More Than a Little Messy

I've always had a pretty healthy self-esteem.  My parents used to joke that I was my own best friend (although I'm pretty sure they were mostly serious and not actually joking).  I've kind of always marched to the beat of my own drum, sometimes to my detriment; and probably needless to say, I'm pretty quirky.

There have been a few people in my past who have gotten tired of who I am.  Because, as I have heard, "quirks are only endearing for so long."

And let me tell you - I have a lot of them.

I spill stuff.  All the time.  All over.  I don't purchase anything white.
I break things.  Usually meaningless things, but occasionally the priceless heirloom.
I lose things all the time.  The number of headphones I've purchased or house keys made...oy.
I laugh at things that no one else thinks are funny (and honestly, things that weren't meant to be).
I'm incredibly clumsy.  Trying to figure out where my bruises come from is almost a game.
I listen to audio books.
I dance.  There doesn't have to be music.
I quote movies.  Like...a lot of movies.  I pretty much have no original thoughts.
I listen to Disney soundtracks.
I cry a lot.  Happy, sad - it doesn't matter.  Tears.
I create food combinations like a pregnant woman.
I arrange my food and ketchup each individual fry.
I wear what I like, even if everyone else secretly (or not so secretly) thinks it's hideous.
I hug everyone.  Whether or not I know them.  Whether or not it's awkward.

I'm just weird.  And that's okay - I've always been this way, and frankly, I'm not ashamed of who I am. I like who I am, and I'm happy.

But I'm also human.  Which means every now and then, Satan reminds me that I'm not like everyone else.  Every once in a while, the thought crosses my mind that maybe I should act more like the people around me...try a little more to fit in.  I get frustrated with myself, wishing I could keep myself together.  Every date that doesn't work out, every eye rolled in my direction - there's a hateful little voice in the back of my head, suggesting that "perhaps, if you weren't such a weirdo, he would actually like you back."

To be honest, that's rough.  Everyone wants to be loved for who they are, not in spite of who they are. One of the best guys I know, my brother-in-law, told my sister that he wanted me to find a man who loved me for my quirks; who loved me, simply for being me.

The truth is, though, I've already found Him.  Christ made us in His own image.  He knows our quirks because He created them.

Let me say that again - He created them.

I was reading a parenting article (yes, as a single non-parent) the other day, and heard children described as, "God's creative miracles, uniquely designed with His intentionality."  It completely stunned me.  What an incredible depiction of how our Lord views us!  It was a beautiful reminder that I don't need to become something I'm not in order to fit in.  Because to Jesus, I'm just right - "always enough and never too much." * We don't have to defend ourselves to Him because He doesn't care what others think.  We matter because we are His.

So on hard days of feeling like a weirdo, when someone reminds me that I'm not like everyone else,  and when I'm tempted to conform to fit in, I am reminded to be who I am created to be.  And in case you're wondering?  God doesn't make mistakes.

I will continue living life as God made me - "bold, bright, beautiful, and maybe a little messy." *



* quotes from SoulScripts by Jordan Lee

A Lesson from Clarence

Two weeks ago, I moved.  To be clear, I don't love moving.  It's a big job, and unfortunately, involves transporting a lot of junk from one place to another.  But there's something about going into a new place, with all the potential that lies within.  I delight in starting with a blank room and turning it into a home.  I was excited about the potential, but not looking forward to the process--especially because it was one of the busiest times of year at work.  I was working on a year-end process and had a very tight deadline.  I wasn't sleeping well, I didn't have much of an appetite, and I sort of felt like I was drowning.

Suffice it to say, it was a stressful time and my roommate and I were both ready to pull our hair out.  But we made it...thanks to our friends.  I sent an email to my mom the day after the big move that read as follows:

Alex helped move most of my stuff from our old apartment to Jeff's house.

Megan and her family took the beast (my dog) on a 3 mile hike yesterday.  It was wonderful for him and the perfect amount of time for him to be gone.

Hannah and Sebastian took a car load over, packed up the rest of my room, took that over, and set up my bed before they left so that at least I would have a place to sleep when I crashed.  They also brought me coffee when they came back with the second carload.

