I rejoice in being exactly what I am...

As I chatted with my best friend on the phone tonight, she remarked, "I wish my life was somewhat exciting so I'd have more to tell you. You have so much going on!" And it's true: I have a lot on my plate right now. Spiritually, I'm fighting sin hard and determined to align my heart with His. Personally and emotionally, there have been some serious upsets lately, things I never thought I'd face, and yet here I am. Psychologically, I'm in the process of going back to counseling, a good idea for those of us with psychological crosses to bear, especially during these transitional times. And truthfully, I live for Sundays, the day of rest that I gather with my church family to be restored and find peace in that Communion. 
In all of these things, I keep looking back to the Cross, to the sacrifice of Christ. I find myself trying desperately to quiet my soul and just be still in the Presence of the Creator. That's where I want to be: resting and waiting and listening for His voice. This poem speaks my heart well.

I do not know 
when I have had happier times 
in my soul
than when I have been sitting at work, 
with nothing before me
but a candle and a white cloth,
and hearing no sound 
but that of my own breath; 
with God in my soul
and heaven in my eye.
I rejoice in being exactly what I am
- a creature capable of loving God,
and who, as long as God lives,
must be happy.
I get up 
and look a while out the window.
I gaze at the moon and stars, 
the work of an Almighty Hand.I think of the grandeur of the universe
and then sit down
and think myself 
one of the happiest beings in it.

These words are so beautiful that one would think they were written by a poet of great renown. But no, rather they were written by a poor Methodist woman in the 18th century. May my heart reflect such simple joy in God as hers did.

Backed by a Powerful Army in this Battle.

This semester has flown by...and not with a gentle breeze, mind you. I've been caught up in this mighty rushing wind, gusting along through my life and pulling me along with it. I would be lying if I said that I've loved it. There have been many moments that I have enjoyed...and at least as many that I have greatly disliked. I'd be dishonest if I didn't mention that depression has decided to follow me around again. It's even more of a daily battle right now. I'm so grateful for the Lord's faithfulness...for I've found again that He is the only One who will truly remain faithful.
As I face the coming weeks, the work that lies ahead seems daunting. Hours to account for in the form of lesson plans. Minutes to fill with distractions from depressive thoughts. Seconds to tick by while I wish moments away. It's in those moments that contact with the Lord is necessary. He is the Lifeline that I cling to.
Each battle comes with a need for new armor, for the old armor is already dented. New coping mechanisms, new ideas, sometimes new medicine...the latest has required all three. I'm thankful that I have those options, as so many others fight this battle alone.
Alone is something I have often felt lately...but something I'm truly not. God has been gracious...and He has blessed me with an army to back me up. A little group of sophomores that I thought I was taking under my wing has truly taken up my burdens with me, and keeps my sanity close by. In fact, I was just told by one of them, "praying for you as I fall asleep." What a gem he is...and the rest of them as well. I didn't know I would need them, and now that I have them, I don't know what I'd do without their support and encouragement.
Though this is not the joyous update that would seem appropriate to my last semester of college, it is fitting, for the joy that is here is found in Christ. The hope that I have is from the Lord. The love that I know is not from humans, but rather from the Creator. And the human love has been given to me by God Himself as a promise that He will never leave me alone.

Stained glass honesty.

I've been inspired by my very honest blogging peers who have laid their hearts and shortcomings out on the table in the past week or so. Oftentimes, I will start a blog, only to realize that it makes me sound shallow or miserable or unkind...and then I trash it. The truth of the matter is that I'm often shallow, miserable, and unkind. All at once. I'm a human, but for some reason, the internet leads me to hide that. Transparency is a treasure in relationships, but not on the web. When the screen separates us, I somehow feel that I won't be understood, so I shouldn't post my true self. I should just fake all of my readers out, and convince you that I have it all together. See, the truth is I don't have it all together. I'm doing good to have all my clothes on when I leave the room. I often say things that don't reflect me or Christ well. I can be needy and clingy, relying on friends rather than the Lord. I leave a mess everywhere, and my feelings are easily hurt. I rarely wash my hair. I bite back bitter words, only to harbor the feelings in my heart. I hate making my bed. I rarely fold my clothes straight out of the dryer, thus my wrinkled appearance on a daily basis. I don't really know what the top of my desk looks like. I don't share Oreos with anyone. I get really frustrated when I'm not asked how I am. I judge easily, and sometimes I even share my judgement with my best friends. I am easily jealous and selfish. And honestly, I've not been doing so hot lately. Depression eats me up so much of the time. It keeps me from being my usual exuberant self, and puts me in this mopey box where I sit and try to blog, but can't think of anything encouraging to say. As much as I long to bring you encouraging words of wisdom from the Scripture, I just don't have encouragement to give. As much as I want to retell funny stories from my life, jokes fall flat when they land on my ears. As much as I want to relay my excitement at the end of the semester and my wonderful summer job, I know that it would sound fake and empty...and empty would be appropriate. For, though I am lit up with the light of Christ, I feel very hollow inside, as if the life within me has been replaced with something thin. Almost as if my stained-glass insides have been replaced with plastic wrap copies...the rich jewel tones of the pieces of my heart have been thinned and flattened into meager representations of their former colors. The Light can still shine through, but I don't feel like it looks as lovely shining through me. In all of this, I stand with  Job, who makes my life look like a picnic, and I say along with him, "I know that my Redeemer lives." For He does, and He will stand on this earth. Be it tomorrow or ten thousand years from now, the war has already won...and my little battle doesn't count for anything.
So, be it stained glass or plastic wrap, my heart will still sing the same Name. For even in my darkest days and hardest hours, the Name of Jesus is comforting and reassuring, for He does live. Even when I don't feel that it is worth it, He lives on. And that, my friend, shines through. All hollowness aside, His glory is glorious forever.

