pursuing peace

joy?

2009-07-02T12:14:00.004-05:00

I haven't written on here lately, not because I have not been writing, but because I have been using a different medium. Tim gave me a gift, a typewriter, for putting my thoughts to the page in a more tangible form of expression than the world of cyberspace. The typewriter is the perfect mix of handwriting and typing... you still physically put the words on the page without the fatigue that comes from writing it out by hand. It's pretty awesome, especially because I love tangible things.

Joy. One very un-tangible thing. And something that I do not understand most days.

Here is what I wrote on my typewriter last week....

As I walked downstairs to my room, I pondered this question:

On a given day, that is free from tragedy or extreme ecstasy, I can choose to think about hundreds of wonderful things or many terrible things about life.

Today, I want to think about wonderful things. In spite of a particularly negative thought that plagued me in the kitchen. Our softened water dries out my hair.

I think things like softened water make me waste that happier days we are given in life. The days where nothing terrible has happened... the days where I am given a choice... a choice of joy or something more depressing.

I want to know what it means to be a joyful person. That eludes me. It is a difficult concept for me, because the days I need it most are the days I desire it the least. Days where I am so destroyed emotionally, I can't even imagine happiness.

Definition. I think most people would say I'm confusing joy and happiness. Then what is joy?

Is it really something like peace, trust?

....So that was a typewriting entry, but I have still continued to think about joy. I think it is funny that on the very same day something wonderful happens to you, on a day where a prayer is answered in a big way... you can still be a little down in the dumps in the very same breath of thankfulness.

A little disconcerting, isn't it? That was me yesterday. A big prayer was answered for Tim and I. We now know where we live and work and serve. We were ecstatic. And yet, I still found things to be a little annoyed with, a little afraid of, a little doubt.

You don't expect an attack on a happy day. Where's the joy?

Obviously, joy doesn't come from me. I know it comes from God. And I need to ask Him for it. Trust in Him, in the middle of difficult days, or even just boring days.

It reminds me of my early understanding of the fruit of the spirit. I considered the fruits as a list of things that I could put on my wall and check off daily. Gentleness, check. Peace, check. Self-control, half-check. Goodness, fail. I was very sad that I couldn't seem to have a day full of fruit. More often than not my vine of self-works was a bit shriveled.

Finally I heard the truth... these fruits are not of yourselves, God grows them in you. So, since joy happens to be on that list, why did I ever come to think it was about me? It is God working in me if there is anything on that list present in my life, why don't I ask Him more often?

"These things I have spoken to you, that My joy may remain in you, and that your joy may remain full." John 15:11

That sounds like a joy worth having. It is real. It is Jesus. Jesus, please give me Your joy. Please take away the selfishness and sadness inside of me. You are my Joy, You are my Peace.

to know and be known

2009-06-11T19:21:00.003-05:00

Sometimes I go crazy. Well, that's hyperbole. I've got this issue, and I recently diagnosed myself. It has something to do with thinking I'm an artist and something to do with being a writer. I simply must write in order to think clearly.

It doesn't matter if I write about what is bothering me or stressing me out, to write is the thing. To be able to clearly lay out my thoughts in precise or meandering sentences. To know that my paragraph has made sense of myself to me, and hopefully to others.

Writing is a way that I express my desire to be known and understood. I think everyone desires this. I think that is why we need community, as I wrote about earlier. And because we desire to be known, we do crazy things to get attention (think of yourself, celebrities, and jr. highers).... attention that we ultimately want from a God who feels far away.

It is strange to think that I am small. That I live on an earth so big, I cannot be seen from space. And this earth cannot be seen from other galaxies. Yet, there is a God. He created me, and He knows my every thought. He created me to know things by five senses, and yet I cannot see or feel Him. But He also gave me a soul, and my soul knows that He exists when I cannot touch Him. He created me to desire Him, and I will spend eternity with Him.

Sometimes these thoughts overwhelm me with their beauty, and sometimes I get caught up in my smallness and forget them. But the God who is greater than anything I can sense or imagine knows my soul. I belong to Him. I am known, and I am loved.

community: mercy

2009-06-11T18:43:00.006-05:00

Last week was about me. I prayed for me. I thought about me. I dreamed about me-centered things. On one of those days I woke up grumpy. No surprise, I had me for breakfast.

My mom asked me to go to the store for... I think it was flour. I had a decision to make: Jewel or Dominicks? I chose Jewel for three deep and compelling reasons.

1. There are self-checkout lanes

2. I didn't want to talk to anyone

3. I hadn't showered

So, I jumped into the family van and drove to Jewel thinking about what a bad person I was. I was deliberately avoiding human contact, and I wasn't going to change.

I walked through Jewel successfully avoiding any howdydo's and stood by myself scanning the flour.

"Do you play soccer?"

I was startled to see an employee named Slavisa standing twelve inches or so from my face.

"Uh, yes I do," I said. The correct answer would have been, "I'm a has-been as of Winter 2009" but let's not argue over the details.

