When Christmas Doesn't Feel Merry

I have a sinus infection.  Again.  For the 400th time in my life.  I've been consuming unhealthy amounts of vitamin C, Zinc, and peppermint tea for the last several days in an attempt to pummel my cold into submission with no avail.  I have created a new drink concoction though involving powdered emergen-c drink mix, lemon juice, and honey.  Alcohol might have been a nice addition, but then I remembered I don't drink.  Breathing has become a hazardous activity.  I won't be sleeping for a while.  So, I have decided that I am going to do what I have tried to do at least a dozen times in the last month: Write a meaningful blogpost....................

I've been meaning to write one of those meaningful blogposts for a while now.  Perhaps something current and relevant?  Something about gun control?  Or maybe our country's mental health system and its desperate need for reform?  Or then again, perhaps something more lighthearted such as the trials and tribulations of working retail in the an American Mall in the month of December, which I'm starting to view as being almost a rite of passage into the world of adulthood, not to mention a great stretching of my social skills.  Maybe 2012 in review? (No wait- that would need to be a January post, gonna have to put that one on hold).  I could also point out the fact that the world did not end on Friday and that the Mayans were no better than the rest of us at knowing when the world is going to stop spinning.  Thing is that I don't really want to talk about any of those things, even though they would all make perfectly acceptable blogposts.

Its been a rough few months to be honest.  There was a funeral somewhere in November when we lost my grandfather.  Grief has this way of using you up and leaving scars, either on you or on the ones that you love.  I discovered that watching people that I deeply care about go through searing loss carries its own unique brand of pain.  Then there was a twenty page research paper and exams.  There was a guy that didn't quite work out.  There was stress, and work, and my whole family getting the flu and mono- and now on Christmas Eve Eve, I'm sitting in my messy chaotic apartment blowing my nose and blogging.  Its been hard to feel festive.  Its been hard to get into that Christmas Spirit that I normally love so much. And while I have still valiantly donned my over sized jingle bell earrings, and wished every customer at Barnes and Noble a cheery "Merry Christmas" between sneezes when given the opportunity, everything just sort of feels a little flat.  A little off color.  A little mundane.

When I was a little girl, someone (probably someone at church or a relative) asked me what I loved most about Christmas.  Assuming a deeply spiritual and impressive posture, my 7ish self virtuously replied, "I love remembering about Jesus and celebrating His birthday!"  It would have been quite a moment if my mother had not overheard me and ruined it by saying, "Come on Kaye, don't lie, what's really your favorite part of Christmas?"  I blushed, and studied my shoes.  "Welllllllllll  I guess I really like the presents the best....." I muttered in reply.  Do you remember when you were a kid and all the adults used to say stuff about Christmas being about more than presents?  Do you remember never believing them?  The Grinch was the one who told me the most actually, every year from my television set after he stole all the presents from the Whos only to discover that Christmas arrived anyway: "It came without ribbons.  It came without tags.  It came without packages, boxes or bags.  What if Christmas, he thought, doesn't come from a store?  What if Christmas, perhaps, means a little bit more."  A lovely sentiment, but when have I ever had a Christmas that came without packages, boxes or bags?  What is Christmas if not presents and candy canes and carols- all the trappings and trimmings of a festive and commercial holiday?

Don't get me wrong, I love absolutely everything about Christmas.  If you've ever been to my house, you know that every single surface has some sort of decoration, and Santa Clause was always very, very good to us.  But this year, maybe for the first time ever, I find that none of it is really doing it for me.  I just can't conjure up the ethereal feeling of a carefree ecstatic Holiday, and I can almost guarantee that tomorrow night I will be more excited about a night of uninterrupted sleep and not having to get up for work than about anything that might be under my tree the next morning.  Sooo is that it?  Should I just resign myself to being a Scrooge this year and hope that maybe next year my life circumstances will line up a bit better with a little less stress, a little less sickness, a little less anxiety, so that I can once again FEEL all the jolly merriment of the season?  I think not, no.

