Attacked

I woke up this morning to frosty grass and meat-freezer air. Each morning the green leaves are less green and more red or yellow or orange. And I am reminded that everything must keep moving forward and changing and unfolding. 

Nothing is intended to stop. But interference is reality. When things stop, they die; they begin to wither. We need movement and progression and change to live, to be nurtured. The unfolding movement allows us to keep unfolding. 

At the beginning of this semester I said yes to the invitation to contribute to the unfolding of creation.

I have thousands upon thousands of words dammed up inside me, making every effort to burst forth, but horribly blocked and unable to contribute. 

The way I express myself has been taken away from me. 

I was about to launch something big, but I have been attacked on every front. Physically, emotionally, mentally, spiritually. I have been so run down in every regard and ultimately, prevented from writing. My words are stuck. 

My words are the way in which I worship. My words are my contribution to the Kingdom. Naturally, Satan would want to suppress them.

I have been trying to write for weeks and weeks. I have so much in me that I long to share, to communicate.

So, friends, I am calling on you. I need help. I need prayer.

Pray for protection from the enemy. Pray for health, pray for mental alertness, pray for strength, pray for the ability to write to be restored. These days have not been easy and I fear I have a long road ahead of me. My battle is overwhelming and at times consuming. I know my calling. I know I am supposed to write, and so I must continue to fight. 

Through all this, I have been very aware of God’s sustaining power. I feel Him carrying me through each day and into the next. Most days I am completely unable to do anything; it is only by His grace and care that I am still moving. 

Also, readers, I need help gathering a larger audience. I am launching my new project on October 23^rd. Please look for the announcement and make the transition with me! You can help me out by sharing my posts over the next thirteen days (and going forward!) and you can pray for perseverance and pray specifically for the date October 23^rd. 

I am excited to continue to write. To share my stories and inspirations and thoughts with you. I am stepping into something bigger and bending my knee to the Creator, and humbly accepting my role to unfold with creation.

Brewing

For all of you faithful readers who excitedly smiled with me when I moved to Africa at age 16 and journaled incomplete thoughts for the world to see. To the readers who furrowed their brow with concern as I tumbled for a couple years trying to make sense of my life. To the readers who gave me a quizzical look when I announced my move to Minnesota. To the readers who have been with me since the beginning and those who have joined along the way. 

This is to tell you, the blue-skies-green-grass-dandelion-blowing Grace is moving forward.

At one point we all slept with a guardrail to keep us from falling out of bed at night, or we drank from a sippy-cup to prevent spills, or we used pull-ups for easier cleaning after accidents. Eventually it's time to grow up and graduate to the next thing. I'm approaching the end of college and beginning to think about which direction I'd like to take my writing, and I'm realizing eventually it's time to grow up and graduate to the next thing. Turns Out You Do Need Grace has neared it's natural end.  

However, my writing and blogging and learning and sharing is certainly far from over. I have some very exciting ideas and big dreams simmering on the back burner, and I cannot wait to share them with you!

Stay tuned. 

Brokenness as an Idol

The school year is barely in flight and already my hand is propping my head and smooshing my check upwards. I’m not stressed or overwhelmed or tired. I’m just bored. For a lot of people the start of a school year means new. New classes, new schedule, new activities to try. However, I have (roughly) the same schedule that I had all summer and last semester. I haven’t seen change in a good long while. And as much as I love a good routine, I can’t stand it for very long. I need something new.

The other night in tears I sat on the swing with Ty and unloaded woes from the past couple weeks, some more worthy of tears than others, but all significant. Frustrated by my lack of change, upset about my tears, disappointed that I don’t feel like I have my life figured out. And Ty listened and validated and kindly offered Grace, no one knows who they are. This (meaning college) is the season of life when we are supposed to learn who we are.

I didn’t like those words very much. I don’t know what I expected him to say exactly. But seasons of life aren’t determined by age. I learned plenty of things as a 19 and 20 year old that people don’t learn until they are 35 or 47 years old. And there are things I have yet to learn that a 19 or 20 year old may know quite well.

The thing is, a lot of the things I learned as a 19/20 year old I learned independently. I spent time figuring out myself by myself. As a result, I am quite bad at being dependent. And now I am in a place of learning dependency and it is uncomfortable. I now have a community and close friends and a boyfriend who care about me and want to care for me. And instead of happily engaging in deeper relationships, I find myself habitually retreating to old ways and sour wounds.

At church last Sunday Micah preached about cutting off foreskin, and somehow out of those confusing and slightly offsetting verses he got this:

Help often comes from unexpected places in unexpected ways and A life of faith requires leaving things behind.

And that got me thinking, often when we think about “living a life of faith” we assume that means leaving something good and comfortable and moving into something hard and unsettling. Like, leaving a high-paying job to serve in an impoverished village. But what if the “things” we are “leaving behind” are actually bad things? Do we have to leave good for it to be an act of faith?

Lately I have been frustrated that my past wounds and brokenness seem to be too present. I thought I had worked through things and gotten rid of it, but it’s still here. There is an element of needing to remember our brokenness so that the Cross becomes all the more beautiful. But there is a time when holding onto our wounds becomes too much of a focal point. My wounds are familiar to me, and even though painful, there is a level of comfort. But in holding onto my past hurts, I am denying Jesus’ sacrifice.

Is it possible for something as distasteful and painful as a broken heart to become an idol?

So when Micah said in order to live in faith I needed to leave things behind, I thought about the feather inked on my left arm and the process birds go through to remove their broken wings so that they can fly again. And maybe, just maybe, I need to step out in faith and leave my brokenness behind. Maybe, just maybe, I need to stop living my life so independently and start tearing down some of the walls and depending on other people. This is a scary thought. This would be an act of faith.

It’s easier said than done. And I acknowledge that there is a fine line. We are all broken and we will continue to be broken as long as we live on earth. But we don’t need to dwell in our brokenness. Healing means I have the ability to move on and move away from the past. Healing enables me to live in faith.

When you break a leg, you spend time in a cast, then you go to physical therapy so that you can relearn how to walk. You tend to the leg and treat it with extra care. But eventually your leg heals and you regain muscle and you start running again and it’s almost as if the accident never happened. Emotional wounds aren’t as straight forward, but there is still healing and the ability to move away from them.

In one of my classes this week my professor shared a fascinating fact that the Hebrew language only consist of verbs, no nouns. Everything is always moving and unfolding and performing as God intended. There is no present tense, only past and future. My professor said:

Because we are always verb-ing, we can’t be noun-ed by our past. The noun will impact and affect us but because we are always unfolding it doesn’t stick to us.

