Fog Soup

Last night I drove home through the thickest fog I've ever been.

I couldn't think of a better metaphor for my life.

My average speed was about 20 mph.  There were times when I had to nearly stop, not being able to see 5 feet in front of my car.  Other times the fog would completely clear as if the clouds never even imagined kissing the earth, only to be lost in them again 50 feet later.

As Ian McIntosh played through my car speakers, I meditated on the tears I shed and the encouragement I received moments earlier in my best friend's garage.  The way he's heard me pray, the way he's seen me grow over these three years.  It can't be false, he said.  But still, I want more.  

Oh to be the person that I was created to be.  Completely unabandoned and free.  Dancing before the throne of Jesus.  Going on a daily adventure.  Being confident of His ways.  Persevering towards His voice, even in the fog.

The music permeated the soup and comforted me with truths.  Ian McIntosh's poem set to music, Adoration, related to me the most.

There is a light that shines within me

There is a hope that burns inside me

Deep within my soul, my very existence

There is a being waiting to be freed

A child who knows no fear pain or rejection

There is an emotion all encompassing of excitement joyfulness gladness and love

The creative potential of laughter and the undeniable power of an infant's joy live inside me

Unmeasurable are my limits for I call You Father

Unimaginable my potential for You have called me son

There is someone inside of me waiting to be unleashed

Whom You embrace, whom I long to be

There is an all consuming fire, a light that permeates from my very being

You have unlocked me God

The doors You open no man can shut

I will praise You for all my days for You are good

You have released me God with Your love

You are everything

Haste, haste, to bring him laud!

Every year, without fail, my sister and I goof off at the Christmas Eve service.  I am surprised our parents have allowed us to sit next to each other all these years, but I see they are beginning to get in on it as well.  If you can't beat 'em, join 'em I suppose.

One of our goof off traditions is to laugh while singing "Haste, haste, to bring him laud!" in the sober classic What Child Is This?  Several years ago, I decided to stop pretending the word was "lard" and actually looked up "laud" in the dictionary.  Basically, as everybody in the world except for me probably knew, laud = praise.  Ok, that makes sense, I told myself... but I'm still going to laugh!

Last night my family and I attended the 11:00 service after a fantastic three hour French dining experience.  We were more tired than usual, but still willing to be obnoxious in church.  Things began normally as we eagerly anticipated the chorus to this beautiful song.  We sang it one time through and had our giggles.  On the second round, I got punched in the stomach.  

"Haste, haste, to bring him laud!"

Translation:  "Hurry up and don't wait a single second more to get up and praise Him!"  The urgency expressed in this line finally set in after years of giggling through the command.  My smile seceded.  I wanted to do nothing but dance in the aisles, but the sudden revelation of the meaning of these words kept me stunned in my seat.  The fact that everyone was sitting down as they passed communion would have made my sudden spurt a bit inappropriate as well... but I am ashamed now that I passed up the opportunity to dance like David.  

I felt anxious and excited for the rest of the night.  No, it wasn't because Santa was coming.  I could not wait to get back home, close myself in my room, and praise uninhibitedly and void of distractions.  I realized that this is my calling - to praise, not only immediately, but also with joy, and I could not wait to get it started.  He deserves every ounce of our worship and every molecule of our hearts (Happy Birthday, Jesus!).

As I laid in bed last night, I laughed as I usually do on Christmas Eve.  This time it wasn't due to silliness.  Instead, my laughter exploded from the joy of being unconditionally loved by my Creator.  I fell asleep whispering sweet nothings to Jesus, (which really mean everything to him), wishing I could have stayed awake to bring him laud all night.  

All it takes is 3 snow days

It snowed a lot this weekend.  I couldn't really go anywhere.  I decided to finally finish the process that I started a year and a half ago when I moved back home after college.  Yes, my friends...I gutted my room.

It was a room of transition.  I wasn't planning on staying here long since I had big plans for my life.  There was no need to unpack.  But, after MY plans were put on hold, I decided it was time to settle in, unpack, and say goodbye to certain things.  Memories of my past not fitting in with my present were making no room for my future.

I assembled my bookcases, the best Christmas present ever and the motivation of my cleaning spree.  Please look at the picture to the right.  Now imagine all of those books with no home, scattered throughout my room.  You would be ecstatic over a couple of bookcases as well if you saw the previous situation. 

In just 3 days I consolidated, threw out one-third of my life, and rearranged furniture.  My room is a happier place because of it.  The only fear now is that with such a cozy, pleasant room, I'll never want to leave.

Well... that's probably not true.

"What dreams may come..."

I dream every night. I like it.