Because truthfully, in the midst of this holiday slump, my heart has had some truly joyful and truly beautiful moments, they just haven't come wrapped with a bow on top.  I have had the chance to spend some time with some of my very best friends.  I am unable to quantify what it meant to me to stand laughing in my kitchen with Tessa, who has known and loved me since the awkward age of twelve, while baking cookies from scratch in our pajamas and watching Moulin Rouge.  I can't box up the moment when my friend Lizzie, who knows me so well, was so excited to give me my Christmas present that she couldn't stop smiling.  I think I loved her excitement even more than the present.  Can I ever add up what it meant to talk to Allie, an old friend from high school, and hear her tell me that she had decided to trust that Jesus was God and that she knew that He loved her?  Did I ever receive a greater gift than having her ask me if I could make it to her Baptism?  Watching my apartment overflow with my friends from RUF as they chomped down on my less than perfect lasagna and played endless rounds of killer UNO before the Hobbit premiere, collapsing on my couch after a long day of work and talking with my roommate Amanda about anything and everything for hours, sipping pumpkin Chai Tea while reading my Bible and talking to my Jesus, seeing my friend Devin for the first time in weeks and having her scream and hug me like she hadn't seen me in a century, chatting with Amy over mugs of apple cider, going and buying a bridesmaid dress with Stephanie for her wedding in May....

Right now I am sick and miserable, and my family has been sick too.  This year there won't be quite as many packages under the tree, we won't be able to make it to visit relatives, and there will be a marked lack of baked goods.  But you know, tomorrow I'm going to go home, probably in my pajamas with no makeup on.  And the first thing to do will be to have a long talk with my mom.  And pretty soon my brothers will be home.  My Dad and I will go out to breakfast and discuss our mutual love of things like "Winter Spice Tea".  I will paint my sisters nails and watch movies with my brother.  They are all such small things.  Little moments.  But these are the people that fill my world with a sparkle and a joy that showers me with blessing all the year long.  And I guess, maybe for the first time ever, I think I get it.  The joy and the magic of Christmas, its not about all the stuff and its not about the decorations and its not about the songs and its not about the circumstances.  Its about the people.  Its always been about the people.  And that sounds stupid, cause its kind of like "Well DUH!"  But I think that just because I've always technically known it, doesn't mean that I have always appreciated it.  Far too often I take for granted these relationships that color my life and give it meaning.  And when the road of life gets a little bumpy, that's when the way that all these people have unconditionally loved me takes root in my heart and makes me shine.

So.  I sit here sniffling and sneezing, admitting that this year has been kind of hard.  And I'm kind of ready for a new one.  But I also sit here overwhelmed with the knowledge of how much I have been given.  The worth of my relationships with the people I love and who love me, the gift of a baby born two thousand years ago who grew up to become the Savior who sustains me and gets me through each and every day, these are the things that get me out of bed every morning no matter the time of year.  And with that said, I hope that whoever you are, wherever you are, whether I know you or not, whether we have spoken recently or not for years, that this holiday you would remember who you are, who God is, and above all, the many blessings that you have been given.  Merry Christmas, to one and all!

Catch Me If You Can

Maybe its just me, but do any of you have that thing that you are constantly chasing?  You can see it off in the distance, so close you can almost reach it, but somehow as soon as you reach it, it's still further off.  It's that thing that you are really pursuing above everything else.  We talk about pursuing love, and pursuing grace, and pursuing peace.  But that's the point, we're always pursuing these things, how often can we say that we have taken hold of them, grasped them, and allowed them to ground us deeply?

