After this week, I don't know how I'm going to work inside anymore.
I try with all my being to not complain too much about the classroom in which I teach. The room is small and contains no windows. After my first year of teaching, I coated the gray walls with a bright yellow color (Honey Butter, to be exact) and that seems to give the room a cheery tone anyway. However, if I had my say, I would have visual access to the outdoors from my choral-director's hangout.
This week was different. This week, I got to spend most all day every day outside. It was glorious. At a camp called High Trails up near Florissant, CO, I spent the last few days roaming the wooded hills and rolling meadows with fellow teachers, high school counselors, 6th graders, and High Trails staffers. I love this experience and look forward to it every year.
This year was the best so far. The weather was absolutely pristine. The aspen trees were beginning to turn and the blazing yellow leaves danced happily against the backdrop of rich green pine trees. The air was warm but a cool breeze was often present as well. Wildlife was active and made our daily hikes adventurous. Perhaps the most unique thing I saw was a huge, unusual-looking grasshopper with a large, white egg sack billowing out its backside.
I love the role playing that goes on at High Trails. This year, I was assigned to the Prospectors discovery group. This track is dedicated to helping students learn about rocks and minerals and about the history of prospecting in Colorado. Every day, the High Trails staffer and high school students in charge of this discovery group dressed as old-timey prospectors in overalls, plaid shirts, and beat up hats. They put on little skits and made students search and dig for rocks and minerals as we made our way around the wilderness. Almost everywhere we were, we could clearly see the west side of Pikes Peak, looming large over the yellow and green hills below.
The food, fun, and fellowship at High Trails was also delightful. Every morning, the best homemade granola I've ever had was set out along with a ton of other yummy items. We all ate family style and were served by 6th graders who took turns being "able waiters".
I'm rambling at this point. The point is, I had an amazing week and wish I never had to work inside after getting to spend so much time outdoors. There is something calming, refreshing, and life-giving about being outside in nature. There is something even more powerful about getting to share nature with others, especially 6th graders who are eager learners and provide a unique perspective to the experience.
Before I sign off, I must also mention the stars. The stars were so incredibly magnificent in the clear autumn sky away from all the pollution and lighting of the city. When I saw the stars this week, it was all I could do to not thank God out loud for the amazing display. I at least prasied Him in my heart.
So, that's all for now. I am quite tired and need to ready for bed. I'm glad I have a job and my classroom at school, but I just might have to figure out how to transport my music classes outside...at least until the first signs of winter arrive.
Friday, September 17, 2010
Monday, September 6, 2010
Tears
I've been incredibly weepy lately. Everything makes me want to cry, even if I'm not sad. The weekend I just spent in Wyoming was no exception.
I'm not sure what's going on, but it feels like my brain has decided to court my emotions. Today, while watching Emma with my family, I wanted to cry over the hurt that Emma caused Miss Bates even though I have seen the film multiple times before and was not in the least surprised by the turns in the plot. Yesterday in church, I sat in the pew tensely for a full ten minutes, ready to flee to the bathroom in the event that the emotional well brewing just under the surface decided to overflow. The sermon was powerful, but there was nothing overly evocative about it.
Yesterday afternoon, tears blurred my vision over and over as I sat across the table from a dear elderly friend who had taken me out for dessert and coffee. As she told stories from her past, goosebumps and tears overwhelmed me. My feelings were acutely hyper. I wondered what the other folks in the restaurant were thinking of teary-eyed me.
The same thing occurred today as I spent precious time with my mom and dad before leaving Wyoming. I sat at a loss on the couch in our family room as tears flowed and flowed for what seemed like an eternity. My parents sat there and listened as I tried to ramble about why, their presence creating a balm for my heart.
And those are not all the incidents of that kind that I could relate. From this weekend alone.
The truth is, I am not completely sure why this is or what is happening with me. It's especially hard to decipher since I don't always feel like I'm crying out of sadness. It seems instead like I am crying out of intense feeling...feeling for my own hurts, excitements, fears, anticipations...but, more interestingly, feeling for those aspects in the lives of others as well.
Somehow, in some way, the Lord is waking me up to other people in completely new ways. It's like He's peeling back a new layer of my emotions and asking me to feel on a new level. It's a bit crazy. I'm a bit unsure. It's frighteningly and amazingly new.
This is the raw reality of me right now. I have unspeakable joy in the midst of the emotion. I can honestly say that I trust God, even in this unfamiliar territory. I just pray that, if God is doing surgery on me, that I will truly allow Him to cut what needs to be cut and to reveal what needs to be revealed. I pray that all the tears, for whatever cause they are being shed, will somehow be useful for God's kingdom.
I'm not sure what's going on, but it feels like my brain has decided to court my emotions. Today, while watching Emma with my family, I wanted to cry over the hurt that Emma caused Miss Bates even though I have seen the film multiple times before and was not in the least surprised by the turns in the plot. Yesterday in church, I sat in the pew tensely for a full ten minutes, ready to flee to the bathroom in the event that the emotional well brewing just under the surface decided to overflow. The sermon was powerful, but there was nothing overly evocative about it.
Yesterday afternoon, tears blurred my vision over and over as I sat across the table from a dear elderly friend who had taken me out for dessert and coffee. As she told stories from her past, goosebumps and tears overwhelmed me. My feelings were acutely hyper. I wondered what the other folks in the restaurant were thinking of teary-eyed me.
The same thing occurred today as I spent precious time with my mom and dad before leaving Wyoming. I sat at a loss on the couch in our family room as tears flowed and flowed for what seemed like an eternity. My parents sat there and listened as I tried to ramble about why, their presence creating a balm for my heart.
And those are not all the incidents of that kind that I could relate. From this weekend alone.
The truth is, I am not completely sure why this is or what is happening with me. It's especially hard to decipher since I don't always feel like I'm crying out of sadness. It seems instead like I am crying out of intense feeling...feeling for my own hurts, excitements, fears, anticipations...but, more interestingly, feeling for those aspects in the lives of others as well.
Somehow, in some way, the Lord is waking me up to other people in completely new ways. It's like He's peeling back a new layer of my emotions and asking me to feel on a new level. It's a bit crazy. I'm a bit unsure. It's frighteningly and amazingly new.
This is the raw reality of me right now. I have unspeakable joy in the midst of the emotion. I can honestly say that I trust God, even in this unfamiliar territory. I just pray that, if God is doing surgery on me, that I will truly allow Him to cut what needs to be cut and to reveal what needs to be revealed. I pray that all the tears, for whatever cause they are being shed, will somehow be useful for God's kingdom.
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Here's to You, Chopin
I have begun to learn one of my favorite Chopin ballades, Ballade #1 in G minor. Click on the following link to hear one of piano's greatest, Vladimir Horowitz, perform this masterpiece in Carnegie Hall. It is lengthy, but it is worth the time.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XhnRIuGZ_dc
This is an incredibly difficult piece so it could take some serious time for me to learn it. I will never play it like Horowitz. Yet, when I sit down to practice it, I thrill at the challenge and am transported by the dissonance and gritty harmony of the work. It's one of those experiences that defies description.
I first fell in love with this piece one weekend night when I was a senior in college. My roommate Jolee and I had decided that we weren't in the mood to participate in the party that was happening in our townhouse that evening and opted instead to curl up on the floor in our room and watch a flick. I don't remember how we decided on the Pianist or where we even got it, but I do remember that we made comfy beds on the floor, propped Jolee's laptop on a chair so that the screen was angled just right, connected my computer speakers to the thing, and settled in for what we hoped would be an inspirational film.
We were not at all disappointed but had no idea beforehand what we were getting ourselves into. The movie was incredibly sad. It followed the life of a Polish Jew who was a renowned pianist during the late 1930s. Once the Nazi deportation of the Jews began, the Pianist fled and hid over and over again until he nearly came to the end of his sanity, becoming completely hungry, frigid, and all but hopeless.
At that point, he stumbled into a deserted, tattered house that boasted a grand piano. There, a Nazi soldier ran him down, presumably in order to deport or kill him until he discovered the Pianist's unbelievable piano talent. When he heard the battered man play, the soldier was moved by the performance and showed mercy to the Pianist.
The first part of this clip shows the front end of this scene before cutting to a different video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AEuWoa4bwLw&feature=related The full scene used to be available on YouTube but I couldn't find it today. It's too bad.
One thing I remember for sure: that scene rocked my world. Jolee and I were both a mess of tears watching that movie, especially at that point. The amount of emotion in Chopin's music by itself is significant, but when it was coupled with a heartbreaking true story, the experience was overpowering. The ballade stuck with me and I remember searching to find out what it was some time after watching that movie. I had to hear it again.
It's been six years since I was introduced to this Ballade in G minor. It's time I tried my hand at it. And so it is that I will tackle it the best I can. It's my musical goal for this semester. I'm both excited and curious about this venture. Excited to learn an enchanting piece of music; curious to see if I'm capable. No matter the outcome, the challenge of the experience alone will be worth the time and effort. Of that I'm sure.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XhnRIuGZ_dc
This is an incredibly difficult piece so it could take some serious time for me to learn it. I will never play it like Horowitz. Yet, when I sit down to practice it, I thrill at the challenge and am transported by the dissonance and gritty harmony of the work. It's one of those experiences that defies description.
I first fell in love with this piece one weekend night when I was a senior in college. My roommate Jolee and I had decided that we weren't in the mood to participate in the party that was happening in our townhouse that evening and opted instead to curl up on the floor in our room and watch a flick. I don't remember how we decided on the Pianist or where we even got it, but I do remember that we made comfy beds on the floor, propped Jolee's laptop on a chair so that the screen was angled just right, connected my computer speakers to the thing, and settled in for what we hoped would be an inspirational film.
We were not at all disappointed but had no idea beforehand what we were getting ourselves into. The movie was incredibly sad. It followed the life of a Polish Jew who was a renowned pianist during the late 1930s. Once the Nazi deportation of the Jews began, the Pianist fled and hid over and over again until he nearly came to the end of his sanity, becoming completely hungry, frigid, and all but hopeless.
At that point, he stumbled into a deserted, tattered house that boasted a grand piano. There, a Nazi soldier ran him down, presumably in order to deport or kill him until he discovered the Pianist's unbelievable piano talent. When he heard the battered man play, the soldier was moved by the performance and showed mercy to the Pianist.
The first part of this clip shows the front end of this scene before cutting to a different video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AEuWoa4bwLw&feature=related The full scene used to be available on YouTube but I couldn't find it today. It's too bad.
One thing I remember for sure: that scene rocked my world. Jolee and I were both a mess of tears watching that movie, especially at that point. The amount of emotion in Chopin's music by itself is significant, but when it was coupled with a heartbreaking true story, the experience was overpowering. The ballade stuck with me and I remember searching to find out what it was some time after watching that movie. I had to hear it again.
It's been six years since I was introduced to this Ballade in G minor. It's time I tried my hand at it. And so it is that I will tackle it the best I can. It's my musical goal for this semester. I'm both excited and curious about this venture. Excited to learn an enchanting piece of music; curious to see if I'm capable. No matter the outcome, the challenge of the experience alone will be worth the time and effort. Of that I'm sure.
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Happy New School Year!
I don't like semi-colons. I never have. They are a confusing punctuation mark for me. Though I know I learned about how to appropriately use them over and over growing up, I still feel like the semi-colon and I just don't click very well. Plus, I think it's an unbecoming and cluttery-looking thing. I'm just not a fan.
I do, however, really like parentheses. Parentheses allow for both random and informal side notes. They grace writing with flexibility and flamboyance. Where would the world be without them? I think the semi-colon could be archived in a heartbeat. The parentheses, on the other hand, would be sorely missed if they were to disappear.
On the way up to Denver yesterday to meet up with a college pal of ours, my friend Lindsay and I bantered back and forth for a good twenty minutes about punctuation marks. It was a riveting conversation. Seriously! Discussing such an unusual subject proved to be a fascinating stimulant for my brain and, I'm pretty sure, also worked to grease up some rusty synapses.
Speaking of rusty synapses and punctuation marks, school starts tomorrow. Actually, only 6th graders come tomorrow, but it is school nonetheless. I am always thankful for the easier load the first day. It definitely helps me to ease back into the school schedule.
I also love the first day with just 6th graders because it gives me time to pour into the students who are scared beyond belief to be facing a new situation. My heart goes out to them each year. Middle school is terrifying, especially at a place as big as where I teach. Tomorrow, I will have to open numerous lockers, pat many backs, croon soothing words of comfort, and give clear directions multiple times throughout the day. There will be both tears and hyper excitement in the eyes of the sweet little pumpkins.
Though I honestly never thought I would have been teaching for this many years and sometimes wonder why the Lord keeps me at this job, I am ready. I am ready to face the new year. I am ready to pour into students and to learn new and better ways to approach my job. I hope I always remember what both a privilege and responsibility my job is. I hope I treat it with the integrity and seriousness that it deserves.
Here's to a new school year! May God give me the grace and strength to live each day to the fullest!
I do, however, really like parentheses. Parentheses allow for both random and informal side notes. They grace writing with flexibility and flamboyance. Where would the world be without them? I think the semi-colon could be archived in a heartbeat. The parentheses, on the other hand, would be sorely missed if they were to disappear.
On the way up to Denver yesterday to meet up with a college pal of ours, my friend Lindsay and I bantered back and forth for a good twenty minutes about punctuation marks. It was a riveting conversation. Seriously! Discussing such an unusual subject proved to be a fascinating stimulant for my brain and, I'm pretty sure, also worked to grease up some rusty synapses.
Speaking of rusty synapses and punctuation marks, school starts tomorrow. Actually, only 6th graders come tomorrow, but it is school nonetheless. I am always thankful for the easier load the first day. It definitely helps me to ease back into the school schedule.
I also love the first day with just 6th graders because it gives me time to pour into the students who are scared beyond belief to be facing a new situation. My heart goes out to them each year. Middle school is terrifying, especially at a place as big as where I teach. Tomorrow, I will have to open numerous lockers, pat many backs, croon soothing words of comfort, and give clear directions multiple times throughout the day. There will be both tears and hyper excitement in the eyes of the sweet little pumpkins.
Though I honestly never thought I would have been teaching for this many years and sometimes wonder why the Lord keeps me at this job, I am ready. I am ready to face the new year. I am ready to pour into students and to learn new and better ways to approach my job. I hope I always remember what both a privilege and responsibility my job is. I hope I treat it with the integrity and seriousness that it deserves.
Here's to a new school year! May God give me the grace and strength to live each day to the fullest!