Slavisa and I proceeded to have a two minute conversation about soccer, and how we both don't like getting hit in the face with the ball. I left Jewel and laughed as I got into the family van and thanked God for Slavisa. Despite all my machinations, God decided I would have a conversation with someone, shower or no.

My Jewel adventure got me thinking about community. I often think of it as church potlucks, parties, soccer games, and picnics. But it is more. Community is scary because it means people get to see the real you, true community strips past the social facades we erect to keep people from knowing who we really are.

God knows we need to be with people. God knows I need to be with people. God uses people to show us how much we need Him, and God uses people to show us how much He loves us.

I realize that I avoid community because it takes work, and it can be messy. It takes love and sacrifice, mercy and patience.

I want to be willing to serve people whenever God desires, sometimes it so hard.... when I've been thinking about me especially. When I'm focused on me, it is harder to give other people grace, or the time of day. Lately, to help, I have been thinking about this verse:

"Therefore be merciful, just as your Father also is merciful." Luke 6:36

This verse helped me understand again that loving people and working in community is hard, and it requires mercy. Since I know the lavish amounts of mercy God has bestowed upon me, I can ask Him to help me give other people love and mercy without measure.

And once I start conciously giving mercy to others, and praying for mercy, I realize how much mercy I recieve daily. Sometimes I am overwhelmed by the goodness of the Lord I serve.

If you need a passage of scripture to help you pull your head out of the ground, I suggest Luke 6. It worked for me... but really, you'd have to ask somebody in my community if it helped.

Give love, give mercy, live in community.

poetic honesty

2009-05-12T18:14:00.010-05:00

I have this problem. It's hard for me to tell people what my poems mean. Someone asks me what the poem means and I freeze. I think, "It says what it means. It's all there."

I quickly realize that I have written a poem... and poems are usually a little unintelligble if they didn't spring from your own mind.

Once I see, then I begin to hedge and hem. "This poem is not really about me, it's a character... a figment of my dark imagination." This is a lie that I have told one too many times.

So to all of you who have been befuddled by my lines, and more confused by my explanation of them, here is a better explanation for one of my poems that I have been reluctant to own until I admitted that it was, indeed, my child at our show on Saturday night.

I will write out the poem, and explain at the end.

----------

Chamomile

Lonely with my romance books

From my mirror despising looks

Chamomile, my constant friend

Lay me down at the days end

Corduroys

Holes in the legs

Coffee cups

Drained to the dregs

Faded books

Lining ledge

All my life

Never had edge

To my room, alone in bed

Things unsaid torment my head

Chamomile, my constant friend

Lay me down at the day's end

Lavender

On my pillow

Winter wind

At my window

Darkest night

Will slowly grow

Purposes

I hardly know

Long lost dreams will take their toll

Tease my heart and rend my soul

Chamomile my constant friend

Lay me down at the day's end

----------

I didn't want to own up to this poem at first, because I didn't feel like it accurately described me in the present time. I am not lonely for love, or purposeless. I am marrying my best friend, and I know what my purpose is... to serve Christ and seek His kingdom. Because of these things, I distanced my self from my creation in interpretation, and only conceded that yes, I became a chamomile drinker in 5th grade.

I wondered if I was writing something that was too far outside of myself, something I didn't know, and I continued to tell people that it wasn't about me, it was some of my characteristics projected onto another character. "Please, don't worry about me."

Then, on Saturday, it clicked. A month after writing it, I realized that "Chamomile" is adolescent Abby. When I moved to California from Illinois, I was desperately lonely, and questioned many things about life. I was an avid reader of Jane Austen and the Bronte sisters (romance books) and I fell in love with the calming effects of chamomile tea. I wanted to be loved, and I watched others date and enjoy popularity in sadness.

Yet, despite all this there was happiness in my life. I wasn't completely joyless. But sometimes you can't be happy if you don't confront the grief, madness, and pain in your life. You can ignore it, but it's still there. It's part of being fallen.

There is freedom for me in accepting these things and giving them to Christ. He can heal me from the sickness I inherited at birth. It is important for me to own up to my own shortcomings even if it makes other people feel uncomfortable. If I don't confess the fact that I came from darkness, and now I am a child of light, of what use am I? My danger is that I will allow my Christian background to disguise the fact that I died and Christ lives in me. Knowing my weakness allows me to see the strength of Christ. There is no other way.

The lonely, crazy Abby is daily dying again to Christ. My flesh is fallen, but Jesus in His grace is sanctifying me. This is my story, of my Jesus I will sing.

love's roar

2009-04-28T10:06:00.005-05:00

I just wanted to share a poem that recently became the lyrics for a song Tim and I recorded together. The poem came out of a time of weakness a couple weeks ago. I hope you enjoy it.

You said love, You said peace
My eyes saw stains upon my heart
You said there's grace, You said I'm free
And still I stay, and still I grieve

I knocked myself down to the floor
Before You could raise me up
You stretched Yourself, Your tendons tore
And still I lay there, bruised and sore

I draw my lids, and scar my mind
I lose myself, I weep and cry
Why do You care, will I still find?
You thunder, roar, and yet are kind?

