I went seeking some clarity and solutions. I came home with neither, but I was still glad I went.

"There are lots of ways to tell this story. I can tell a perfect Christian salvation story, about God's hand and foreordainedness and teleology. In that story, the telos, the end to which everything has always been pointing, is Jesus, is the church, is the cross. That story tells of Jesus' dogged pursuit of me, of God's leading me through Judaism to Him, of everything matching and meeting and lining up just so I can say, ‘I had this dream about some mermaids, and it changed everything,’ and that would be true.

But there is another version of the story, one that is full of almosts and contingencies. Stop this story at any point and things look different. This story is harder to tell because it drips with more betrayal. It indicts. It reads more like a failure than a triumph. It is not the story of all the things that drew me to Christianity during my college years and before; it's the story of all the things that pushed me away from Judaism... This story is harder, the truth of it and the telling of it, but it's also true." Lauren Winner

That sounds right to me. I'm sure it's true for Lauren, and I see it in my life as well. It's not exactly like that; our four stories are not the same, but I can relate to her feeling that there are two sides to the same story. I have two stories, or maybe just one story, but I definitely have two sides to my story, one that I like to talk to people about, and one that I don't. I have the side I get excited to tell people about, the story where I was very  simply lost and found. The one where Jesus touched me and I responded. The one where I felt his love and my cold, hard heart melted away leaving something new, different, beautiful. That's the story that I'm comfortable talking about, for the most part. In this story I am moved by love. I am moved by the truth of the gospel. Those things all happened. Those things all are happening. Those things are all true.

But if that's how I told my story (and it often times is), that would be a lie. It would be a lie because it's leaving so much out. My story is not so pure. Don't let me fool you. My resistance, my apathy, my inconsistencies. There are so many things about this life, this world that I cling to, because I understand them, I know how to operate with those things in my life. This other side of the story isn't quite so simple. I am still moved, I am still found, I am still changed, but in the midst of those good things that I believe come from my father, I find comfort and identity in things that I can understand, smaller things, things that eat away at me. And I think he uses those things too. I don't think they go to waste. I don't think my first story loses any of it's merit because of these things, but I definitely don't like to talk about them and I am definitely becoming more and more painfully aware of these things. 

I like to talk about my cold, hard heart being melted away, and it was, but I don't talk about how it has to be melted and softened each and everyday, and some days I let it remain cold, some weeks, some months, I hope not years, but maybe. I talk about responding to Jesus' love, and that's true, it did happen like that, but I don't talk about the times that I don't respond. I don't talk about the times that I choose to ignore him altogether, I choose to walk away. 

I talk about how I once was lost. I talk about it like it was this thing that happened one day long ago. I talk about it like Jesus is my mom and I am a five year old that got separated from her at the mall. I was lost and it was pretty scary. I was scared and didn't know what to do. A mall cop found me in the food court and he paged my mom over the intercom to come claim me and then we were reunited and went home. But that's not what it's like. 

I feel lost at some point most days.

I just reread Girl Meets God, by Lauren Winner. I’m not a huge fan of the cheesy title, but I love, love, love her story and the way that she tells it. She feels refreshing to me, because she feels honest. She feels sincere. She doesn't always say what you might expect an author that you find in the Christian section of Barnes and Noble to say, but I think that's part of the reason I enjoy reading her so much. I appreciate her honesty. I appreciate her struggle. I appreciate the fact that she tells her story with no apologies. I think it's great. I think her honesty about her brokenness strengthens her story, her testimony. I reread this book before reading her new book that just came out, Still. She's got a few others out there too, and I just like her. I like how she writes and I typically really like what she has to say. 