I'm always chasing contentment.  Running after it at a breakneck pace.  Somehow, no matter what right this millisecond looks like, there is always a moment or a person or a situation from the past or an imagined fantasy of the future, that feels SO much better than the present.  I look back with regret on all the times that I did not fully and truly experience what was going on around me because I was too busy longing to be elsewhere.  And now, so often, I'm missing this present, this right now, because I am remembering the way things were before.  Even more dangerous for me is extrapolating into the future.  Is there anything worse than the "If only" game?  If only I was prettier.  If only I was smarter. If only I could have that.  If only I could go there.  If only I could be like her.  If only, then.  Then I will be content.  Then I will be satisfied.  Then I will be happy.  Then I will be able to relax.  Then (and only then) I will be able to sit down on the inside and fully worship the God that I claim to trust and obey.

But it doesn't work.  Have you ever watched little kids at the park chasing butterflies?  They run and they run on their short little legs reaching with chubby fingers to grasp at the jewel floating on the wind.  Even when they think they've finally caught up, the treasure will flutter just a bit higher and up out of their grasp.  Every once in a blue moon, a child will pounce upon a particularly tired or unaware butterfly.  They capture their prize with glee only to look down crestfallen.  In their enthusiasm, they have inadvertently crushed the patterned wings that they had so admired, and suddenly this game is no longer fun.  Lets go play something else.  When I finally achieve or possess that thing which promised me contentment, there is the initial rush of victory, but it is quickly followed by a strange sense of loss.  Now, I want something else.  And won't we always?

There is a single girl, and all she wants is a boyfriend.  That's all.  If she can just have that she will be content.  But then she gets the boyfriend and she just wants him to be her fiance.  That's all.  Then she's so tired of being a fiance and just wants a husband.  Now she's desperate to have a family.  But if they would hurry up and grow up a little so she doesn't have to change so many dirty diapers, it would be SO nice....and honestly, all she needs is for them to get into the very best schools so she won't have to worry so much.  If only they will make the best grades.  If only they will behave.  If only she could get a better job.  If only she could make more money.  Then, THEN she will be.....perfectly content.  It is never ending.  It is never satisfying.  It is a race I cannot win.  The things I pursue are too fragile to carry the weight of all my happiness.  I look down the road I'm on and feel despair when I realize that there is no finish line, and no final destination.  Just when I think I have caught up on contentment, I open my hands in triumph only to discover broken wings.

I have this favorite quote.  Its my favorite because I find it nearly impossible.  Jim Elliot once said, "Wherever you are, be all there".  But...HOW?  The only conclusion I can come to is the chorus of a song that's been running through my head as I've pounded this out on my computer keys-  "There is a joy in the journey, There's a light we can love on the way.  There is a wonder and a wildness to life, and freedom for those who obey"  I have no claim on yesterday.  Yesterday makes me who I am, but I cannot change it, no matter how hard I might wish otherwise.  Tomorrow is an utter mystery.  And it has not been promised to me, how can I presume otherwise?  Today.  Now, right now, is all I have.  Just this piece of the road i'm currently walking.  Can I find Joy in this Journey called Life?  Can I let Jesus meet me in the HERE?  If I could learn this lesson, I can hardly fathom the richness my life would have.  All that striving, eliminated.  All that stress and discontent swept away by my present reality of a life hidden in Christ alone.  Just for this moment.  Just for this breath.  I very much doubt I shall ever truly get the hang of it.  But I think, at the end of the day, I would much rather try to pursue a Christ that I cannot crush with my own whims, than spend all my energy chasing a vision of a flimsy fulfillment that will leave me empty handed.