I do not know You, I said I did
I claimed Your name and said forgive
I rise and seek my sins to rid
And still I'm weak, and still I live

You said it's finished, I changed your name
Your sins forgot, your sins are gone
Why don't you trust, your life is mine...
I am Love, My roar divine.

If you want to hear the song for these words you can go to our myspace.
http://myspace.com/timothyandabigail

humble love

2009-04-20T09:48:00.005-05:00

Last week it felt like my sins and struggles were delivered to me on a platter. A platter with dead carcasses and flies. Dirty flies.

I could hardly bear it. It is much nicer to have makeup on when you look at the mirror to your soul. Unfortunately for pride and ego, that mirror strips past your facades and shows your wretched nakedness. All your glory, all your stains.

My prayers were full of "I need Yous" and "Please." I realized, re-realized that I need God in the most desperate of ways. I was faced with my weakness and I prayed more fervently than I had in a long time.

The amazing thing was, in my weakness, I felt closer to God than I had felt in a while. I realized that He was using my desperate, despairing, dumpiest of days to draw me closer to Him. I was seeking Him hourly, rather than for a fifteen minute debrief once a day. And all the while, I knew that this crazed seeking was not of my own doing... it was God's work. I was humbled, please keep me humble Lord.

God also showed me how easy it is for me to love something other than Him. I love someone on earth so deeply, I am afraid to love God more. I worry that allowing God to take the throne, and knock out my idols, will destroy me. I become enraptured with the things of this earth, and the loves of the present... and I forget that I will never love those dearest to me the way God loves them... if I don't love Him first.

But this is painful. But it is good. Open heart surgery. I give God all of my heart, and He allows me to love others the way He does. The way is narrow, and few find it.

Take my weaknesses Lord, use them as You wish. Keep me humble, please don't let me go. Take my heart, my love is Yours.

straitjacket

2009-04-14T23:08:00.002-05:00

I am constantly unconciously categorizing things in my own crazy i-think-i'm-an-artist way. This is beautiful, haunting, moving, repulsive, crazy. This is do-able, this is impossible. This is possible for some, out of the question for me, etc., etc. I place constraints on myself and others based on how well I understand the situation based on my experiences and knowledge.

The most unfortunate of straitjackets is the one that I put on God.

I underestimate His power.

I give out straitjackets based on my comfort level and knowledge of the situation. I realize that my knowledge and understanding of God is limited and finite... I am always trying to re-box Him when He tears apart the wrapping paper.

But this is not the God I serve. He is not tame, He cannot be conquered intellectually any more than He can be conquered physically or spiritually.

These mis-understandings cause confusion in my theology, they allow me to both doubt my salvation and think I have done something to earn the salvation I think I have lost. A funny couple. Of course I will doubt a salvation I have earned myself, the Lord knows I have done nothing to deserve it. Filthy rags, filthy rags.

My religious legalism wraps its tentacles around my mind, and tries to put a leash on the power of God. I think that I must do certain things to be pleasing to Him.

Then it happens... my secret sin knocks on my door, I let it in. Suddenly, my forgiving Savior becomes a dictator bent on revenge. I am afraid of Him. I plead for forgiveness and feel like I cannot be forgiven. I mentally brow-beat myself, and drag myself through the dirt. Is this yet another form of pride, a pride that thinks my self-hate will somehow gain forgiveness?

If I feel terrible enough, maybe He will forgive.

This is not Jesus, this is someone created in my own head. Jesus died on the cross to save me from the sins of yesterday, today, and tomorrow. No amount of confession or self-loathing will bring about my salvation. He lavishes grace upon my life, and forgets my sins when I ask for forgiveness the first time.

Why is it so hard to accept His love? I am continually missing the God who is there, who walks beside me, carries me, the Savior who never lets me go.

Lord, let me know Your love. Let me feel Your presence. Give me grace, help me give grace to others. Please open my blind eyes, and let me see Your lovely face. I love You.

does it sink in?

2009-04-10T11:39:00.003-05:00

Good Friday. A day we specifically remember Jesus' death on the cross. It is strange to think of what it would have felt like to be there on the first Good Friday... a day that was anything but good living in the midst of it.

The perfect Man, the Healer, the Teacher... the Innocent is falsely tried and hanged on a tree. The darkness of that injustice, the darkness in the hearts of His followers. They had dropped everything for the last 3 years, to follow Jesus, the Son of God. Now this?

I wish I better understood the cost, the price that Jesus paid for my life. Sometimes I get a glimpse of it. when I realize the depth of my own sins... I make a terrible mistake, an error that seems irremedial... He paid for even this? The weight of that sin was lifted by His sacrifice two-thousand years ago... what pain did it cost Him to bear the sins of the world?

If you have trouble imagining His suffering, I encourage you to look at a painting of Christ crucified. It gets me everytime. My Jesus, Lover of my soul... tortured for my sins.

Dwell on His sacrifice, marvel at His love. The Prince of Peace, broken for you. Lord, help us remember.

kingdom of heaven

2009-04-08T18:02:00.008-05:00

"Truly, I say to you, unless you turn and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven."

my tiny culture

2009-04-08T17:18:00.004-05:00

Today I had class. History and Structure of the English Language. If it sounds difficult, you're on to something.