Sometimes, I get scared that if I let myself be too honest about where I am, how I'm feeling, how I'm doing, and how I got here I might discover something that I don't like. What I've noticed while reading Ms. Winner's books these past few months is that I don't have to be so scared. It's off-putting, yeah, but more and more I am beginning to see how valuable an accurate, or at least a more accurate view of my sin is. I pray that Jesus would show me the darkness in my heart. I pray that he would show me the fundamental defect of my heart's condition. Show me, really show me the gross stuff, the things about myself that I don't like, that I hate, that I despise; show them to me. I want to see them. I want to know that they're there. As long as I am alive, I want to remember that they are there, that I am on a very basic level tarnished, because without that knowledge I forget how very much I need my savior. I like the idea of honesty in regards to my heart, because if I am always honest about my condition, than I'll always have to be honest about my need, my fundamental dependancy on grace. 

And it's freeing. When I'm honest about my condition, I don't always have to be right, I can't always be right. When I'm honest about my condition, I don't have to have all the answers, I don't have to have any answers. When I'm honest it becomes less about me and more about someone who is right, who does have the answers. Who would have thought that becoming less self-absorbed would feel so therapeutic? I didn't. At the end of the day, it just isn't about me. How do I always forget that?

Moving forward, I will pray once again what I prayed a post or two ago. Jesus, show me my sin, and Jesus, show me you. Show me that I am so bad that you had to die for me, and show me that I am so loved that you were glad to die for me. Let that never become something that I just say. Let that always bring me to a place of awe. 

Grace unending all my days, you'll give me strength to run this race.

I like it here. In this one place. Other places like the future, the past, and potential pasts and futures are pulling at me, trying to take my focus off of this one place. But for the first time in a long time, I am very content with where I am. I like it here. I don't want to be here forever, but I feel a sense of wonder and possibility as I sit here and look forward. I don't feel anxious. I don't feel sad. I don't feel unprepared. I only feel thankful for this one place and expectant that the next place will come and that is will be great, it will be necessary, it will be for my betterment. There is so much about my life right now that is not for sure. Seriously, I have absolutely no idea what my life will look like a year from now, two years from now, three years from now. The farther out I go, the hazier things get. I don't know where I will be, what I will be doing, or who I will be doing things with. Can you believe that doesn't scare me to death? I can't. It is wild how he hasn't given me anything that I wasn't ready for, and it's even more wild how he knows me better than I know myself. He knows when I am ready; often times I don't.

Can we take a minute to talk about that. Christian bubbles love to tell you that, "God will not give you anything that you can't handle." There probably is truth in that. I think that God loves us a whole lot. I think he gives us things that seem both good and bad, out of that love. I'm not really positive exactly what it means to be able to "handle" something, but I think I can get on board with the statement that, "our heavenly father will not give us anything that we are not capable of doing or learning from; he won't give us anything that's not good for us." That seems obvious. What is becoming more and more obvious to me is this: he may never give me more than I can handle, but he does push me, he does give me things to handle. It might not be more than I can handle, but sometimes it feels like exactly the amount of X I can have without having X become something unhealthy, without having X become something it shouldn't be.

This idea of God not giving me more than I can handle has always been something I have found comfort in, but I also hid behind it. It gives me an out. More recently God has been showing me how very true his promises are. I don't have to worry about tomorrow or the next day. I don't have to live in stress and anxiety. I don't have to be hard and guarded and sarcastic all of the time. I may not know what I'm doing with my life or even with next semester, but I am confident in the fact that he tells me he will always provide for me, care for me; he will always love me well. I am very sure of that. As I have grown in my understanding of what it means for Jesus to promise not to leave me, I have discovered that where there was once fear, peace now resides. Where there was once stress and anxiety, wonder and possibility are now abounding. Where self-doubt and sheer terror once ruled, surety of my ability to meet God's plans for me now reign.

I am not sure of a lot of things, but I am learning to be content with that. I am learning to hold on to things bigger than my plans. I am learning that part of the ride is just sitting back and appreciating the current view. I am learning how to enjoy the ride more and more. Nothing about the ride is perfect, but there is so much for me to learn right here and right now.

I cannot make it & I cannot break it & I can't afford it, but it's mine.

How I would love, love, love for my job to be filling up pages with ink each and every day. A lot of times I get nervous that I'm not going to have things to say, but that has never happened. I may not always have words to speak, but for as long as paper and pens exist, I will have things to write.