He is Risen.

"I do not mind telling you that within me I find the Easter message and the reality of the Resurrection more beautiful and glorious than the Christmas scene. Christmas tells us that Jesus was born; that He was born for the humiliation of suffering and death and atonement. But Easter is the radiant and glory-filled celebration of Christ's mighty triumph over the grave and death and hell! When Easter comes, our voices are raised in the triumphant chorus: The three sad days had quickly sped; He rises glorious from the dead! There is the real beauty! This is more than the beauty of color; more than the beauty of outline or form; more than the beauty of physical proportion. In the living Christ is the perfection of all beauty; and because He lives, we too shall live in the presence of His beauty and the beauties of heaven, forever!" - A.W. Tozer 


Hallelujah!
He is Risen indeed.

Wonderful Merciful Savior.

On this Good Friday, I can say nothing better that what Scripture says. My praises of His sacrifice don't even begin to do His name justice. May these verses be water to your soul as we remember what today means and eagerly wait for Sunday.

trying not to squint

weird feelings in my heart.
ones that i can't explain,
i'd rather keep them in the dark.
ones i don't have words for, 
and if i could find them, 
i don't know that i could find the courage to speak them.


somewhere, floating in a sea of suicide and self-loathing,
of tiny joys and fake smiles, 
of loneliness and just getting by.
treading water, i look for You. where are You?
these are the moments i need to see You in...
but i don't.


instead, i see pain, regret, confusion, 
misery, jealousy,
sin, sin, and more sin.
i see secrets that build walls
and break hearts in two.
i see thousands of moments
and hundreds of humans, 
swimming in this sea of sin alongside me.
but i'm completely alone.
where are You?


suddenly, i notice their eyes, clenched shut.
not a single ray could have reached those pupils.
in my wide-eyed state, i realize that You are here.
and it is by You that i see the pool, lake, ocean of sin 
we are all swimming in.
it's my wide open eyes, 
the ones that burn with pent up tears, 
those eyes let me see it all,
but it is You, 
You who i am so desperately searching for,
who make it all visible.


they are blind by choice, 
conforming to the waves of sin,
the gentle current that turns into the tight grip of a rip tide.
swim along it! 
i want to scream.
swim along it...
and get out.


but i fight my own battles with this sin-sea.
i tread water,
viciously paddling away from visible currents, 
only to have my legs pulled out from under me,
the water pulling, yanking, tearing me deeper.


below the surface, i no longer see You,
nor can i see by You.
i simply don't see.
there is no light, no reason to open my eyes.
i have no eyes to truly open.
but the longing for Light, for You, kicks in...
and the fight begins.
i push up towards the surface, 
waiting for the warmth to hit my face.
as i wrestle out of the grip of the ocean's depths,
i am restored by Your presence...
and drawn to Your radiance. 
so much glory to take in...


i lay on my back, 
floating and soaking up rays of You,
watching for rip tides and pray against darkness,
against losing sight,
against the sin that lies beneath the surface.
i pray and watch...
and i try not to squint as You beam down on me.

Moments of Blindness and Sight.

I almost don't remember not wearing glasses. I was only seven years old when I picked out my first pair and could finally see the world. I remember the awe I felt as I saw the leaves on the trees and the lines on the road. My mom says I read every sign along the road out loud joyfully. Even signs at Taco Bell and the Shell Station were a thrill to my heart. The wonder of seeing actual people and things rather than a blur was overwhelming.

As you can see, my different pairs of glasses were all so fashionable and hip. I believe the pair on the far left were my first...and if it wasn't blurry, the right picture would show the duct tape holding together that pair of glasses. I've always been a classy lady. 