It’s almost too profound for me to grasp. As long as we are living in faith, we are continually moving forward. Satan would love for us to stay in our past because that is where things get muddied. We have to keep being, we have to keep verb-ing, we have to keep healing and flying.

So back to last Sunday with Pastor Micah, he ended with this: We need to lay it down so that something else can be born in us.

In order to grow, in order to fly again, I’ve got to lay down my brokenness and move forward in faith into a life of freedom, so that something new can be born in me. Something new. Exactly what I am looking for. And oddly, right now (at this season of my life), that “life of freedom” may very well be a life of dependency.

And as far as the help coming from unexpected places  that would be my good man, Ty Schroeder. He is quite possibly the most surprising aspect of my life thus far. Unanticipated yet exactly who I need. God is allowing and equipping Ty to show me how to acknowledge hurt – even little hurts and minor scrapes from the week; not just the gaping wounds from years gone by– but then to release it, and fly forward in freedom.

So, as the birds fly south toward freedom from the winter, I will stay in the cold and figure out how to fly in freedom. I will discover ways to implement new and thoughtfully release old. 

Watermelon and Wind

Today’s weather calls for wide open windows, causing the breeze to dance through the house. And I keep taking deep breaths in through my nose and smiling.

I stood at the kitchen counter and carefully hacked watermelon into uneven cubes. I have a bad habit of eating half of a fruit while I’m cutting it. But when the cold juicy cubes are sweeter than candy, how can I not devour it?

I don’t really have anything profound or significant to say today, other than that I was so overcome by the beauty of the aforementioned things that I felt compelled to write it down. I could have easily grabbed my journal and taken note, but I wanted to share the beauty with you.

And perhaps this is to say, if we don’t have time to sink a kitchen knife into colorful fruits and vegetables, then what are we doing with our lives?  

How differently our day would look  if we spent three minutes thoughtfully slicing produce, as if we were creating a work of art, or rather, marveling at a work of art. The alternative would be to haphazardly chop produce for a quick dinner and that doesn’t sound relaxing or enjoyable.

God has taken the time to give us beautiful food to eat, fresh from the ground or the tree or the bush. I think we should take time to cut it up and let the flavor overwhelm our tongue, and allow our hearts to be overwhelmed by His goodness. 

Learning Lessons

When I opened my eyes this morning I was slapped in the face with the reality that summer is almost over. I knew it was going to speed by, but I did not heed my own warning. My list of goals for the summer had slid itself under the other stacks of paper, long forgotten about. I discovered it the other day when I was moving into my new room for the upcoming school year. Turns out I completed all of zero things on that list. I stared at it wondering what on earth happened to my 115 days of freedom.

Summer setting like the sun

I'm trying to convince myself that it's okay I didn't do anything on my list because I was able to do a whole lot of other things I never considered prior to summer. I traveled a lot, almost every weekend. I was able to do a lot of writing. And I have spent a few too many hours with my mostly adorable nanny-girls. (Can you tell I am ready for them to go back to school?)

At the beginning of the summer I thought about learning the importance of rest but decided I didn't have enough time for that. I ended the school year in May and walked right into a full-time job. I took a couple classes and kept my summer very disciplined and scheduled. And while I do not regret not completing my list, I do wish I had taken more time to rest.

Friends have started to move back to campus and I must admit I am a little sad that my quiet campus is bustling again. (Do I sound like an introvert, or what? Yikes.) The presence of people has sparked this unpleasant reminder that summer is almost over and it is time for me to reenter into discipline and schedule and I am realizing I never had a break from either of those things.

And with this rude awakening comes stress, my nemesis. I thought I had kicked that thing a long time ago, yet here it is again. And I know I am not the only one feeling this way; loads of other students are coming to terms with this sad reality that we suddenly have a lot to do. But starting the school year in a stressed state of mind doesn't seem like a very smart move.

I think stress is a choice. When we get dressed in the morning we can choose to accessorize with stress of we can hand that one over to God and allow Him to clothe us with peace instead. For some reason it is not easy to relinquish stress, even though I know Jesus wants to carry my burdens and stress. I can't seem to get it through my thick head that I don't have to pile on the weight of the world and grin and bear it all on my own.

A couple close friends have encouraged me to let this upcoming school year be my year of No! because I don't say no, ever. So I have decided to say yes to saying no. However I am already being bombarded with people who need me and tasks that need to be completed. And here I am, shaking my head yes. It is hard to implement change.

I thought I was really good at time management, but I'm starting to think that part of time management is saying no. And part of time management is blocking out time to rest. And even as I type this I am turning up my nose in disdain and thinking But I don't have time to rest. Not only that, I don't want to rest. I just want to say yes, even though I know the consequences of always saying yes.

So, if you encounter me this year and ask me to do something or be something or say something and I respond with a No just smile at me and know that two-letter word was harder for me to utter than actually doing the thing you want me to do.

Part of growing and becoming more of who God intended us to be is making mistakes and learning lessons. I know I have not fully learned this lesson; in fact, I am pretty certain I am going to keep making this mistake for a while. But I would like to go ahead and encourage you, in my hypocrisy, to learn from my mistake; don't make this one for yourself. Release the stress, take time to rest, and don't be afraid to say no.

Looking Through Windows

This morning I woke up eye-level to bright-white cumulus cotton balls in the sky. I pressed my face against the too small 9x12.5 inch frame, captivated by the view and desiring to get even closer to the beauty.

I love the sky. I tend to spend a good part of my day on the ground with my neck craned upward noticing the way in which God chose to paint the sky that day. As much as I love the sky from the ground, I think it’s even more beautiful when I fly. The clouds bolder, the sky bluer, the sunsets grander. The problem is I can only view a very limited portion because I’m stuffed into a tiny seat and only offered a tiny window.

In general, I really enjoy windows. They are like picture frames. Each window provides a different perspective to see what lies beyond it because each one is shaped differently. The view that a large wide-open window presents is very different from one that an oval shaped window with wooden panes would give.

In every event or circumstance or occasion we each have our own window – our own perspective – to look through. We can be crammed into an airplane, straining our neck in all sorts of directions, hoping to catch a glimpse. Or, we can fling the enormous rectangle window open wide, soaking in all it has to offer.

Regardless, of the size of the window, we are still looking through a window. Our perspective is still limited. We can only perceive so much as long as we are standing inside looking out.

Rapunzel is a classic example of one who peers out the window, stuck perceiving the world through a crude hole. Thankfully we are not Rapunzel. We are not trapped in our tower waiting for our prince to climb our outrageously long locks. We get to make a choice.

This past week I have been in Germany visiting one of my dearest friends. The trip has been fun and relaxing and replenishing. I used to love to travel because I wanted to experience new cultures and I wanted to be anywhere but America. I used to travel because I didn’t have a home and traveling was the most comforting option. But now I have a home and I have a window I can look out of, and I feel content to not hop on a plane every couple months.

