what I want, I'm going to find a beautifully lined path with shifting sand between every brick. Boy might it be lovely now, but in ten years it's going to be in serious need of repair.
I will very confidently tell you that winter is my favorite season if you ask me at any random time. Any random time that is not February, I mean. I think God's will is a lot like that.
I understand very clearly and know very surely that God has a plan for my life. And I know that it's not my place to understand its timing, or logic until God chooses to reveal it to me. But when I'm in the situation where I don't know what God's plan is, or when I'm going to know, it's hard to remember that he has one and that whatever it is is best for me.
It's hard to know when something is Satan's distraction, or God's will. At least for me I know I can't always tell. Because I look at opportunity sometimes, and see it as God opening doors all over, but I get so confused and worried about making a wrong choice. But someone said something today that I had to think about for a little while. God doesn't try to trick his followers.
Why would God want to trick his followers? Does confusing us and frustrating us show us his love? People who have alterior motives use tricks. God gave us free will--he doesn't use reverse psychology on us. It's really up to us to decide to follow him. God doesn't try to tease and trick his people. Tricks are for magic, and we all know where that comes from.
God is the Rock. Satan is the shifting sand. No matter how firmly I plant my feet, if they're planted in sand, they're going to shift. So I take this to mean that when I'm following a plan that I think is right--and I'm taking heed to coincidences, good luck, and unexpected detours that seem too good to be true I have to examine the possibility that I could be on a gravel path lined with flowers rather than a narrow road leading me to Heaven.
God isn't out to trick me. He's out to save me. He's out to bring me to him by showing me that he blesses me daily, commands my obedience, and will never leave me. He calls me to trust him, to follow him wherever he leads. If he says "go," then I say "lead on" in full confidence that the path is secure. If I can't hear his call, it's most likely because I'm listening too hard for my own voice.
I can't mess up God's plan. If I could, why would I need a God anyway? But God says that if I seek him, I'm going to find him. If I seek what I want, I'm going to find a beautifully lined path with shifting sand between every brick. Boy might it be lovely now, but in ten years it's going to be in serious need of repair.
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