My professor was talking about how we interact with other cultures linguistically, and how we often judge each other's intelligence and other things based on dialects.

This got me to thinking about my own culture. You know, the white Midwestern, I-Don't-Have-A-Culture culture. Like my previous blog about stereotypes, my culture is a lens through which I see the world, cracked as it may be. I am constantly trying to temper this lens and others lens I have acquired with the ultimate worldview, the Gospel.

I am amazed at my cultural smallness, and my inability to easily connect with other cultures because of the strong ties I have to the things of my own upbringing. My tiny, tiny brain starts to ache with all the -isms of this world, cultural customs, and callings. This realization has given me a new-found awe for the infiniteness of God. A God who knows every heart, every person, every tribe, every city, every culture. A God who knows everything, but is bound by nothing.

I will never be able to see things from God's viewpoint of my own volition. I wish there was a mountain tall enough to stand on and see the world accurately. I would climb it and wait for the clouds to part, and watch the sun shine upon the world's idiosyncracies, glories, and sins. Unfortunately, greats heights don't discern the heart of man or the mind of God.

Fortunately God has given me His Word, something I continue to study and wrestle with. He has also given me Himself through the sacrifice of His Son, and now I am His.

When I start from Scripture, rather than my culture... scales fall off my eyes. Things that I was fearful of before, whether death, people who are different than me, or even my own ignorance are declawed in the presence of an Almighty God. I'm amazed by His glory.

tim and abby sing

2009-04-07T14:47:00.003-05:00

In the last month I haven't written at all because I discovered a new hobby, singing with my fiance Tim. Everyone has told me, "Abby, I didn't know you could sing." To which I intelligently replied, "Neither did I."

We have recorded four songs and posted them to a myspace, and on Saturday we had our first show at La Spiaza. This was old hat for Tim, a seasoned performer, but it was a new, exciting, and slightly terrifying experience for me. My cheeks burned red, and my hands were ice cold, but we had a lot of fun. The audience was comprised of family, friends, and a few coffee drinkers who happened to stop by.

We played some Tim Ophus originals, Tim and Abby songs, and covers. Hopefully, we will be getting another gig soon, I'll keep you posted.

If you are interested in hearing the tunes, check out this page:

http://myspace.com/timothyandabigail

I've been focusing on lyrics lately, but I'm hoping to be updating my dear blog more often, especially as my final semester in college is coming to a close.

Peace and love.

where passion and will collide

2009-04-07T14:14:00.004-05:00

I often wonder where God wants me to go. Some days I wish He would give me a list or itinerary, one I that I could use to make sure I am in the center of His will. I want to serve Him with my gifts... I want to give Him all of me, but I worry. I worry that service won't pay the bills. I worry that my desire to serve the Creator is selfish... or imprudent?

Which leads me to the dilemma, how does one discover God's will, when your own will and societal pressures are screaming for attention?

It is difficult to make life decisions when there are things that seem prudent and safe, and others that seem, well, a little dangerous. I am wondering if this is what it means to follow Christ, a little danger, a little earthly uncertainty in exchange for heavenly security.

Jesus told His disciples to not lay up for themselves treasures on earth, and he told them not to worry about earthly possessions (Matthew 6). I know these passages like the back of my hand, but they don't sink into my heart. Do I really trust that God will take care of me if I seek to serve Him in the areas I am passionate about?

I'm okay with losing the battle and the war of the wills to God. His will has always proved itself in my life to be perfect, good, and exactly what I needed... even when I had a better idea.

I want to serve God, in the most radical and mundane of ways. I'm okay with whatever He is calling me to, as long as I am close to Him. He is my passion, my life is no longer my own.

studs terkel's post-script to the world

2009-02-19T13:27:00.002-06:00

Studs Terkel, Chicago native and famous oral historian passed away on October 31 of last year. Four days later his book “P.S. Further Thoughts From a Lifetime of Listening,” was published. Author of sixteen other books and a disc jockey for 45 years, Terkel made a living out of listening to people tell their stories, and telling those stories to the world.

It is hard to know where to start when reading Terkel’s large body of work. Although “P.S.” is his last book, it is a good first read for those new to Terkel.

The book is a compilation of previously published essays and works that Terkel claims in his preface were, “scattered, torn sheets of wrinkled paper under the desk, behind the bookcases, beneath the couch, tossed in boxes, everywhere.”

Because of the “scattered” nature of this book’s creation, it has an eclectic nature that reflects Terkel and his interests well. One of the essays “Dreamland,” is autobiographical. Terkel writes about his youth and his brother’s mishaps with girls he brought home from Dreamland, a dance hall where black jazz bands played. This essay gives the reader a good picture of Terkel’s boyhood in the 1920’s, and reminds one that life isn’t pristine in any decade.

The greatest essay in the book is Terkel’s interview with author James Baldwin. In the essay the reader can see how skilled Terkel was as an interviewer by the questions he asked Baldwin.

