Know my Anxious Thoughts...

my mind, heart, soul, and everything in between, has been consumed with thoughts of honduras lately.

it occurred to me that when people ask me why im going, i don't really have an answer.

because im not going to preach

im not going to americanize

im not going to save

and im not going to follow a plan.

i'm going to love and be loved

to experience the most un-distracted encounter with God i've ever known

i'm going because it makes sense

im going because it fits.

and yet.

im scared.

terrified, really.

why is it that when i am sitting in my room in arkansas, i yearn for more of God, i shudder at the thought of a routine or complacent existence

but thinking about the gravity of the God i will meet in honduras makes me run to my covers?

i have never wanted to be a person that finds God somewhere else, but i don't think thats what this is about.

i think it's about the lack of control i will feel, the complete uncertainty of what my days will look like, not just when i think about it now, but also when i'm there.

and THAT is something i'm never ready to experience.

"search me, O God, and know my heart; test me, and know my anxious thoughts. point out anything in me that offends you, and lead me along the path of everlasting life."

psalm 139

11-30-12

so old, so young, so tired, so worn.

i met you.

like a flame, a candle, you lit my heart.

i yearned for it, begged for the mercy of your touch.

you soothed me, threw glimpses of unfamiliar life into my eyes.

and in the very moments i felt utterly and completely overtaken, overcome, by this fire,

emptiness and destruction threatened, much more, to take their places.

as i stared them in the eyes, i realized never in my life and never again had i seen such pure,

raw,

untamed

love.

in the face of such utter tragedy.

because as much as i love you and always have

a choice was made to never let it shake me the way it did, again.

"If you stick a knife in my back nine inches and pull it out six inches, that's not progress.

You pull it all the way out-that's not progress.

The progress is healing the wound that the blow made.

And they haven't even tried to pull the knife out, much less heal the wound.

They won't even admit the knife is there."

-Malcolm X

The Girl Effect

we watched this in class the other day and i was really struck by it and haven't been able to stop thinking about it since.  i think it has such a profound message and effect, and not just because i am a girl, but because of how so many problems have a seemingly "easy" fix, if we just open our eyes to them

I knew you were trouble...

i don't even really like Taylor Swift all that much, but i can't get this song out of my head today...

sometimes i get in these situations and im like

what the crap happened.

other times, im in situations in which i say

oh. thats why that crap happened.

i think it's normal to be affected by our environments. i spent a long time trying not to be, but as hard as i tried, i didn't become unaffected. i became a stuffer of feelings to the point of numbness. i pray you [me, I, whomever] never get there. it's a verrry difficult thing to undo.

and then, somewhere, beautifully, along the way, i realized that i carry it within me anyways. all the different environments, good or bad, have molded me, grown me, into the exact woman that i am. and so it's good to be affected by the environment, because i think that means complacency hasn't set in.

it's not a threat to my well-being, whichever environment i find myself in.

i carry It, it, it within and nothing will take that from me.

on a side note, let me point out that wanting me only when you see me delivers a LOUD and CLEAR message that what is on the outside of me is what is most important, and the only thing you actually want.

thank you, but no

sometimes when you are swallowed by the moment, you forget to be kind and gracious and loving and giving. all you want to do is lash out, emotionally, and release all your disappointed expectations and hurts and unrealistic beliefs about the person or situation onto the closest thing to you.

but they don't feel unrealistic when it's the 27 thousandth thing that has threatened to undo the weeks and months of betterment you have searched for and attained for yourself. they feel real and raw and annoyingly present. but to succumb to your emotions in that moment is to be the exact thing you have worked really your whole life to overcome.

also, sometimes i cringe when i read my past posts. mostly because i remember who i was and where i was, mentally, emotionally, sometimes physically, when i wrote them. but also because they sometimes sound so dramatic. i've always been a deep feeler, though, no use denying that. it's like looking at the Facebook photos i put up when i first got the thing-somewhat embarrassing to the point of deletion, sometimes. but ill keep them. because i stand by most of what i said, anyway. 

i don't know why i felt the need to explain myself away. hm.