Matt and Jeff (both after getting home from tour - Jeff was running on 75 minutes of sleep from the night before) helped move the stuff from their house to my new apartment, and then went back to the old apartment, packed up my entire kitchen, loaded up their cars to unload today, and took my key so they could finish up moving everything left today while I was at work (both my stuff and my roommate's stuff).  I also overheard Jeff telling [my roommate] that they live 3 minutes away - so if she ever needs anything to let them know.

Needless to say, I was in tears multiple times yesterday haha.  I am so blessed beyond belief - I don't even have words.  All I can say is, "my cup runneth over."  God is so good to bless me with friends such as these.

I've tried to find other words besides, "Thank you."  Nothing else seems sincere, but a mere "thank you" doesn't seem sufficient.  I must have said it a million times that day, maybe more.  

I felt very much like George Bailey in It's A Wonderful Life.  I watch this movie every Christmas, and every time Harry raises his glass to toast his big brother George - "the richest man in town,"  I tear up.  It's beautiful.  And for maybe the first time, I truly understood.  

"Atta boy, Clarence."

What is Love?

In church a few weeks ago, we were talking about Abraham, and how God told him to sacrifice Isaac, his son.  Can we back up and say that again?

God told Abraham to sacrifice his son.

Can you even imagine that request?  I certainly can't.  But without question, Abraham said yes to God's command.  What faith!  What trust!  I mean, this is Abraham we're talking about.  He didn't think he would ever even have kids--he was over 100 years old when Isaac was born!  Sarah was what, 99?  

And on that note, do you think he told Sarah what he was doing?  Do you think Abraham told Sarah, "Oh, and after you finish cutting up those carrots, do you think we can talk?  God wants me to kill our only son.  But no rush...just whenever you're finished."  (Privately, I feel that there is no way Abraham and Isaac would have set out that day if Sarah had any knowledge about what the plan was...)

So Abraham got up the next day...early.  As our pastor pointed out, why did Abraham get up early?  You know why.  I know why.  He got up early because that's what you do on significant days.  You can't sleep.

Abraham selected a knife.  Again, this is the knife with which he will sacrifice (kill) his one and only son.  I'm assuming he had multiple, but he chose one.  How do you select a knife for something like that?

Abraham packed his bag.  Abraham was a fairly wealthy fellow.  He had servants to pack his bag for him.  He didn't need to pack his own bag.  But Abraham had to do this one himself.  

And out they set.  God's Word says that Isaac asked questions.  How would you answer those if you were Abraham?

"Dad, why is there no sheep?  Are you hiding the sheep?  Is it waiting for us?  What are we going to sacrifice?  Aren't we going up to the mountain to sacrifice a sheep to God?  Where's the sheep?"

That had to have been the longest 3-day hike of Abraham's life.  And when they get to the top of the mountain, Abraham ties Isaac to the altar.  As he raises the knife to kill his son (his only son...whom he loves), God stops him.

"Don't lay a hand on the boy!"  As our pastor put it, never has a knife dropped so quickly.  Never had Abraham felt so incredibly relieved.

Overall, I don't think it was God telling Abraham to give up Isaac that bothered me.  God asks us to give things up--it always has a purpose, even when it's hard.  

I get that.

I think my issue came when Abraham was about to sacrifice Isaac and God told him to stop...and here's why:  God knew Abraham's heart.  He knew that Abraham would give up Isaac for Him.  So why test his loyalties and at the last minute say, "J/k!  Just wanted to see if you would!"?  You know what I mean?

I would walk through fire for the people I love--willingly and without question.  But if I did and then they said something like, "Oh, don't worry--just testing out your loyalties, bro!", I would have a huge problem with that.  I would feel so incredibly betrayed and taken advantage of.

So how did Abraham just go on about his business???

Seriously, I couldn't stop thinking it about it...for days.  I was talking through it with a friend, and I was explaining that I know God is good and loving.  My head knows that.  But my heart was having a hard time reconciling Abraham and Isaac because testing loyalties doesn't feel like "love" to me.  It feels sort of cruel, actually...