My fear shouldn't be that I will have a lack of things to write about, but instead that I may not particularly like the things I have to say. A lot of times when I get going, I find that the things I have to say scare me or make me uncomfortable. So often the things that come out challenge me and stretch me in a way that I don't always like. It's like the more stuff I get down, the more I realize that there are so many things inside of me waiting to get out, but I'm also reminded more and more of my brokenness, my inability to fix that brokenness and my needs - my need of salvation, my need of grace, my need of help, my need of the cross.

My church had a really awesome Ash Wednesday service on Ash Wednesday (duh). We sang songs, and read scripture. I love things like that. I love when there is built in time for reflection and introspection. I love that solemn, almost heavy feeling; not all the time, but every now and then.

Ash Wednesday is the beginning of Lent. In between the songs and the readings there was a little mini sermon. There was a lot of goodness and truth tucked into that little guy. So much. I walked out of that place feeling like I had a renewed understanding of the meaning of Lent.

I could plagiarize the whole sermon and I might do a half decent job of getting the points that were made across. Probably not, but maybe. I'm not going to do that. I'm sure the whole thing is somewhere on CTK's website if someone is really interested. Instead, I will recap the most simple part, the part that challenged me the most. We got a little bit of the history of Lent in the church, what it means, represents, and then came the simple little challenge.

"Pray this during Lent," Geoff said. "Lord, show me my sin and show me my savior."

Show me my sin and show me my savior. Simple and pure. It hit me hard though. God, show me my sin and show me my savior. Lord, show me my sin and show me my savior. Show me that I utterly and desperately need salvation. Show me my wretchedness. Show me my depravity. Show me my fundamental need for you. Show me my ugliness. And on top of all of those things, show me your grace. Show me your son. Show me the cross. May my heart's condition and my inability to change my heart's condition always point me back to the cross, to hope, to eternity. Jesus, in this season, in this time to reflect on your life and what your existence means in our lives today, show me my sin, and Jesus show me my savior.

Tender & Truthful.

Sad. Fruitful. Broken. True. 


I love words. They can be so powerful, so beautiful. There is so much potential in words. I get the same feeling from reading a beautifully written paragraph that I get when I listen to a good song. It can fill me up, give me hope; words have the ability to stir things, to enhance already existing feelings, even if I don't really want them too. 


2011 ends today. EEEEEEEE Ashley is getting married! One of my best friends got engaged yesterday or the day before. I don't know one of those days. They are all running together. This life is moving more and more quickly, it seems. I'm not always sure how to keep up with it. It's speeding. I want to soak it up. I want to be brave in the time I am given. I want to remember the things that matter; I want to dwell on those things. I want to love better. I want to be more kind. I want to be wise in the choices I make. 


I've never really done new years resolutions. Mainly because I've never really understood why there is this huge hype around January 1st. January 1st doesn't change things. I like to think that we can change things any day. There is nothing wrong with striving to be something better, to change, but there is also nothing magical about starting a new year. If I believe what I say I do, then I have to believe that people can change. I do believe that people can change. I guess I've always just been uncomfortable with new years resolutions, because I get this feeling that people think they can only start over when the calendar does. 


Well, I was thinking about all of this yesterday, and so in an attempt to maintain my anti-new-year-resolution-persona, I made some December 30th resolutions. Just kidding. I think resolutions are great. I think goals are good. Things to reach for are a good thing. 


I want to be softer, more tender, more kind. I want to smile more. I want to love better. I want to feel things more deeply. I guess I'll sum it up with tenderness. I like that word. I think it includes a lot of things that wouldn't really describe who I am today. I want to feel warm to people. So there it is. Tenderness. 


Honesty. One of my other, non engaged friends and I were talking the other day about relationships. All kinds of relationships. We talked about honesty and how it can be hard sometimes. I don't tend to flat out lie to people a lot. That's not really a struggle of mine (although I have done it), but I do have a hard time being honest with myself sometimes and with God. 