So, why all the talk of glasses? Why the hilarious pictures of me growing up? (You must understand, dear reader, how much I care for you to share my awkward stages with you.) You see, the phrase "Hindsight is 20-20" has really been standing out to me lately. Every time I take out my contacts, I stand in that moment of almost blindness and think about how I make decisions in that place everyday. That simple part of my routine has become poignant to me, as I consider the times where I spoke too soon, jumped in too fast, or cared too much. I don't regret those moments, but I do wonder how I missed the warning signs of the impending problems. Whether it be a lost relationship or a poor choice of words, I can see clearly where I mis-stepped when looking back on it...and every time I see that mistake, I wonder why I didn't see. How could I have missed the blatantly flashing lights, warning me of the pain and sorrow to come? How could I have ignored the counsel of friends who know me better than I know myself? How could I not have seen?

I tweeted yesterday, "Cutting ties is freeing, but I'm left with a piece in my hand, alone, wondering what I have done." Even now, with my twenty-twenty vision of my past, my ability to see through the manipulation and the emotions that reigned over my wisdom, I am tangled up in these moments of blindness. Though I have the glasses of Truth, for some reason I choose to remove them, and relive the past as though I cannot see the purpose behind the happenings. Even the pain has a great purpose. Am I glad for it? No, not yet. I am not ready to be joyful in that suffering. But I am glad for the vision I have in Christ. The gift of seeing Him in all the painful moments covers up any scars that remain.

You see, the truth is found in the simple words of an old hymn: "Turn your eyes upon Jesus. Look full in His wonderful face, and the things of earth will grow strangely dim in the Light of His Glory and Grace." This is why the pain is minimized and the gain of wisdom is magnified. This is why the benefits are obvious while the scars are covered up. This is why I can clearly see bits of the good and glory from the painful parts of the past. As if through incredibly powerful glasses, I see Christ...and those are some glasses I don't ever want to take off.

PS. Please look to the right sidebar and note how I have grown out of the awkward stages featured in this post. Thanks! ;)

Anything but Beautiful.

I've been sitting here for nearly an hour, trying to put my thoughts and feelings about this Christmas into some beautiful words like I usually do. I've tried carols. I've thought of metaphors. I've even considered just copying a beautiful poem about Christmas and calling it a day.
But the truth is that isn't what it's all about.
You see, the first Christmas was anything but beautiful.
 Mary was a teenage mother. She had never had a baby before. She was newly married to a man who wasn't the baby's father. She'd been traveling for days. She was tired...and I'm willing to imagine that she was frustrated with Joseph, the census, and the Lord.
Joseph was trying his hardest. He really was. But there simply was no room. The stable was all they had. Imagine any man hearing that they had to live in a barn. They'd simply be furious. I imagine Joseph was...but he was keeping it together for Mary.
There were animals. Everywhere. Sheep, goats, cows, pigs, donkeys...I'm sure they had them all. Add the odd mouse and stray cat, and you have a full house. Not only was it full, I'm sure it wasn't pleasing to the nose or the ears. Imagine laboring for the first time...surrounded by the sounds of grunting pigs and the smells that cows leave behind. It's just not a pretty picture.
The labor gets hard and intense. Mary has no idea what is coming next, no idea what to do. And Joseph? Well, he probably was doing what any new father would be doing: pacing and muttering. I imagine they both we questioning the Lord at this point. "Was this really what you had in mind for your Son, Lord? I thought I would at least have a bed..." "Can't you see the pain she is in, God? Why did you put me with this woman?"
Mary pushes through, determined to be faithful to the Lord, to literally see the face of God. Joseph prays constantly for her safety, for his own sanity. They are surrounded by animals, far away from home, and yet they are steadfast, facing the Lord's plan and seeing it as good.
One final moment of pain...and then the heart-breakingly beautiful sound of a baby's first cry, a cry that is often joined by the joyous tears of his parents. I imagine that Mary gently cradled her son, and whispered His name over and over, assuring Him of her love and marveling at His. Perhaps Joseph praised the Lord loudly, and then joined his wife on the floor to see the face of his Son and Savior.
I like to think that this little family had their own moment of adoration and worship, a moment they could truly cherish throughout the coming years. I can almost see Mary glow as she sings a song of praise for and to the Christ Child. I can imagine Joseph's face as he held the baby for the first time. Tears streaming down his face, strong arms holding the One whose arms hold the world.
I imagine they were both filled with wonder at the Baby. This tiny child...this is the Messiah? This is the Rescue for Israel? Yes, Yes. This is the Savior who is Christ the Lord. This is your Jesus.
No, the Christmas story doesn't seem to be terribly beautiful...but the center of it, the heart of the Father and His desire to save us...that is true beauty. The eyes of a little girl, weeping over her Son...that is gorgeous. The heart of a father, claiming a Child who shares no genes with him...that is precious.
The tiny Baby, somehow fully God and fully Man, the Messiah, the Chosen One, Emmanuel...
That is beautiful.