Monday, August 9, 2010
Mom's 24-hour Theory
Toting as many bags and items from my car as I possibly could, I unlocked the door to my condo last night and stepped into a place I had not seen for a few months. The crisscrossing vacuum tracks on the carpet and the crisp edge to the air told me that my roommate Heather had thoroughly cleaned the place before departing on her vacation. The place seemed welcoming but vacant, as it was.
I wasn't too productive last night and ended up inviting a friend over to watch a movie. I was exhausted from traveling and told myself I would unpack in the morning. Plus, without anyone in the place, I knew having someone come over would help me transition back to my Colorado Springs world.
This morning dawned with cloudy skies and a coolness I have not experienced for some time. I felt invigorated and immediately went about my day, brewing some thick coffee to add a little kick to my step. After reading for a bit, I tore into the huge stack of mail that had accumulated while I was away (sadly, only two or three pieces were of a personal nature). That alone took a significant chunk of time. I then turned my attention to a million little things...paid a bill, wrote an email, made a phone call, checked on this, checked on that...and thus accomplished a copious number of mundane but necessary tasks.
Through this all, I have been thinking about how surreal life in transition is. Of course, this is nothing new and I am reminded of my mother's famous 24-hour theory. She always says it takes at least 24 hours after a vacation or any significant event to feel like things are back to "normal". This theory of hers also contains some addendems such as her suggestion that if one travels across time zones, it may take 24 hours per time zone to recover. She always refers to her theories with a slight tongue-in-cheek approach, but I think there's definitely truth to this theory. I'm claiming it because I'm feeling the 24-hour funk.
I just bought a bunch of fruits and veggies at the store that I'm going to spend some time washing, chopping, etc. That will be a good, mindless activity for me. Oh, and I just heard the rumble of some thunder. Ahhh. Love it. Maybe I can read a bit later to the sound of rain. That sounds fantastic! The perfect way to spend such a day.
Yours truly from the 24-hour recovery zone,
Jessica
I wasn't too productive last night and ended up inviting a friend over to watch a movie. I was exhausted from traveling and told myself I would unpack in the morning. Plus, without anyone in the place, I knew having someone come over would help me transition back to my Colorado Springs world.
This morning dawned with cloudy skies and a coolness I have not experienced for some time. I felt invigorated and immediately went about my day, brewing some thick coffee to add a little kick to my step. After reading for a bit, I tore into the huge stack of mail that had accumulated while I was away (sadly, only two or three pieces were of a personal nature). That alone took a significant chunk of time. I then turned my attention to a million little things...paid a bill, wrote an email, made a phone call, checked on this, checked on that...and thus accomplished a copious number of mundane but necessary tasks.
Through this all, I have been thinking about how surreal life in transition is. Of course, this is nothing new and I am reminded of my mother's famous 24-hour theory. She always says it takes at least 24 hours after a vacation or any significant event to feel like things are back to "normal". This theory of hers also contains some addendems such as her suggestion that if one travels across time zones, it may take 24 hours per time zone to recover. She always refers to her theories with a slight tongue-in-cheek approach, but I think there's definitely truth to this theory. I'm claiming it because I'm feeling the 24-hour funk.
I just bought a bunch of fruits and veggies at the store that I'm going to spend some time washing, chopping, etc. That will be a good, mindless activity for me. Oh, and I just heard the rumble of some thunder. Ahhh. Love it. Maybe I can read a bit later to the sound of rain. That sounds fantastic! The perfect way to spend such a day.
Yours truly from the 24-hour recovery zone,
Jessica
Friday, August 6, 2010
Coffee Should Stay in a Cup
This may be a record for me: two posts in one day. I'm cozied up in bed at my grandparents' house. I've already checked under the sheets for spiders (a long-held and ridiculous ritual of mine) and so have the all-clear to lounge and type a few things before giving in to sleep.
Earlier today, as I left Omaha, I was experiencing Food-Choice Indecisiveness, a condition that causes me to be confused about what I want to feed myself. It began when I filled my car up with gas. I decided it would be fun to have some soda to drink while I cruised down the highway. So, I popped into the convenience store and got some toxic Diet Pepsi mixed with Diet Mountain Dew from the fountain drink station. Check.
As I strolled to the checkout counter, I felt a slight rumble in my stomach. Hmm...a bit early for dinner, but I am quite hungry. I passed a little case of deli sandwiches and decided to buy a dainty turkey sandwich on wheat bread. It appeared decently healthy and I thought it would save me from taking time to get something later. I grabbed it. Check.
Diet soda and sandwich in hand, I got into my loaded Taurus and went on my way. I was soon reminded why gas station sandwiches are not touted as fine dining. The one I had carefully selected was a disaster. The bread was stale on one side and soggy on the other. Yum. I choked it down though because I wasn't going to let it go to waste. Really, Jessica?
So, being small and unpalatable, the sandwich just didn't satiate me. As I drew closer to the interstate, I decided I should get something else. Hmm...but what? It was a struggle, let me tell you. I wasted a good five or ten minutes in deciding, even parking and going into a convenience store only to walk back out because I couldn't, for the life of me, figure out what I should eat.
Finally, I decided that something sweet would be perfect. At the same time, I concluded that my diet soda concoction would have to go to make room for my first beverage love: coffee. There was a McDonald's next to the interstate. Mmm...a hot fudge sundae with black coffee. That sounded heavenly and like it would slide down nice and easy. I figured I deserved something fun to eat to celebrate the end of my summer (I won't tell you how many other times I've celebrated with food this week.)
I whipped Miss Ruby, Jr. into the drive-thru. Though the line was long, I didn't have to be too patient. That's one thing about McDonald's. Their food may be a bit simulated, but they rock at drive-thrus. I was so impressed that I smiled at the braces-laden teenage girl who handed me my food. "You guys are slick!" I exclaimed, full of chipper good-will toward all. Who wouldn't be when about to indulge in ice-cream and hot-fudge goodness? The girl grinned back at me.
As I pulled forward, I paused by the trashcans to dump my toxic soda (sorry to be wasteful, but I did eat the sandwich.) as well as some old coffee that was sitting in my car. As I reached to put the old coffee in the trash, it slipped from my hands, did an acrobatic flip, and splashed unceremoniously all over my shorts, legs, and door. The good news is that it was room temperature, but it was still WET! I just had to laugh at myself for being so clumsy. Ridiculous.
Three and a half hours later, when I arrived in NP, I was still wet. I was too lazy to change along the way and really didn't notice the damp too much. I still had a grand time singing and dancing to music, talking on the phone, and dreaming about whatever as I crusied down the road. My coffee-stained legs combined with the murky-brown wet spots on my shorts were not becoming, but it was no big deal. I was riding solo.
That is all I will take the time to relate tonight. I love sleeping at my grandparents' house, and it's time to give in to my drooping eyelids. Over and out.
Earlier today, as I left Omaha, I was experiencing Food-Choice Indecisiveness, a condition that causes me to be confused about what I want to feed myself. It began when I filled my car up with gas. I decided it would be fun to have some soda to drink while I cruised down the highway. So, I popped into the convenience store and got some toxic Diet Pepsi mixed with Diet Mountain Dew from the fountain drink station. Check.
As I strolled to the checkout counter, I felt a slight rumble in my stomach. Hmm...a bit early for dinner, but I am quite hungry. I passed a little case of deli sandwiches and decided to buy a dainty turkey sandwich on wheat bread. It appeared decently healthy and I thought it would save me from taking time to get something later. I grabbed it. Check.
Diet soda and sandwich in hand, I got into my loaded Taurus and went on my way. I was soon reminded why gas station sandwiches are not touted as fine dining. The one I had carefully selected was a disaster. The bread was stale on one side and soggy on the other. Yum. I choked it down though because I wasn't going to let it go to waste. Really, Jessica?
So, being small and unpalatable, the sandwich just didn't satiate me. As I drew closer to the interstate, I decided I should get something else. Hmm...but what? It was a struggle, let me tell you. I wasted a good five or ten minutes in deciding, even parking and going into a convenience store only to walk back out because I couldn't, for the life of me, figure out what I should eat.
Finally, I decided that something sweet would be perfect. At the same time, I concluded that my diet soda concoction would have to go to make room for my first beverage love: coffee. There was a McDonald's next to the interstate. Mmm...a hot fudge sundae with black coffee. That sounded heavenly and like it would slide down nice and easy. I figured I deserved something fun to eat to celebrate the end of my summer (I won't tell you how many other times I've celebrated with food this week.)
I whipped Miss Ruby, Jr. into the drive-thru. Though the line was long, I didn't have to be too patient. That's one thing about McDonald's. Their food may be a bit simulated, but they rock at drive-thrus. I was so impressed that I smiled at the braces-laden teenage girl who handed me my food. "You guys are slick!" I exclaimed, full of chipper good-will toward all. Who wouldn't be when about to indulge in ice-cream and hot-fudge goodness? The girl grinned back at me.
As I pulled forward, I paused by the trashcans to dump my toxic soda (sorry to be wasteful, but I did eat the sandwich.) as well as some old coffee that was sitting in my car. As I reached to put the old coffee in the trash, it slipped from my hands, did an acrobatic flip, and splashed unceremoniously all over my shorts, legs, and door. The good news is that it was room temperature, but it was still WET! I just had to laugh at myself for being so clumsy. Ridiculous.
Three and a half hours later, when I arrived in NP, I was still wet. I was too lazy to change along the way and really didn't notice the damp too much. I still had a grand time singing and dancing to music, talking on the phone, and dreaming about whatever as I crusied down the road. My coffee-stained legs combined with the murky-brown wet spots on my shorts were not becoming, but it was no big deal. I was riding solo.
That is all I will take the time to relate tonight. I love sleeping at my grandparents' house, and it's time to give in to my drooping eyelids. Over and out.
A Chapter Ends
I just hugged my cousin Abbie goodbye. She was the last family member for me to say farewell to here in Omaha. Sad.
Now, I have one more day with the girls I nanny. We're going to lunch with their mom in an hour or two. I'm excited about that. But, when 5:00 rolls around, I'll hug the girls goodbye, drive on past the townhouse I've called home all summer, and point my car west on the interstate. I'll probably have some inspiring tunes rocking my Taurus, but I'm sure I'll glance in the rear-view mirror on my way out of town in recognition that I'm driving away from a place that's worked its way into my heart. It's surreal now, but I can bank on emotions showing up sooner or later.
I'll be driving toward Colorado. I'll stop for a day in North Platte to spend precious time with my grandparents. I'll be experiencing that strange no-man's land of life between chapters. One will have closed but the next one will still be mysterious. Anticipation, curiosity, and a touch of uncertainty will line the thoughts of the future while sentimentality, fondness, and a touch of sadness will flood the thoughts of the past. Yep, that's where I will be in a few short hours.
God has been exceedingly good to me in giving me this summer in Nebraska. I am thankful. I have more precious memories from my time here than I can digest at once. My cup overflows and I'm drinking from my saucer (I'd like to give a shout out to my Uncle Ken and Grandpa for that saying).
These kinds of days make me wish that everyone I love so dearly all lived in Colorado. I don't like having to say goodbye. Then I think of heaven and feel jazzed. There will be no farewells in heaven. It will be amazing, sweet fellowship with those most dear to me. Uninterrupted. Unpolluted. Perfect.
So, here's to cornfields, lakes, family, friends, music, laughter, crying, lounging, game-playing, movie-watching, cooking, baking, dancing, brainstorming, running, swimming, kayaking, storm-watching, town-exploring, and every other thing that has been a part of my summer in 2010. It will not be forgotten.
Now, I have one more day with the girls I nanny. We're going to lunch with their mom in an hour or two. I'm excited about that. But, when 5:00 rolls around, I'll hug the girls goodbye, drive on past the townhouse I've called home all summer, and point my car west on the interstate. I'll probably have some inspiring tunes rocking my Taurus, but I'm sure I'll glance in the rear-view mirror on my way out of town in recognition that I'm driving away from a place that's worked its way into my heart. It's surreal now, but I can bank on emotions showing up sooner or later.
I'll be driving toward Colorado. I'll stop for a day in North Platte to spend precious time with my grandparents. I'll be experiencing that strange no-man's land of life between chapters. One will have closed but the next one will still be mysterious. Anticipation, curiosity, and a touch of uncertainty will line the thoughts of the future while sentimentality, fondness, and a touch of sadness will flood the thoughts of the past. Yep, that's where I will be in a few short hours.
God has been exceedingly good to me in giving me this summer in Nebraska. I am thankful. I have more precious memories from my time here than I can digest at once. My cup overflows and I'm drinking from my saucer (I'd like to give a shout out to my Uncle Ken and Grandpa for that saying).
These kinds of days make me wish that everyone I love so dearly all lived in Colorado. I don't like having to say goodbye. Then I think of heaven and feel jazzed. There will be no farewells in heaven. It will be amazing, sweet fellowship with those most dear to me. Uninterrupted. Unpolluted. Perfect.
So, here's to cornfields, lakes, family, friends, music, laughter, crying, lounging, game-playing, movie-watching, cooking, baking, dancing, brainstorming, running, swimming, kayaking, storm-watching, town-exploring, and every other thing that has been a part of my summer in 2010. It will not be forgotten.
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
My Dream Led Me to Holland
Last night, I dreamt that I was in Corrie Ten Boom's house in Holland. I've never been there, but I've seen pictures and diagrams of the house where she and her family hid Jews during World War II. In my dream, I drifted through the watch shop on the main floor and then walked up a small flight of stairs to the kitchen at the rear of the house. My dream ended shortly thereafter, but the experience up to that point was quite vivid in my mind as I can still picture how things were arranged in the house. I even remember trying to imagine in my dream what life was like for the Ten Boom's.
As is often the case with dreams, I am not sure why I dreamt about that house last night. I do know that The Hiding Place is one of my favorite books and that Corrie Ten Boom is someone whom I admire greatly. I think I like The Hiding Place so much because Corrie is so authentic in the way she retells the events of her life. She does not put on a religious or pious air. She is honest. She doesn't disguise her struggles with anger or even hatred when she and her family are brutally mistreated by the Nazis. She doesn't puff herself up when she tells how God breaks through the darkness in remarkable ways.
The beauty in her story lies in the fact that God used despair to reach both Corrie and the people in her life. Through every fear, He proved Himself a source of strength, comfort, and joy in her life. His work in her led those around her to want a relationship with Christ too. Her story is profound and completely blows me away.