So talking it through, we came to a couple of conclusions:

1.  We don't know what Abraham's reaction was--the Bible doesn't tell us.  He may have been positively furious.  But...

2. (and more importantly) sometimes we don't understand God's love because we can't see the bigger picture.  Love isn't always an affectionate feeling (C.S. Lewis, anyone?).  It can feel harsh and almost cruel.  But in the end, it's for our own good.  Sometimes we just can't see that.

I guess where I've landed is, I don't understand why God asked Abraham to do what he did.  But I do know that God is all-loving, and God is all-good.  

All of the time.

A New Chapter

I moved this past weekend.  I moved from the suburbs into the city...and I love it.

I can walk to the park.
I can hear other people outside.
I can hear cars going by.
I can hear the neighbors through the walls (or floors, as the case may be).
I can smell city smells...both the good and the bad.
I can wake up and watch the sun rise over the skyline.

Basically, it's the peanut butter to my jelly.  It is glorious.

When plans to move were first in the works, I was very excited.  I still am.  But it's also a very thought-provoking time.

Moving into a new apartment with two girls and a dog, all of whom I barely (really, don't) know is maybe one of the scariest things I've ever done.  And why?  Because I am a control freak.

We've been talking a lot about fear during the messages at church.  My first thought was, "Well this is so good for fearful people.  Not me, though.  I'm not fearful."  But when I really got to searching, I realized that I try to control everything because of that very reason:  I am a fearful person.  I am scared.  All of the time.

Pete (my pastor) gave a short list of things that scare him.  Here are a few of mine:

• Asking for help (my favorite five words--"I've got it.  Thanks, though!")
• That something I have said/done or will say/do will cause someone to stop believing in my Savior...or to choose not believe in Him in the first place
• Clowns (this is a real thing)
• Becoming financially insecure
• Someday realizing that my time on Earth has been meaningless

And that's the short list.  All of these boil down to one thing, though--I am fearful of the unknown.  So what do I do?  I try to control it...and by "it", I mean everything.  Something Pete said stuck out at me as the core issue that I have.  I do not have a fear problem; I have a faith problem.  I try to control everything because I don't trust that God has it under control (spoiler alert: He does).  So instead of leaving it up to God to determine what is best for me, I bend over backwards to try to control things that I can't control anyway.

So starting today, I give up.  I am going to (attempt to) stop controlling things.  The bottom line is, in the end, God already knows what will happen.  And maybe, just maybe, I will find that I enjoy just living.  Maybe I will find that I enjoy not having to play God...because shockingly, God has that role filled.  Maybe I will be a happier person.  And maybe someday I will realize that God holds me in His hand--a place where no one can touch me.  

One thing is for sure--He has already blessed me in more ways than I can count...including adding two sweet girls and a precious little puppy to my life.

Seasons of the Soul

We all go through different stages of life.  

Some stages are easy - being 6 years old, for example.  You're old enough to dress yourself and think for yourself, but young enough for naps and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.  Other stages are harder.  I mean really, did anyone enjoy puberty?

I guess while I was growing up, I thought it would get easier.  Life would be easier when I could drive.  Life would be easier when I went to college.  Life would be easier when I had my own house, my own job, etc.  But I'm realizing how wrong that thought was.

Growing up isn't easy.  In fact, I would venture to say that it's just as hard as puberty, with its own quirks and queries.  There are different situations to go through, different bridges to cross, different questions to ask.  Perhaps the most painful part of growing, however, is pruning.  And I can tell you firsthand, pruning can hurt.  A lot.

I recently joined a small group of "creative adults".  This group of people is different than any other small group that I've ever been privileged to call myself a part of.  In this group, we ask real questions.  We share about real hurts we have.  We encourage each other.  We do life together.  God has truly blessed my life by putting these people in it.  

Last week, we were talking about Romans 11, and we got on the topic of our lives being pruned by God.  I never really understood what the pruning analogy meant until a few years ago.  One of my sister's friends has a rosebush in her yard, and her dad came over to trim it for her.  He cut a lot off of the bush.  By the time he was done, it looked like he had killed the rosebush.  There was so little of the bush left - it looked dead.  My sister said her friend was furious.  She had this big, beautiful rosebush, and her dad killed it.  The next season, though, the bush grew.  By the time it bloomed, it was bigger and more beautiful than ever before.