Why I got Inked

Well, its been a little over a month since I got a tattoo for my 21st birthday.  Due to my facebook advertising (ha this picture was my profile picture for quite a while) lots of people have asked me about it and wanted to see it.  "You got a tattoo!?  What does it mean?  What does it say?  Did it hurt?"    To be honest, even if no one ever saw my tattoo, I'd still be glad that I had it because I got it for more personal reasons than public ones.  But that being said, I love the conversations that my tattoo generates.  Sometimes I find myself overwhelmed in trying to explain exactly what it means.  I never seem to be able to fully verbalize it to people the way that I want to, because this short Hebraic phrase behind my ear has so much meaning for me spiritually, historically, and personally.  Not only does my explanation in daily conversation often seem to fall short, but I also often find myself running into a language barrier.  For my friends who aren't Christians, the phrase "bondslave of Jesus Christ" evokes confusion and not understanding.  As one of my co-workers recently put it, "wait, so you're in bondage to Jesus???"  Not only does that sound really bizarre, but the fact that I got that TATTOOED on myself is even weirder......especially since Slavery is SO not politically correct in any context.  And I mean, if I thought one of my friends had enslaved herself to a religious teacher who had been dead for two thousand years, I'd be a little freaked out too!  For all these reasons, I wanted to fully write out the meaning behind my tattoo.  This blog seemed like a good place to do that.  I want to explain the manifold reasons why, of all the things I could have chosen to permanently etch on my body, I chose this phrase.  These words.  This mark.  This way of identifying myself.


SO....it says WHAT again?

My tattoo says, "Bondslave of Jesus Christ" in Hebrew.  As most of you know, I'm kind of a history buff, so here's the background of what that even means, from a historical and biblical point of view.  In Old Testament times, slavery was part of life.  And in the Old Testament law, God gave his people Israel specific instructions on how they were to live out every aspect of their lives, and that included how they were to treat their slaves.  Typically slaves, with their families, served their masters for a period of six years.  When that six years had passed, their masters would set them free.  However, to be set free always involved a great risk.  In these ancient times, life was no picnic.  Just because you had been freed from one master did not mean that you could not be resold into slavery to someone else.  And who was to say that your next master would not be more harsh or more cruel than the master you had before?  What if you had formed a bond of friendship with your master and those of his household?  What if you didn't want to be freed?  That sounds like such a foreign concept to us now, but in those times the option of being able to remain in the service of a loving and kind master was very attractive to a slave.  In the book of Exodus, these are God's instructions to His people: "If you buy a Hebrew servant, he is to serve you for six years. But in the seventh year he shall go free, without paying anything...But if the servant declares, ‘I love my master and my wife and children and do not want to go free,’ then his master must take him before the judges. He shall take him to the door or the doorpost and pierce his ear with an awl. Then he will be his servant for life." Exodus 21:2; 5-6. When a servant became a bondslave, he bore the mark of his master on his ear so that it was visible to everyone.  (This, by the way, is why I chose to get the phrase tattooed behind my right ear).  From that point on, no one could sell that slave into slavery to anyone else.  He had voluntarily bonded himself to his master, promising to serve him indefinitely, and in return the master had bonded himself to his slave, promising to care for and protect his servant for the rest of both of their lives.

Now this is a really cool theological and symbolic concept, but I still haven't answered the question of why I felt the need to have this phrase tattooed on myself.  There are hundreds of verses and phrases in the Bible I could have chosen.  So why this one?  For me it is this- when I became a Christian and accepted Christ's sacrifice on the cross for me, I know that He rescued me from my previous master, Sin.  I know that I am committed to Him because He is committed to me and that nothing in heaven or earth can snatch me out of His hand.  I believe that.  The problem is....... I forget it a lot.  I have a tendency to live my life like I'm still a slave to some of my not-so-nice former masters.  They don't own me anymore, but oftentimes I live like they still do.  People pleasing. Striving for perfection. Control. Anxiety. Shame. Guilt. Arrogance.  They may sound like small things, but for me, they have a way of pushing me around my own life with a whip and sucking the joy out of each breath.  I don't know what it is in your life that has that kind of power over you, its different for everyone, but we all have that thing, that thought, that addiction, that need, that renders us totally helpless and out of control.  Enslaved.  But for those of us who have been purchased by Christ, we don't have to live in such bondage anymore.  Sin is no longer my master, for I am no longer under the law but under grace.  I need the constant reminder that it is only as a bondslave of Christ Jesus that I can experience true, and total freedom.  So when I run my finger along the back of my ear and imagine the mark that I can no longer feel, I am remembering that I am not my own. I am marked.  I am a slave.  I am free.  