Today, Corrie is famous and her story is an inspiration to many. Hmm. Did she have any inkling that she would be famous when she was sharing a lice-ridden wooden bunk with far too many other women? Did she know that her faith in Christ would comfort strangers years later when she had to stand in freezing conditions without proper nourishment or clothing for hours before the break of day? Did she know that Christ's work in her life would eventually be used to minister to others at the moment she heard the news that her dear sister Betsy had died in the camp? Did she know any of that when the darkness of her life was suffocating?
No. All she had to carry her through those moments was Jesus Christ. All she had was His hand, His comfort, His promises. All she had was the hope of His salvation and the joy of His ultimate victory. That was all she had and it was enough. Though her situation was grim, she and her sister Betsy made use of each moment to share the love of Christ. They did not languish in the dark. They had Jesus Christ. They lived for Him still.
Her life reminds me of Joseph and David in the Bible. Both of these men spent years being treated unfairly in obscurity before the Lord made them great rulers. Even so, these men did not react in human indignation. They knew not what great tasks the Lord had for them in the future, but that didn't stop them from living with integrity in the "now" of their lives. They were diligent and faithful and the Lord never left their side.
If these stories don't prove to those in Christ that human circumstances are no reason for fear or doubt, than what would? "Jesus Christ the same yesterday, and today, and forever." (Hebrews 13:8). He is always the same and He never leaves or forsakes us (Hebrews 13:5). Amazing truth.
As is often the case with dreams, I am not sure why I dreamt about that house last night. I do know that The Hiding Place is one of my favorite books and that Corrie Ten Boom is someone whom I admire greatly. I think I like The Hiding Place so much because Corrie is so authentic in the way she retells the events of her life. She does not put on a religious or pious air. She is honest. She doesn't disguise her struggles with anger or even hatred when she and her family are brutally mistreated by the Nazis. She doesn't puff herself up when she tells how God breaks through the darkness in remarkable ways.
The beauty in her story lies in the fact that God used despair to reach both Corrie and the people in her life. Through every fear, He proved Himself a source of strength, comfort, and joy in her life. His work in her led those around her to want a relationship with Christ too. Her story is profound and completely blows me away.
Today, Corrie is famous and her story is an inspiration to many. Hmm. Did she have any inkling that she would be famous when she was sharing a lice-ridden wooden bunk with far too many other women? Did she know that her faith in Christ would comfort strangers years later when she had to stand in freezing conditions without proper nourishment or clothing for hours before the break of day? Did she know that Christ's work in her life would eventually be used to minister to others at the moment she heard the news that her dear sister Betsy had died in the camp? Did she know any of that when the darkness of her life was suffocating?
No. All she had to carry her through those moments was Jesus Christ. All she had was His hand, His comfort, His promises. All she had was the hope of His salvation and the joy of His ultimate victory. That was all she had and it was enough. Though her situation was grim, she and her sister Betsy made use of each moment to share the love of Christ. They did not languish in the dark. They had Jesus Christ. They lived for Him still.
Her life reminds me of Joseph and David in the Bible. Both of these men spent years being treated unfairly in obscurity before the Lord made them great rulers. Even so, these men did not react in human indignation. They knew not what great tasks the Lord had for them in the future, but that didn't stop them from living with integrity in the "now" of their lives. They were diligent and faithful and the Lord never left their side.
If these stories don't prove to those in Christ that human circumstances are no reason for fear or doubt, than what would? "Jesus Christ the same yesterday, and today, and forever." (Hebrews 13:8). He is always the same and He never leaves or forsakes us (Hebrews 13:5). Amazing truth.
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
A Loose Hold
I can't commit. I can't commit to a blog post, that is. I have started numerous posts recently only to discard them, frustrated with their lack of relevance, excitement, authenticity, or pizazz. Ugh.
Besides my blog, I keep a hand-written journal that is never consistent unless I'm worked up about something. In fact, my personal journals are very telling regarding what motivates me to write. More often than not, I turn to my journal as a therapy when I am upset and my thoughts need somewhere to run instead of in the circular pattern they seem to find in my brain.
Sometimes, I let my thoughts flow unfiltered from my mind to the journal page with little thought as I go as to what I am writing. As I scribble, I think "This will probably make no sense, but who cares? Nobody is reading this anyway." Oftentimes, those passionate outpourings are some of the most powerful sections I pen. The content is nothing but raw human thought. No pretense. No proofreading. No polishing. No need.
When I write on my blog, I am instantly aware that what I "publish" might be viewed by people besides me. I feel the need to craft my words and I fuss over the formation of my thoughts. That frustrates me. If my dad were here, I am sure he would love to compare such a situation to golf. My dad always finds a way to compare life to golf.
According to my dad (and every other golf guru out there), when playing a round of golf, the best way to succeed is to relax into the game and to hold loosely to the outcome. As a junior high girl who went out to play with my dad often, I had to be reminded of this frequently. I would put a death grip on my clubs and swing as though I were fighting for my life. In such a state, I would only end up expending needless energy and runing my game. There were many times I felt angry on the course. I was too intense. I cared too much. I thought that's how the game was to be played. I paid for it every time.
Thanks, dad. Thanks for the advice on golf and life. How can I hold loosely? How can I write without expectations and the desire for perfection ruining my chances for success? How can I do anything well in life when the desire to appear awesome to any onlookers trips me up? Hmmm. That's some good food for thought.
One thing about it, I didn't go into this post with any specific goal. That's probably a good start for now. Who knows? In the name of holding more loosely (for now), I am not going to rework this thing. I don't have time to anyway. My sister's in town and it's time to sign off and get ready for an evening of fun with the relatives. The end.
Besides my blog, I keep a hand-written journal that is never consistent unless I'm worked up about something. In fact, my personal journals are very telling regarding what motivates me to write. More often than not, I turn to my journal as a therapy when I am upset and my thoughts need somewhere to run instead of in the circular pattern they seem to find in my brain.
Sometimes, I let my thoughts flow unfiltered from my mind to the journal page with little thought as I go as to what I am writing. As I scribble, I think "This will probably make no sense, but who cares? Nobody is reading this anyway." Oftentimes, those passionate outpourings are some of the most powerful sections I pen. The content is nothing but raw human thought. No pretense. No proofreading. No polishing. No need.
When I write on my blog, I am instantly aware that what I "publish" might be viewed by people besides me. I feel the need to craft my words and I fuss over the formation of my thoughts. That frustrates me. If my dad were here, I am sure he would love to compare such a situation to golf. My dad always finds a way to compare life to golf.
According to my dad (and every other golf guru out there), when playing a round of golf, the best way to succeed is to relax into the game and to hold loosely to the outcome. As a junior high girl who went out to play with my dad often, I had to be reminded of this frequently. I would put a death grip on my clubs and swing as though I were fighting for my life. In such a state, I would only end up expending needless energy and runing my game. There were many times I felt angry on the course. I was too intense. I cared too much. I thought that's how the game was to be played. I paid for it every time.
Thanks, dad. Thanks for the advice on golf and life. How can I hold loosely? How can I write without expectations and the desire for perfection ruining my chances for success? How can I do anything well in life when the desire to appear awesome to any onlookers trips me up? Hmmm. That's some good food for thought.
One thing about it, I didn't go into this post with any specific goal. That's probably a good start for now. Who knows? In the name of holding more loosely (for now), I am not going to rework this thing. I don't have time to anyway. My sister's in town and it's time to sign off and get ready for an evening of fun with the relatives. The end.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
A Place of Abundance
It's overcast in Omaha today. Though it's still a bit muggy outside, the air is definitely cooler. It's a nice break from the crazy heat we've been experiencing. The rich cup of coffee I'm sipping is keeping me company for the moment since nobody else is yet awake in the house.
Recently, I've been struck by Psalm 66:10-12:
When my heart is raw from the tortures of the valley, will I still have faith? Will I believe that Christ will see me through and that He will guard my path? Will I choose to trust Him in thick darkness when I cannot be sure of the right direction but for His leading? Will I listen for His voice when voices of confusion and lies are whispering around me? Will I believe that He will lead me to abundance? Will I be sure to give Him the glory when He does?
I must. If I believe that God is who He says He is, I have no other option than to trust Him. I must give my heart into His care and must trust that He, in His timing, will lead me to a place of rest and replenishment. I don't need to know when. It is enough to know that.
Isaiah 43:2: "When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze."
~Image taken from: http://www.galaxy.bedfordshire.gov.uk/webingres/bedfordshire/vlib/0.information_reference/art_gall_fant_bunyan_vall_sh_d.htm
*Taken from Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress out of Part 1, Stage 4. http://acacia.pair.com/Acacia.Vignettes/Valley.Shadow.Death.html
Recently, I've been struck by Psalm 66:10-12:
For you, O God, tested us;
you refined us like silver.
You brought us into prison
and laid burdens on our backs.
You let men ride over our heads;
we went through fire and water,
but you brought us to a place of abundance.
God tests us. God allows difficulty to overwhelm those whom He loves. How many times have I felt like I've been in prison? How many times have I felt the weight of a burden? How many times have I thought that everyone else is succeeding in life while I am somehow behind, lying limp on the ground like a wounded spectator? How many times has my soul felt burned or my spirit floundered in the flood of life's troubles? Can it all lead to a place of abundance?
Yes. It reminds me of a video of John Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress that my brother and I used to watch as kids. It was one of those films that takes a picture book and scans along different depictions of the story while some intriguing voice reads the narrative. I can now see the image of Christian walking through the Valley of the Shadow of Death, something he had to do in order to reach the Celestial City. The Valley is a dark, dank, dangerous place. It is filled to the brim with every kind of discouragement, confusion, and evil. At every turn, it seems that Christian will plummet off some slippery ledge and lose his way forever. Honestly, the scene in the movie is frightening.
Though the odds seem that he will fail, Christian makes it through to the other side of the valley where morning has dawned and glorious light fills his vision. It is inexplicable that he should have escaped the dangers of the pit except for the supernatural hand of Christ on his life. Filled with relief and joy, Christian sings:
O world of wonders! (I can say no less),
That I should be preserved in that distress
That I have met with here! O blessed be
That hand that from it hath deliver'd me!
Dangers in darkness, devils, hell, and sin
Did compass me, while I this vale was in:
Yea, snares, and pits, and traps, and nets, did lie
My path about, that worthless, silly I
Might have been catch'd, entangled, and cast down;
But since I live, let JESUS wear the crown.*
When my heart is raw from the tortures of the valley, will I still have faith? Will I believe that Christ will see me through and that He will guard my path? Will I choose to trust Him in thick darkness when I cannot be sure of the right direction but for His leading? Will I listen for His voice when voices of confusion and lies are whispering around me? Will I believe that He will lead me to abundance? Will I be sure to give Him the glory when He does?
I must. If I believe that God is who He says He is, I have no other option than to trust Him. I must give my heart into His care and must trust that He, in His timing, will lead me to a place of rest and replenishment. I don't need to know when. It is enough to know that.
Isaiah 43:2: "When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze."
~Image taken from: http://www.galaxy.bedfordshire.gov.uk/webingres/bedfordshire/vlib/0.information_reference/art_gall_fant_bunyan_vall_sh_d.htm
*Taken from Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress out of Part 1, Stage 4. http://acacia.pair.com/Acacia.Vignettes/Valley.Shadow.Death.html
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Water is a Girl's Best Friend
Weighed down with my laptop bag, my purse, and my swimming bag, I pushed open the front door this morning and stepped into a sauna. Immediately, my sunglasses were shrouded by steamy fog. Yep, it's going to be a hot one. The clock had not yet struck 8 a.m. and yet my summery outfit felt oppressive.
This just in: a text from my cousin sent from her nanny post five miles away. "Welcome to Nebraska!" That's all it says, but I know exactly what she's talking about. Heat, heat, heat! Humidity, humidity, humidity! Where's some Colorado weather when I need it?
Weather aside, I can't complain. I can't really even complain about the weather either since it makes all the fun water activities available to me even more refreshing. I now more fully appreciate the beauty and necessity of lakes and pools. Here I am, just a girl from the West getting a brutal schooling on living the dog days of summer in a humidity trap. I've developed a simple equation for the matter. Heat + Humidity = A Pool or Lake Day. The fact that this equation works in my life right now attests to how fortunate I've been to experience this nannying job this summer.
The older I get, the more amazed I grow at how God orchestrates my life. He knew that I needed to be in Omaha this summer long before I did. There have been many aspects of this situation that have perfectly ministered to me in ways I would have never been able to predict beforehand. The blessings range from simple to profound. Simple blessings include getting the chance to experience a different city for multiple weeks, getting to lounge on a lake or at the pool often, and being able to do more unique and fun activities than I can here name. On a more profound level, I have been blessed by getting to spend in-depth time with my wonderful cousins, getting to pour into and be blessed in return by young girls who are navigating pivotal stages in their lives, and getting to interact with old and new friends.
So, on a vague level, that is the story of my summer thus far. Perhaps I will recount more specific experiences later. Yet, duty calls. I have girls to attend to, heat to escape, and life to fully enjoy! God is good, even in humidity.
This just in: a text from my cousin sent from her nanny post five miles away. "Welcome to Nebraska!" That's all it says, but I know exactly what she's talking about. Heat, heat, heat! Humidity, humidity, humidity! Where's some Colorado weather when I need it?
Weather aside, I can't complain. I can't really even complain about the weather either since it makes all the fun water activities available to me even more refreshing. I now more fully appreciate the beauty and necessity of lakes and pools. Here I am, just a girl from the West getting a brutal schooling on living the dog days of summer in a humidity trap. I've developed a simple equation for the matter. Heat + Humidity = A Pool or Lake Day. The fact that this equation works in my life right now attests to how fortunate I've been to experience this nannying job this summer.
The older I get, the more amazed I grow at how God orchestrates my life. He knew that I needed to be in Omaha this summer long before I did. There have been many aspects of this situation that have perfectly ministered to me in ways I would have never been able to predict beforehand. The blessings range from simple to profound. Simple blessings include getting the chance to experience a different city for multiple weeks, getting to lounge on a lake or at the pool often, and being able to do more unique and fun activities than I can here name. On a more profound level, I have been blessed by getting to spend in-depth time with my wonderful cousins, getting to pour into and be blessed in return by young girls who are navigating pivotal stages in their lives, and getting to interact with old and new friends.
So, on a vague level, that is the story of my summer thus far. Perhaps I will recount more specific experiences later. Yet, duty calls. I have girls to attend to, heat to escape, and life to fully enjoy! God is good, even in humidity.