I think sometimes that's how I feel with God.  God prunes our rosebush lives, and to be honest, it hurts.  Sometimes it makes me furious with Him.  I want to ask Him, "God, what in the world do You think You're doing?!"  I want to beg Him to stop, to say, "Lord, what are You doing?  I'm dying.  I can't take any more."  Somehow, though, God pulls us through.  And sure enough - the next season brings a bigger and more beautiful rosebush.

Chris Tomlin has a song called "Faithful" that I think says it best:

You are there in every season of my soul

You are there, You're the anchor that will hold

You are there, in the valley of the shadows

You are faithful, God

God is faithful no matter what stage of life we're going through.  He's there through every season.  He has never let me down...not ever.  And if I'm honest, I don't think He ever will.

Blessings

This past Thursday, a very dear friend of my family passed away.  She was fifty-three years old. 

Fifty-three.

As I sit here, my heart is begging the question why.  Why her?  Why now?  Why not after her children are grown?  Why not someone who has lived their life?  Why not someone who was ready? 

Just...why?

I know that God is 100% knowing and 100% powerful.  I also believe that He is 100% loving.  So logically, I understand that there must be a reason for this.  A reason for everything. 

But logic doesn't appeal to matters of the heart.  And the more I thought about it, the angrier I became.  What right does God have to take away such a wonderful woman, mother, and friend?  Doesn't He know?  Doesn't He understand? 

I heard a song on the radio that caught my attention.  It's entitled Blessings by Laura Story.  The lyrics of the chorus are these:

'Cause what if Your blessings come through raindrops, what if Your healing comes through tears?
What if a thousand sleepless nights are what it takes to know You’re near?
And what if trials of this life are Your mercies in disguise?



As I listened to this song, I could feel my heart softening to the simple truths of these lyrics.  Because the fact is, I am not all-powerful, all-knowing, or all-loving.  I don't understand the things I have never experienced.  I don't know what tomorrow will bring, or even what I will cook for dinner tonight.  And I certainly don't understand why God brings suffering into our lives.  But God knows.  He understands why.  And for a moment, I considered...what if?  What if, Lord?  What if, instead of causing us absolute pain, You are  actually showing even greater compassion?

What if the trials of this life are Your mercies in disguise?

Neighborly Love

Yesterday was a long day at work.  It wasn't bad, just long.  I was supposed to meet up some friends for dinner, but I was just too tired.  My roommate had left for vacation and I planned on just putting on a movie and falling asleep.

And then my phone rang.

The neighbors on the other side of the duplex are two guys that my roommate and I are friends with.  One of the guys isn't moved in yet, and as we all work, the chance to get together had not presented itself. 

As I answered the phone, I have to admit--I inwardly groaned.  Hadn't I just turned down dinner with other friends?  All I desired of the evening was quiet relaxation and a very early bedtime.

It was my neighbor.  He and a mutual friend were at his side of the house and they wanted to give me a tour.  I figured how long could it take?  Sure, I would take a tour.  That could be fun.

He showed me around, pointing out different things.  His almost child-like excitement made me smile.  When we got to the kitchen, he mentioned that they were making a big dinner that night...and insisted I join them. 

We're neighbors now, he reasoned. 

So off they started on this meal, my neighbor and two of our friends.  We had chicken quesadillas, hamburgers, cheeseburgers, salad, noodles and cheese, soup...it was absolutely incredible. 

I cut up lettuce. 

That's it. 

When I tried to do more or asked what they needed help with, I was told to relax--they didn't need help with anything.  And after dinner, they cleaned up and did the dishes. 

I was truly in awe.  On this night when I was exhausted, I was presented with friends, an amazing dinner, and a cleanup crew.  I had to do virtually nothing.

The generosity.  The serving attitude.  A "thank you" did not seem sufficient for the gratitude I felt no matter how emphatically it was said.  As much as I've searched, I have found only one phrase that can sum up my evening:

I am blessed.  Thank you, Lord, for neighbors like mine.