Last night I had a dream I was in Rome, and spent the majority of it looking at one of my top 3 favorite sculptures, Michelangelo's Pieta (the other faves are Donatello's David, and Michelangelo's Unfinished Prisoners). I am always blown away by sculptures more so than other works of art, because I have tried to carve something out of a chunk of marble and failed miserably. It would be what my high schoolers call an "epic failure". I have an extremely high respect for anyone who can turn a rock into something beautiful.

The Pieta is in St Peter's Basilica, but is protected by bullet proof glass and set off some ways from the viewers, a necessary nuisance after some crazy man in the 70s went after it with hammer.

But, in my dream, the sculpture was up close and personal. It wasn't protected by anything but a knee-high fence. It looked way different than the actual sculpture, as most dream-like objects do, but I knew it was the Pieta. Mary, instead of sitting upright, was actually lying next to Jesus, a look of agony on her face, holding him close and rocking his limp body. I just stood there for hours, examining every detail.

The amount of love that you could tell she had for him was striking.

I think my dream was a calling to embrace him the same way. Clinging to Jesus with everything in my soul. But, fortunately, we don't have to hold onto a cold, dead, body, but can embrace the living, risen God as he warmly embraces us back.

"Is it possible to feel enriched and hollowed out at the same time?"

Anthony Bourdain is one of my favorite people of all time, and he became even more so after he made this remark upon leaving Malaysia. He had just experienced Malay culture to the full: discovering the food, getting a traditional tattoo, spending time in the jungle, killing a pig with a spear as is custom for guests to do, and making the most intriguing friends amidst the language barrier.

The network sent a helicopter to airlift him out of the jungle, an exit he was not proud of. As he was leaving, he didn't feel quite right. He knew that although he may not belong in Malaysia, he definitely didn't belong in New York anymore.

I know the feeling.

It's the feeling of a nomad.

Anthony Bourdain lives the life I have always dreamed of. He is an extremely eloquent writer, a much experienced cook, and gets to travel wherever the heck he wants to and dive into the local color. He gets to be on TV, smoke, drink and swear ruthlessly. Although an object of my admiration, I am afraid to ever meet him knowing he adamantly hates vegetarians.

But, despite our differences in diet, I have felt like him often; every time I have had to leave somewhere.

It's the feeling of being filled to the brim with the enlightenment your journey has revealed to you, and the emptiness accompanying the end of the chapter. As a changed person, you suddenly don't belong where you used to make your home.

What was once familiar becomes foreign, and what was once foreign becomes familiar.

You become hungry for more. Places you have not explored become your craving. And like a glutton, you can't stop.

Hair on the bathroom sink

I don't think girls ever grow out of cutting their own bangs.

I had coffee with a friend today who commented on the status of my hair.  "Did you get a hair cut?" he asked.

"Nope...I'm actually trying to grow it out."

"Oh...it looks like your bangs are shorter," he responded with an unusually keen eye for a gentleman.

"Oh...well, I cut my own bangs.  Maybe that's why."  

I don't think I ever cut my bangs as a child, but in my adulthood they have a bi-monthly date with my scissors.  

We then recalled the night I met him and his four year old daughter.  Her bangs were jagged in the way only a preschooler could chop them.  He rolled his eyes and smiled over the antics of his child.  

Some things never change about the female species.

Christmas just got a little sillier

Talk about lifting your holiday spirits! I always knew my Swing Dance training would come in handy, especially when my friends and I want to dress up as elves and go for a little Christmas Charleston-ing!

Send your own ElfYourself eCards

I like my Bible how I like my men...dark, artistic, and Swedish.

Dag Soderberg of Sweden was inspired to create this: Bible Illuminated: The Book New Testament.  It is the entire New Testament, in a glossy magazine type finish, chock full of photographs and art depicting the culture that we currently find ourselves in.  It's kind of like the Bible transformed into a National Geographic, or high fashion magazine.  As Dag describes in his video, sometimes people are ashamed of their Bibles because they make people uncomfortable.  But, it should be celebrated, shared, and out in the open for everyone to see.  Sweden is a nation nearly void of all God-fearing people, but since the launch of this version, Bible sales have increased by 50%, not to mention that 10% of Stockholm attended The Book launch.

The mission of The Book is as follows:

"Illuminated World seeks to introduce today's audience to a revolutionary contemporary Bible, one that encourages dialogue and is culturally relevant, readily accessible and easily digestible for any reader regardless of religious, economic, racial or social background.

We have no religious agenda and support no specific faith.  Bible Illuminated is intended to be a unique vehicle for reacquainting today's reader with one of history's most important texts."

Interesting.

So many people have been hurt by the church, and the "religion" of the church, that the Bible becomes a disgusting object associated with that pain.  By getting rid of the uncomfortable stigma associated with the traditional Bible, and actually creating a Bible that is unlike anything else, yet still a Bible nonetheless, people will be attracted to the Word once again.  It is a shame, however, that the WORD OF GOD isn't already attractive to many by what it is in and of itself.  The Bible will forever remain timeless and relevant to our world, rather than remain an ancient, dead text that many believe it to be.  By adding modern artistic interpretations depicting the joys and pain of our culture, the life breathing forth from the words is exemplified.