The interview took place in 1961, and Baldwin has just published his book “Nobody Knows My Name.” In the interview, Baldwin reflects on the pain he suffered as an African American in the United States by not having an identity.

He said this identity must be discovered by both blacks and whites, and commented that, “the American Negro is the key figure in this country. And if we don’t face him, we will never face anything.”

This interview is intriguing because it is written at the heart of the civil rights movement, and it is on a subject that was important to Terkel, who also wrote an excellent book called “Race” where he interviewed white and black Americans about their thoughts, feelings, and experiences with race.

When one reads the Baldwin interview, and also the book “Race,” it is easy to initially feel as though the problems of race are solved, until the reader sees him or herself reflected in one of the interviews. And that is the point, by talking to everyday people, Terkel gives Americans a glimpse into their own hearts, and holds up a mirror to their inner personalities.

Terkel, who described himself as an agnostic in an interview on National Public Radio, came to different conclusions than the average evangelical Christian. However, despite his differences in worldview, Terkel has given America, and the world, a piece of its story through his interviews. Any reader desiring to better understand race and the American people should give Terkel’s books a try. They are worth a listen.

chicago's own: andrew bird

2009-02-19T13:22:00.004-06:00

4 out of 5 stars

Not often do songwriters use words like facsimile, tenuousness, and nomenclature, unless you are Andrew Bird. But don’t let the academic vocabulary turn you off to Andrew Bird’s new album, Noble Beast. Bird, a native of Chicago and graduate of Northwestern University released his 5th studio album on January 20th. Noble Beast reached the iTunes Top Ten albums over the weekend, proving this album a great, if not popular purchase.

Bird, a classically trained violinist, is known for mixing many different styles of sound into his albums, making it hard to classify him into a specific genre. He uses folk, pop, jazz, and classical elements along with his trademark whistling, a skill he uses more extensively in his earlier albums Andrew Bird & The Mysterious Production of Eggs and Armchair Apocrypha.

Bird’s high brow vocabulary and eclectic musical style make some critics believe his music is too inaccessible, but that is part of the beauty of his music. The rhymes Bird chooses are poetically compelling, not necessarily because of their meaning, but because of their musical quality. Axis, waxes, and taxes or three, elasticity, and astronomy become lovely coupled with Bird’s haunting melodies. Enjoy the lyrics simply for their sound if their meaning escapes you.

This album requires more than a casual listen. To really enjoy this album it has to be given a chance to be more than background music so the listener can understand its subtleties.

For example, the song Not a Robot, But a Ghost has three distinctive movements that make it sound like three different songs during the first listen. But a closer listen reveals the cohesion of the piece, and the fact that lyrics are the same and repeated though the music changes.

The whole album flows well together, and just gets better with each play.

Bird is a local sensation, and although he tours around the world, he is particularly favored in Chicago. His tour for Noble Beast comes to Chicago in April at the Civic Opera House. Originally scheduled for one show on April 10th, tickets are now on sale for a second show on April 9th after tickets sold out in the first 15 minutes for the 10th.

Bird performs solo and layers his music by recording melodies and rhythms he plays or whistles to create a fuller sound. It is great experience to hear his music come together piece by piece live. Bird was asked about his live performances in an interview on National Public Radio.

"Every night," he says, "I am rewriting all my songs for the audience."

If you want a chance to hear Andrew Bird reinvent himself live, check and see if tickets are still on sale for the April 9th show. If not, give the Noble Beast a chance. Its well worth the time spent to get to know Andrew Bird and his peculiar vocabulary.

adventures in journalism

2009-02-19T13:15:00.003-06:00

If anyone has been reading this blog lately, they have probably been reading the same post over and over or have noticed that nothing new has been posted for a long time. It's been a dead blog for the past month.

Time for excuses. I have been writing reviews for my school paper, and generally school puts a damper on my artistic endeavors... hence, the state of neglect.

I have decided to post my reviews and other articles I write on this blog, along with my more traditional posts.

I estimate that 20 or so people read my school paper including those who write for it, so maybe I could bump the readership up to 25 by posting on here.

I hope you enjoy them.

grace repeller

2009-01-21T21:48:00.005-06:00

I have written before about how I used to be terribly afraid of hell. My fear of of fire, darkness, and utter loneliness kept me awake at night. I became superstitious and systematic in my spirituality. I read certain verses before going to sleep because I felt more secure after reading them. I said certain prayers to God and prayed against the powers of hell.

It was compulsive. Legalistic. I was afraid of removing something from my routine, it might just send me to.....

I wanted so desperately to go to heaven and be with Jesus. But I was afraid that He wouldn't let me in. I must have committed a secret sin against Him... one that would keep me away from my loved ones and my God for eternity.

I kind of thought nobody else struggled with this, but I have come to learn otherwise- other people also struggle with eternity uncertainty... especially in Christian circles with those of us who came to Christ at a young age.

Frankly, we possess a goodness that repels.

Or, at least a faulty understanding of who we are. We have lived a grace-filled and grace-covered life for so long, we think somehow we get to heaven by pulling ourselves up by our bootstraps. The blessings we received, we must have somehow merited. And then we sin. Our errors stare us down. Our goodness is no longer sufficient in our own eyes.

