I was about to give up and that's no lie. Cardinal landed outside my window, threw his head back, & sang a song. So beautiful, it made me cry.

My church is doing a series on work right now. Today, the sermon was about rest. It was about Sabbath time, what that should mean, what that should look like, why it is important, and what the Bible has to say about all of that.

I am not always really great at working, but I think I am pretty good at Sabbath-ing, at least when I get around to doing it, I do it pretty well. I say that, because I love doing it. A lot of people say that they don't know how to rest, they can't rest, it doesn't come easily to them. I am an excellent rester, sometimes. I love these moments. I long for this time.

Stillness. Peace. Rest. Ink. Books. Depths. Intimacy. Wonder. Honesty. Those are the words I think of when I think about the word Sabbath, and what it means to observe Sabbath time. I probably am too good at it. I would fill day, upon day, upon day up with coffee shop time, my Bible, my journal, a little Sara Groves in my headphones, and ink spilling over pages. It feels so good to me. I know there is value in this time, because I can feel it in my bones. I can feel it in my heart. I don't think the quality of my relationship with Jesus depends on anything that I do and so, while I am very appreciative of time like this, time where I sit and write and think and pray and read, I don't think I make anything better in this time. That has to be him. If that is happening, it has got to be him. That has to come from someone else.

The more I see that and think about what that means, the more in awe I am of how good he is to me. Awe. That is equally terrifying and freeing. Does this time that I am rambling on about have anything to do with my faith increasing or my maturity increasing, or my unbelief decreasing? Yeah, I'd say so. If those things are happening, I think this time has something to do with it, but it comes from him, not me. It's his. Maturity and faith are not things that I can produce. Awe. Terrifying. Freeing.

How little control I actually have over any of this. I am sure that he can and is doing an infinitely better job than I ever could, but my heart doesn't always remember that; my heart of hearts doesn't always believe that. I read an article once that talked about this idea. I can't remember who wrote it or where I read it. It might have actually been a sermon I listened to once, but the point was this, "We cannot muster faith. We cannot muster intimacy with God. We cannot muster maturity. We must ask for those things, but we cannot make them ourselves. And when he grants them, when he gives us pieces of those things, the glory is his."

The only thing I am sure of is that the word, "muster," was used, and that always stuck with me. In social work we have the I.M.A.G.I.N.E. model for program development (insert APA citation here). The, "M," stands for, "Mustering Support."

Three things about Mustering Support:

1. We always laugh when we get to the M, because, seriously, who came up with this mnemonic device? Who thought that muster was the word that everyone needed to remember. It just sounds so awkward and random.

2. Aside from muster being a funny/random word to land on, once you get passed the weirdness of it, it's actually really great. Muster Support. Get people on your team. Get people excited about you cause. Make it exciting. Let people know why what you are doing is important. With most things in social work and in life, individual people don't get large scale projects accomplished on their own. To be successful, to make a lasting impact, to touch lives, to move towards social justice, you have to have support. You have to have more than yourself. You have to muster.

3. Mustering support when you are trying to implement a new project or program is great. Mustering faith is impossible. I've tried to do both. I can tell you that at least one of them was unsuccessful, and more than that, it was/is exhausting and lonely.

For a long time in my walk with my father, I told myself that if I did the things that I needed to be doing, I would get the things I needed to get in order to keep moving towards him. I never would have thought that was the message I was telling myself, but in a lot of ways, and in a lot of different circumstances, that was (and sometimes still is) how I operated.

I was upset about missing coffee shop alone time or missing morning quiet time, but not for the right reasons. I was upset, because it was something I needed to be doing, and I wasn't. I was upset, because it was pushing me backwards. I can also, regretfully say that I wasn't upset because I missed sweet, sweet talks with dad. I wasn't upset, because I hurt the only one who has never let me down. I wasn't upset, because I was missing out on quality time. I was upset, because I wasn't moving forward. I was frustrated with myself, because I couldn't just do right. That cycle is tough to get out of.

Frustration with myself (not so surprisingly) never pointed me towards growth. Frustration with myself has never pointed me towards maturity. All frustration with myself has ever done is point me towards more frustration with myself.

I am frustrated with myself --> I don't do better --> I am more frustrated with myself (etc.)

This is the only thing that has pointed me towards something like growth:

I can't do better --> Jesus goes after me anyway --> I can't do better --> Jesus goes after me anyway --> I still can't do better --> Jesus goes after me anyway (etc.)