one day i'm going to live in the west
and snuggle by the fire
with a warm beverage
and warm food
and a warm boy

i've never lived in the west.
in a way it seems to represent all the things that feel unattainable to me
i cut 7 inches off of my hair this summer
i was hoping it would push me to the West.
West=graduate school
graduation
love
marriage
babies
all the things that threaten my comfort.
so far i haven't checked my bank account in 5 hours.

i'd say i'm doing pretty good.

uhh hi?

i never actually thought i'd write in this thing again. not because i've been intentionally not doing so, but other things took over my thoughts and time and blog abilities. but i've been catching up on this other blog and in it she said that sometimes you just need to have something for you.  that she's not sure if really anyone reads what she says but that that matters very little.  she likes to write for herself.

i like that idea.

in all this time that i haven't publicly been sharing my thoughts, i have certainly continued writing.  i'm a huge advocate of writing of any kind, especially in a world that promotes all this technology.  usually, i'm lucky if i know how to turn a tv on....seriously.

maybe i'll start with things i've learned since the last time i posted? that feels like a good idea. just a reminder to myself. you can read if you want, but this is for me.

-you must live in the tension. very little is in your control, even the things you might think are.  more than that, trace back to the very depths of your being why you long for that control.  it can, and will, lead you to hard places. but ultimately, freedom.  all of life is tension. embrace it, or it will destroy you.
-everything and everyone you meet is who they will be/what it will be.  it is of course possible to change, but the world strives to be content, to be okay.  that requires a very consistent "staying-where-you-areness" and the likelihood of anyone/thing changing on purpose is slim because of that.  so, you better be sure you can always accept that man/woman/dog as they are right this very second.
-you really will be okay. nothing in the entire world will hit you so hard that you lose your footing. you might be brought to your knees, but you will not lose your footing.
-above all, you must learn to love yourself. it is a process, but you are not the culmination of your mistakes. you are on a very specific, direct, perfect path and you are OKAY. you are where you are supposed to be, always. "it's not too late or too soon; it is when it's supposed to be" (The Time Keeper)
-God is faithful.  always.  forevermore.  unimaginably.

hmmm that's all.

I had the most vivid picture of what the relationship between me and God often looks like on Sunday, and I can't get it out of my head. I've heard and seen it described a lot of ways, but never like this before.

I was having a really tough day Sunday, dealing with a lot of emotions regarding things that are going on with me and with people around me. As I've described it before, it feels like going through withdrawal. I've never been addicted to drugs and so I've never had to deal with going through that kind of withdrawal, but I've heard it described as something you just have to let pass. The feeling comes, you hurt and struggle through it, then it passes on. That's how I was feeling about my emotions on Sunday. A thought or emotion would come, and I would just have to brace myself to let it come and then pass.

During one of those moments, the clearest picture came to mind of me and God. Sometimes, when in the middle of one of these times, it's difficult to understand where He is, what He's doing. But I saw God holding me, like a baby. I was kicking and screaming and crying, wanting to be released. And He didn't say a word. He just held onto me, tightly, and let me kick and scream.
And if you think about it, it makes so much sense. I've been at the doctor's office and witnessed many times a mother holding her child like this. Babies have to get shots that hurt and they don't understand. And they don't want it. But the mother just sits there, overwhelmed with the scene, hurting and devoid of words, tears right behind her eyes. Because the baby needs it. It must have it.

Silence does not mean neglect or disappearance. Instead, I think it means an overwhelming knowledge of what must occur coupled with an overwhelming desire to keep it from happening.

it's not enough to be a good person.
it's not enough to speak truth when no one else will.
it's not enough to wait, in anguish, for truth to be revealed.
it's not enough to know you're being the "bigger person."
it's not enough to be loving when they come back.

it's who you are good to.
it's how and why you are speaking that truth.
it's how spirit filled and selfless you are while waiting.
it's how humble you are.
it's how loving you are while they don't.


philippians 2.1-11
luke 6.32

in Luke 15, there is the all too famous story of the Prodigal Son. As the story has been told time and time again, most of the focus being on either the son, who is considered the prodigal here, or the older brother. But rarely has emphasis been put on the father. And it wasn't for me until last semester.