Things I've Been Reading...

Welll its been a while since I blogged.....  I've been working lots at Barnes & Noble, where I am constantly finding new book titles that I want to try.  So when I haven't been at work, I've been reading, and I thought I would share with all of you the great and marvelous literature that I have discovered this summer!

I have been intrigued by The Tiger's Wife by Tea Obreht ever since I first shelved at B&N last year.  What makes this book particularly remarkable is that Obreht is only 25 years old, this is her first novel, and it is hands down one of the best books I've ever read. If any of you have ever read 100 Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia Marquez, or The House of the Spirits by Isabel Allende, Obreht's book follows a similar pattern of Magical Realism.  But instead of a Latin Culture, this tale takes place in the Balkans and tells the story of a young girl and her grandfather, how both of their lives have been shaped by war, and the peculiar mythical events that happened to the grandfather when he was a young boy growing up in a small village in the mountains.  The story is also semi-autobiographical since Obreht was raised by her grandparents in Yugoslavia.  This story has a tiger, a deathless man, a secret buried in a vineyard, a castle that is now a zoo, a plague, a doctor, and an old frayed copy of the Jungle Book.  This is one of those books that I never wanted to finish, and I HIGHLY recommend it to anyone and everyone.

A Walk Across the Sun by Corban Addison is not a feel good book by any means.  However, I really feel like everyone (well, everyone over at least 16) should read it.  The book begins in India with the Tsunami of 2005 that devastated Southern Asia.  17 year old Ahalya and 15 year old Sita are the only ones in their family to survive the wave.  In their struggle to reach safety in the aftermath of the tragedy, they are kidnapped, sold into prostitution in Bombay.  The book follows these sisters as they struggle to survive in the brothels of India, Paris, and....Atlanta?  Addison does an excellent job of telling a heart wrenching story that gives his readers a clear picture about the reality of prostitution across the world, but he does it without being too graphic.  Addison also tells the parallel story of lawyer Thomas Clarke and all that he does to help rescue girls like Ahalya and Sita from the hell in which they live.  So while its difficult to read about the reality of the modern day sex trade, its encouraging to also read about all that is being done all over the world to bring it to an end.  The book also manages to remain hopeful, and it has a happy and sweet ending.  There are 27 million people who are currently enslaved around the world today.  That's more than at any other time in human history.  In other words, educate yourself.  Read this book.

On the one hand I want to recommend Wild by Cheryl Strayed.  On the other hand, I feel like I can't with an entirely clear conscience.  Its like that R rated movie that would be perfect if it wasn't for the excessive language and that overly explicit sex scene.....  So I'll tell you what I got out of it and I suppose you can decide for yourself!  For the first 23 years of her life, the only consistent, stable, trustworthy thing in Cheryl's life was her mother.  And as long as she had her mother, life made sense, but she didn't realize this about herself, until she lost her mother to cancer.  Cheryl's grief at the loss of her mother is excruciating, and because she is such a good writer, you feel it with her.  Cheryl's life then goes into an absolute tailspin.  She destroys her marriage, sleeps with anything male that moves, and ends up addicted to heroin.  She knows she needs help, she knows her life is not going well, and on a whim she decides to walk away from her life (what's left of it) and backpack along the Pacific Crest Trail, even though she's never gone backpacking in her life.  As someone who loves to hike, camp and backpack, I really enjoyed reading about her daily struggles and triumphs on the trail.  She also describes in vivid detail the beauty of the nature around her as she hikes through the Cascade mountains.  Though the experience physically breaks her down, she finds that it helps her to emotionally heal and figure herself out.  The only thing this process is missing is Jesus, but Cheryl does discover that there is more to life than just her and her pain- and that realization helps her to cope and move forward.  Its raw, its honest, and its real.  Which is probably why I liked it so much despite its very rough and very difficult moments.