I think the fact that this Bible wasn't necessarily created by Christians is making many Christians angry.  I agree with Paul:  "But what does it matter?  The important thing is that in every way, whether from false motives or true, Christ is preached.  And because of this I rejoice." philippians 1:18  If this gets people who normally would be embarrassed to own a Bible, to read a Bible, then I say it is beneficial.

These angered Christians see the artist's interpretations of some passages as adding to the word of God.  They perceive it as a "secularized" (which by the way, I don't believe there is a giant schism between the secular and the sacred), distorted view of Scripture.  What then do you make of your study Bible that adds little blurbs within the text on how to apply the verses, and includes all sorts of commentary?  Are these not also someone else's interpretations of the Scripture?  I would argue that the added thought provoking photographs further prove that the cross of Christ is relevant to every aspect of culture, and every corner of the earth. God works in mysterious ways and I find it a blessing that people who we wouldn't traditionally consider "believers" are able to be touched by the Word of God.

I'll admit, some of the images are disturbing, but we must ask why.   Are we disturbed because the images actually provoke anti-biblical principles?  Or are we disturbed because we become aware of certain issues we have been ignoring that a picture is able to remind us of?  Jesus may be prompting us to be his hands and feet in that area.  We are able to play our part in restoration only when we know what it is that is broken.  Or are we disturbed because someone's modern, artistic, culturally in-tuned interpretation of a verse might be different from our own?  The Word of God is so brilliant and moving that it is in fact able to touch people in different, unique ways, and has done so for millenniums.  I believe God's hands are very much in the arts and he speaks volumes through paintings, sculptures and photographs.  Occasionally, we have some artistic members of our church present "prophetic paintings" that are able to bring a new spin on Church, drawing every aspect of culture and gifts into the body.  

Nevertheless, it is important to hold fast to the words held in The Book, which of course is the Bible we know and love.  The text shouldn't be compromised for the captivating photographs adjacent to it, but it should be approached with prayer and discernment.  Prayer for your eyes to be illuminated by the words, first and foremost, and then to the artistic interpretation. Discernment as to whether the interpretation is valid, and what you should do about it, if anything.

Celestial beings...and things.

If I were an astrologer, I would probably be freaking out right now.  The sky was incredible last night.  After an amazing sunset that I watched from my Panera window, the moon appeared looking rather sharp (literally, it looked like a tiger claw just waiting to be plucked from the sky to pop some child's balloon).  Next to the moon were two really bright stars that made our celestial ceiling look almost like an alternative interpretation of the Turkish communist flag.  But lo and behold, they were not stars, but some planets!  Jupiter and Venus, I presume.  This view will not be seen again until 2050 something.  Lucky me!

Furthermore, this is on the BBC News homepage today.  No worries, people.  The UN will soon remember the great resource our planet has in Bruce Willis.  He'll take care of that meteor!

Our skies will soon be able to rest.

Heroin legalized in Switzerland.

Go ahead and watch this news video.

I have mixed feelings.

I have seen the effects that heroin has on good friends and it is nothing less of debilitating and destructive towards everything that gets in the addicts path.  I'm not sure even the "stability" these heroin clinics provide are able to heal broken relationships and lives that the drug causes.

The drug culture seems to be a bit different in Switzerland than the US, but I'm still not sure this is the way to go about dealing with addicts, especially since these clinics have been around for ten years, with not much progress in recovery.

Thoughts?

I am falling in love

In the words of Will Ferrell:  "I'm in love!  I'm in love!  And I don't care who knows it!"

I never thought I would say this.  I never imagined I would become so enamored with this person, so swept away in his wooing words and his immense passion.  People told me I would fall in love with him, but I didn't take heed.  I to

ok their encouragement as a far off dream.  "This could never happen to me," I convinced myself.  "I will never have the love they do!"

But I am drowning in the ocean of his expressed feelings.

I am proud.

I want to scream it from the top of my lungs and the depths of my soul!

I LOVE WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE!

I've cried... in public... while reading soliloquies, at the death of characters I have become fond of, when I realize my own nature in certain persons, and even at the sheer genius of his use of language.  Wow.  Even though I am aware of the plots and outcome of every play before I dive into the text, the suspense and intensity he creates forces me to remind myself to breathe.

How dare anybody ever turn the man I love into a cliche.  "To be or not to be"... Just a common household phrase!?  Nay, Shakespeare was nothing less of phenomenal.  Do you realize the profoundness of this statement within the context of the rest of Hamlet's life!?  His turmoil!? The brilliance of his speech!?  I implore you all to read it and find out!  