I could have easily let Bekka tell me all sorts of stories about Germany. I could have stayed at home and allowed her to show me picture after picture and give detailed descriptions of the country. But then I would only be looking through a window. I would be playing the part of Rapunzel.

But instead I went. I made the choice to get up and go and broaden my view. I wanted to see more than what a window-view could offer.

Strangely, (or maybe not so strangely) I think it all comes back to love. I didn't come to Germany for my own benefit. (I mean, yes, of course I wanted to have a fun, relaxing, and replenishing week in a foreign country; who doesn’t?) but ultimately I came because I love this friend of mine. I wanted to come to spend time with her and allow her to show me more of who she is.

When you make the choice to love, when you make the choice to step out to the other side of the window, suddenly people are what matter. Time and money and any other obstacle fade in comparison to the love you have for people.

Yes, relationships can certainly be cultivated through a window, but you can only go so far with them. You can only listen to so many stories and see so many pictures. Besides, communication through a window is a bit rough what with the hand gestures and the muffled words and the sad attempt to read lips. Eventually you have to get out and start doing with her (or him or them) instead of looking at her through the window picture frame.

It is taking me a long time to grasp this whole concept of love, but I'm starting realize that Bob Goff was on to something: love actually does. We’ve got to take action to love and to get on the other side of the window and experience more. I don’t think this means everyone needs to board the next plane to Germany, but I think we should be open to the idea of performing radical acts of love on any scale. This will look different for each person. But when you make the choice to love, when you make the choice to stop looking through the window and instead venture to the other side, suddenly the options and ways in which you can love are endless. 

Feathers and True Love

I woke up to a completely gorgeous 59-degree morning. I must be turning into a good little Minnesotan because I am tired of wearing shorts and t-shirts. I’m ready to break out the jeans and cooler weather clothes. (Notice I didn’t say “cold weather” just “cooler weather.” I’m not that Minnesotan.)

Sometimes I am struck with the realization that God gives us everything we need exactly when we need it. The warm sun, the brief gust of wind or the gentle breeze, the 59-degree morning, the friendships and relationships in our lives, the rough days, the beautiful days. He is in control of it all. And He knows what we need better than we do.

I think that’s why we pray. There is more than one reason why we pray, but I think we pray because we are acknowledging that God holds all things in His hands. In praying, we are giving God full control and full credit. We present our requests to God, meaning we hand them over to Him. Here are my desires Lord; here are my requests. But I’m giving them to You because I trust You, because You know better than I do. And You have the best in mind. Even in praying for something as simple as a safe drive or healing from an illness, it’s completely out of our hands, so we hand it over to God because it is completely in His hands.

A couple months ago I got a feather tattoo on my left arm. It has several different meanings, but the simplest explanation of the image is that it represents freedom. A bird cannot hang onto its old and broken feathers if it expects to fly to the best of its ability. There is a season for acknowledging our brokenness and taking the time to heal, but then there comes a time to molt, to remove our broken feathers so that we can fly again.

In May I felt like I had finally arrived at this place of freedom, like my healing was complete for this season of my life. So I got the reminder permanently inked onto my body, and somehow that action resulted in: cue Satan, stage right. The joy-stealer. The one who makes you question everything you thought true. The one who intentionally drags you through the mud.

And so I looked at my feather tattoo and thought Was I wrong to think I was done healing from these particular wounds? Was I premature in displaying my freedom so blatantly? Satan would like me to think so. And even though I’ve made a permanent choice to be free from my past, Satan will throw doubts at me to get me to think otherwise.

But my freedom is permanent because Jesus died for it. And yes I have hurts, and yes I have healed, and yes I will have more hurts and more seasons of healing. But Jesus died for all that.

And it’s hard for me to wrap my mind around, because it is the most ultimate act of love. And love, true love, is puzzling and challenging and even uncomfortable because it’s foreign.

I sheepishly admit to you that the other day I was watching an episode of the Flash. The supposed villain of the episode turned out not to be a villain after all. Plot twist. Anyway, at the end he said, 

“Love is about letting yourself be saved, it’s not just about saving other people.”

I tend to think the opposite. I often think love is a one-way street. I think love is about doing for others. I expect others to receive love, but I don’t accpet it for myself. I struggle to receive love from other humans. I struggle to receive love from Jesus. I struggle to accept that He died for my freedom because of love.

Love is scary. It’s daring. It’s an adventure. It’s unlike anything else we have or will experience. And as long as I am in Christ, abiding in Him, I have every reason to ink my freedom onto my arm. And that inking doesn’t mean the past is gone. I can look at my feather and remember the past, because in remembering the past I become more aware, more humbled, more grateful for the love that Jesus is. 

Honesty, Vulnerability, and the Hard Topics

Summer is well under way. The days are warm. The nights are cool. The sun hangs around for a good long while allowing us to cram in as many outdoor activities as we can before we are forced into hibernation once again. My summer has been quiet and beautiful. I spend my days taking care of my two nanny girls, and I usually spend my evenings outside actively-relaxing.

So, the thing is, life isn’t always good. (Sorry if this comes as a surprise to you.)  

I can say that my summer has been beautiful because I have learned that ugly can be beautiful. Beauty isn’t defined by sunshine. But, in a lot of ways, although beautiful, this past month has been challenging.

The following is something that I am not open about, at all. I try to ignore it and suppress it, pretending it doesn’t exist or thinking if I fight hard enough it will go away. But it isn’t going to go away. And it is something God has allowed, so here we go:

Mental disorders.

They’re horrible. I have spent a long time learning and I’m continuing to learn how to live with mine. I hate it. I have “flare ups” every now and then when things get a little too out of control. This past month has been one of those times.

There are certainly contributing factors like the weather or my circumstances or encounters in a day, but a lot of it is just there because it’s chemical. I do a lot to cope and stay balanced so most of the people in my life have no idea it’s even a thing for me. Which is exactly how I like it.

Even with these coping skills and ways I counteract my disorder, I recognize that there are times when I am actually stuck and I can’t help how I’m feeling. I just have to ride it out and wait for the storm to pass.  

However, I believe that I do have a choice. Depending on the severity of the episode, I can make the choice to stay quiet or ask for help. I can make the choice to go for a walk or stay inside. Most of the time (not always) I do have an ability to fight, but it’s hard.  

Often, I have found that when I’m struggling (mental disorder or not, this applies to everyone) it’s because my focus has turned inward. I’m thinking too much about my current mental state and my woes and how bad I feel. Sometimes I can’t help it, because it’s chemical (I have to keep reminding myself). However, I do think it is possible to fix my eyes on something (or someone) other than myself.