Sunday, July 4, 2010
Reflections in the Rain
I have a feeling this is going to be a different sort of 4th of July. It's a Sunday and it's incredibly rainy here in Omaha. Those two factors alone will change things up a bit. The normal action-packed, outdoor-events sort of holiday will not be the story today. Yet, being able to sit and read and reflect before church is much-needed for me at this moment, so I am by no means complaining.
Over the past week, I've had so many blog ideas filter through my mind. I've sat down to write them out a few different times, but I just haven't had the vision to finish them. Stories from nannying are plentiful as are topic ideas from my observations about life here in Nebraska versus life in Colorado. There is so much about which a person could write.
Yet, this morning as I wake up to the day, all I can do is stare at the rain pattering on the porch outside the sliding glass doors. As I've gazed at the hundreds of rippling circles created by each drop of rain on the wooden slats, I have realized that I can see the porch railing reflected on the porch floor. This is not necessarily a novel discovery, but the sudden, conscious recognition of the mirror effect gives me pause.
On a sunny day, such a reflection isn't possible. The bright rays of the sun wipe away the reflection and the swirling grains of wood are all that the eye can see. No rain means no mirror. How then, would the porch railing ever get to see itself if not for the rain?
Rain is often used as a metaphor for hard times in life. I sometimes question that analogy since rain can be seen as a blessing in the Bible and is a refreshing occurrence for many humans. Even so, I understand the comparison, and it just so happens that this comparison deepens my rumination today.
If it never rained in my life, would I ever be able to see a true reflection of myself? If trouble and sorrow and pain never gripped my heart, would I ever pause to deeply evaluate my standing with the Lord? Would I ever stop to gaze into a mirror of my soul and see what lies in the recesses? I'm not sure.
I don't envision myself as a heartless fool when times are good. At the same time, I know for a fact that I am not as completely contemplative or intensely introspective when life is smooth. Throughout Scripture, we are taught that trials are what develop character. Though we know it, we seldom joyfully embrace the troubles that give us pain.
To be honest, I have experienced a lot of rain in my life recently. At times it's been a drizzle. At times it's been a driving downpour. The sky has been cloudy and the stormy winds chilly. Yet, I am learning to take joy in the chance I have to look into the reflection that the rain is providing. The storm has driven me closer to Christ. The tempest has given me pause. I've had no choice but to stop and wait for the storm to lift in order to see what direction the Lord has for me. Within the waiting, my own reflection has been peering at me through the rain with piercing force.
The reflection I see in the watery mirror is not so attractive. I have caught a glimpse of areas within myself that are faulty, unbecoming, or just plain ugly. It's been hard to face the realities that continually rise to the surface. Yet, I think I would have proceeded to trudge along bearing burdensome dross if the rain had not rolled in and bid me stop. The cry of my heart is that Christ will do surgery and remove all that is sinful and unlovely about me. What a painful process that is and will contine to be! Yet, I know it is needed. It will be needed throughout my life.
So, thanks be to God! Thanks be to Him for trials and sorrows that needle my heart and refine my soul! May the Lord keep me in the path of pain if it will make me more like Christ. May I never cease to see how reflection is often clearest in the rain.
Over the past week, I've had so many blog ideas filter through my mind. I've sat down to write them out a few different times, but I just haven't had the vision to finish them. Stories from nannying are plentiful as are topic ideas from my observations about life here in Nebraska versus life in Colorado. There is so much about which a person could write.
Yet, this morning as I wake up to the day, all I can do is stare at the rain pattering on the porch outside the sliding glass doors. As I've gazed at the hundreds of rippling circles created by each drop of rain on the wooden slats, I have realized that I can see the porch railing reflected on the porch floor. This is not necessarily a novel discovery, but the sudden, conscious recognition of the mirror effect gives me pause.
On a sunny day, such a reflection isn't possible. The bright rays of the sun wipe away the reflection and the swirling grains of wood are all that the eye can see. No rain means no mirror. How then, would the porch railing ever get to see itself if not for the rain?
Rain is often used as a metaphor for hard times in life. I sometimes question that analogy since rain can be seen as a blessing in the Bible and is a refreshing occurrence for many humans. Even so, I understand the comparison, and it just so happens that this comparison deepens my rumination today.
If it never rained in my life, would I ever be able to see a true reflection of myself? If trouble and sorrow and pain never gripped my heart, would I ever pause to deeply evaluate my standing with the Lord? Would I ever stop to gaze into a mirror of my soul and see what lies in the recesses? I'm not sure.
I don't envision myself as a heartless fool when times are good. At the same time, I know for a fact that I am not as completely contemplative or intensely introspective when life is smooth. Throughout Scripture, we are taught that trials are what develop character. Though we know it, we seldom joyfully embrace the troubles that give us pain.
To be honest, I have experienced a lot of rain in my life recently. At times it's been a drizzle. At times it's been a driving downpour. The sky has been cloudy and the stormy winds chilly. Yet, I am learning to take joy in the chance I have to look into the reflection that the rain is providing. The storm has driven me closer to Christ. The tempest has given me pause. I've had no choice but to stop and wait for the storm to lift in order to see what direction the Lord has for me. Within the waiting, my own reflection has been peering at me through the rain with piercing force.
The reflection I see in the watery mirror is not so attractive. I have caught a glimpse of areas within myself that are faulty, unbecoming, or just plain ugly. It's been hard to face the realities that continually rise to the surface. Yet, I think I would have proceeded to trudge along bearing burdensome dross if the rain had not rolled in and bid me stop. The cry of my heart is that Christ will do surgery and remove all that is sinful and unlovely about me. What a painful process that is and will contine to be! Yet, I know it is needed. It will be needed throughout my life.
So, thanks be to God! Thanks be to Him for trials and sorrows that needle my heart and refine my soul! May the Lord keep me in the path of pain if it will make me more like Christ. May I never cease to see how reflection is often clearest in the rain.
Monday, June 28, 2010
Fireflies
I really should be in bed. The day has been packed with activities and sleep is beckoning me. Yet, I have to pause to reflect on how amazing God is.
Abbie and I went for an evening jog after eating birthday cake and homemade ice cream at a birthday party (not so smart, right?). But, the climate was pristine and the running schedule we're on called for us to kick ourselves into gear, birthday cake or no. The air was balmy but cool, the twilight-covered landscape was glowing, and the stars were blinking in the sky. With my iPod crooning and my legs pumping, I soaked it all in and let the beauty captivate me.
For a Western girl like me, the most mesmerizing aspect of the evening runs we've been taking are the fireflies. The flashes of light in the midst of cornfields and lush trees wow me. Tonight, Abbie and I pretended they were crazed fans stumbling over each other to snap photos of us, Olympic runners extraordinaire (if you read this Abbie, sorry to admit our antics. I'm not ashamed.). Yet, I don't think these little bugs care the least about us. Instead, I envision them praising God with their light show. It must bring pleasure and glory to Him to see the handiwork of His creation.
I marvel at the goodness of God not only in His creation, but in His provision. Seeing the ways He has provided for me in every way encourages my heart. Lately, I've been particularly struck by how God uses people's pain to bless and challenge other believers and to be a distinct witness to those without Christ. It seems that this is a hard season in life for many of the people I care about the most. Yet, in seeing how they have faced the reality of their pain, God has touched my heart in deep and rich ways. There is a distinct beauty and authenticity in pain when such pain is given to God and surrendered to Him for the sake of His glory. God shows His provision and unfailing love most in such circumstances. I want to be an apprentice of such surrender. I want to give God every ounce of who I am, pain and all, and watch how He will hold my heart and never fail me.
Rambling as it may be, that's a snapshot of what I'm thinking tonight. Life for me in Omaha is full. Full of fun, people, rest, newness, and challenges. I am so thankful for this unique opportunity and stage of my life and hope that I don't waste even a minute of it. I want to learn what God wants me to learn while I'm here.
God, thanks for the fireflies.
Abbie and I went for an evening jog after eating birthday cake and homemade ice cream at a birthday party (not so smart, right?). But, the climate was pristine and the running schedule we're on called for us to kick ourselves into gear, birthday cake or no. The air was balmy but cool, the twilight-covered landscape was glowing, and the stars were blinking in the sky. With my iPod crooning and my legs pumping, I soaked it all in and let the beauty captivate me.
For a Western girl like me, the most mesmerizing aspect of the evening runs we've been taking are the fireflies. The flashes of light in the midst of cornfields and lush trees wow me. Tonight, Abbie and I pretended they were crazed fans stumbling over each other to snap photos of us, Olympic runners extraordinaire (if you read this Abbie, sorry to admit our antics. I'm not ashamed.). Yet, I don't think these little bugs care the least about us. Instead, I envision them praising God with their light show. It must bring pleasure and glory to Him to see the handiwork of His creation.
I marvel at the goodness of God not only in His creation, but in His provision. Seeing the ways He has provided for me in every way encourages my heart. Lately, I've been particularly struck by how God uses people's pain to bless and challenge other believers and to be a distinct witness to those without Christ. It seems that this is a hard season in life for many of the people I care about the most. Yet, in seeing how they have faced the reality of their pain, God has touched my heart in deep and rich ways. There is a distinct beauty and authenticity in pain when such pain is given to God and surrendered to Him for the sake of His glory. God shows His provision and unfailing love most in such circumstances. I want to be an apprentice of such surrender. I want to give God every ounce of who I am, pain and all, and watch how He will hold my heart and never fail me.
Rambling as it may be, that's a snapshot of what I'm thinking tonight. Life for me in Omaha is full. Full of fun, people, rest, newness, and challenges. I am so thankful for this unique opportunity and stage of my life and hope that I don't waste even a minute of it. I want to learn what God wants me to learn while I'm here.
God, thanks for the fireflies.
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Oriental Excursion
One of my aunts who lives in Omaha asked me to accompany her and her family on a little hiking venture last night. Loving to hike and having the evening free, I readily agreed. As we feasted on sandwiches and sweet corn (oh, Nebraska!) before we headed out, my uncle began telling me about our destination. Our adventure would take us to the Loess Hills State Forest which is situated right across the Missouri river in Iowa. He explained that the types of hills that reside in the forest are incredibly unique and are only found in this state forest and in certain spots in China. I was immediately fascinated and ready to explore.
The drive to the park was beautiful in and of itself and would have been a fine outing on its own. As I've said more than once, this area of the country is magnificent. The rolling hills and lush greenery complemented by quaint old houses and scenic pastureland made the drive enchanting. We drove through Crescent, Iowa to get to the State Forest.
The verdant ridges rolled along like plush camel backs resting on the earth. Birds, butterflies, and plants of all kinds were plentiful. I spotted this little bird to the left flitting through the air. He was delicate and retreated into a large tree, but with my aunt's help, I was able to see him within the branches and train my camera on him.
Sometimes exotic getaways are just around the bend or across the river. I can't wait for the next surprising adventure that I have.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Trusting the Driver
Yesterday, I had dinner with a friend from college whom I had not seen for over three years. We met at Pepperjax, a fun Omaha joint, and chatted away two and a half hours. As we discussed the course of our lives and contemplated what God is up to in us, my friend said, "I have realized that I may not know where I am going, but I know Who I am following."
Her words resonated with me and they were all the more poignant because she was speaking them from within the midst of hard trials in her life. Most of us like to have an understanding of the game plan of our future. We feel secure if we think we know what's coming in the next few months or years of our existence. We delight in life if we think we have a grasp of what's happening and if we can see a clear vision of the road out the front window.
Yet, as anyone with any experience in life knows, the front window gets foggy sometimes and the defrost just doesn't seem to work. Sometimes the road is filled with potholes and roadblocks and seemingly dangerous terrain. Sometimes the roadsigns are taken away and the GPS system is broken to boot. Sometimes, the Driver doesn't seem to know where He is going and we are forced to bite our tongues and swallow fear. Sometimes we want to take over the steering wheel and pull onto the highway next over that appears calm, safe, and much more comfortable.
As a believer, and in light of all that I understand about the way God created me and about what it means to have a new life in Christ, I want Christ to be in the driver's seat of my life. I know better than to think that taking over the course of my life will be the best plan of action for me. Is it even possible for me to wholly manage my life on my own?
My uncle was recently talking about the concept of "free will" at his church. He mentioned that such a concept is fallacious. We do have the ability to make choices, but we are not free to do absolutely anything we want. For example, we are not free to just go to the moon on a whim. There are some things we cannot do even if we so desire. It would be more accurate to say we have "limited will". Therefore, even from a logical standpoint (not to mention a Biblical one), I come back to the conclusion that surrendering my all to Christ is the only wise, life-giving, God-glorifying, joyful, peaceful, and fulfilling way to live.
That doesn't mean that surrender is not frightening or that trusting my future to Christ is always easy. There are times when the track of life down which Christ leads me becomes dark. Yet, with Christ by my side, darkness should not cause despair. As Corrie Ten Boom put it, "When a train goes through a tunnel and it gets dark, you don't throw away the ticket and jump off. You sit still and trust the engineer.”
May I never desire to rush from under the shadow of Christ's wings. May I never scramble to move when the cloud has not lifted. May I never attempt to steer my own life. May I never run in front of my Shepherd. Instead, may I trust the Lord with my whole heart (Prov. 3:5) and believe that He will fulfill His purposes for me (Psalm 138:8).
Her words resonated with me and they were all the more poignant because she was speaking them from within the midst of hard trials in her life. Most of us like to have an understanding of the game plan of our future. We feel secure if we think we know what's coming in the next few months or years of our existence. We delight in life if we think we have a grasp of what's happening and if we can see a clear vision of the road out the front window.
Yet, as anyone with any experience in life knows, the front window gets foggy sometimes and the defrost just doesn't seem to work. Sometimes the road is filled with potholes and roadblocks and seemingly dangerous terrain. Sometimes the roadsigns are taken away and the GPS system is broken to boot. Sometimes, the Driver doesn't seem to know where He is going and we are forced to bite our tongues and swallow fear. Sometimes we want to take over the steering wheel and pull onto the highway next over that appears calm, safe, and much more comfortable.
As a believer, and in light of all that I understand about the way God created me and about what it means to have a new life in Christ, I want Christ to be in the driver's seat of my life. I know better than to think that taking over the course of my life will be the best plan of action for me. Is it even possible for me to wholly manage my life on my own?