When I went to see the Vow in April, I had a vague idea that it was based on a true story.  The movie tells the story of newlyweds who get in a car crash.  Rachel McAdam's character suffers a brain injury which leaves her with amnesia.  She wakes up with no memory of the last several years, and no memory of the man she's married to, but despite that, her husband continues to love her and honor the vow he made to her.  While it made a great movie, I was intrigued when at the end of it I saw that it was inspired by a real couple that are still married today and have two children, despite the fact that the wife, Krickitt Carpenter, never regained any memory of meeting or marrying her husband.  The book tells the true story of the Carpenters, both of whom are committed Christians.  The book is not particularly well written, the prose is not gripping.  Come to think of it, the movie was not particularly overwhelming either in terms of acting or script.  I think the reason that I loved both the movie and the book so much is because its a picture of what real love looks like.  Real love is not always touchy-feely, and it almost never looks like the latest chick-flick.  Kim Carpenter (and yes, that's the husband's real name) chose to honor his vow to love and cherish and honor his wife, even when she hated the sight of him.  He chose to take care of her and to woo her all over again, even when she was not particularly lovable.  In a culture where marriage vows have become almost meaningless, and most couples get divorced over far less than a traumatic brain injury, Kim Carpenter took his vow to Krickitt seriously.  And its really beautiful.

If you decide to read any of these, I'd love to hear what you think! :)

Struggling with the Ugly

Last Friday night several friends and I went to First Friday in downtown Raleigh. It’s amazing to me that I can have lived in Raleigh for twelve years and still not know half of the events that go on in this city- but apparently on the first Friday of every month all the museums and restaurants stay open late. There are art galleries to walk through, live music to enjoy, free food to taste, and for us there was a good bit of running through the rain between shops trying not to get soaked. In the course of the evening we spent some time in Art Space where many local artists display their work and have their studios. One of the galleries displayed the photography of Chris Hondros. I expected the mood-setting lighting, and the quiet hush that pervaded in the room as the guests viewed the images in respectful silence. However, I did not anticipate that some of the pictures would move me to the point of tears, forcing an inner monologue in which I quickly talked myself out of deeper emotion to save face- I don’t think that crying in an art gallery on a Friday night is typical behavior for a college student. (You MIGHT want to argue here that it’s not typical behavior for a college student to be in an art gallery on a Friday night at all…haha but that’s an entirely different discussion). 


The first picture that I saw was the black and white of the mother cradling her baby.  At first all I saw was the baby, the intimacy that the embrace represented was sweet and beautiful.  And then I saw the mother’s hands. Or rather, her lack of hands. She is a victim of the war in Sierra Leone in the 1990s; the rebels considered it their trademark to hack off the limbs of their victims. As I looked at the photographs I saw the pattern. They were all images of war, pain, and unimaginable conflict. Kosovo, Sierra Leone, Nigeria, the West Bank, Iraq, Afghanistan……the list goes on.

 By the time I had gotten all the way around the room and looked at all the pictures, blinking back tears from my eyes and making excuses about the room being dusty, I had two questions. “Who took these pictures?  And were they mentally insane!?!?”  How could a photographer be close enough to capture the look of hatred on the face of the child soldier in Nigeria, for example, without being within shooting range?  Simple.  He couldn’t.  At the end of the gallery I found the story of the photographer.  Chris Hondros is from North Carolina, he went to NC State and he’s been covering the most brutal wars and conflicts around the world since the 1990s, going into the heart of the conflict to bring back these images.  In April of 2011 he was in Libya documenting the Civil War that started revolutions across the Middle East when he was killed on assignment. So I was right, he was crazy.  And it killed him.  He was so passionate about capturing the evil in the world that he got too close, and that last time, for that last click of his camera, he didn’t make it out.  I wonder what the final pictures on his camera were, if anyone knows, or if it was all lost in the ashes of war.