Fall in love for yourselves.  It will not be love wasted.

...plus, he's a hottie.

Just call me Mary

In college I went through a book with a girlfriend; Having a Mary Heart in a Martha World by Joanna Weaver.  It was decent and definitely worth the read, and it instigated attempts at becoming more laid back, resting in God's presence, and not always having to be a do-er.  

What I realized today during our Thanksgiving feast is that I am a Mary.  I don't think I ever was a Martha, but alas, I got caught up with the trendy reads.  Sitting in the dining room with my brilliantly cultured uncle and his European, fellow vegetarian wife, drinking four different types of wine throughout the evening and speaking on topics from European culture, to literature, and the newest happenings in Greenwich Village appeals to me more than standing over a hot stove with my grandmother, mother, and sister, butchering the turkey with a thirty year old carving knife. 

Usually my hands are more useful in the creation of side dishes and baked goods, but this Thanksgiving I cooked nothing.  Actually, I nearly vomited this morning when I walked in on my mother with her hand underneath the turkey skin rubbing it with spices, in what looked like something out of Silence of the Lambs.  

I have completely migrated to one end of the spectrum.  Not that my Mary-heart has made me complacent and unmotivated to do God's work and serve others, but I would much rather be driving around aimlessly in my car singing praise at the top of my lungs, than washing dishes after a church dinner.  I am not unwilling to do these things, but I find pleasure in spending time with people and just resting.  

Is this bad?  Is this balanced?  Thoughts?

On a side note, it might not be such a bad idea to revert back to how Thanksgiving was once celebrated; with fasting and prayer.

Gettin' all Christina Aguilera up in this joint!

...I'm gonna tell ya what a girl wants.

Perhaps I AM a words of affirmation kind of girl.  In reality, I think every girl desires to be loved with every love language, but I am just now discovering how much I love words.

An old friend called me a "jewel" this weekend.  It was nice.  It was reassuring.  It was a big ol' boost to my confidence!

I can't help but think about what I was doing a year ago today.  I was coasting into a beautiful summer in Durban, daily losing power over the hectic evening thunderstorms, and the government mandated neighborhood power cuts.  I was learning how to teach English to French speaking Central African refugees during the week and learning how to surf on weekends.  I was spending my days with an eclectic mix of fellow students, and my evenings with the most incredible Church family I have ever been a part of.

I still remember my last night in Durban.  After laughing like crazy over cookies and pterodactyls at Pippa's, we headed to Spiga's for some late night dinner... and laughed some more.  When it came time to say goodbye, I was given a multitude of hugs and even a few gifts.  But, the waterworks didn't start until a dear friend of mine hugged me forever and said, "You are a precious legend."  (For the record, it took over a year to reach "legend" status amongst my Americanized South African friends, and only a month and a half for those who didn't fly the coop... what's up with that!?).  

Anyway, the point is as follows:  Girls like to be affirmed.  It doesn't matter if it is a romantic situation or not!  They like to be told nice things and cared about through words.

That's all.  Just another realization I had this past weekend.

If grace is an ocean, we're all sinking.

Someone prayed for me tonight.  I didn't want it.  But they did anyway.  Turns out I needed it.

It's so hard to ignore the insignificant thoughts.  To focus on the things I know to be truth and the unchanging things that matter.

I still have unanswered questions.  But, for the moment grace is surpassing them all.  

It's comforting, but also a bit scary, to find out that some friends of yours have been going through the same exact thing and have been entertaining the same exact thoughts.  

Jesus is up to something and those against him are not happy.

I heart Hezekiah

History is not my favorite subject and I have dreaded ever reading through 1 and 2 Chronicles again.  About two years ago I was trekking through my one year Bible and actually skipped over a majority of these two books.  When I reached the end, I felt guilty and ended up reading them, but with lusterless passion and multiple unintentional naps.  

Last night I had quite a different experience that may have restored a love for the Chronicles.  I read the account of King Hezekiah in 2 Chronicles 29-31.  Wow.  Talk about a leader who is bold! His desire was for God's chosen people to return to their first love.  He was full on struck by God's heart.  Some of his actions were very reminiscent of my own experiences in Israel... for example, removing Asherah poles.  Other actions were concepts I never even dreamed could happen.