My uncle was recently talking about the concept of "free will" at his church. He mentioned that such a concept is fallacious. We do have the ability to make choices, but we are not free to do absolutely anything we want. For example, we are not free to just go to the moon on a whim. There are some things we cannot do even if we so desire. It would be more accurate to say we have "limited will". Therefore, even from a logical standpoint (not to mention a Biblical one), I come back to the conclusion that surrendering my all to Christ is the only wise, life-giving, God-glorifying, joyful, peaceful, and fulfilling way to live.
That doesn't mean that surrender is not frightening or that trusting my future to Christ is always easy. There are times when the track of life down which Christ leads me becomes dark. Yet, with Christ by my side, darkness should not cause despair. As Corrie Ten Boom put it, "When a train goes through a tunnel and it gets dark, you don't throw away the ticket and jump off. You sit still and trust the engineer.”
May I never desire to rush from under the shadow of Christ's wings. May I never scramble to move when the cloud has not lifted. May I never attempt to steer my own life. May I never run in front of my Shepherd. Instead, may I trust the Lord with my whole heart (Prov. 3:5) and believe that He will fulfill His purposes for me (Psalm 138:8).
Saturday, June 19, 2010
Loved
There is a quote by Zora Neale Hurston that goes as follows: "Love makes your soul crawl out from its hiding place." How true this is! People who know they are loved glow. There is no shell shrouding the light of their face. They beam with the knowledge that they are valued by someone else.
Even Nero and Genghis Khan desired to be loved. I'm sure of it. No stony exterior can convince me that love is not needed in a life. Every human craves it and is born with a drive to find it.
The problem is that human love is imperfect. Human love sometimes shifts, falters, or fails. Even those with the best of intentions don't love others well all of the time. How, then, would anyone be able to remain consistently exposed when there is a chance that the light of reflected love will be dimmed?
How? By accepting the love God offers through Jesus Christ. God is Love. He is perfect Love. He created us and loves us more than we can imagine. He loved us so much that He sent His Son to die a cruel death for our wrongdoings (John 3:16). I cannot completely fathom such love although I know that embracing such love nourishes the human soul and brings every part of it into its warm light.
I have been contemplating 1 Corinthians 13:4-7: "Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres." In a sermon I heard this year, it was pointed out that these attributes are speaking first and foremost about Christ's love. That is powerful. Who could hope for such a love to be lavished on one's soul? It is almost too good to be true. But, it's a marvelous reality for those who are justified through faith in Christ. Realizing how I sometimes fail to demonstrate this kind of love to others is endlessly convicting.
Another amazing aspect of God's love is that it casts out fear (1 John 4:18). Perfect love never leaves the loved one with the feeling that there is impending danger of the love being compromised. Basking in God's love wraps our souls in a blanket of security. If we know Christ, nothing can separate us from His love (Romans 8:38-39). How much joy should come from such assurance!
So, if today you are hiding in fear of being loved or because you feel unloved, crawl out from your darkness. Christ offers the ultimate love for you. He is what every soul needs as well as the only thing a soul needs. His love is sufficient, unfailing, powerful, perfect, and healing. I pray this truth will wash over you and me and will allow Christ's love to radiate from our faces.
Even Nero and Genghis Khan desired to be loved. I'm sure of it. No stony exterior can convince me that love is not needed in a life. Every human craves it and is born with a drive to find it.
The problem is that human love is imperfect. Human love sometimes shifts, falters, or fails. Even those with the best of intentions don't love others well all of the time. How, then, would anyone be able to remain consistently exposed when there is a chance that the light of reflected love will be dimmed?
How? By accepting the love God offers through Jesus Christ. God is Love. He is perfect Love. He created us and loves us more than we can imagine. He loved us so much that He sent His Son to die a cruel death for our wrongdoings (John 3:16). I cannot completely fathom such love although I know that embracing such love nourishes the human soul and brings every part of it into its warm light.
I have been contemplating 1 Corinthians 13:4-7: "Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres." In a sermon I heard this year, it was pointed out that these attributes are speaking first and foremost about Christ's love. That is powerful. Who could hope for such a love to be lavished on one's soul? It is almost too good to be true. But, it's a marvelous reality for those who are justified through faith in Christ. Realizing how I sometimes fail to demonstrate this kind of love to others is endlessly convicting.
Another amazing aspect of God's love is that it casts out fear (1 John 4:18). Perfect love never leaves the loved one with the feeling that there is impending danger of the love being compromised. Basking in God's love wraps our souls in a blanket of security. If we know Christ, nothing can separate us from His love (Romans 8:38-39). How much joy should come from such assurance!
So, if today you are hiding in fear of being loved or because you feel unloved, crawl out from your darkness. Christ offers the ultimate love for you. He is what every soul needs as well as the only thing a soul needs. His love is sufficient, unfailing, powerful, perfect, and healing. I pray this truth will wash over you and me and will allow Christ's love to radiate from our faces.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Who is it About?
Not me. This life is not about me. As much as I want it to be sometimes, my life is not meant to be a self-pleasing, self-serving venture. There is nothing good that comes of such a life, and God did not create us to live so.
Francis Chan, in his book Crazy Love, speaks on this idea. In Chapter Two of the book, he talks about the fact that God is what life is all about and that our whole purpose on earth is to bring Him glory. This is a fundamental truth to any Christ-follower, but applying this truth to everyday life is tricky business. We are naturally selfish people who are bred to be puffed up by cultural mantras like "believe in yourself", "go after your dreams", and "don't sell yourself short".
It is true that God deems each of us precious and expects us to be people who pursue excellence. It is also true that the Lord has many promises for us, such as the idea that He will never leave us or forsake us (Hebrews 13:5), He will not give us more than we can bear (1 Corinthians 10:13), and that nothing can separate us from the love of Christ (Romans 8:35-39). Yet, in spite of the amazing love Christ has for us and the promises He gives to His children, it doesn't change the fact that we are created for His glory, not the other way around.
I am grappling with this truth in profound ways. Am I really willing to do whatever the Lord bids? Am I really about His glory and not my own? How does one even accomplish this? It must be by a constant surrender and a daily cross-carrying and denial of self (Luke 9:23-24).
I pray that my life will not be about me. What a shallow vision that would be! Dying to self is painful, but I pray the pain will never prevent me from making my life about the glory of God.
Francis Chan, in his book Crazy Love, speaks on this idea. In Chapter Two of the book, he talks about the fact that God is what life is all about and that our whole purpose on earth is to bring Him glory. This is a fundamental truth to any Christ-follower, but applying this truth to everyday life is tricky business. We are naturally selfish people who are bred to be puffed up by cultural mantras like "believe in yourself", "go after your dreams", and "don't sell yourself short".
It is true that God deems each of us precious and expects us to be people who pursue excellence. It is also true that the Lord has many promises for us, such as the idea that He will never leave us or forsake us (Hebrews 13:5), He will not give us more than we can bear (1 Corinthians 10:13), and that nothing can separate us from the love of Christ (Romans 8:35-39). Yet, in spite of the amazing love Christ has for us and the promises He gives to His children, it doesn't change the fact that we are created for His glory, not the other way around.
I am grappling with this truth in profound ways. Am I really willing to do whatever the Lord bids? Am I really about His glory and not my own? How does one even accomplish this? It must be by a constant surrender and a daily cross-carrying and denial of self (Luke 9:23-24).
I pray that my life will not be about me. What a shallow vision that would be! Dying to self is painful, but I pray the pain will never prevent me from making my life about the glory of God.
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Seven Dunks
Sunbeams streaming through the blinds of my childhood bedroom awoke me this morning. Knowing that sleep was done with me for the night, I decided to roll out of bed and head to a local coffee shop called Brothers on Main Street. With free Wi-Fi (yes, Wyoming does offer current features like that), and big windows through which to gaze, it is a welcoming spot to read, journal, pray, type, and just soak in life.
I am not alone in the place this morning. The table next to me is hosting some men who seem to be regulars. They are leisurely sitting, laughing, and drinking coffee from their own personal coffee carafe. The sound of their laughter right now is music and speaks of comfortable friendship.
Sometimes, I crave to read stories from the Old Testament because, like any good story, they convey truths about God in powerful and creative ways. This morning, I read about Naaman in 2 Kings 5. I had forgotten the part of the story where Naaman got angry over the plan God put forth to heal him of his leprosy (v. 11 &12). He was indignant that God was asking him to dip in a river that he deemed unfit for such an experience.
When I read this, I was at once struck by the humorous aspect of God's plan and also by the childishness of Naaman's response. Yet, that childishness of Naaman reflects my own rebelliousness toward God at times. How many times have I asked God for something or even sought to be right with Him, only to cry and throw a fit when His requirements for that to be accomplished don't match my human solutions? I don't think God tries to make things difficult for us to torture us, but I do believe He sometimes asks for unique acts of obedience just to see if we will obey because it is God's will, not because the path of obedience makes sense to us.
I pray that I will be willing to do whatever the Lord asks of me, even if it seems crazy. I pray that I will abide in Him so that His plan is abundantly clear. I pray that hesitation will not exist in me. I pray that I will be bold and courageous to do what the Lord bids. Even if it requires seven dunks. For I know that no matter what He asks, if I obey, His best for me is in store.
I am not alone in the place this morning. The table next to me is hosting some men who seem to be regulars. They are leisurely sitting, laughing, and drinking coffee from their own personal coffee carafe. The sound of their laughter right now is music and speaks of comfortable friendship.
Sometimes, I crave to read stories from the Old Testament because, like any good story, they convey truths about God in powerful and creative ways. This morning, I read about Naaman in 2 Kings 5. I had forgotten the part of the story where Naaman got angry over the plan God put forth to heal him of his leprosy (v. 11 &12). He was indignant that God was asking him to dip in a river that he deemed unfit for such an experience.
When I read this, I was at once struck by the humorous aspect of God's plan and also by the childishness of Naaman's response. Yet, that childishness of Naaman reflects my own rebelliousness toward God at times. How many times have I asked God for something or even sought to be right with Him, only to cry and throw a fit when His requirements for that to be accomplished don't match my human solutions? I don't think God tries to make things difficult for us to torture us, but I do believe He sometimes asks for unique acts of obedience just to see if we will obey because it is God's will, not because the path of obedience makes sense to us.
I pray that I will be willing to do whatever the Lord asks of me, even if it seems crazy. I pray that I will abide in Him so that His plan is abundantly clear. I pray that hesitation will not exist in me. I pray that I will be bold and courageous to do what the Lord bids. Even if it requires seven dunks. For I know that no matter what He asks, if I obey, His best for me is in store.
Sunday, June 6, 2010
Priceless Heritage
There are certain experiences in life that are priceless. Those MasterCard ads really have it nailed. Money can't buy everything, especially memories that strike the deepest chords in a soul.
I had such an experience last weekend. It was Memorial Day weekend, and I was gathered with 30 of my extended family on my Mom's side, the Buttermores. Love these kin of mine. When we're gathered together, we are one loud, boisterous, and fun-loving group. My uncles and grandpa alone can entertain us all for hours with their ridiculous humor. It doesn't matter where we are or what we're doing. We'll have fun.
In fact, we all gathered in little Alma, NE, a small town in the south-central part of the state. We congregated there because it was the closest town to Woodston, KS (where my grandpa grew up) that had decent hotel and eating options. Even though the town was small, it was quaint and we had no problem passing the time by playing in the park, having a BBQ at the bed and breakfast where some were staying, or playing cards at night in the lobby of the Super 8.
We were in the area for a couple of days. On Sunday, a group of us traveled into Woodston to visit the church my grandpa attended growing up. I am a sucker for history in general, but it is even more poignant to me when entwined with my heritage. As a sad testament to dying rural life, our group easily doubled the congregation. The bulletin documented the attendance of the previous week as being just 17 folks. After church, we went to a potluck dinner that was held in the building that used to be a general store. This dinner happens every year on Memorial Day weekend. Folks from the surrounding area come to reminisce over a sampling of old-fashioned potluck food (There were enough pies and meatballs to fill the grain silos outside).
I could probably ramble for awhile about many details, but I'll skip to the events of Monday which constituted the best part of the trip in my opinion. The day dawned with a promise of glorious weather. Though some disagree, I have always deemed Kansas and Nebraska to be amazingly beautiful states. The time I spent in the Kansas countryside on Monday only confirmed that feeling.
We said goodbye to Alma and caravanned with nine vehicles (a bit crazy, I know) for 50-some miles to Woodston. We headed for the farm where my grandpa grew up with many other siblings. I had seen the front side of the land before, but I had never gotten out to trek around on the property. Most signs of the farm are long-gone, but Grandpa drew us all some maps of how everything looked when he grew up, so with a bit of imagination, the place came to life.
I didn't exactly know what we were going to do so I didn't prepare well. I was wearing the wrong kind of shoes for one thing. I thought we were going to tromp around for twenty minutes. Little did I know we'd be taking a 2 and a half hour hike through the Kansas brush.
My 82-year-old Grandpa led our pack and he wasn't slow! At one point, my dad commented on how conditioned he was when he launched off from a small shady spot where we had all paused. Some of the rest of us weren't so quick to leave the shade and move on, but Grandpa seemed to feel no heat or fatigue. He is one tough man and being on his old stomping grounds seemed to transform him into a robust 20-somethings lad.
We saw a windmill he had helped to build, spied a cistern where three of his siblings had once gotten stuck, passed "Rock Hill" where Grandpa had engraved his initials, and trekked to a house where his folks lived before he was born. I was drooling in wonder at getting to enjoy a pristine day, time with family, an invigorating hike, and all on the land where my grandpa played as a child! Enchanting doesn't begin to capture it all.
At one point, we had to cross a creek. My grandpa started heaving logs in the river to make some sort of bridge (I seriously think he forgot his age completely at that point). I had sandal-like shoes on, so I ventured out to cross first since it didn't matter as much if my feet got wet. After a few cautious steps, I realized that the bridge wasn't too sturdy. One of my uncles told me to stop and come back so they could place some more logs down. I felt a bit stuck where I was though and unsure about what any movement would do to the shifting wood beneath my feet.
That's when my grandpa suddenly flew by me. To the horror of the rest of us, we watched while gasping and gawking as he teetered a bit on the shaky logs but spryly bounced to the other bank. We all laughed in disbelief. We knew Gramps was a tough guy and in good shape for his age, but this was no earthly 82-year-old. This was a man transported by the joy of sharing his childhood territory with those he loves most. It was a wonder to see. It was especially impressive to me when I tried following him and couldn't replicate what he had just done. My foot fell into the creek and I lost my sandal in the murky, muddy water (thanks, cousin Jettie, for fishing it out!). With sun-kissed cheeks and hearts full of life, we finally left the farm and went to visit graves of our ancestors. My grandpa held little ceremonies at the graves complete with song sheets. When the Buttermores sing, there's no ignoring it. Many of them have some powerful voices, especially the men. Singing with them is one of my favorite things to do. Belting "How Great Thou Art" in a cemetery is a moving thing. Tears were not absent.