War is an ugly thing.  And I think for that reason images like this make us uncomfortable. But at the same time, I think we have to see them sometimes. In the world that we live in there ARE women cradling their new born babies in arms without hands, there are young boys throwing rocks at their father’s murderers, there are child soldiers whose brains are so seared by violence that they have almost ceased to be human, and there are mercenaries entrenched in warfare to the point that the explosion of a bomb and the death of another is better than Christmas morning.  Many people would probably look at these images and say, “All this pain and suffering is evidence that there is no God.”  Sometimes I understand that sentiment. As I looked at some of these I was shaken to the core by their stark and blatant presentation of evil.  I wanted to reach through the pictures and rescue the people frozen in their suffering.  But at the same time, I am grateful for the reminder.  As Christians we can look at such reminders and say, “This is evil. This is sin.  This is why Jesus died.  This is why we need a Savior.”

A good friend and I were recently talking about the ugly parts of the Gospel.  Everyone loves talking about the love and sacrifice of Christ, but why is it that we need Him in the first place?  We need the salvation of Christ because we are a lost, broken, and sinful people who make up a world that is ultimately deserving of the righteous wrath of God.  Not a popular idea.  Not something that’s easy to talk about.  But if you leave that part out, then the sacrifice of Jesus was not really necessary, and the crucifixion was the greatest oversight in history.  I desperately need a Savior.  This world desperately needs a Savior.  In the end I can either let the evil in the world drive me to despair or I can grapple with my responsibility of what living in such a world as a follower of Christ really looks like.  I can ask, how do I combat evil with the love of Christ? How can I be the hands and feet of Jesus to a world so in need of His grace and forgiveness?  I don’t know that Chris Hondros meant for his pictures to spark that sort of response, but regardless I am grateful to him for reminding me.  I am grateful that he went where no one else would go to capture what many of us would like to ignore.  I think that every once and a while, we all need the reminder.  Here is Chris's website if you want to take a minute and check out his gallery of photographs online, and remember that, in a way, he died to bring you those images.  http://www.chrishondros.com/

Definitions

We all have them.  Point blank statements that we or someone else has made concerning us.  I have discovered recently that it is very easy to let those statements define the rest of our lives, even if we don't mean for them to.   For example, my whole life I have always said, "I can't run."  If anyone asked me to go for a run or insinuated running in any context, my immediate answer was no.  I had a very good friend up at Nyack College who also happened to by my religion professor, and he used to ask me to go run with him in the mornings.  Several of my friends did.  But I never went, because I don't run.  Then one day, a few months ago, I woke up, and it was a beautiful day and I decided to do something crazy.  I decided to go for a run.  I didn't tell anyone so that if it resulted in a dismal failure no one would know.  Turns out, I could manage a brief run around the block without keeling over and dying.  While it wasn't exactly the most enjoyable thing I had ever done, and I was sore the next day, I was still proud of myself.  So the next time it was beautiful outside, I tried again.  I went a little farther that time. All that to say, today I ran six miles and it was fantastic.  Three months ago if you had told me I would be doing that I would have laughed and said, "But that's impossible, I can't run."

Turns out I love running.  I love the way it clears my head.  I love the moment when I'm running up that ridiculously steep hill at Lake Johnson and I feel like my calves are being reduced to jello.... but I still manage to make it to the top without dying.  If I had never gone against my own definition of myself I never would have discovered this.  It also turns out that I love mushrooms.  Somewhere around the age of five I decided emphatically that I hated mushrooms.  But I have recently discovered that, contrary to my five year opinion, they are delicious (I'm not holding out such hope for celery and olives, those remain inedible).  All of this has gotten me thinking, how much have I limited myself because of things that I decided?  What statements am I still believing about myself that aren't true?  Things like, "I can't run" and "I hate mushrooms" are small compared to things like, "You are terrible at math" or "You are ugly and overweight" or "You will never be popular" or "Boys will never like you"  Things that were said when I was a child that seemed to stick to me and never fall off.  Like Punchinello's dots.  You know the real reason that I always used to say that I couldn't run?  Because somewhere along the way I became convinced that I was a terrible athlete, that everyone was faster, stronger, and better than me, and that if I tried I would only fail and humiliate myself.  