Yesterday I made the choice to fight through my day and not give into the temptation to stay in bed. I didn’t want to fight, but at the same time I did want to. I figured if God woke me up for yesterday then I may as well go ahead and live it to the best of my ability. Because He calls us to live, and be alive and fully engaged.

And while I drove to take care of my two nanny girls I listened to a song by Matthew Mole:

And if I am your child, then why should the slightest of fears overcome my line of sight? I’ll be more inclined to you.

And then I was reminded of Peter walking on water. The only reason why he started to sink was because he took his eyes off Jesus.

All it takes is a slight glance. Initially, I don’t even have to move. I only need to shift my eyes from looking downward to looking upward once again.

Something that I love about Paul’s message regarding the Armor of God in Ephesians 6 is that it only ever says “stand.” Not “stand and fight.” Jesus has done and is doing the fighting for us. All we have to do is make the choice to stand. To look up and gaze into His face.

And it is the upward-turned eyes that make it possible to call ugly days beautiful. Smiles can be had on both cloudy days and sunny days, I promise. I haven’t always believed this, and I don’t always believe this. Two days ago I would not have been able to type these words, but that is because my eyes were cast down.

I can’t do anything about my mental disorder. It’s there. It’s a part of my life. Sometimes it takes over my life more than I’d like it to, and other times I can function rather normally. But regardless, through each “episode” and each roller coaster of a day, all I need to do is keep my eyes turned slightly upward. 

Afterthoughts:

So, maybe this post is more for me than for you. A chance for me to tear a little bit of my wall down and reveal that I don't actually have everything all figured out. To unveil that I am human and I struggle a lot. Or maybe it's to speak up and encourage others with mental disorders. It's not an easy life we have to live. I know there will be days ahead when friends will attempt to recite these words back to me and I won't be able to receive them. But I also know that there will be days when I will be breathing and smiling and full of life. Regardless, Jesus is present. He is fighting for us. Keep your eyes on Him. 

Puzzle Pieces

You know when you meet someone for the first time and think, Where have you been all my life? There are certain people who you just click with, you jive, you dance and things are good. Then there are people who you meet and instantly wish you could unmeet them. There’s no clicking or jiving and the only dance you are doing is the one to get away from this new acquaintance. (Not that he or she is bad, but he just doesn’t fit into your puzzle.)

I’ve recently been pondering relationships and human interactions. Side bar: Some of you may be raising your eyebrows with a slight smirk on your lips because, if you pay any attention to the happenings on my Facebook page, you will know I recently entered into a relationship (with someone wonderful).  While this “someone wonderful” may have triggered a few of these thoughts below, the term “relationships” here (in this post) does not strictly apply to the romantic kind, but rather a reflection of all forms of relationships: family, friends, significant others, circumstances and opportunities. End side bar.

Each of our lives are like a large, intricate, and challenging jigsaw puzzle. The kind that would take you several weeks to put together; the kind that takes over your dining room table and beckons you to keep assembling it even though you have more important things to do. Maybe you don’t enjoy puzzles, in which case this analogy is totally lost on you.

All puzzles start the same way: with a single piece. After dumping the contents of the box onto the table, any puzzler begins by picking up one piece. That initial piece is you. Unique, uncoordinated, unambiguous. The puzzler then examines the piece and looks for a second piece to fit it.

All of the remaining puzzle pieces that are scattered about your dining room table represent the people and places and opportunities you will have throughout your life. You will find friends and a husband or a wife and a family. You make choices and take chances with your career and the place you choose to live. Your whole life spread on the dining room table.

Assembling this puzzle, just like any other puzzle, takes trial and error. You may try to make a piece fit, foolishly forcing it into place, while other pieces will effortlessly slide into their designated spot. As the pieces begin to fit together, the beauty of your life becomes evident. Each of these people, places, or opportunities are no longer individual shapes, they are now a part of you and who you are.

A too common characteristic of puzzles are their missing pieces. How many puzzles have been started only to be disassembled by disgruntled puzzlers because pieces were discovered missing? Missing puzzles pieces are okay. The missing pieces represent loss and brokenness. At one time that piece fit perfectly into your puzzle, into your life, but the friendship was severed. At one time that job was a great fit for you, but then you were fired. While these things are hard and painful, they are still a part of your story, your puzzle. You can keep assembling a puzzle without all the pieces; in fact, that is what we are supposed to do. Keep assembling, keep going. Acknowledge the heartache, but keep going.

Our lives are puzzles: confusing, complex, captivating. But we get to figure them out, to assemble, to try and fail, to love and lose. Every piece is necessary, so embrace them all. Sometimes it’s okay to step away from the puzzle for a while to gain a new perspective and look at the big picture, but don’t give up on the task you have set out to accomplish. Keep puzzling. 

Incomplete Thoughts and Important Choices

My parents were recently in France and they brought this small leather journal, handmade by a street vendor, back for me. I love this journal for a lot of reasons. First, this journal has character. Even with still primarily blank pages, it already has a story to tell because of who made it and how it was made. I appreciate that it came from a side-alley street vendor, from the not-so glamorous and potentially overlooked. This journal makes me feel like a real writer while I scribble random thoughts onto the unlined pages; I feel like a Victor Hugo or even F. Scott Fitzgerald during his time in France. This journal inspires me to dig deeper and go further into my passion.

I’ve recently been reflecting on repentance and how we have this need (or even command) for daily repentance. I wake up a sinner and go to bed a sinner, but too often I fail to see the gravity of my sin on a day to day basis. When you do something against someone, you apologize/confess/repent in order to make your relationship right again. This is common knowledge and we all practice this readily. But every day I sever my relationship with the Lord because of my actions and I do not make the right efforts to restore. I have a need for daily repentance in order to maintain a right relationship. (Not that it is even my doing, only His doing, but I won’t get into the theology now.)

One of the ways I sin against Him is in my independence. I take great pride in the fact that I have my life rather figured out. (Famous last words?) But actually, I have a routine and a system and it works. Structure is good and important, but it results in a lack of dependence on the Lord. As long as I stick to my schedule I’m going to have a great day. But is there room for reliance in my schedule?

This morning in church we sang a rendition of Great is Thy Faithfulness, and afterwards the pastor said, “It has never been a question of God’s faithfulness but rather our faithfulness. We are people who continually make a mess of things both advertently and inadvertently.” At that moment, the words repentance and dependence flashed across my mind.

Naturally, because writing is my passion, words are also. I was intrigued by the way these words sound so similar. I did a little research to see if they have more in common than seven letters. Sadly, they do not.

Repentance comes from the Greek word metanoia which literally means “to change one’s mind.” When metanoia enters our English language and becomes repentance it loses some of its intended meaning. Metanoia isn’t meant to be about guilt or shame, but rather about making a decision to turn around.