At the time of his reign, Passover hadn't been properly celebrated in years due to a lack of consecrated priests, and the people's lack of desire to join in community in Jerusalem for the feast (kind of like my former lack of desire to read about it!).  So what does he do?  Why he crafts a letter and sends it out to everybody inviting them to the party!  What surprised me was his lack of hesitancy:

People of Israel, return to the Lord, the God of Abraham Isaac and Israel, that he may return to you who are left, who have escaped from the hand of the kings of Assyria.  Do not be like your fathers and brothers, who were unfaithful to the LORD, the God of their fathers, so that he made them an object of horror, as you see.  Do not be stiff-necked, as your fathers were; submit to the LORD.  Come to the sanctuary, which he has consecrated forever.  If you return to the LORD, then your brothers and your children will be shown compassion by their captors and will come back to this land, for the LORD your God is gracious and compassionate,  He will not turn his face from you if you return to him (2 Chronicles 30:6-9, NIV).

He's calling the prodigals home and gets mocked by the population for doing so.  Nevertheless, some men of various tribes and what seems like most of Judah united in  this cause and humbly went to Jerusalem.

What if our political leaders sent out a letter like this?  

How about it, Barack?  Are you willing to be mocked by the mass population for standing up for the beliefs you have claimed and implore America to return to the LORD?  

When I went to the polls, I made the commitment to pray throughout the whole term of our next president.  To pray that he would be completely transformed by the power of the cross and help guide our nation in the characteristics of Christ.  Maybe a public decree like Hezekiah's is not what God has called Obama to do, and I can live with that.

It would be nice to have a leader like Hezekiah, "doing what was good and right and faithful before the LORD his God.  In everything that he undertook in the service of God's temple and in obedience to the law and the commands, he sought his God and worked wholeheartedly.  And so he prospered" (2 Chronicles 31:20-21, NIV).

With or without the support of our government, a renewal is coming.  There is something in the air and the stakes are high.  I can feel it.

Promise me I won't crash when you make me cry on my drive home, Jesus.

When you've just endured the hardest week spiritually in the past year and a half, sometimes all it takes is a good cry in the car to wash away all of the tension suspending between you and God. 

Sometimes it takes one other person to confirm the spiritual warfare in the air, all hinging on the implications of having 7,000 people coming to a Christian concert.  A Christian concert where you are one of 50 prayer warriors.  A Christian concert that the devil would just love to plague will all sorts of hindrances to the Gospel of peace.

Sometimes it takes meeting inspiring people.  People like men in their twenties... the most joyful, kind men you have ever met... men who have taken the Franciscan vows of poverty, chastity and obedience... men who spend time in community with each other, donning their traditional habits, radically devoted to God and serving the poor.  Or people like middle aged men who have taken the Nazarite vow... separating themselves as holy, and publicly declaring it through their long locks.

Sometimes it takes watching nearly half a stadium stand up to either recommit their lives to Christ, or do so for the first time.  Sometimes it takes those chills, the shaking hands, the butterflies.

Sometimes it takes a flood of people approaching you to stand beside them in prayer and intercede on their behalf.  Sometimes you need to be completely overwhelmed and incompetent in serving so many needs in prayer.  Most of the time that's when God is the strongest.

Sometimes it takes having a glimpse of heaven... seeing thousands of people lift their hands, dance and shout in worship... all ages, all genders, all races.  Sometimes you need that out of body experience, where you lose grips with reality for a moment and ask yourself how you have been living.

Then when you sit down in your car after being on your feet ministering in prayer for seven hours you let the weariness hit you.  You let the doubts and the conversations that have run you around in circles all week fade away.  You let the pouring rain and the perfect song minister to you.  And you cry.  And you feel like you again.  

And you let God say to you "Where can [you] go from [my] Spirit?  Where can [you] flee from [my] presence?  If [you] go up to the heavens, [I am] there; if [you] make [your] bed in the depths, [I am] there" (Psalm 139:7-8, NIV, pronouns changed).

This is definitely not the end of the journey, the end of the questioning, or the end of the seeking for answers.  It is a renewal of God's patience over your life.  A renewal of the promise that He is always there, no matter how far away you feel.  A renewal of his love that catches every tear and rocks you to sleep whispering "I love you... I love you.... I love you"... just like the perfect, tender father that he is.

And you are assured that He is victorious.  And you can finally rest.  And you are still.  And you know that He is God.

I wish some fictional characters were real... and my friends.

You know you are a nerd when you thrive off of the local library's bi-annual booksale and the one gift you want for Christmas this year is a bookshelf (perhaps not as nerdy as my desire for years to have an overhead projector... but that is for another time). You know you are a bigger nerd when your excitement busts through the windows when your mother tells you she was already planning on giving you said bookshelf (even if it is just to clean up your room because there are literally books stacked in every corner... you should see it... I could build a fort!).

A year ago, the high school English department head (yes, the same woman who sparked the infamous political fiasco in the work room from my earlier post) asked me what my favorite part about reading was.  At that point, I was completely dumfounded... and just plain old dumb.  Everyone knows I love to read, but no one has ever asked me why.   I made up some bull-crud about how I like to be transported to the author's world and yada yada.  Although true, that question has lingered and the answer has matured.