In case you haven't read it, there is this family consisting of 2 sons and a father. Neither son has a great relationship with his father. One, the older brother, sees his father as a task master, maybe feeling like he could never measure up. The other son, the prodigal in this story, kind of walks all over his dad. He's sick of it, doesn't really care about his dad, and says, I want my inheritance, see ya later. (As pointed out to me last semester, this is an unbelievable show of disrespect).
And the father lets him go.
We aren't told why the father and sons didn't have a good relationship. We aren't even really told they don't. But the actions of the sons, the nonstop work to please the father and the absolute rebellion against him, speaks for itself.
Eventually, the prodigal comes back. He realizes, only after losing all his money, pride, self-respect, and anyone to care for him, that he misses his father. That he loves his father. That that's the only place he needs to be. So he returns home, fully expecting to be a slave. In fact, he even told his father to make him such. He wasn't worthy.
But the Father runs to him. He sees him coming and all the time he has been anxiously awaiting his return has finally come to an end.

I am reading a book for bible study called, "He loves Me!" and in it, the author states about the father, "...waiting is far more difficult than prodding or nagging. But wait he did, for a marvelous thing to happen-to let the son come to his senses."

Many times in my life are designated as "waiting periods." I'm in one now. Often, it is seen most in times of suffering, or when a big decision needs to be made. But sometimes, God just needs you to wait. To wait and see what He is doing, what He has ALREADY done. And waiting truly is the hardest. For God, I think, as He watches us writhe around in anxiety, but mostly for us. It's not easy to wait. To relinquish every ounce of control, fear, uncertainty, and just to be still. But then you picture the inexpressible joy that comes from the image of the father RUNNING after the son, even though men of this time did not do this. And the son is welcomed back with jewels and robes and so much more love than he could have ever imagined.

Sometimes following in the footsteps of Jesus is hard. Almost blinded to everyone and everything around me besides Him, I just hold on for dear life.
And somewhere along the way, I trip over a rock and when I look down, even for that brief moment in time, I become acutely aware of everyone and everything I've had to leave behind.

"come, follow Me"
"And they left at once and followed Him."

There is absolutely no other life to be had. But it's not easy.
And when I feel frantic and start to drown from unbelief, I am pulled out of the pit and just carried for a little while. Just long enough to regain my footing.

"Quiet down before God, be prayerful before him." Psalm 37.7

"I know exactly what I need to do. I know what God wants. Surrender is required, yes, but I don't want to."

I arrived in Memphis with a backseat full of stuff, heart on the edge of freaking out, and healing just around the corner. Behind me was a semester of hard knocks, bad relationships, and a very confused family in a whirlwind of change. And I wasn't ready. I shut myself up so tightly, nothing was getting in. I was determined.

Saturday night, I cried myself to sleep. "What am I doing here?" "I take it back, no no no this isn't right." An overwhelming feeling of discomfort was settling in, and it was true. I was about to be really uncomfortable. The next morning, the sermon was on Micah 6.8. The usual preacher wasn't there. It was just a random fill-in. But it wasn't for me. Because Micah 6.8 is taped to my computer. Micah 6.8 had been on my heart the whole week before I even got to Memphis. God showed me. I knew I was supposed to be in Memphis.

I learned I stumbled I loved I hurt I fell I got up I walked tall I walked even taller I loved some more I was loved I hurt I doubted I cried I felt angry I felt alone I fell. I got up. I fell. I stayed on my knees I begged and begged and begged I learned I loved. I was loved.

And again, I am back in Nashville. God brought me full circle. There are no words intimate or expressive enough to provide the details. But if there's one thing I've learned is that there's no point in frantically searching for solid ground all the time when instead...I'm being carried.

paraphrasing this morning's sermon:

"they have a Brynn-sized [a two year old] playground at this park that we like to go to. it has 4 foot slides that i know are safe. but you see, my Brynn is adventurous. she likes to go to the playground for kids 5+ and ride the 10 foot and 15 foot windy slides. and i know it will be ok because i'm there. i am with her. i am the one that grabs her leg when she's sliding down head first, catching her before she hits the ground. and honestly, as she gets older, i would be devastated if she went back to those 4 foot slides. if she went back to what she is comfortable with."

you can figure out the analogy, i'm sure.

"You've already had that bathroom moment. He has already come to you saying, 'I am your God. I am a lap. I've got you back and can offer you far more than anything this world can.' Now, you must speak truth into their world. You may be the only one that ever has."
-Susan Rubio

Thank you.

workcamp

I couldn't sleep. So instead, I just laid in bed, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling and listening to the Galloways prepare for the beach. As I laid there, my mind drifted over this past week: Memphis Workcamp.