I thought God couldn't love a once-redeemed sinner like me. You gave me grace once Lord, now it is my turn to earn it. My goodness made me think that somehow God chosen me, Abby the Pharisaical Christian. My prayers, my Bible, my pleading with God must make me more desirable.... He must have mercy.

He has had mercy. His name is Jesus. He has forgiven every sin.

Even yesterday's? Even yesterdays, and the ones to come. Can I trust Him that He will never let me go?

For I am persuaded that neither death nor life, nor angels nor principalities nor powers, nor things present nor things to come, nor height nor depth, nor any other created thing, shall be able to separate us from the love of God which is in Christ Jesus our Lord. Romans 8:38-39

For by grace you have been saved through faith, and that not of yourselves; it is the gift of God, not of works, lest anyone should boast. Ephesians 2:8-9

If you are anything like me, you skipped reading those verses because you have heard them before. You know the promises, but they haven't sunk into your soul.

Ask God for knowledge of His grace. I have been on a sort of quest for the past few months to understand what it means for me, Abby, to live in God's grace. Daily I understand it a little more. I think it will take a lifetime. But I don't mind, eternity with the Giver of grace will follow.

after His heart

2009-01-20T13:46:00.005-06:00

For one of my classes I had to answer this question:

Commemoration: If you were to write your epitaph, what would it be?

This is a weird exercise. Part of me feels like if I live to be eighty-five, I know exactly what will be on there. My family will say something nice about me like beloved wife, mother, and grandmother. It will look much like all the other gravestones in the cemetery... all those stones, representing not even one day of the years that were lived by the body resting underneath it.

Forgotten stories. How would I sum up my story in a few words or sentences? I don't know what my "short story" would be right now, but I know what I would wish it to be in the future.

"Abigail was a woman after God's own heart. She loved Him until the end, and she will rest in His love for eternity."

I stole the "woman after God's own heart" from King David. His epitaph was that he was a man after God's own heart. I always liked this because David had some major errors during his lifetime (he happened to murder a man and take his wife). I realized that I could still pursue God with the intensity of King David, even though I have made and continue to make some severe blunders.

God's grace will enable me to pursue Him passionately, knowing that His grace and mercy cover me, and His love will hold me close until I am called home to be with Him.

So many things threaten my quest to pursue God's heart. Worries about the future and things I can't control often cause me the most distress, and keep me from focusing on the true source of peace and security.

What does the Lord require of me? To act justly, love mercy, and walk humbly with Him. Love the Lord my God with all my heart, soul, and mind.

A gravestone means very little. It marks the place where my shell will lie. Many people hope they die well. I want to live well.

I will love Him until the end.

stereotypes, stories of sin, and brother mike

2009-01-10T15:06:00.009-06:00

Generalizations. It is always frustrating when someone assumes that they know you, because you fit a type, a file in their classification scheme.

I lived in California, and I was homeschooled. Let's file me.

You lived in California- Check one of the following=

Movie star
Valley girl
Surfer
From the O.C.

You were homeschooled- Check all that apply=

Nerd
Denim skirts
Complete homework in pajamas while eating cookies.
Nerd

Somehow the above don't mix, I don't fit any of the descriptions (maybe nerd), and I become unclassifiable. Or, the exception.

"Other Californians I've met were stuck up, but not you."

"You're cool, tell your parents they did a good job, you're not like other homeschoolers."

Other.

Whose the other, the generalization? The generalized individual. The more I meet people from groups I have generalized, the less I can classify them.

Brother Mike was my other. He begged at the corner of our intersection in California. He asked my dad for a dollar once to get a hotdog.

I was afraid of him. He was homeless, he wanted my money, he had a mental impairment...he was dangerous.

One day we were trying to cross the street quickly because Brother Mike was coming toward us. We had a whole envelope full of money. We were selling lollipops to fundraise for my brother's wrestling team.

We almost got hit by a car in our attempt to get away from Brother Mike. He shouted to us from across the street. "You kids be careful okay? You almost got yourselves killed!" And kept walking.

It blew my mind, and destroyed my stereotype.

I have been reading the book Race by Studs Terkel. In one of his interviews he talks to a woman who has become bigoted in her opinions of African Americans because of her experiences in law enforcement. At one point, Terkel asked her about her friends that were black, she replies:

"They're exceptions. Absolutely. And all the people from my church. It's ninety-five-percent black."

His follow-up question concerns her colleagues, she replies:

"--Are exceptions. Oh absolutely."

Were these people exceptions? Or were they just the people who got to tell her their story?

Everyone has a story, a story of fallenness... no matter what race or gender.

Everyone sees the world through a lens based on their story, and each of our lenses is cracked and irreparably scratched by sin.

It is difficult to generalize when we begin to hear the stories of the other.

Jesus took the time to love people, because He already knew their stories. He reached out to the generalized, the downtrodden... the ones without a voice because, "We all know what those people are like, we know their kind Jesus."

Zacchaeus. Tax collector. "We know him Jesus. He rips us off on every tax return."