It's important that I take time to process, reflect, talk, dig. It's important that I do that on my own, and it's important that I have people who will help me do that. It's important that I have people who won't take ____ from me. I don't tend to straight out lie to people, but I will gloss over things, I will beat around the bush, I will make things look just a little bit more pretty than they actually are. I want to be honest. I want to be truthful. We half-jokingly, half-not made comments like, "2012 is going to be all about honesty." I like that idea of that. 


Tenderness and truthfulness. 
Truthfulness and tenderness. 


I have a long, long list of things I'd like to change someday. Right now I'm thinking about tenderness and truthfulness. Who would have thought I'd ever go for the two word exercise on my own. Looks like people really can change. 

Remember spring swaps snow for leaves.

"I know the sad feeling; it's strange that reality can take so long to hit us and when it does, boy does it hit hard...The change is scary and uncomfortable but I know that it has to happen, that it is good that it is happening, that God has plans for us, and that things always have to change if we're going to move forward to meet those plans." Erin Helmly


Phew. That was hard for me to stomach. That was hard for me to hear. Erin wrote that to me a while ago and it was hard to hear then. I just rediscovered it the other day and it hit me all over again. I am thankful for people in my life that see things differently than I do. I am thankful for people with different perspectives and different life experiences. I am thankful that I have people that can speak truth into the areas of my life that I cannot see clearly. I am thankful for the people in my life that tell me what I need to hear and not just what is easy to tell me. That was hard for me to hear, but it was good. It was right. It is right. I want to move forward to meet the plans God has for me, and things do have to change in order for that to happen. So I guess, in a roundabout way, I do want change to come. You wouldn't know that by the way I typically do things, but I know deep in me somewhere I want change to come. At least I know that I want to want it. 


But really, I fight change like it's my job. Any kind of change. I'm not exactly sure why or where it comes from. I'm sure there's some deeply rooted disfunction going on somewhere inside of me that I will explore one day, but right now all I know is that change terrifies me. There is hard change, like saying goodbye to someone or letting go of someone. There is easier change, like moving from one semester to the next, changing my schedule and what my day to day looks like. I know I've written about this before, my tendency to avoid change at pretty much any cost. I guess you could say it's a theme in my life. I think it's good for that theme to be challenged. I know it's unhealthy and I know I don't want to be like this forever, but I feel a disconnect between that desire and the ability to take action, to actually change it. 


It comes down to my desire to be in control. It comes down to my lack of faith. It comes down to the fact that I don't always believe what God says is true. 


Romans 8:28 
And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose. 


Jeremiah 29:11
"For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future."


These two little gems are ingrained in my brain. Thanks Wesleyan. They are where my mind went when I started thinking about God working for my best interest. These two pieces of scripture are written on my heart, but they don't always feel true. It doesn't always feel like things are being made new, and good, like I have hope for a better future, and that is not always easy to ignore or overlook. The fact that he tells me he's working everything together for my good, the fact that he's working everything together to prosper me; why doesn't it always feel like that? What's worse is that it's so much bigger than just me. I can't look at the city I live in and see a whole lot of good being made from bad. There are so many people without a future, without hope. 


I know that I don't yet see the whole picture. I know that there's no way I could know all of the ways he is working and redeeming and making things right. I know that right now I see things like a child, like a poor reflection in a mirror and one day I will see face to face. I know that he's the weaver, not me; he's the one working all of this together to make us better, stronger, more like him, to bring justice to the world. I have this insane notion that I could do a better job if he would give me a shot. Give me the wheel for just a little while and I will make things right, at least for myself and the people around me that I love. I will make things better, happy. It sounds really dumb when I type it out, but you'd be surprised how good I am at rationalizing these things in my brain.


Things don't always feel like they are being made right, new, better. I can't always look at the painful things in my life and see the ways that Jesus is using them to bring me closer to his heart. I can't always see the ways that he is working, but I trust that he is. It doesn't always feel like the plans he has for me are good, but I trust that they are. Things don't always seem fair or just, but I trust that they will be, that he is bringing justice. 