I have a lot to learn about a lot of things. I am so sure that I have a ton to learn about work, especially as I begin to think about life after college, but I am also sure that I have a lot to learn about rest. I have a lot to learn about Sabbath-ing. God, thank you for the times you have given me. Thank you for the faith and maturity you have granted me. I'm excited to see what else you have to show me through rest. I can't wait to learn more from rest. I cannot wait to see that I'm really not as good at it as I think I am.

It actually isn't about me. I actually cannot do better. Jesus goes after me anyway. And when he grants it, the glory is his.

if you tarry till you're better, you will never come at all.

"I wanted to start this journal without commenting on how I am starting a new journal, but I couldn't do it. I love the feeling of ending a journal and the feeling of starting a new one. Somewhere in the middle I get restless and antsy, but the beginning and the end are really exciting for me. So, I am going to write about that, even though I told myself I wouldn't.

I am excited. I am excited to start this journal. These pages are pure, crisp, fresh. The cover is blue, which is just enough change from my last black one, that I can handle it without being overwhelmed by the change, I can maybe even enjoy it (baby steps, right?). I think I will like this journal. I think I will like writing in here. I am excited today to fill these pages up; I am excited because I know that I will feel that same excitement tomorrow.

Help me to find rhythm in my days and in my writing. Help me to find purpose and direction and help me to do all of these things for a good reason."

Oh dear. I was not joking at all when I wrote that. And it was only a few months ago. It's a little bit embarrassing that I get excited about things like starting a new journal, but it is very true. And truth trumps embarrassment as part of my pre new years resolutions.

Lately I have been going back and reading through things that I have written. Journals, papers, this blog. That's not something that I typically do a lot of, rereading things that I have written. When I write a paper, I rarely even go through and proof read before handing it in. I occasionally will look through an old journal, but only when I'm cleaning or procrastinating. I've had some time on my hands the past few weeks and somewhere along the way I decided that I was going to read through some of my old papers and letters and journal entries.

The little excerpt I opened with was from my latest journal, the one that I am still writing in. I've been reading back over the blog lately, too. Secret Space. Penelopenosegirl. That's also a little embarrassing. Maybe embarrassing is the wrong word. It doesn't really have to do with anyone except for me. I'm not embarrassed that other people can read my ridiculousness. It's more like my current self wants to point and laugh a little bit at my old self, the self that wrote whatever entry I am making fun of. My old self is embarrassed. I guess that's the most accurate way to describe what I am feeling. And since I am, in fact both my old self and my current self, I am embarrassed.

I am the most embarrassed when I read things I have written that come from a place of passion. When I read something I wrote that has to do with something that I care about a good deal. When I read things that I have written that I actually care about I cringe. I think that's why the blog has been so funny to reread (not in the haha way, but in the strange/familiar/warm/cold way), because there haven't been many entries on this sucker that didn't come from a place of sincerity. Some of it is just nostalgia. Some of it is fun and neat to read back over, but some of it is something like embarrassment. That's still not the best word but I will keep using it.

Did I really ever say those things? Was I ever really that cheesy or over the top or immature or flighty? How could anyone take me seriously? I hate to read over things that come across trite or insensitive or naive. I hate to reread things that seem insignificant or just flat out wrong. I think I hate it so much because I know that all of these things I have written about meant a lot to me when I wrote them. They still mean a lot to me. My feelings may not be exactly as they were when I wrote the entry, but I've had this blog for a while, and it is both incredible and underwhelming, both inspiring and heartbreaking, both encouraging and embarrassing to read through these glimpses into pages of my life from the past few years.

I am thankful for this blog. I am thankful for this secret space that is slightly less secret than it was two years ago. I am also thankful that it is slightly less secret. I love alliteration and so I will keep the name forever, but reading through these entries fills me with hope and joy and possibility. One big old metaphor this blog is. Fitting. When I first started I don't even think anyone could look at my page, but me. Now, not only is it public, but I have a few followers. I wouldn't go too far, but I will say that I have a few more life followers these days than a few years back. Maybe it's not that I have a whole lot more followers than when I started, but I am infinitely more honest and vulnerable with the followers that I do have, the friends and family that I do have.

I am thankful for these followers, for these friends, for these life lines that keep me sane, that nudge me towards good things, towards life. I am thankful for outlets like this blog, that help keep me honest, or at least give me opportunities to be honest. My prayer is that I would keep writing and that I would keep reading and that I would keep coming to some place of embarrassment when I do reread, because I think that means growth, I think that means honesty and I think that means something close to healing, something close to letting someone, even if it's just myself, see and love and appreciate.

All of that said, I want to make a will. And I want to have it in there that my journal and all journals I have ever filled up are to be burned when I die.