Unfortunately, the origin of the word dependence is very pathetic in comparison to repentance and hardly even worth mentioning. Dependence comes from the Old English word dependre which means to rely. The end. My excitement came to a crashing halt when I discovered just how boring dependence is. 

However, all is not lost, I am still going to attempt a correlation between the two. Every morning I wake up a sinner and I am faced with a choice: to repent or not to repent. And it is not about waking up with guilt, it’s about waking up with a choice. The choice to depend. To turn away from my own self and my own routine and desires, and instead rely on Him. God is a relational God. He loves us, and love has to have a choice; He allows us to choose. This is both daunting and humbling. We can choose to turn to Him or not. 

So, I’ll continue to write and scribble in my little French journal and make choices. I’ll make thousands of choices every day, some will be bad and others will be good. But the most important decision I can make in the morning and all throughout my day is to continually turn away from myself and toward Him. 

Father’s Day

Dads are tricky. They hold a whole lot of power and most of them don’t even realize it. Some of them do realize it. I’m not sure which is worse.

But see, when Paul commanded us to “honor our fathers (and mothers)” that was not a conditional statement. Love your fathers as long as they love you. As long as they value you and notice you and respect you. Nope, nothing conditional about his command.

So how then can we honor mothers or fathers who have failed us?

That’s exactly where the beauty lies.

It’s easy to honor someone who has never wronged you. But the moment you honor someone who has hurt you is when ugly and broken become beautiful and renewed.

In some twisted way, we should actually be giving thanks for our parents when they fail us because that means they are human. And I would rather have imperfect human parents than perfect robot ones.

So, Father’s Day: a day to honor the father.

To the man who taught me how to dig the knife deep into the peanut butter jar and smear it on the banana, still in peel.

Who showed me that grilled peanut butter and jelly sandwiches are better than not grilled. And sitting on the kitchen floor eating a bowl of cereal late at night is truly the best way to eat it.

Who taught me how to throw and catch a baseball and how to send it flying over the fence with a perfect swing.

Who took me out on the day after Christmas to learn to drive stick-shift because “If you can drive in today’s traffic you can drive any day.” And taught me to parallel park on a hill because “If you can parallel park on a hill in a stick-shift, you can parallel park anywhere.” And taught me to ride with the windows down when Mom wasn't in the car because she doesn't like her hair blown around.

Who filled my ears with music of all kinds and gave me an enormous understanding and appreciation for it.

To the man who held me to a high standard because he saw potential in me. Who taught me to always strive for better, to set goals and attain them through hard work and discipline.

When I think of our relationship many words come to mind. But one that stands out from the rest is grace. Grace from the Lord.  Grace from me to you and from you to me. You and I would amount to a whole bunch of nothing if it wasn’t for grace.

So, I’m thankful for the present grace and the presence you have in my life. Thank you for fighting for your family and for striving to be better and not perfect.

 Happy Father’s Day, Dad. 

It’s Been a Year

There is nothing quite like a Minnesota summer. Enduring the less-than-ideal winter is richly rewarded with a perfect summer. I’ve been here a full, solid year. A year!

Today I drove south of the cities to spend the morning with a dear friend, and I rode with the windows down the whole way. The sky is that perfect cloudless blue that I just adore, and I couldn’t stop smiling and reflecting on my life and how much I love where I am.

A year ago, just after arriving in Minnesota once again, I wrote, “Africa, especially East Africa has worked itself into my heart and dirtied my lungs with its sweet, raw dust....But I can breathe just as deeply here as I do in Africa. I can allow my lungs to be filled with the dusts of Minnesota and let it work its way into my heart. I can commit to it. I can allow it to be my new home.”

I’ve done this! My eyes and heart are wide with amazement. This needs to be celebrated because I can’t remember the last time I stayed in one place for a full year. (Well, I can, but it’s been a long time.)  I have committed to Minnesota and I do call it home. (At least for this stage of my life.) I’m thankful for God’s blessings and ever-present kindness and redemption in my life. I have developed beautiful friendships and learned how to forgive and love and smile genuinely. I have learned that life doesn’t always need to be so perfect; in fact, life is better when it’s not.

The longer I am alive (which, granted, hasn’t been that long) I’ve learned that life is like a classic Rwandan staircase. Allow me to elaborate: each Rwandan staircase is completely unique and completely uneven. The steps are not measured. Some steps require giant lunges and others only take the smallest lifting of your foot. Sometimes you can take the step in one movement and other times you need to walk twice before advancing to the next step. (For the record, I love Rwandan staircases.)

When I was first thinking about this analogy I was picturing this stepping-stone path through a field. But not all the steps we take are the same. In a lot of ways life is an uphill climb. We’re always supposed to be taking steps forward (although we do have the option of turning around and going back down the staircase, but that’s anti-climactic - literally). Some steps require deep strenuous lunges and other steps are a no-brainer. And sometimes you get to hang out on a step for a while because it’s so wide.

I’m in a really good place right now. I’ve just finished one of those monstrous lunges and successfully made it to my next step. However, every time I make it to a new step I have this tendency to believe that my staircase has ended. This is not true. Our staircase is as long as our life. We’re always faced with new steps with varying levels of difficulty.

But taking it a step further (pun intended), maybe life isn’t one continuous staircase. Maybe the staircase is in a skyscraper (or whatever type of building you want it to be) and we just keep climbing up to new floors. With each new floor we have the option to hang out for a while or keep climbing. That’s how life is: we do have options and we are, in fact, not always climbing. And it’s important to remember that every staircase is different.

Google images coming through for me once again

I would say I’ve made it to a new floor and I’m going to chill here for a while. There are good things on this floor: relationships and college and my nanny job and my life in Minnesota. God will let me know when it’s time to start climbing again. But for now, I’ll rest here. I rarely take time to rest. I love to move and do; in fact, I think I actually function better when I’m moving and doing. But I need to learn how to take a break from climbing. I need to relax on this level and enjoy the people around me and take a moment to notice the beauty.

I’m always looking for beauty in the ugly grunge because I believe that is where a lot of beauty lies. But beauty lies in the easy and relaxed as well. We are meant to climb and we are also meant to take a break from climbing. We are meant to smile. And love. And for heaven’s sake, we are meant to get out on the lakes and enjoy the Minnesota summer because it will be snowing again way too soon.  