See, this is another thing that I have never been a part of but had to throw myself into. Crazy sounding, yes, but usually...ok always, worth it. But to be honest, I wasn't too confident about the positivity of this week. Monday night, surrounded by a lot of people I didn't know, I figured this was just something I would have to get through.

But then a moment came where it hit me. I look through human eyes a lot, and it wasn't until I was alone, covering up chipping, hunter green paint on the side of a house in a poverty stricken neighborhood that my eyes were opened for the first time.
I was a "co-crew leader" for a team of 10. Meaning, I goofed off with the kids and occasionally took care of some responsibility. And it was hot. And we had to scrape paint off of a house. On ladders. And there were wasps. But I will never forget this week. I will never forget the miracle and evidence of Jesus in that kids from all over the place, who have never met before, can come together and not only get along, but revive a house. From start to finish. I bonded so much with these kids and loved every minute I got to spend with them. But more importantly, as I put a coat of fresh, white paint on top of a decaying, old, chipping wall, I saw Jesus.
"He makes all things new."
And as I looked around and listened to all the voices crying out for Him in earnest on nights of worship, I felt alive. I felt incredible gratitude for existing in a place where kids are desperate for Him, and you can see it on their faces. You can see it in their closed eyes and softly swaying bodies. George said it almost every night, and it is so true. Hearing these kids reminds me of why I believe. I was so grateful that they haven't become jaded by the trials of the world just yet. That they can still worship and love in innocence and with their whole hearts. Because every time I see this and every moment spent with these kids is like rewriting my history. Mending my heart and fixing the broken.

I have been here (in Memphis) long enough for my nightstand book to collect dust, mail a letter, and do my first load of laundry.

It's been a long time since I have felt truly at home. Nashville, where I was born and raised, is foreign to me now. I'm not there long enough to even buy a decent cup of coffee.
Searcy has its hints of home. A familiar smile, the occasional fried okra in the caf, southern accents.

But that rich, deep homey feeling is not something I have felt in a long time. And although you may not think it, that has more affect on a person that I could have ever guessed.

But last night, hands were laid on me. Soft hands, rough hands, old hands, young hands. Hands with wrinkles that tell of time and hurt and work. That tell of memories, laughter, and a love for a Savior that is thicker than anything I've ever experienced. The moment was not lost on me. The elders wanted to pray over Cooper and I. For our summer, for our work with the kids, but mostly just for US. And I opened my eyes as the thought struck me. A smile curved on the edges of my lips, and my heart felt at peace. Peace. Something almost as foreign as a feeling of home. I was surrounded, physically, emotionally, mentally, metaphorically, by love and safety and warmth. Tears fill my eyes. That feeling you get right before you cry, the one that forms behind your cheeks and acts like it's going to take over: that's what helps me write these words.

Sure, I'm only here for the summer. I have no idea what it will bring, what God will do. But as He reminded me the second day I was here, He is here. And when all else fails, I rest in that. If nothing else, even for a brief second, I felt home.

Excerpt from Life of Pi, Yann Martel

"This Son, on the other hand, who goes hungry, who suffers from thirst, who gets tired, who is sad, who is anxious, who is heckled and harassed, who has to put up with followers who don't get it and opponents who don't respect Him-what kind of god is that? It's a god on too human a scale, that's what. There are miracles, yes, mostly of a medical nature, a few to satisfy hungry stomachs; at best a storm is tempered, water is briefly walked upon. If that is magic, it is minor magic, on the order of card tricks. Any Hindu god can do a hundred times better. This Son is a god who spent most of His time telling stories, talking. This Son is a god who walked, a pedestrian god-and in a hot place, at that-with a stride like any human stride, the sandal reaching just above the rocks along the way; and when He splurged on transportation, it was a regular donkey. This Son is a god who died in three hours, with moans, gasps, laments. What kind of god is that? What is there to inspire in this Son?

'Love,' said Father Martin."

I Am Second

One of the most amazing, powerful, and passionate things I have ever been a part of.

The faith of this little girl rivals any I've seen.