Jesus replies, "Zacchaeus, make haste and come down, for today I must stay at your house."

Adultress. About to be stoned by the religious leaders. "We know her Jesus. She has sinned against the community, and against You."

Jesus replies, "He who is without sin among you, let him throw a stone at her first."

To the woman, Jesus says, "Go and sin no more."

Every criminal has a story of sin. As well as every churchman, every atheist, every child.

C.S. Lewis' classic devil Screwtape says, "It does not matter how small the sins are, provided that their cumulative effect is to edge the man away from the Light and out into the Nothing. Murder is no better than cards if cards can do the trick. Indeed the safest road to Hell is the gradual one—the gentle slope, soft underfoot, without sudden turnings, without milestones, without signposts."

We all are on a slope to hell, whether gentle or steep, until Jesus steps in.

I wish I took more time to hear people's stories, rather than assume I knew who they are based on the color of their skin, their clothing, their neighborhood, their education, their political associations, their church denomination, etc.

I am hopeful that my generalizations, my stereotypes, can be destroyed. But only if I get to know the other.

If we all get to know the others in our lives, maybe we would hurt each other less, and love each other more.

If someone says, "I love God," and hates his brother, he is a liar; for he who does not love his brother whom he has seen, how can he love God whom he has not seen? And this is the commandment we have from Him: that he who loves God must love his brother also. 1 John 5:20-21

acute competitor's syndrome

2009-01-08T19:31:00.004-06:00

I have tried so hard. I want to be a woman of peace- gentle, forgiving, and quiet. But Scrabble brings out the ugliest parts of my character.

Well, Wordigo to be exact... a sort of speed scrabble game, if you will.

I have always been, well, a little too competitive. Several posts back, you might recall my infant card stacking during a game of Candyland....

I beat mom and Grandma handily at Monopoly Jr. a couple years after the Candyland incident, and earned the name "Miss Moneybags" for my ruthless acquisition of properties and hotels.

This last summer I routinely creamed the kids I nannied at Boggle, and became slightly peeved when Jordan finally beat me at a card game.

What monster stares at me from the Pretty Pretty Princess mirror?

Don't blame me, I have ACS.

You might not want to run with me, both my dog Jemima and I have a similar tic. We have to be in front. We go down the prairie path together jockeying for the best position. Luckily age is starting to slow me and Jemima down.

I wish I didn't have to win. I become flustered when I lose, it's like my self-worth... wait a second.

Embarrassingly enough, when I take a look at my competitive nature, I realize that I thought winning would make people love and respect me.

If I just got perfect grades, people would think I was the smartest. If I won the 400m and lowered my time by a second, I would be the fastest. If I was the best, people would love me, and those who already loved me would love me more.

I could be great, a superkid.

I never thought the above in the most clear of terms, but I have always relished the triumph of momentary excellence. But excellence isn't everything, neither is triumph.

Don't you know child that the only great one is God? And your successes are but dust?

All flesh is grass, and all its loveliness is like the flower of the field. The grass withers, the flower fades, because the breath of the Lord blows upon it; surely the people are grass. The grass withers, the flower fades, but the word of our God stands forever. --- Isaiah 40:6-8

If I throw away my trophies and awards a few months after I receive them, I doubt God cares much for them either.

I should remember that Jesus died for me, the fleshy sinner, stripped of all my masks and honors. His love is that strong and unfathomable.

If I spent less time during board games caring about the score, maybe my loved ones would know how much I loved them.

Scrabble scores fade, love endures forever.

the provider

2009-01-07T22:35:00.006-06:00

I am always slightly embarrassed when asked to name an attribute of God, mostly because I'm afraid of it sounding too basic, or because naming connotes understanding... and often I don't understand.

God is holy. God is love. God is just.

Sometimes these ideas are too abstract, it is easier to understand an attribute of God when we have some story to go with it. An example of His faithfulness, justice, or loving-kindness in our lives makes it easier to understand what type of God made us... powerful, but good and merciful.

I talk about God in the abstract all the time, but lately, I have been understanding an abstract God in a very concrete way.

My God is faithful, and He provides. He is the Provider.

Sometimes we shy away from this aspect of God, fearing that we will turn into money-grubbing wolves that rub our buddha bellies hoping for health, wealth, and happiness. That would be a mistake.

On the other extreme, we forget that God does not leave us alone to fend for ourselves in the world's unstable economy. He cares for the sparrows, and He cares for us.

I have been reading Genesis lately, and I was asking for a new revelation. I have read it so many times, I feel like I could recite the stories verbatim (okay, not quite). It felt dry, like a story told a few too many times.

Then I started thinking about Joseph. Through the most terrible of circumstances, God provides for him. He is betrayed and sold into slavery by his brothers, bought as a servant, rises to high position, is accused of raping the master's wife, and then thrown into jail.

Eventually Joseph gets out of jail because God helps him interpret dreams, and he becomes second only to the Pharaoh in Egypt.

God brings his brothers to him because of a famine, and he is ultimately reconciled and reunited with his family.