Why Living in a Post-Modern Society isn’t all it’s Cracked up to Be

You and I live in a post-modern world, totally surrounded by it. I’ve been aware of it, but I have never really comprehended it. I’ve sort of just accepted it as my reality because I didn’t think I had any other choice. But now that I am a slightly more educated theologian, I actually have the wherewithal to take a stance on the matter. So here we go:

Before post-modernism there was (you guessed it) modernism. It was a simpler time when things could be defined and known and understood. It was cut and dry, black and white. We could learn things about the world around us through scientific means and reason. There was an absolute truth. There was a certain level of structure that accompanied modernism. Rules, guidelines, truth, certainty, t’s-crossed-I’s-dotted-loose-ends-tied.

But, gone are the days of certainty. Post-modernists have a new perception of truth: the reality of truth is connected with the observer; truth is meant to be self-validating; what you make out to be true is true.

So this is how we’ve found ourselves in the “equal-rights-openness-tolerance-coexist-speak-up-but-don’t-offened-anymore” awkward tip-toe dance that we all do. Does anyone have a voice anymore? Or, does everyone have a voice? Some of this “equal-rights-openness-tolerance-coexist” dance is valid, but how much is too much?

Post-modernists argue that modernists are close-minded, lacking passion and receptiveness because they are too caught up in the rules and guidelines of tradition. But I wonder, Is there a way to be both open-minded and structured? Does having your t’s crossed and your I’s dotted mean you don’t have passion? Can these two worlds of modernism and post-modernism exist together or has post-modernism won the fight?

The Church has responded to the post-modernism movement. Some have made the choice to embrace the movement. New churches have been established with services that are innovative, and dare I say, provocative. For example: communion with Coke and graham crackers or people having the freedom to carry on a conversation about any topic while others are worshiping. There is no real structure or guidelines to the content of the service because everyone is seen as "right" in whatever they do and whatever they believe. They (post-modern Churches) desire to get away from the rigid box of traditional Christianity in efforts to embrace the new society, but I think the line has been crossed.

Where is the reverence? Church is not meant to be a relaxed hour and a half of entertainment. Church should be consecrated and reflective. We are sinners coming before a holy God. Yes, there is a time for talking and fellowship – this is a crucial element of the Church, and I even believe that people can worship in more than one way. (Worship does not mean standing stiffly and mouthing the words on the screen. I won't get into my thoughts on worship right now; let's do one thing at a time.)

Do you see where I’m going with this?

Society has already compromised itself in efforts to accommodate everyone. Should the church follow suit, or is there something to be said about sticking to our guns, unwavering?

I’ve noticed this issue that my generation has with making decisions, and honestly it drives me a little crazy. I think there are two main reasons why we can’t decide:

First, without organization we can’t really make decisions. We need to have a certain level of structure and organization to see how our decision will fit in. Because post-modernism has done away with structure, we are all suffering in our indecisiveness.

Second, we believe we have the ability to pick and choose. Remember when someone was either completely Democrat or completely Republican? Either completely Calvinist or completely Armenian? Either completely against (anything) or completely for (anything)?  

I blame it on Panera’s Pick Two and other restaurants that have given us the option to take a perfectly decent menu and alter it so that it fits us. I also blame post-modernism. We believe we can pick the best characteristics to create something that appeals to our own personal values, our own perception of truth. In doing this, we are pleased, and the world around us is pleased because we aren’t saying “No” to any one way; we are remaining open.

Now, I’m just frustrated because I don’t know the answer to my original question: Is there a way for post-modernism and modernism to exist at the same time? Is there any place for someone like me – a structured-Calvinist-Bible-believin’ girl – in the post-modern world or am I going to get trampled?

Is it that we are too scared to stay with absolute truth because we don’t want our society to throw us to the dogs? Isn’t that exactly what Jesus said would happen?

If you were of the world, the world would love you as its own; but because you are not of the world, but I chose you out of the world, therefore the world hates you. John 15:19

We are not of this world. We are not supposed to be loved by the world. We are not meant to bend and trade in our values for acceptance from our neighbors. We are meant to remain in Truth. One truth, not many.

So, I don’t have to feel bad about attending my traditional church service. I don’t have to feel bad for having my mind made up about my beliefs. We aren’t supposed to be fence-sitters. I don’t have to excuse myself for being a structured, rule-follower. Having your mind made up does not mean you are close-minded. Somehow, in remaining true to the more traditional standard of living (modernism), I will have love for the world around me.

I am convinced that there is a way to remain in the Truth while engaging with the post-modern world. I don’t think it has to be one or the other. I’m still ironing this one out. But for now, I believe it is our job to “not conform to the patterns of this world” as Paul so strongly urged the church in Rome. 

Reconciliation

I promise my blog isn’t turning into a five-point theological seminar, but this theology class just has me thinking so much and becoming downright zealous about these topics and life in general. This class has been good for my relationship with the Lord; it has ignited a spark to dig deeper.

My theology professor (who is one of the greatest men I have ever met) asked us why we feed ourselves. Well, to live and grow and be healthy, of course. Then he said, “Do you do the same for your spiritual body?” I have tight reigns on my physical body. I am so conscientious about the foods I put into my body and daily exercise and the ways I spend my time. However, my spiritual life sometimes resembles something of a tarp in a hurricane: fraying, flapping madly, but one little string remains tied down, holding on for dear life. So why would I not read my Bible daily and consult God in all things? If I am so willing to take care of my temporary earthly body, shouldn’t I be all the more willing to care for my eternal spiritual body?

Not too long ago I was standing in a worship service feeling grieved by my own sinful heart. It was a real Paul moment. You know, “For I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate” (Romans 7:15). I said, “Lord, break me (of my pride, of my stubborn refusal to daily submit to Him, etc).” And He said, “Why would I break you when you are already so broken?”

I was taken aback by the question because it meant that He sees me for who I am and, in spite of who I am, He wants to come closer to me. In the past month or so He has come alongside me in the most loving way. When I deserved condemnation, He chose to refill me and teach more about love, reconciliation, and healing.

My theology class has been a pinnacle part of this deeper step into the Lord. Also, I’m reading a Donald Miller book right now, Searching For God Knows What, and it too includes theology and the gospel and I feel totally bombarded with this Truth. I have no choice but to embrace it.

Have you ever thought about the gospel and experienced an overwhelming sense of awe? Has the full magnitude ever knocked your socks off, even for a moment? I’m not wearing socks today, but if I was they definitely would have been removed. I know the gospel front and back, but every now and then I have to stop and say whoa in the most silent whisper I can offer. Today as I was sitting in class talking about Christology I was overcome with this deep love for the gospel, for God’s plan, and for Jesus’ sacrifice.

We were excavating our way through the Bible this morning coming up with verse after verse about Christology and when we got to Isaiah 53 I stopped. I’ve always read Isaiah 53 as a type of Good Friday, mournful and humbling prophecy of Christ’s death for our sins, but today I saw it in a new light.