So, in reflecting on that time, I am blessed. I am blessed to think on the family I have and the godly, magnificent role models I have in my grandparents. My grandma has Parkinson's disease and traveling is not always the easiest thing for her. She had to forgo the countryside adventure, yet she didn't complain or feel sorry for herself. Not then, and not ever. She is the picture of resilience and she radiates the love of Christ. I am blessed and I am thankful that God gave me such a wonderful family. I pray that I will devotedly carry the torch of faith and character on to the next generation.
Saturday, May 22, 2010
Time
I'm not sure what this post will be about. Usually, when blogging, I feel the need to have a specific purpose. I don't today. Just have the itch to feel the keys under my fingers and to watch my thoughts unfold on the screen. There is something richly therapeutic about that for me.
This morning, with the sun shining so brightly and the outdoor thermometer in the condo proclaiming a balmy temp, I sported some shorts, a t-shirt, and my Chacos and strolled to the nearby park. It was somewhat early for a Saturday morning...only 8:00 a.m....so there were only a few people out. However, the time of day had no affect on the warmth of the sun. I stretched out on a picnic table bench and let the relaxing rays envelop me.
As my thoughts twirled in my head, I began to contemplate time. Did God originally create us to understand time as we know it now? If we are to one day be in eternity where time will be irrelevant, does it not make sense that time is perhaps a result of the fall and only serves as a sinister monitor of the journey that each human is trekking toward inevitable physical death? From that standpoint, time is something that can cause panic in every soul. In fact, time is something that many people spend their lives trying to ignore.
Praise the Lord for His promises and truths of life after death for those who know Christ. As 1 Corinithians 2:9 foretells, eternal life with Christ will be more amazing than we can even contemplate in our limited, earthly minds. Such a glorious hope!
Yet, time remains a mysterious and intriguing concept to all of us. Time is a huge perspective-changer. For example, when I was participating in a little track meet in 1st grade, I remember glancing over at where some 4th graders were gathered and thinking, "Wow, they are so old!" How hilarious that notion seems to me now.
Similarily, I was thinking today about how I was just a teenager ten years ago, but how the memory of that age feels like eons ago. At the same time, when I think of ten years from now when I'll be 36, I feel like that will still be fairly young. That train of thought relieves my stress about feeling like my life is going uncontrollably fast. On the other hand, when I view life differently (for example, when I think about how I've already taught school for four years), I get that life-is-flying-by sensation all over again.
The bottom line is that I know Christ, and therefore time should not give me any reason to fear. Furthermore, none of us is guaranteed the next moment, so trying to analyze how much time we have left is useless. I saw a motorcycle wreck on I-25 this week where a man was sprawled out on the pavement surrounded by rescue workers. I don't know in what condition that man is, but I'm sure he didn't plan to experience such a disaster that day.
These sorts of thoughts spur me on to live life to the fullest each day. I pray that I am.
This morning, with the sun shining so brightly and the outdoor thermometer in the condo proclaiming a balmy temp, I sported some shorts, a t-shirt, and my Chacos and strolled to the nearby park. It was somewhat early for a Saturday morning...only 8:00 a.m....so there were only a few people out. However, the time of day had no affect on the warmth of the sun. I stretched out on a picnic table bench and let the relaxing rays envelop me.
As my thoughts twirled in my head, I began to contemplate time. Did God originally create us to understand time as we know it now? If we are to one day be in eternity where time will be irrelevant, does it not make sense that time is perhaps a result of the fall and only serves as a sinister monitor of the journey that each human is trekking toward inevitable physical death? From that standpoint, time is something that can cause panic in every soul. In fact, time is something that many people spend their lives trying to ignore.
Praise the Lord for His promises and truths of life after death for those who know Christ. As 1 Corinithians 2:9 foretells, eternal life with Christ will be more amazing than we can even contemplate in our limited, earthly minds. Such a glorious hope!
Yet, time remains a mysterious and intriguing concept to all of us. Time is a huge perspective-changer. For example, when I was participating in a little track meet in 1st grade, I remember glancing over at where some 4th graders were gathered and thinking, "Wow, they are so old!" How hilarious that notion seems to me now.
Similarily, I was thinking today about how I was just a teenager ten years ago, but how the memory of that age feels like eons ago. At the same time, when I think of ten years from now when I'll be 36, I feel like that will still be fairly young. That train of thought relieves my stress about feeling like my life is going uncontrollably fast. On the other hand, when I view life differently (for example, when I think about how I've already taught school for four years), I get that life-is-flying-by sensation all over again.
The bottom line is that I know Christ, and therefore time should not give me any reason to fear. Furthermore, none of us is guaranteed the next moment, so trying to analyze how much time we have left is useless. I saw a motorcycle wreck on I-25 this week where a man was sprawled out on the pavement surrounded by rescue workers. I don't know in what condition that man is, but I'm sure he didn't plan to experience such a disaster that day.
These sorts of thoughts spur me on to live life to the fullest each day. I pray that I am.
Monday, May 10, 2010
O Love That Will Not Let Me Go
Thank you, George Matheson, for writing the magnificent hymn whose title I so selfishly borrowed to head this post. The story behind "O Love That Will Not Let Me Go" wrenches my heart each time I ponder it. The writing of this text was not inspired by abstract intellectualism but instead by raw experience. At one point in his life, Matheson discovered that he was growing blind. That alone would be troublesome, but the ache of his story ends not there. Matheson was engaged at the time of this discovery. Feeling she could not navigate life with a man who could not see, Matheson's fiance backed out of the relationship, leaving him understandably heartbroken.
What poignant and painfully rich writing came of his heartache! How deeply did he feel from being pushed through the shredding knives of suffering! His poem that was later set to music resonates with me in ways that words struggle to define. There is something almost cathartic about experiencing the art of those who have created out of immense hurt and angst.
Yesterday in church, I sang the words "O no, You never let go, through the calm and through the storm". As I did so, I was encouraged by that truth. There are times when I feel that I have not the strength nor the will to cling to Christ. It is unspeakably comforting to know that He is not letting go. He has His grip on me.
Similarily, as life continues to blaze along with days, weeks, and years picking up speed with each passing moment, I find comfort in the words "O Love That Will Not Let Me Go". One of my biggest fears in life is making mistakes regarding big life decisions. At times, worry wraps icy fingers around my heart and, like Peter, I feel the waves envelop me as my gaze is fixed on the tumult around me rather than on Christ. I am thankful at this moment that Jesus has me. He holds my heart, my future, even my fears. In an instant, I can be lifted to walk on water again if I but look to Him and rest in His omnipotent grace, mercy, and love.
Are you tired, weary, or upset tonight? Do you know Christ? If so, take heart. He will never let you go! Blessed, blessed truth! Use the links below to read the lyrics to this hymn and listen to its tune. May it encourage you as much as it has me.
http://www.igracemusic.com/hymnbook/hymns/o08.html
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CAH1HuUqLZo
What poignant and painfully rich writing came of his heartache! How deeply did he feel from being pushed through the shredding knives of suffering! His poem that was later set to music resonates with me in ways that words struggle to define. There is something almost cathartic about experiencing the art of those who have created out of immense hurt and angst.
Yesterday in church, I sang the words "O no, You never let go, through the calm and through the storm". As I did so, I was encouraged by that truth. There are times when I feel that I have not the strength nor the will to cling to Christ. It is unspeakably comforting to know that He is not letting go. He has His grip on me.
Similarily, as life continues to blaze along with days, weeks, and years picking up speed with each passing moment, I find comfort in the words "O Love That Will Not Let Me Go". One of my biggest fears in life is making mistakes regarding big life decisions. At times, worry wraps icy fingers around my heart and, like Peter, I feel the waves envelop me as my gaze is fixed on the tumult around me rather than on Christ. I am thankful at this moment that Jesus has me. He holds my heart, my future, even my fears. In an instant, I can be lifted to walk on water again if I but look to Him and rest in His omnipotent grace, mercy, and love.
Are you tired, weary, or upset tonight? Do you know Christ? If so, take heart. He will never let you go! Blessed, blessed truth! Use the links below to read the lyrics to this hymn and listen to its tune. May it encourage you as much as it has me.
http://www.igracemusic.com/hymnbook/hymns/o08.html
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CAH1HuUqLZo
Friday, April 23, 2010
Lessons from the High Jump
I have a new hobby of volunteering to work at my school's track meets. Well, it's not exactly a hobby because I get paid to help out, but it is a sacrifice of time and involves the risk of being caught in turbulant Colorado weather. Last week, I measured Shot Put throws. This week, I was manning the High Jump.
Having never been in charge of the High Jump and knowing that I was going to be the only adult in charge at that event, I was frankly a bit nervous going into it all. To combat the anxiety, I reminded myself that all I had to do was ask someone if I didn't know what I was doing. Therein lies the problem: I'm a bit proud...or a lot proud. I don't relish feeling ignorant or helpless, especially in front of students!
Before the meet officially began, I made sure I understood the rules and procedures for my event. Though I was given clear explanations, I still had to figure out little details on my own like, oh, the order in which students go, how to break a tie, how to adjust the mat under the pole, etc. For the most part, though, I was able to relax and enjoy the process once things got rolling.
As I stood watching the students compete, I compared my pride to the pride of the students. It's true that some of them were impressed with themselves and understandably so. A handful of boys and a couple of girls who had the ups of a cat. Yet, there were also a few students who performed terribly. I say that with the utmost respect to them.
With many people watching and those students probably knowing they were not gifted nor skilled in the High Jump, they still tackled the jump fearlessly. Even though their efforts lacked grace and they basically just plowed into the pole, I was touched by observing them. All of them handled their embarrassing attempts with dignity. They seemed to have a mature sense of being willing to fail, something I struggle with at times.
It made my fears about running the event itself seem a bit ridiculous. As I continue to gain experience in life, I hope that I purposefully push myself to do uncomfortable things, things where I may not stand as one of the best. Those times build rich humility and strength of character. I suspect those less-than-stellar high-jumpers are going to do well in life. Their willingness to graciously fail foretells it well.
Having never been in charge of the High Jump and knowing that I was going to be the only adult in charge at that event, I was frankly a bit nervous going into it all. To combat the anxiety, I reminded myself that all I had to do was ask someone if I didn't know what I was doing. Therein lies the problem: I'm a bit proud...or a lot proud. I don't relish feeling ignorant or helpless, especially in front of students!
Before the meet officially began, I made sure I understood the rules and procedures for my event. Though I was given clear explanations, I still had to figure out little details on my own like, oh, the order in which students go, how to break a tie, how to adjust the mat under the pole, etc. For the most part, though, I was able to relax and enjoy the process once things got rolling.
As I stood watching the students compete, I compared my pride to the pride of the students. It's true that some of them were impressed with themselves and understandably so. A handful of boys and a couple of girls who had the ups of a cat. Yet, there were also a few students who performed terribly. I say that with the utmost respect to them.
With many people watching and those students probably knowing they were not gifted nor skilled in the High Jump, they still tackled the jump fearlessly. Even though their efforts lacked grace and they basically just plowed into the pole, I was touched by observing them. All of them handled their embarrassing attempts with dignity. They seemed to have a mature sense of being willing to fail, something I struggle with at times.
It made my fears about running the event itself seem a bit ridiculous. As I continue to gain experience in life, I hope that I purposefully push myself to do uncomfortable things, things where I may not stand as one of the best. Those times build rich humility and strength of character. I suspect those less-than-stellar high-jumpers are going to do well in life. Their willingness to graciously fail foretells it well.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Weave Me a Story
There is a charming wooden rocker in my childhood home. It belongs to my father. I associate that rocker with stories. In fact, it is difficult to imagine my dad sitting in the rocker unless he is reading out loud to whomever is around, whether it be a passage of the Bible or an intriguing James Herriot tale. Such story times were not consistently frequent, but they have left a vivid mark in my mind nonetheless. I guess sitting and listening to a plot unfold captivates a mind, especially when a comforting and familiar voice is delivering the details.
To me, the most marvelous stories are those of real-life folks. When I consider how numerous such journies have inspired me, I am compelled to contemplate my own life. How can my life unfold in such a way as to glorify God and motivate others? Could my life look like that of Corrie Ten Boom's or Jim Elliot's?
I am currently reading Andrew Murray's Absolute Surrender. In the first chapter, Murray urges us (as believers)to be fully surrendered to Christ, for by so doing, God is able to bless us immensely and use us completely. He goes on to describe what that surrender entails, emphasizing God's work even in the ability to surrender.
A surrendered life creates a rich story. Leo Tolstoy could spin a fine yarn. Jane Austen could pen an entrancing saga. But nobody can weave a story like Christ. In the lives of those who are truly yielded, the Holy Spirit carefully and purposefully orchestrates profound story lines, none of which are duplicates of another.
Surrender is something I have been grappling with the past few months. When I ponder the possible outcomes of complete surrender versus partial surrender, my heart cries for a total, broken posture before Christ. Yet, my sinful desires often vie for my attention. May I have the foresight to see what Christ could do through me if I would submit to Him alone!
Galations 2:20 states: "I have been crucified with Christ and I no longer live, but Christ lives in me. The life I live in the body, I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me." Dying to self implies absolute surrender. Lord, help me to live such a life! Please weave a story in me that glorifies You!
To me, the most marvelous stories are those of real-life folks. When I consider how numerous such journies have inspired me, I am compelled to contemplate my own life. How can my life unfold in such a way as to glorify God and motivate others? Could my life look like that of Corrie Ten Boom's or Jim Elliot's?
I am currently reading Andrew Murray's Absolute Surrender. In the first chapter, Murray urges us (as believers)to be fully surrendered to Christ, for by so doing, God is able to bless us immensely and use us completely. He goes on to describe what that surrender entails, emphasizing God's work even in the ability to surrender.
A surrendered life creates a rich story. Leo Tolstoy could spin a fine yarn. Jane Austen could pen an entrancing saga. But nobody can weave a story like Christ. In the lives of those who are truly yielded, the Holy Spirit carefully and purposefully orchestrates profound story lines, none of which are duplicates of another.
Surrender is something I have been grappling with the past few months. When I ponder the possible outcomes of complete surrender versus partial surrender, my heart cries for a total, broken posture before Christ. Yet, my sinful desires often vie for my attention. May I have the foresight to see what Christ could do through me if I would submit to Him alone!