The biggest question here is not whether or not I should accept or reject things that I used to say about myself or things that others used to say about me.  The biggest question is whether or not I will chose to believe the things that God says about me.  And just what does He say?  He calls me His child, His daughter, His princess.  He knows every hair on my head.  His thoughts concerning me number more than the individual grains of sand on every beach in the world.  He rejoices over me with singing.  I could go on and on, but the ultimate proof of His love?  He sent His one and only Son to die on a cross.  A cross that was meant for me.  No matter how many mistakes I have made in the past, no matter how many I may make in the future, there is nothing I can do to make Him love me less.  There is nothing I can do to make Him love me more.  And in that, there is incredible freedom.  Freedom in Christ to be whoever He wants me to be, freedom to go for a run, freedom to eat mushrooms, freedom to try, and possibly fail, without fear of judgement or condemnation.  And what does that mean exactly?  It means a life free of guilt and a life full of joy- pure, unadulterated joy in Jesus Christ my Savior.

*Oh and for those of you who don't know, here's the story of Punchinello: You are Special by Max Lucado If you've never heard of it, you really should go listen to it, it only takes a few minutes*

Jesus I come, Jesus I come

1. We sang a hymn tonight at RUF called "Jesus I come" (Btw- RUF is Reformed University Fellowship- its an awesome group at NCSU, come check us out Tuesday nights in Riddick 301 at 7:30!) I've just started going to RUF this semester, and one of the things I have really loved has been the music. Maybe its because I've grown up in church, but it often feels like I've been singing the same praise choruses for so long that they have ceased to mean anything to me. They are so familiar that I can just rattle them off without truly thinking the lyrics through- without really worshiping. At RUF, they only sing hymns. This was slightly intimidating at first, mainly because I often think i've got the tune, start to sing loudly, and end up belting out a very, very wrong note....

But my heart has been so ministered to by the rich lyrics. i had never sung this one before, but it brought me to tears with its simple words. The first lines go, "Out of my bondage, sorrow and night, Jesus, I come, Jesus, I come; Into Thy freedom, gladness, and light, Jesus, I come to Thee; Out of my sickness, into Thy health, Out of my want and into Thy wealth, Out of my sin and into Thyself, Jesus, I come to Thee." So simple. So overwhelming. So fundamentally life changing. What if, no matter what I was doing, I was in the process of running AWAY from my bondage and TO Jesus? What would life be like if all my energy, all my activity, all my thoughts, were part of an overall effort to propel myself forward, out of my sickness and into His health, out of my want and into His wealth, out of my sin and into Himself? Everyone wants to make the Gospel so complicated. They want to argue nit picky issues, and quibble over individual verses in Scripture. Why do we keep strapping complications to a Gospel that is really quite simple? What does it mean to be saved? Jesus I come, Jesus I come, "Out of my shameful failure and loss, Jesus I come, Jesus I come; into the glorious gain of Thy cross, Jesus, I come to Thee" Will I chose today to drop my burdens, to turn from my sin, to go running headlong with all of my might into the arms of Jesus my Savior? Will I chose today to live out my salvation? Will I shout today with all that is in me, "JESUS I'M COMING!"? This is the race we were meant to run. Will I run it today? Will you?

Quotable Things

Sometimes you come across quotes that sorta stick with you and make you think. All of these have made me pause and consider. They have made me want to look at things from a different perspective. Which one sticks out to you the most? Why? The cherokee proverb is a particular favorite of mine at the moment.