Suddenly thoughts were spewing out of my head and I ferociously filled an entire page with hardly legible ideas while the rest of the class trudged on through the Bible.

Verse four and five are the real kickers: Surely He has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows…the chastisement that brought us peace, and with his wounds we are healed.

These words: griefs, sorrows, peace, and healed.

Yes, Jesus was the sacrifice for our sins; He was the necessary component so that we could be right before God. And God could have stopped there; forgiving our sins was enough of a gift. But while Christ was dying for our sins, God went a step further beyond cleansing. He went beyond forgiven sins, and removed our brokenness so that we could be healed and live in peace.

All our griefs and sorrows, the weights and hurts we carry around, were taken care of through His death of the cross. Our brokenness from sin and wounds caused by others – these too were taken care of on the cross. And once He removed those things, He brought peace. Calm. Freedom. Reconciliation.

I love God’s attribute of Reconciler. It is beautiful and kind and one of the most ultimate acts of love. This reconciled relationship with Him is one I can hardly grasp. It is far too large to fully comprehend, and I am humbled by His plan. Who am I to think I know best? To think I can figure out and plan life on my own? Oh goodness, Grace. Get back in line.

If God is willing to reconcile with me in my continual, daily rebellion against Him, how then can I withhold reconciliation from others in my own life? Life is far too short and far too precious to walk around unreconciled. God wants nothing more than to be reconciled with us, and He longs for unity and reconciliation among us as well. If Christ is able to forgive our very worst grievances and horrible sins against the God of the universe, who are we to not forgive small hiccups of discomfort (in comparison) caused by friends, family members, or even enemies?

One of the most beautiful pictures of reconciliation on this earth

I’ll leave you with this: He Himself bore our sins in His body on the tree, that we might die to sin and live to righteousness. By His wounds you have been healed.  (1 Peter 2:24)

We’re healed, people. We are reconciled. We are free. So live like it. 

The Relationship Between Theology and Rain

Even though the semester just ended last week, I am currently neck-deep in an intensive theology course. This course is normally spread over an entire semester, but I’m taking it in two and a half weeks, so you can imagine the state of my brain.

I should be reading and doing work for that class right now instead of blogging, but how can I not take a moment to write?

As much as I love debates and deep topics of theology, I tend to stray away from these conversations and instead emphasize and focus on the gospel. Often, I think Christians get too caught up in the untrivial matters instead of just focusing on Jesus. However, this class is so good because part of Christianity is the doctrine, and we need to know why we believe what we believe. It is so much fun to ask questions and spin in circles and allow my face to be contorted until the fuzzy concepts become slightly less fuzzy.

This class has my thoughts thoroughly provoked and my heart aching with confusion. Especially today when we discussed predestination verses free will and I am just left wondering Why? and feeling saddened by this potential that there may be unelected people.

One of the chapters from my reading last night spoke of God’s planning and ordaining work, and how it was viewed in the Old Testament verses how it is perceived today. In the Old Testament people could not fathom anything occurring apart from God, but today we struggle to give God recognition in the small parts of our day.

Here’s an example: Today I would say the phrase, “It is raining.” But in the Old Testament they would say, “God sent the rain.” I love that. I love the shift in perspective. It gives God all recognition and power and concludes that nothing can exist outside of God’s perfect plan. The rain doesn’t just happen on its own will; only God can send the rain.

This is already an intriguing idea to think about simply as rain, but what if the rain represented something else?

Do we acknowledge God’s hand in seemingly insignificant encounters and happenings throughout our day, or do we pass over them, hardly allowing them to impact our hearts? And it doesn’t even cross our minds that God brought it (any encounter or event) into being.

Or even further, when the rains of heartache and loss come storming through our lives, do we give God the credit in a respectful way? Do we acknowledge His allowance to send the rain - whatever it may be? I realize that this is venturing into the topic of the existence of evil in the world, and I should probably wrap this thing up before it turns into my term paper. However, I just want to say that all things given to us came through God’s hands first. The good and the bad. The beautiful and the ugly. And our only response is to acknowledge His perfect plan, even though we cannot understand it.

I am struck by our ever-present need to praise Him. To acknowledge His goodness. In choosing to overlook His provisions and plan we are disregarding His power and therefore disrespecting Him. He has actually thought through every little detail of all of eternity. He has it under control, and all things He allows will ultimately bring Him glory. We must simply praise Him.

Mother's Day

Today is Mother’s Day – a day to honor our moms, and I cannot think of a better way to honor my mother than with my words.

My mom is so good at what she does. She is a mama to many, she cooks and listens and learns. And she loves so unconditionally. Never have I experienced a love like my own mother’s.

She remembers my favorites and avoids my dislikes. She always has listening ears and is ready to give advice (even when I don't always want it). She is the glue that holds my crazy family together.

She isn’t perfect, but that’s part of what makes her so great. She never stays down for the count; that woman is a fighter. She’s not afraid to cry when she’s hurt, and she works hard to resolve conflicts.

Watching my mom laugh until she cries is one of the most beautiful images I have in my head. Her smile takes over her face, her laughter rising up from somewhere deep inside – from a well of joy that only He can provide.

My mom cares so deeply. She has always been my number one supporter in everything.

Like, that time when I thought I was going to move to New York City and she hopped on a plane with me and allowed me to drag her all over the city while I tried to “find myself.”

Or, that time when I moved to Minnesota, and she said okay and hopped on a plane and made sure I felt safe here.

My clarinet recitals – she was there for the tears and the notes and the celebrations. She has shared every single one of my blog posts. If that doesn’t scream number one fan, I don’t know what does.

She has always encouraged me to be me and has fought for me when I haven’t felt like fighting anymore. She has seen me at my very worst moments and still continues to love me.

Now that I’m older, I can go many days without talking to my mom. Part of that’s the time difference and part of that is the fact that I’m figuring out how to do life on my own. But every now and then I find myself in a quandary that only Mom can solve. So I FaceTime her and she's right there ready to be my mom, at any hour of the day. I am humbled that God made her MY mom.

Happy Mother’s Day, my dear Mother. I love you.

Summer

As of 11:00 this morning I have finished another round of classes. There were definitely times this year when I didn’t think I was going to make it. I regularly entertained the idea of hopping on a plane, any plane, and giving it all up. But, I made it. And I’m excited to keep going (which is a good thing, because I start a new round of classes on Monday).

Today has been full of goodbyes. I’d like to think that by now I’ve gotten pretty good at goodbyes. But for some reason these goodbyes have been sad. Not hard, just melancholy. Maybe because I’m loving more, loving harder, than other times in my life. Or maybe because I’m the one being left behind. Usually I’m the one who does the leaving; this time all my people are leaving and I’m staying on campus.