Over the past four months as I have re-entered college and begun to tackle a book list of 50+ masterpieces that every English teacher needs to be well-versed in, I am finding that over and over again, these author's are able to tap into the core of human nature.  The ability to reveal such things so eloquently, and the realization that there really "is nothing new under the sun" (thanks Solomon!) is fascinating.  The way a slew of words written centuries ago continues to speak to my inner-being makes me chuckle.  This is my favorite part about reading.

I found myself literally crying over the death of one of Steinbeck's characters who felt like my own grandfather (with an Irish farmer twist), and yelled at Edith Warton's weak male characters (because her females who were discovering what love is wouldn't do it themselves).  This is what makes reading so good.  The intricacies and reality of human behavior and emotions are embodied and eternalized in the written word.  

Currently I am drudging through one of Shakespeare's lesser known plays, Coriolanus.  It is not my favorite, but majestic nonetheless.

Coriolanus is basically this Roman war hero who is a huge a-hole and ends up being a traitor to his people.  After he is banished, his lunatic of a mother approaches the men who exiled him, proclaiming that it was wrong to banish a man whose wounds he accumulated for Rome spoke louder than his words against Rome.

The tribune replied:

"I would he had continued to his country

As he began, and not unknit himself

The noble knot he made." (Act 4 scene 2 line 30-32)

Coriolanus was a noble Roman.  He was a loyal Roman in regards to his service on the battlefield in protecting his fellow citizens.  The people looked upon him with much respect, knowing not his heart.  But when he spoke as he did and showed his true feelings to Rome, all loyalty was broken.  

Acting upon the love you profess is necessary (oh how I know the hurts of someone who is all talk and no action).  What is less talked about in the Church is that you can't just do things without love.  Coriolanus is guilty as charged.  He desired to unify, build up and fight for Rome, but he loved not the Romans.  In fact, his character showed him to be a proud man, unwilling to apologize and humble himself for his wrongs.

What of us?  When we use our spiritual gifts, are they backed with love?  When we attempt to edify our Church, is love the underlying bedrock?  When we feed the poor, do we do it in love, or in pride?  If our words left our hearts and went immediately to our tongues without the filter of the mind, what would it say?  Would our heart scream of love for others and love for God, or would it proclaim solely love for self?

Are we all a bunch of CoriolANUSes (pun intended), acting in pride and raising ourselves above others?  Or are we acting as the image of God, remaining loyal in both heart and deed to the one who created us, and the others he created?

"If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal.  If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing.  If I give all I possess to the poor and surrender my body to the flames, but have not love, I gain nothing"  1 Corinthians 13:1-3, NIV.

This isn't rocket science.  It's just a realization I had today.  I suppose this is yet another facet of the wonderful call to "integrity" that we are given.

Follow the bouncing head... of Jesus!?

Pastors and elders have the responsibility of discerning between whether a word or a vision is for the whole Church, or just for that individual person.  During a service one day, a young man approached James Levesque in order to share what he was seeing.

"I'm having a vision... I can see Jesus' head... and it's floating and bouncing around the room."

James internally said, "Ya ya... that's great... go have a seat buddy," gave him a "Thank you, God bless you" and brushed the young man back to the direction of his friends.

After taking a few steps, the young man turned around.

"Well... don't you want to know what he's saying?"

"Sure, humor me," James thought.  "Sure, tell me," James said.

"Well... I see Jesus' head floating over us crying, 'I WANT MY BODY BACK!  I WANT MY BODY BACK!'"

Woah.

It's time for us to cease stopping at false finish lines and camping out on one aspect of Christ... one gift.. one verse... one promise... This only causes division and denominations.  We need ALL of him.  If we were as desperate for Jesus as he is for us, we would be satisfied... and unified.  It's time to give Jesus his BODY back.

thoughts??

*These jewels were taken from James Levesque's talk at New England Aflame on November 8th at Gateway Church*

Baskerville

Digging his head deeper into the refrigerator, Tim pushed aside the relish and the expired yogurt.  "What do you want in your coffee?  I have a little bit of milk left... sugar... and some of that hazelnut cream stuff if I can find it...but who knows with these roommates of mine."

Mary craned her neck around the corner into the kitchen.  

"Oh that's alright.  I'm fine with just a little bit of milk...no sugar.  I'm a pretty plain and simple girl."

Tim made the coffee concoctions and joined Mary on the torn sage couch that once made its home in his Dad's house since before he was even out of diapers.  He handed Mary the oversized mug and she thanked him.  Eleven years ago, Tim kissed his first girl on that couch; a spunky, freckle-nosed brunette with two long braids hanging over her shoulders.  He had kissed her spontaneously after watching one of those ooshy-gooshy movies that girls her age like, and she proceeded to wipe the kiss from her lips, expressing her disgust.  