Galations 2:20 states: "I have been crucified with Christ and I no longer live, but Christ lives in me. The life I live in the body, I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me." Dying to self implies absolute surrender. Lord, help me to live such a life! Please weave a story in me that glorifies You!
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Kindergarten, Pavarotti, and Ringtones
What do most five-year-old students do after kindergarten on any given day? Play with dolls or trucks? Play house? Eat a snack? Play with the cat? Listen to opera? Whoa...wait...what? What normal kid listens to opera unless living in Italy under the roof of an opera star? And, even then, what kid listens to it by choice?
Um...yes. Me. And, I didn't even grow up in Italy nor was I birthed by a prima donna. Nonetheless, the memory of these times lives vividly in the scrapbook of my mind. I can envision the massive record cover of Luciano Pavarotti, opera singer extraordinaire. It simply portrayed a dreamy cloud-filled sky. I can picture myself rushing in from school and petitioning my mom to get the record spinning as soon as possible. (Don't be fooled by the record reference. This did take place in the 80's. I guess my folks didn't care to upgrade the Pavarotti album to a cassette tape.)
Listening to opera is fun. Yet, any cool kindergarten child knows it's even more fun while jumping. So, being the with-it girl I was, I would bounce on our little mini-trampoline we had in the house while soaking in the tunes. Nothing like being exported to another realm by Pavarotti's rich voice while experiencing the sheer bliss of catipulting oneself into the air. My parents maintain that they thought this hobby of mine was cute. Thanks, Mom and Dad, though I hope you know you can be honest with me now...it's been a good 20-some years.
Fast forward to the year 2010 where record players have all but vanished. Last week, I graduated to a new cell phone. The fact that the mail-in rebate made it free will give you an indication as to how unexciting the new device is. The dismal selection of ringtones on the phone further confirms this. When I get a new phone, I treat myself to a new ringtone purchase. It's a small but fun indulgence.
My last ringtone purchase proved a bit ridiculous. "Sobbin Women" from Seven Brides for Seven Brothers is a fun ditty on the screen but makes for a potentially embarrassing ringtone. Regardless, I stuck to that ringtone during the lifetime of my previous phone. With a new phone in hand, I determined to find a fabulous new ring that would make me proud.
To whom did I turn? Handel. Yes, ancient, Baroque-period Handel. (As a reminder, I am a slight music nerd.) I selected a beautiful piece from his oratorio Samson. For those of you who may not know, an oratorio is similar to operatic singing except it is not in a plot/acting format. Here's the thing: though I liked to jump to opera as a child and still think it's a fine art form today, I would never select a ringtone with operatic singing. At least, not intentionally.
I bought the ringtone I currently have under the assumption that it was just an instrumental portion of the piece. Trust me, it's magnificent. Yet, after I bought it, I listened to it on my phone, and...to my chagrine...an operatic soprano burst into passionate singing after the initial music for which I had purchased the ringtone. Ugh! Failure! I thought I had risen above my buying-embarrassing-ringtones proclivity. Nope.
Please don't misunderstand me. The ringtone singing is beautiful, but, for as much of a music geek as I can be, I feel there are certain limits to operatic expression. Answering the phone to high-pitched warbles is a bit extreme, even for me.
I suppose I could buy a different ringtone, use a lame ringtone already on the phone, or always keep my phone on vibrate or silent (a bad, bad idea for me). Or, I could just tough it out for the next year or two of my life and thereby inevitably experience humiliating ringtone moments. Hmmm. Not yet sure what I'll do.
The moral or two of this story: Music that's great for jumping may not fit the bill for cell phone features, and stressing so much over a ringtone is probably not worthwhile. Most importantly, please don't let this story stop you from calling me! Embarrassing ringtones are worth it all if I can hear the voice of a treasured friend or beloved family member on the other end. Plus, I think I've made Pavarotti proud.
Um...yes. Me. And, I didn't even grow up in Italy nor was I birthed by a prima donna. Nonetheless, the memory of these times lives vividly in the scrapbook of my mind. I can envision the massive record cover of Luciano Pavarotti, opera singer extraordinaire. It simply portrayed a dreamy cloud-filled sky. I can picture myself rushing in from school and petitioning my mom to get the record spinning as soon as possible. (Don't be fooled by the record reference. This did take place in the 80's. I guess my folks didn't care to upgrade the Pavarotti album to a cassette tape.)
Listening to opera is fun. Yet, any cool kindergarten child knows it's even more fun while jumping. So, being the with-it girl I was, I would bounce on our little mini-trampoline we had in the house while soaking in the tunes. Nothing like being exported to another realm by Pavarotti's rich voice while experiencing the sheer bliss of catipulting oneself into the air. My parents maintain that they thought this hobby of mine was cute. Thanks, Mom and Dad, though I hope you know you can be honest with me now...it's been a good 20-some years.
Fast forward to the year 2010 where record players have all but vanished. Last week, I graduated to a new cell phone. The fact that the mail-in rebate made it free will give you an indication as to how unexciting the new device is. The dismal selection of ringtones on the phone further confirms this. When I get a new phone, I treat myself to a new ringtone purchase. It's a small but fun indulgence.
My last ringtone purchase proved a bit ridiculous. "Sobbin Women" from Seven Brides for Seven Brothers is a fun ditty on the screen but makes for a potentially embarrassing ringtone. Regardless, I stuck to that ringtone during the lifetime of my previous phone. With a new phone in hand, I determined to find a fabulous new ring that would make me proud.
To whom did I turn? Handel. Yes, ancient, Baroque-period Handel. (As a reminder, I am a slight music nerd.) I selected a beautiful piece from his oratorio Samson. For those of you who may not know, an oratorio is similar to operatic singing except it is not in a plot/acting format. Here's the thing: though I liked to jump to opera as a child and still think it's a fine art form today, I would never select a ringtone with operatic singing. At least, not intentionally.
I bought the ringtone I currently have under the assumption that it was just an instrumental portion of the piece. Trust me, it's magnificent. Yet, after I bought it, I listened to it on my phone, and...to my chagrine...an operatic soprano burst into passionate singing after the initial music for which I had purchased the ringtone. Ugh! Failure! I thought I had risen above my buying-embarrassing-ringtones proclivity. Nope.
Please don't misunderstand me. The ringtone singing is beautiful, but, for as much of a music geek as I can be, I feel there are certain limits to operatic expression. Answering the phone to high-pitched warbles is a bit extreme, even for me.
I suppose I could buy a different ringtone, use a lame ringtone already on the phone, or always keep my phone on vibrate or silent (a bad, bad idea for me). Or, I could just tough it out for the next year or two of my life and thereby inevitably experience humiliating ringtone moments. Hmmm. Not yet sure what I'll do.
The moral or two of this story: Music that's great for jumping may not fit the bill for cell phone features, and stressing so much over a ringtone is probably not worthwhile. Most importantly, please don't let this story stop you from calling me! Embarrassing ringtones are worth it all if I can hear the voice of a treasured friend or beloved family member on the other end. Plus, I think I've made Pavarotti proud.
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Heavenly Chords
I was on the brink of a meltdown this morning. My 8th grade choir class was absolutely pushing my patience. The lazy, chatty, unfocused behavior of some students was quickly eroding whatever protective coating my nerves generally possess. I was another slumped-posture away from storming out the door, resigning my job, and heading to the Bahamas for an indefinite period of time. A bit dramatic, but you feel my pain, do you not?
Thankfully, for those times when middle-school orneriness gets the better of me, I have learned that the best cure is to stop what I'm doing, sit the kids down, and have a heart-to-heart with them. These days, I'm rocking the heart-to-hearts. They seem to be needed often.
The soul searching I made those 8th graders do for the last few minutes of class today at least calmed them down. More importantly, it calmed me down. As they poured out of the class, I felt I had regained my composure and was ready to dive into my next class.
The next couple of classes passed uneventfully. Enter my 7th-grade choir class. This adolescent montage of 46 students has been one of the most trying experiences of my teaching career. The students themselves are wonderful (for the most part). However, they are almost all extroverted, interactive types who exude more energy than I can easily channel. They zoom to my class from lunch, high on sugar and gossip, and focusing their buzzing brains is often like herding cats.
Yet, today was magnificent. Truly. When teaching a choir class, I sometimes get swept up in a flow of brainstorms about how to create the sound I want. As I was working today, I decided to have the students sing an open-fifth chord (Part III on the bottom root, Part II on the fifth, and Part I on the root an octave above Part III, for anyone who's curious). When such a chord is sung in perfect tune, the room will fill with overtones, tones that are not being sung but can be heard above the chord. It's an awesome, chilling occurance that is all but absent in middle-school singing, at least in my experience.
Announcement: Overtones were heard in a middle school today. My 7th graders were suddenly singing pure tones, almost perfectly tuned. Sure, those overtone moments were only seconds long, but they happened, and it was glorious. Thank you, 7th-grade voices. Nothing can match a pristine early-adolescent voice. It is simply angelic.
Perhaps my 8th graders frustrated me today. Yet, my 7th graders more than made up for whatever agitation I felt earlier. It has taken three months, but those crazy bundles of energy made beautiful music today. And that is what makes my job unbelievably awesome.
God knows what I need in a day. He knows how to send rays of sunshine in days that are otherwise hard. Heavenly chords brought such much-craved sunshine into my life today.
Thankfully, for those times when middle-school orneriness gets the better of me, I have learned that the best cure is to stop what I'm doing, sit the kids down, and have a heart-to-heart with them. These days, I'm rocking the heart-to-hearts. They seem to be needed often.
The soul searching I made those 8th graders do for the last few minutes of class today at least calmed them down. More importantly, it calmed me down. As they poured out of the class, I felt I had regained my composure and was ready to dive into my next class.
The next couple of classes passed uneventfully. Enter my 7th-grade choir class. This adolescent montage of 46 students has been one of the most trying experiences of my teaching career. The students themselves are wonderful (for the most part). However, they are almost all extroverted, interactive types who exude more energy than I can easily channel. They zoom to my class from lunch, high on sugar and gossip, and focusing their buzzing brains is often like herding cats.
Yet, today was magnificent. Truly. When teaching a choir class, I sometimes get swept up in a flow of brainstorms about how to create the sound I want. As I was working today, I decided to have the students sing an open-fifth chord (Part III on the bottom root, Part II on the fifth, and Part I on the root an octave above Part III, for anyone who's curious). When such a chord is sung in perfect tune, the room will fill with overtones, tones that are not being sung but can be heard above the chord. It's an awesome, chilling occurance that is all but absent in middle-school singing, at least in my experience.
Announcement: Overtones were heard in a middle school today. My 7th graders were suddenly singing pure tones, almost perfectly tuned. Sure, those overtone moments were only seconds long, but they happened, and it was glorious. Thank you, 7th-grade voices. Nothing can match a pristine early-adolescent voice. It is simply angelic.
Perhaps my 8th graders frustrated me today. Yet, my 7th graders more than made up for whatever agitation I felt earlier. It has taken three months, but those crazy bundles of energy made beautiful music today. And that is what makes my job unbelievably awesome.
God knows what I need in a day. He knows how to send rays of sunshine in days that are otherwise hard. Heavenly chords brought such much-craved sunshine into my life today.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Amazed
The moon is ethereal tonight. Driving home after watching LOST with some friends, my gaze was constantly drawn to the brilliance of the glowing orb. I have a sneaking suspicion that the percentage of auto accidents rise drastically on full-moon evenings. That is, if all drivers are like me. The moon stole my attention for most of the trip and it's a small wonder I didn't plow into a tree, lamp post, racoon, or any other major object as a result.
I'm glad the moon isn't full every night or my amazement might wear off. Let me rephrase that. My amazement WOULD wear off. I live in Colorado Springs, Colorado. I hold a front row seat to a magnificent mountain display, but I will sadly admit that I don't consciously marvel at its beauty anymore like I once did. It's not that I am completely apathetic to its beauty, but I just don't drool over it as much as I did at first. Humans are like that. They simply get desensitized and familiarized.
As Easter approaches, I am contemplating my love for Christ. Have I allowed my heart to become too familiarized with my walk with Him? Has my adoration and appreciation of His saving grace in my life grown lacluster due to the passage of time? The answer is, at times, yes.
My prayer this Easter is that I would continue to cultivate a deeper sense of reverance, awe, and thankfulness regarding my Savior. My petition is that, unlike my wavering admiration of the moon and mountains, my heart would steadily grow into a deeper love for and worship of Him. He has conquered the grave and freely offers new life to those who believe. Unfathomable Love. May I never cease to be amazed.
I'm glad the moon isn't full every night or my amazement might wear off. Let me rephrase that. My amazement WOULD wear off. I live in Colorado Springs, Colorado. I hold a front row seat to a magnificent mountain display, but I will sadly admit that I don't consciously marvel at its beauty anymore like I once did. It's not that I am completely apathetic to its beauty, but I just don't drool over it as much as I did at first. Humans are like that. They simply get desensitized and familiarized.
As Easter approaches, I am contemplating my love for Christ. Have I allowed my heart to become too familiarized with my walk with Him? Has my adoration and appreciation of His saving grace in my life grown lacluster due to the passage of time? The answer is, at times, yes.
My prayer this Easter is that I would continue to cultivate a deeper sense of reverance, awe, and thankfulness regarding my Savior. My petition is that, unlike my wavering admiration of the moon and mountains, my heart would steadily grow into a deeper love for and worship of Him. He has conquered the grave and freely offers new life to those who believe. Unfathomable Love. May I never cease to be amazed.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Subtract the Abstract
A few weekends ago, my brother and I trekked through treacherous snowy roads up to Steamboat Springs for a brief getaway. We met up with our folks as well as some extended family and were treated to a complimentary ski-in condo for the weekend. The skiing I experienced while there was nonpareil.
One of my favorite things to observe on ski slopes is the occasional little kid that is decked out in ski gear and can be seen cruising down the mountain or waddling around in the lodge. I'm referring to the tiny, tiny ones that probably just learned to walk last year. They are somewhat rare, but when they do appear, I always want to ooh and ahh over them.
Late in the afternoon during our ski day at Steamboat, our crew had to go back to the main lodge so my Dad could check on something. While my brother, cousin, and I hung out by the gondola waiting for Pop's return, I spotted a little toddler skier teetering after his father. After crooning about how cute he was to my brother (which I'm sure he appreciated), I then began to think about things on a deeper level.