This week has felt long. This week has felt exhausting. This week has felt overwhelming. Parts of this week have felt hopeless. Parts of this week have felt painful. Parts of this week I have felt alone and small and confused. I've come to realize that my feelings aren't always reality. They are real because I feel them, but they don't get to win, they don't get to rule in my heart. I feel these things and they seem so big in the moment, but they're just not. I am not hopeless. I am not alone. I am not small. I am not without a bright future to look towards. I believe these things, and I am thankful for people, like Erin, who speak truth into the areas of my life that I cannot see clearly, who point me back to Truth when I get distracted by my feelings.


I am loved perfectly.
I am redeemed. 
I am pursued hard everyday.
I am made new.
I never have to be without rest and peace.
I am a daughter of the king.
I never have to be without comfort.
I am forgiven. 
I have deep, deep hope.

Hey brother, we're all learning to love again.

your poker face ain't fooling nobody, nobody here

we've all felt the flame and she'd those same tears

driving home to a one man hell, still counting years, still counting years
hey brother we're all learning to love again
'cause that was the real you running through the fields of gold wide open
standing in places no picture contains
that was the real you, windows down, we could smell the mint fields crying
sing with the radio to a song we can't name
that was the real you saying, "maybe I'm not too young to be a cowboy."
hey brother, we're all learning to love again

hey brother, we're all learning to love again

making up your bed that day on a foreign floor between foreign walls
thinking 'bout the words you'd say to a phone that never calls
feel the weight of your father's ring and all those dreams, and all those
dreams
singing, hey brother, we're all learning to love again
'cause that was the real you running through the fields of gold wide open
standing in places no picture contains
that was the real you, windows down, we could smell the mint fields crying
sing with the radio to song we can't name
that was the real you saying, "maybe I'm not to young too be a cowboy."
hey brother, we're all learning to love again

I know you like i know my reflection
walking on the water 'cross an ocean of desire
everyone I know is looking for protection
trying to pull down your hometown 'cross a telephone wire
'cause that was the real you standing there in the shape of your body
fear don't know no love when we're all the same
that was the real you looking back across the water
tears falling like rain drops, rippling against the shame
that was the real you singing hallelujah, looking down a barrel
hey brother, we're all learning to love again
hey brother, we're all learning to love again

-MK

We're all learning to love again. I love that. I know I'm learning to love again, but it's not just me. We've all felt the flame and shed those same tears. All of us.

Today I read out of a devotional book that a sweet person gave me for my birthday. The first line read, "Focus your entire being on my living presence." I also read a little more more of Mark today. It was talking about how no one knows when the last day will be. The angels don't know, the Son doesn't know, the Father is the only one that knows. It talked about staying alert and being on your guard for that day.

Focusing all of me on Him sounds like a lot. If I'm honest, it sounds impossible. Being alert, being on my guard all of the time sounds about as possible to me as focusing all of my being on God's living presence. It sounds good. It sounds like something I'd like to do, but it sounds huge and unattainable.

I started thinking about the people in my life. I was thinking about the people that God has given me, my community, my world. In a lot of ways the people that I do life with are my world. They make up my days. They fill my time. The speak to me, build me up, tear me down, give to me and take from me. I started thinking about ways that I might focus on Jesus in those relationships.

That might be easy to do when we all love each other the way that we should, the way that we were made to. If we all perfectly reflected God's love to one another, it might be easy to focus on him all of the time. God placed us in relationship with one another and I know that is the way it is supposed to be, because I trust that he knows best, but I feel set up sometimes. I feel set up to be let down. There is potential for greatness in those relationships, but that potential seems overshadowed by our inevitable failure to love perfectly. We are bound to hurt one another. We are bound to fail to do the things we ought to do. What am I supposed to do with that?

I made a list of people in my life and the ways that they hurt me; it was easy to do.

I feel... failed, neglected, lied to, belittled, ignored, unimportant, distant, overlooked, misunderstood, pigeonholed. The list goes on. I feel all of those things, but more than that I realize that I have made others feel that way. I have been distant. I have been cold. I have been inconsistent. I have lied. I have been immature. I have been discouraging. We've all hurt someone. We've all done these things. We all do these things every day. We're all learning to love again.