Now, he looked at the woman sitting next to him on that couch and could not believe a girl like her had never cringed at his kisses.  Mary turned her body to face him, her elbows resting upon her knees, one hand twirling her sun-kissed locks.  Her hair never needed much maintenance.  It was always messy, but beautiful that way.  Her other hand lifted her mug to her lips until she had to let go of her hair to assist in supporting the weight.  For a moment, they sipped in silence.

"I don't know ... I don't think you're a plain and simple girl...I think..."  

He had already told Mary he loved her and she had received it, to his surprise, with much gratitude and reciprocity.  The fear that the vision in front of him was exactly that - just a vision - caused him to brush his fingertips over the tattoo on his forearm as he always did when he got nervous.  Mary, attuned to his behavior after their months spent together, followed his fingers with her eyes that morphed to the color of the couch.  She waited anxiously for what he would say next.  He searched for the words.  How could he ever describe this woman who wore old hand-me-downs yet looked like a beauty queen, who expressed herself in the most extravagant paintings and was always up for a last minute hike without a map, or for an afternoon of sitting in the garden with a good book.  And out it came...

"...you're a total Baskerville."  

He looked up at her just in time to watch her eyebrows go from a height of anticipation, to the depths of confusion.  

"Baskerville?  What does that mean?"

He couldn't find the strength to explain, afraid that she would vanish as soon as he verbalized his feelings.  He touched his tattoo again and hoped she could discover his hidden meaning without him having to use his own words.  

"Look it up."

The corners of her lips turned up with the prospect of an adventure within this puzzle.  The gigantic coffee mug soon hid her face so all Tim could see was her eyes smiling at him from above the brim.  He chuckled at how he ever let a girl make him stumble over his words, but was pleased nonetheless.

After a day of treasure hunting through numerous internet search engines with no pot of gold in sight, Mary approached Tim, who sat with a book in his hand by the weeping willow next to the pond.  She stood over him, the sun on her back turning her into a silhouette wrapped in a halo of light.  Tim stared at the angelic figure in front of him.  Her voice, laced with frustration, broke the silence of his dreaming.  

"Ok, so I looked it up and all I could come up with is that Baskerville is a font!"  

She crouched down opposite him allowing the sun rays to flood in and warm his body once more.  He loved her at every angle.

"It is a font," he assured her.  

While laying his book at his side, he tucked a piece of her unruly hair behind her ear, taking his time so he could touch her as long as possible.

"Sooo... you think I'm a font...?"  

One eyebrow lifted as she demanded a reason.

"Well... kind of.  We learned about Baskerville in one of my computer classes.  This guy in the 1700s, or something like that, dedicated practically his entire life perfecting this font of his.  When you look at Baskerville, it looks like your everyday, simple, run of the mill font.  But, when you look deeper, you see how perfect it is... the proportions, the serifs, how refined it is.  It is the perfect font."

Mary's face softened and she felt warmth coming from behind her eyes.

Tim continued.  "Ya... And this was during the printing press days where they had to use those stamps, ya know, on that big machine.  Quite the tedious process.  Well, this guy, so treasured his font that he rarely printed anything with it, afraid the letters would become damaged, since all the stamps became worn with use.  And when he would use his font, he dipped the letters in an ink of pure gold... well, that's what they say at least."

Mary's face scrunched, trying to allow her sincere, touched smile win the battle against the tears that came forth.  She leaned in and kissed him.  Her eyes, now the color of the weeping willow fighting the spring breeze behind them, trickled tears down Tim's cheeks.  Without wiping them from his face, he allowed them to soak into his skin, wishing he could write her a book filled with his adoration.  

*Based on a true story ... unfortunately, not my own ... sigh*

Integrity For Beginners

"What if every Christ follower on the planet was a man or woman of total integrity?  It would change the world."  This conversation starter gave me chills last night.

Integrity has always been a difficult concept for me to grasp.  In college, it was the dudes who focused on the "warrior-like men of integrity" issue while the chicks were busy trying to not think about those dudes and guard their hearts.  However, integrity is a characteristic that needs to infiltrate not only the 20-something males in colleges that have a 65/35 girl to guy ratio, but Christ followers as a whole, regardless of age, gender, or location.

Think about what came directly from Jesus' mouth:

"Again, you have heard that it was said to the people long ago, 'Do not break your oath; but keep the oaths you have made to the Lord.'  But I tell you, Do not swear at all ... Simply let your 'Yes' be 'Yes', and your 'No,' 'No'; anything beyond this comes from the evil one" (Matthew 5:33-34, 37, NIV).

That is profound.  What if every Christ follower was a man of his word?  What if we never said anything we didn't mean?  What if we acted upon the things we've said?  What if when we tell a friend "I'll pray for you", we actually did it?  There would be no need to make promises and oaths, for we would all be naturally trustworthy men and women of our word.  