Nobody can argue that learning to ski as an adult is difficult. Come to think of it, learning anything new as an adult is quite challenging when compared to learning that same thing as a child. Science can provide many research-backed answers as to why the adult brain resists taking on new skills. While those scientific studies are fascinating and true, I believe there is another reason why adults lose the ability to quickly soak in new things: abstract thinking.
Abstract thinking is foreign to children. This is why the adults in their life are so formative in their development. Children constantly appeal to the adults in their lives to make sense of their world. Though they may tirelessly ask the qustion "Why?", they easily absorb the answers to their questions without picking apart the answer in their brain. So-and-so said such-and-such and that is that. Thus makes up the beauty that is the childlike brain.
As my eyes followed the little guy at the lodge trailing behind his father, obviously a bit hindered by ski boots (who's not?) and a bulky coat, I contemplated how he must have a huge trust in his dad. Perhaps he had some fear of going down the slopes, but being the child that he was, he had not the capacity to over-analyze the situation. If Dad says I'm going down the slopes, I guess I'm going down the slopes. I could almost hear his thought process, not hard to imagine since I can remember having that childlike mode once too.
Though abstract reasoning is a gift and presents a more multi-colored pallette to life, it can often be a hindrance. An adult learning to ski will often kill the experience with hyper-awareness and vigilance. What if...? I don't think I can... This is dangerous... I can well hear those thoughts too. I experience them daily in one way or the other.
As I chewed on these ideas, I mentioned them to my brother. We discussed how abstract thought can ironically hinder progress. Do you ever discuss something that may not be revolutionary to the world in general but it is to you? This conversation was just such a brainstorm.
I went back to my own thoughts at that point and pondered how Jesus encouraged people to receive him as little children would (Luke 18:17). Why does He say this? Because He understands that higher-level thinking often prevents folks from coming to Him. He thus promotes childlike thinking and childlike faith. He asks people to trust Him as the little skier trusted his dad. Once again, not a new concept, but worth repeating for sure.
What sane adult would go to the top of a steep hill covered in snow, strap two long boards onto his feet, and point them downhill? What sane adult would surrender self, believe that there is a loving Creator who will forgive his sins, and then give his life to this unseen God in order to have a relationship with Him? Answer: the sane adult who takes on childlike faith.
I am not proposing that abstract thought is evil or should be thrown out. God has surely granted man the ability to think wonderfully deep and rich thoughts. God himself thinks higher than we can even imagine (Isaiah 55:9). Instead, I am suggesting that it is a powerful thing to learn to temper reasoning with childlike faith and trust.
Those who are in the death-grip of higher thinking will never experience some of life's greatest joys. Their reasoning abilities will gladly stifle it all. This is sad on an earthly level. This is tragic on a spiritual level. I hope that all will take on childlike faith and turn to Christ. I hope that all will have the courage to subtract the abstract.
One of my favorite things to observe on ski slopes is the occasional little kid that is decked out in ski gear and can be seen cruising down the mountain or waddling around in the lodge. I'm referring to the tiny, tiny ones that probably just learned to walk last year. They are somewhat rare, but when they do appear, I always want to ooh and ahh over them.
Late in the afternoon during our ski day at Steamboat, our crew had to go back to the main lodge so my Dad could check on something. While my brother, cousin, and I hung out by the gondola waiting for Pop's return, I spotted a little toddler skier teetering after his father. After crooning about how cute he was to my brother (which I'm sure he appreciated), I then began to think about things on a deeper level.
Nobody can argue that learning to ski as an adult is difficult. Come to think of it, learning anything new as an adult is quite challenging when compared to learning that same thing as a child. Science can provide many research-backed answers as to why the adult brain resists taking on new skills. While those scientific studies are fascinating and true, I believe there is another reason why adults lose the ability to quickly soak in new things: abstract thinking.
Abstract thinking is foreign to children. This is why the adults in their life are so formative in their development. Children constantly appeal to the adults in their lives to make sense of their world. Though they may tirelessly ask the qustion "Why?", they easily absorb the answers to their questions without picking apart the answer in their brain. So-and-so said such-and-such and that is that. Thus makes up the beauty that is the childlike brain.
As my eyes followed the little guy at the lodge trailing behind his father, obviously a bit hindered by ski boots (who's not?) and a bulky coat, I contemplated how he must have a huge trust in his dad. Perhaps he had some fear of going down the slopes, but being the child that he was, he had not the capacity to over-analyze the situation. If Dad says I'm going down the slopes, I guess I'm going down the slopes. I could almost hear his thought process, not hard to imagine since I can remember having that childlike mode once too.
Though abstract reasoning is a gift and presents a more multi-colored pallette to life, it can often be a hindrance. An adult learning to ski will often kill the experience with hyper-awareness and vigilance. What if...? I don't think I can... This is dangerous... I can well hear those thoughts too. I experience them daily in one way or the other.
As I chewed on these ideas, I mentioned them to my brother. We discussed how abstract thought can ironically hinder progress. Do you ever discuss something that may not be revolutionary to the world in general but it is to you? This conversation was just such a brainstorm.
I went back to my own thoughts at that point and pondered how Jesus encouraged people to receive him as little children would (Luke 18:17). Why does He say this? Because He understands that higher-level thinking often prevents folks from coming to Him. He thus promotes childlike thinking and childlike faith. He asks people to trust Him as the little skier trusted his dad. Once again, not a new concept, but worth repeating for sure.
What sane adult would go to the top of a steep hill covered in snow, strap two long boards onto his feet, and point them downhill? What sane adult would surrender self, believe that there is a loving Creator who will forgive his sins, and then give his life to this unseen God in order to have a relationship with Him? Answer: the sane adult who takes on childlike faith.
I am not proposing that abstract thought is evil or should be thrown out. God has surely granted man the ability to think wonderfully deep and rich thoughts. God himself thinks higher than we can even imagine (Isaiah 55:9). Instead, I am suggesting that it is a powerful thing to learn to temper reasoning with childlike faith and trust.
Those who are in the death-grip of higher thinking will never experience some of life's greatest joys. Their reasoning abilities will gladly stifle it all. This is sad on an earthly level. This is tragic on a spiritual level. I hope that all will take on childlike faith and turn to Christ. I hope that all will have the courage to subtract the abstract.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
A Risk Too Big?
Fluffy snow is falling. Well, it falls only to get whipped around by the wind before finding a landing spot. Poor snow.
As the physical world is transforming into albino-land, the very cultural and social landscape of our country is undergoing its own makeover. Extreme emotion and even hysteria have surrounded the whole health-care narrative, as well they should have. No change so monumental ought to transpire with a mere shrug of the shoulders or yawn of complacency. History has witnessed one chapter of this saga draw to a close today, and the ending has left the readers deeply divided.
What will be the outcome of Chapter One? One can hardly predict. Critics from both sides proclaim with adroit conviction that they are sure of this or that about how the future will unfold based on the passing of this gargantuan bill. Do any of them know with certainty that what they prophesy is inerrant? No. There's no way any of us can know exactly what's coming next. The scope and muddled nature of the bill don't allow for it.
"Is she not taking a side on this issue?" If that be your thought right now, let me assure you that I have. I am not a fan of the health-care reform bill (or whatever it's technical name is now). I could give you many reasons why, but that is not the point of this soliloquy.
Here, instead, is the moral of this post: The bigger the change, the more unpredictable the outcome. Perhaps this maxim doesn't hold true in all of life, but I submit that it does in general.
Consider the follwing scenario: If I decide to move to a new location within Colorado Springs, that would be a change and would require transition. Yet, I could decently predict what the transition would entail and could therefore prepare myself well for said change. If, on the other hand, I decide to move to Africa, change my name, and switch from being a teacher to being a nurse...all at once...it would be hard for me to predict what kind of impact so many transitions at once would have on my life.
In the same way, I believe that this health-care bill is so weighted by changes to the status quo, be they small or large, that it makes the bill reckless simply because the outcome of it all will be that much more unpredictable. Leave arguments of ideology aside. On simple logistical terms, the move seems highly risky.
Let it be known that I understand the health-care crisis. I don't believe there is an easy answer and reform of some kind is needed. Yet, I fear that going to the races and gambling away a huge chunk of money in the name of being better off is not the way to lead a responsible life.
May God guide the leaders of this great country. I pray that if this bill stands, the outcome will be far different than what I now foresee. While I pray and consider my role in this all, I will continue to thank God for His continued blessings in my life. Tonight, I will thank Him for the snow.
As the physical world is transforming into albino-land, the very cultural and social landscape of our country is undergoing its own makeover. Extreme emotion and even hysteria have surrounded the whole health-care narrative, as well they should have. No change so monumental ought to transpire with a mere shrug of the shoulders or yawn of complacency. History has witnessed one chapter of this saga draw to a close today, and the ending has left the readers deeply divided.
What will be the outcome of Chapter One? One can hardly predict. Critics from both sides proclaim with adroit conviction that they are sure of this or that about how the future will unfold based on the passing of this gargantuan bill. Do any of them know with certainty that what they prophesy is inerrant? No. There's no way any of us can know exactly what's coming next. The scope and muddled nature of the bill don't allow for it.
"Is she not taking a side on this issue?" If that be your thought right now, let me assure you that I have. I am not a fan of the health-care reform bill (or whatever it's technical name is now). I could give you many reasons why, but that is not the point of this soliloquy.
Here, instead, is the moral of this post: The bigger the change, the more unpredictable the outcome. Perhaps this maxim doesn't hold true in all of life, but I submit that it does in general.
Consider the follwing scenario: If I decide to move to a new location within Colorado Springs, that would be a change and would require transition. Yet, I could decently predict what the transition would entail and could therefore prepare myself well for said change. If, on the other hand, I decide to move to Africa, change my name, and switch from being a teacher to being a nurse...all at once...it would be hard for me to predict what kind of impact so many transitions at once would have on my life.
In the same way, I believe that this health-care bill is so weighted by changes to the status quo, be they small or large, that it makes the bill reckless simply because the outcome of it all will be that much more unpredictable. Leave arguments of ideology aside. On simple logistical terms, the move seems highly risky.
Let it be known that I understand the health-care crisis. I don't believe there is an easy answer and reform of some kind is needed. Yet, I fear that going to the races and gambling away a huge chunk of money in the name of being better off is not the way to lead a responsible life.
May God guide the leaders of this great country. I pray that if this bill stands, the outcome will be far different than what I now foresee. While I pray and consider my role in this all, I will continue to thank God for His continued blessings in my life. Tonight, I will thank Him for the snow.
Monday, March 15, 2010
To Be or Not To Be...Intense
Here is a noteworthy fact about me: I am intense. In fact, my whole family is intense. Growing up, this truth often manifested itself in hilarious ways. For example, anytime the whole clan was in a vehicle together, the volume of conversation would continually rise until we were practically shouting...not because we were angry, but because we are all intense and verbose folks who usually feel the need to give our input and be heard.
We were that family that rarely had a quiet dinner table...someone always had something to say. To this day, I marvel at those families I see at restaurants sitting in complete silence for the whole meal. When observing such a thing, I am curious beyond belief. To me, such a minimal communication style is foreign.
There were also times when our intensity as a family ignited sparks. Sparks of frustration, anger, or turmoil with each other or with circumstances. Sparks of restlessness or passion or fear. Sparks of many kinds. Intensity can be exhausting and I've seen that first-hand many a time. Though I am often proud of my intense nature because I see it as a strong motivator, time has taught me that such a posture in life can be very debilitating.
As a Christ-follower, my intensity gets me into trouble. Too often, I try to manage things in my life on my own because I have not the patience nor the faith to trust God with what I deem necessary to figure out right now. What a mistake. When my disposition hinders my faith, that is serious for "without faith it is impossible to please God" (Heb. 11:6). Impossible is a strong word.
Lately, I have been contemplating the way my personality factors into how I approach my life. God created my intense nature and the drive I feel within, but He desires to use that nature for His glory. In times past, when I have felt the destructive nature of my passions while in my own grip, I have observed more laid-back people in my life and envied their disposition. Why can't I be more like her? She is trusting, relaxed, and relatively stress-free. That would be nice. Willing it to be so, I would then procede to muscle myself into being relaxed. What? Hello, Oxymoron Woman.
How about this? How about accepting and loving myself in a Biblical way? How about realizing that God wants to redeem even the broken aspects of my intensity and channel every ounce of my passion and drive into work for His Kingdom? What does that require? Surrender...and that is something with which an intense person struggles.
What a beautiful thing it is and will be when I surrender to Christ in full! No need to give my disposition a makeover. I need only to abide in Christ and allow Him to work through me. What a relief to know that I don't have to be someone I am naturally not! God even created intense people; may I then be intensely surrendered to Him.
We were that family that rarely had a quiet dinner table...someone always had something to say. To this day, I marvel at those families I see at restaurants sitting in complete silence for the whole meal. When observing such a thing, I am curious beyond belief. To me, such a minimal communication style is foreign.
There were also times when our intensity as a family ignited sparks. Sparks of frustration, anger, or turmoil with each other or with circumstances. Sparks of restlessness or passion or fear. Sparks of many kinds. Intensity can be exhausting and I've seen that first-hand many a time. Though I am often proud of my intense nature because I see it as a strong motivator, time has taught me that such a posture in life can be very debilitating.
As a Christ-follower, my intensity gets me into trouble. Too often, I try to manage things in my life on my own because I have not the patience nor the faith to trust God with what I deem necessary to figure out right now. What a mistake. When my disposition hinders my faith, that is serious for "without faith it is impossible to please God" (Heb. 11:6). Impossible is a strong word.
Lately, I have been contemplating the way my personality factors into how I approach my life. God created my intense nature and the drive I feel within, but He desires to use that nature for His glory. In times past, when I have felt the destructive nature of my passions while in my own grip, I have observed more laid-back people in my life and envied their disposition. Why can't I be more like her? She is trusting, relaxed, and relatively stress-free. That would be nice. Willing it to be so, I would then procede to muscle myself into being relaxed. What? Hello, Oxymoron Woman.
How about this? How about accepting and loving myself in a Biblical way? How about realizing that God wants to redeem even the broken aspects of my intensity and channel every ounce of my passion and drive into work for His Kingdom? What does that require? Surrender...and that is something with which an intense person struggles.
What a beautiful thing it is and will be when I surrender to Christ in full! No need to give my disposition a makeover. I need only to abide in Christ and allow Him to work through me. What a relief to know that I don't have to be someone I am naturally not! God even created intense people; may I then be intensely surrendered to Him.
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