It seems like a distraction. The ways in which I am let down and the ways that I let others down feels like a distraction. How can I be pointed in the right direction in those things? That is not a picture of how Christ loves me. That is not a reflection of this perfect love. Don't get me wrong, I have great friends. I have great people in my life that do love me well. I just mean that no one is perfect. No one can love perfectly, and I have felt tension there. If no one can love perfectly, then how am I supposed to be alert, and how am I supposed to focus all of me on all of him?

The more I've thought about it, the more I've realized that those times are beautiful opportunities. Opportunities that I so seldom choose to take. In A's failure, Jesus succeeds. In B's neglect, Jesus tends to my every want and need. In C's lies, Jesus is truth. In D's distance, Jesus is always with me. In E's inconsistencies, Jesus is constantly pursuing me. In each and every worldly letdown, my savior fills me. He steps in where my world steps out. He completes the things that those I love cannot. He cares for me. He loves me so well. So well. He wants what is best for me, and I trust that. I believe that. I will hold on to that. I will find rest in that. I will find freedom and joy there. That's where it's at, yo.

No one has is all down. We're all learning to love again. If we're living and we're honest, we're all experiencing pain and we're all causing pain. I wouldn't ask for that to change, because those are the times that we learn, that we grow. I would just ask for the capability to not let those opportunities slide by. I want to take advantage of opportunities to see my father's greatness, his perfect love, his perfect pursuit of me. I never want to overlook that. I never want that to become trite.

"... but the end is still to come."

Mark 13:5-8

Jesus said to them: "Watch out that no one deceives you. Many will come in my name, claiming, 'I am he,' and will deceive many. When you hear of wars and rumors of wars, do not be alarmed. Such things must happen, but the end is still to come. Nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom. There will be earthquakes in various places, and famines. These are the beginning of birth pains.

The end is still to come. I want to live each day as if I actually believed that. I want to live each day with the hope of an end far greater than anything I could imagine. When things hurt, when I am angry, when I am frustrated or upset, I want to be pointed back to this truth: the end is still to come.

It's hard to live with that perspective. I can't even imagine a beautiful end to such a messy story, my story. I see things in me that I don't like. I hate the things about myself that hold me back from loving well, that keep me from being honest, that push me into fear, that take away my joy, my hope. These things seem big. They seem overwhelming in the sense that I can't understand them fully and also in the sense that I can't fix them. I can't make them better. I look at the things within me that hold me back, and I want to give up. I want to call it quits, because there is no way I am going to figure out how to handle those things, and even if I did, there's no way I could manage the pain that would be necessary to do that.

That sucks. I really hate that. I really hate that a lot. That feeling of hopelessness. That feeling of weight pushing down on me. That feeling is there. It's there and more than anything I want to deal with it. I don't want it to go away without me learning from it. I want to be better because of it. I don't want it to go to waste. And I don't think it will.

I don't think that a single tear goes unused. I think that our God is bigger than that. I think that he knows what's best for me. I have hope in that. Even in the midst of pain, there is hope that our hurt can make us more like Jesus. When things don't play out in my timeline, when I seem to be failing over and over again to do what I so desperately need to do, when that last little sliver of hope seems to be fading away, I want to remember that the end is still to come. God, I want to remember that on my darkest days, because that makes me want to be brave. That makes me want to trust in eternal things, and not just what I can see now. That makes me want to smile. That is where my joy is found. That is where peace is. That is where the strength to do good, to do right has to come from.

I get the image from the Passion of the Christ when Jesus' foot comes down on the serpent's head. I want to hold on to that image, always.

The end is still to come. I know that. I know it, and I really do believe it. I really do. I want to believe it with the choices that I make everyday. I have so much to hope in, so much to look forward to, so much to be thankful for. The end is still to come and the end is just the beginning. How cool is it that I get to know that? How comforting is it that I get to be a part of that end? I am thankful for that comfort. I am thankful for the confidence that I can find in that truth.