The face of the planet would be transformed if Christ followers everywhere actually followed Christ in one of his most noble traits.  What would happen if every Christian held onto the conviction of integrity, not for integrity's sake, but for the glory of God and the love of our neighbors?  

Pieces of heaven.  Restoration.  Souls awakening to the kingdom among us.  Freedom.  Unconditional love.  Joy.

'Twas the Night Before Election Day...

Here I am on Election Day Eve, STILL undecided on who I am going to vote for tomorrow.  Honestly, I'm a moderate.  There's things I agree with and disagree with for every candidate.  What's a girl to do?  Jesus is going to have to strike me with some firm convictions tomorrow for me to even be motivated enough to drag myself to the polls before work.

While sitting in the English workroom during free periods, certain conversations tend to distract me from whatever book I find myself entranced (today it was East of Eden by John Steinbeck...highly recommended, but besides the point).  Just as Cathy was about to shoot Adam, I heard my name.  "Cassie, you're voting tomorrow, right?!"  It was the department head - an older, distinguished woman with the hint of a British accent who is as proper as they come until politics is on her tongue.  I didn't know what I was getting myself into by answering the question honestly.

"Well," I said, "I still don't know who I'm voting for, if I were to vote."

Books were slammed shut, laptops were closed abruptly, chairs were swiveled towards me, glasses were taken off and doors were flung open as a mob of angry English teachers seemed to simultaneously direct towards me an "ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!"  This mutinous group of once quiet spirited individuals completely ignored any form of "taking turns" and "not raising your voice" that I'm sure they strictly enforce in their classrooms, and began to tell me all the reasons why I need to vote for one candidate, and why it would be idiotic to vote for the other candidate.  

After about a minute of unsuccessfully comprehending or retaining a word that was thrown at me from every direction, I threw my hands up in the air, waved them over my head and yelled, ensuring that this certain school district will never hire me as a member of the full time staff (That's probably not true.  They love me there.  Not only am I an alum to that school, but a cat sitter as well).  After the storm quieted and the attacks were redirected towards banter among themselves, I did have a nice chat with one teacher about her beliefs.  Nevertheless, this "advice" has left me in the same spot, if not more confused than when I walked in the building that day.

I have come to a conclusion, and it is this:  Whoever wins tomorrow, despite my vote, I will pray throughout his term as president.  We can't really change the world with one little vote.  And honestly, my one little opinion isn't going to change any president's mind.  What will change the world is the prayers of the saints.  That's what's going to make history.

"if my people, who are called by my name, will humble themselves and pray and seek my face and turn from their wicked ways, then will I hear from heaven and will forgive their sin and will heal their land" (2 Chronicles 7:14, NIV).

Wowzers...first post!

After years of not really wanting other people to read what I wrote, I am hoping and praying that starting this blog will boost my confidence in my expression and communication skills, especially in the written word.  

If I am aspiring to be an English teacher, I need to know my stuff, don't I?  I will not follow the old adage, "Those who can't do, teach."  That's dumb.  Why would you want to be taught by someone who doesn't know what they're doing?  Yes, through the help of this very blog, by the time I teach, I WILL be an expert writer and therefore, I WILL motivate my students to desire to be expert writers and critics of literature as well, and they WILL wait anxiously through the mundane periods of the school-day until they enter my classroom where they WILL be filled with the joys of the written word.  Yes, that is exactly how it is going to play out.

I suppose some ground rules need to be laid out.  Although I've probably broken them already in the 100 words you see above, as well as the ones you are about to read...

(1)  I will not use this space as a journal.  I have my journal, and my journal is full of the most random, disconnected, helter-skelter (yes, I used a thesaurus for this) ideas anyone could ever put on paper.  I laugh at myself when I reflect on the years gone past and how I perceived them.  I am also amazed at how much I have grown in the past five years, and what an idiot I was during the majority of that time.  I do not want you to think I am an idiot (trust me, I already know), so therefore, there shall be no rambling.  Moving on before I ramble...

(2)  I will be specific and to the point to the best of my ability.  One topic per post.  Oh, come Lord Jesus!

(3)  Personal struggles will be kept to a minimum...also very connected to my previous thoughts...also what my mental case of a journal is for...and also some things just need to be kept to that exclusive audience.  Although my own opinions will be expressed, I will attempt (keyword here) to pick topics based on society, literature, what it means to follow Christ, things I observe etc. that will hopefully interest you.

(4)  Umm...number 4....hmm...how about...I will be open to constructive criticism. That's a good number 4.  Once again, I want to become a better writer, so criticize away!

(5)  I will stop at number 4.

Welcome to my brain.  Come with me as I take this journey in healing the haphazard that occupies my mind.