But that’s okay. I’m looking forward to a quiet summer on campus. And I’ll be here waiting when my people get back. I’ve already entered into summer mode and I feel like I’m breathing deeper and smiling wider. I love the bare feet, the wide-open windows, and the long sunsets that accompany summer.

While I was running errands with my two nanny girls this afternoon, the six-year old spoke up and said she wanted to give me directions to the bookstore. I had never been to this particular bookstore, and I could have easily pulled it up on my phone, but I decided to let her direct me. She said, “I’ll tell you if you should turn or go more forward or less forward.”

And she did. She kept saying, “More forward, more forward, more forward.” And as we approached the bookstore she said, “Okay, start going less forward.”

As much as I love spontaneity, I’m a total planner. I like to schedule and make lists and figure out the details and weigh all the possibilities before anything even happens. But I’m learning that life doesn’t really happen if you’re always planning. There is beauty in just letting things happen, not planning, just seeing where we end up. Moving more forward and less forward. It’s okay to not have everything figured out.

Earlier today I was mainly caught up in the cuteness of my little nanny-girl, but now I realize it was a trust exercise. I know I struggle with trusting people, so it’s definitely an area I could use exercise.

You don’t have to be able to see in order to trust. You just need to be able to listen.

That’s sort of the whole point of trusting, you can’t see but you’re believing that someone will follow through with what he (or she) said he would do. I trusted my nanny girl to get us to the bookstore, and she did. I’m learning to trust friends and family, and even beyond that, learning to trust God more and more. He is faithful and will do what He said He would do. All I have to do is go more forward when He tells me to and put the brakes on when it’s time to go less forward.

This is going to be a good summer, I can already tell. I have a lot of fun things planned, but I also have a lot of growing and trusting and just seeing where things go. 

Encouragement for your weekend

This morning I attended a funeral for a man I had never met. I realize this is not the most normal way to spend a Saturday morning. (The memorial service was held in our university auditorium, so I “attended” as a stage hand, which is my regular job.) The service was beautiful and made me wish I had known the man.

His name was Bill and he was a Young Life guy and a total Bob Goff. He was all about loving Jesus and loving people. He was only 60 years old and still had so much zeal. In her beautiful remembrance speech, his daughter said, He didn’t let life happen to him, he grabbed life by the horns.

A lot of times I feel like life happens to me. I feel like I’m caught in the waves as I allow myself to be continually swept under, instead of fighting to keep my head above the water. Life does happen to us; sometimes things out of our control severely dictate our life, but we can choose to “grab life by the horns” and make the most out of every situation. There is always the option of joy, no matter what.

Apparently, Bill used to say, Keep your stick on the ice.

I love that. I don’t know much about hockey. I remember the little field hockey unit in high school P.E. and I remember that I instinctively wanted to run with the stick off the ground. I missed the puck a lot and wasn’t a very good defender. 

Even with the lack of experience I still understand the principle of his quote: Always be ready; keep your head in the game. Don’t let Satan or the world come in and steal your puck, keep your stick on the ice, and keep playing. This could translate to Keep your eyes fixed on Jesus and do not stop running the race.

Life is too short to walk around with a furrowed brow. I know life is hard, people. But we are fighters, and apparently, we are hockey players too. Grab life by the horns and keep your stick on the ice! 

Serving Others and Commitment Issues

I tend to write about the weather a lot. Probably because I’m American and it’s the natural conversation starter; therefore, the natural blog post starter.

It’s been so cold and rainy lately. So cold. Where I come from (wherever that is) it’s supposed to be warm by the end of April. Not here. Minnesota is cramping my style. I’ve heard “April showers bring May flowers” and I understand that the rain is necessary so that new life can grow, but I’m tired of wearing layers of warm clothes. (There’s a good spiritual analogy there, but I won’t get into that today.)

Instead, I’ll confess: I am a rather non-committal person. There’s a backstory that sheds light about why I choose not to commit (again, I won’t get into that today). I always want an out so that I’m never “stuck” anywhere. I hate being stuck. I’ve lived a life full of abrupt movement – with friendships, with houses, with emotions. My spontaneity also largely contributes to poor commitment. I’d like to say it’s something I’m working on but in actuality I’ve come to a place of owning it and enjoying it. (This is actually bad; I should not be encouraging myself to be non-committal.)

So, believe it or not, I don’t love college. I’m here because I need a degree and if I have to go to college, Northwestern is where I want to be. It’s not the place (well, sometimes when it’s really cold the place is a contributing factor) it’s more college itself. That’s one bad thing about living abroad and taking time off from school: you have all these amazing experiences and opportunities and then you go to college and spend hours a day cramped in a tiny desk, taking notes, and remembering life in the real world.

Because of this, I’m always looking for a reason to leave….or a reason to stay. I’ve been here for a year and half, so by my clock it’s time to start packing up and heading to a new place. However, I don’t really have anywhere else to go. So I keep waiting for someone to give me a decent reason to stay here.

Today at church the pastor preached about serving others. Towards the end of his sermon he posed two questions: "What is it that God has uniquely given you? What would it look like for you to invest that in something larger/greater than yourself." We all have been given different talents and abilities; now, what are we doing with those? Are we keeping them for our own personal gain or are we using them to serve others and Him? We’re supposed to find our niche, discover our gifts and talents and then use them for His glory. We get to do what we love for the Kingdom.

After this, the pastor asked the congregation to close our eyes and allow a picture of one of our unique gifts to come into our minds. The image of an old quill pen entered my mind. I sat there in the wooden pew with that image and dug a little deeper.

The pen represents my love for writing and the talent God has given me. I am supposed to use my writing for the Kingdom, for His glory. My first thought was: Lord, I already do this. My blog is basically about my relationship with You and I give You full credit for my ability to write. As if I had reached the end of my ability to serve with my writing. The image of the pen goes further than that.

The quill pen gives me a reason to stay.

I’m pursing a degree in professional writing so that I can further my writing skills and get a job that allows me to write all day. Writing is my niche, and I can use that for the Kingdom. If I leave school I will not be honoring the Lord with the gift He has given me. I need to hone my craft and delve into new territories with it. I need to stay so that I can learn what it means to commit to a school, or a friend, or a degree. It’s selfish of me to choose to not commitment; it’s the opposite of serving others. By remaining non-committal I am, in a sense, choosing to use my gift for my own personal gain instead of contributing to something larger than myself.

I have a lot of hurts and wounds and experiences that make me what to run from community and commitment and serving. Some days I’m an extrovert who wants to love people, and other days I’d prefer to burrow under my covers and think only of myself. But we are not called to burrow; we are called to serve through our gifts that God has given us.

And I am called to stay. And commit. And serve. And write.