When Joseph forgives his brothers he knows that God is the one who take care of them,

"But now, do not therefore be grieved or angry with yourselves because you sold me here; for God sent me before you to preserve life." --Genesis 45:5

A story betrayal, prison, and famine doesn't exactly sound like a story of provision. But it was, and it stands out as one of the most incredible stories of God's providential care in the Old Testament. If you haven't read it, I encourage you to check it out.

Despite the assurances of Scripture, lately I have worried. I am finishing school. How am I going to start paying off loans, paying for insurance, etc? I become focused on the necessity of a job, and forget to ask for one.

Maybe God will make me wait, maybe not... can I trust the Provider?

I don't know if I understand all of this yet. I know many starve, and many feast. The rain falls on the just and on the unjust.

But I do know that God has taken care of me up until this point in my life, spiritually and physically.

Can I trust that He will continue to do so into the unknown?

Someday I may be hungry. I may be driven from my home. I may be betrayed. But what I do know is that God can decide to provide for me, like He provided for Joseph and his family in spite the worst of circumstances.

"Or what man is there among you who, if his son asks for bread, will give him a stone? Or if he asks for a fish, will he give him a serpent? If you then, being evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father who is in heaven give good things to those who ask Him!" --- Matthew 7:9-11

I will trust Him. My Father is good.

thin pants

2009-01-02T14:54:00.004-06:00

Pavarotti sings in the background, while a homeless man walks slowly over to the nearest open chair to peruse a magazine for a few hours, until the staff escorts him out the door.

It’s routine; everyday he comes and picks up this month’s Sports Illustrated or whatever else catches his eye and reads it through as many times as he can before closing. Mundane… yes. Boring… maybe. But, it’s better than spending the whole night outside.

He spent the last couple dollars he begged a couple days ago, not sure what he dropped the cash on, the days start to blend together. He has a stash of teabags he picked up from the soup kitchen; he gets free hot water from the coffee corner by the magazine shelves.

His body aches, the chill goes right through his pants and freezes his bone marrow…they are thinner than they were last winter.

He feels the stares, stupid high school students….maybe they’re in college, he is too old to know anymore.

He was in high school once, so long ago. He won valedictorian before being expelled, or best smile in the yearbook. One of those. Whatever it was, it was a good thing. Those kids would respect him if they knew.

The store clerk with tight pants tells him he can’t bring his bags into the café. They don’t realize. He went through a puddle yesterday and the wheels of his cart are frozen.

A smiling man told him there was soup kitchen nearby and handed him a tract. The soup kitchen’s already closed. The tract says something about winning, at least, it had some athlete on the front. “Sheesh,” says the man to himself, “I haven’t won a thing since valedictorian.”

People try to help him sometimes. Most of the time they avoid eye contact. They know he’ll ask, and they only have a twenty.

A voice crackles over the store speaker, “Please make your final selections and make your way to the register.”

Tight pants grabs the man’s arm. “It’s time to go.”

Outside the store there is a nativity scene. “See that shepherd over there?” says the man.

“Sure,” says Tight pants.

“That’s me. Living off the land, living outside. They just took all my sheep.”

“Right,” says Tight pants, dropping the man’s arm.

The man wanders with his bags towards the nativity, pauses, and then walks off toward the road.

Tight pants never saw him again.

The man passed away during the night, it was too cold… his pants were too thin.

last post of the year...

2008-12-31T17:56:00.008-06:00

Today shuts the curtains on 2008.

A new year is hiding in the wings. Could I write this any more dramatically?

I hope you all have thought of your new year's resolutions by now. Mine is the same this year as it has been for last few years. Floss. I feel bad about it every time I go to the dentist. Hopefully this year I can say more truthfully that I flossed everyday, or once a week...

This year has been as full of change, opportunity and excitement as any year preceding it.

-I am older, for better or for worse.

-The marathon primary and presidential election are over.

-I have a new baby brother, at age 22.

-I played my last soccer game.

-I went to New York for the third time, on my second missions trip.

-I started a blog.

-The economy tanked and gas prices went down.

-I am almost officially done with my bachelor's degree, 7 credits of shy of more responsibility.

-I'm in love with my dearest friend... and closer to understanding what it means to fall in love with my Savior.

I know I am forgetting things... if you find one that is glaring in its absence, let me know.

I am excited for the new year, and for the good it will bring, and the struggles. Writing this blog has shown me even more clearly how much I learn through pain... still, I'd rather not deal with it most days.

To close out I thought I would share with you my picks for '08. These are new albums, movies and some books that have been influential or that I have enjoyed over this year. Some of them are not new, but I thought I would share them anyway.

Album of the Year: For Emma, Forever Ago... Bon Iver

--This album was my consistent favorite over the course of the year, it is definitely a classic in my mind. Haunting.

Runners-up: Fleet Foxes' Fleet Foxes , Coldplay's Viva La Vida

Movie of the Year: The Dark Knight

--I can't say no to a good super-hero movie.

Runners-up: Wall-E

Book of the Year: Blue Like Jazz and Searching for God Knows What by Donald Miller

--These books are not new... but I don't usually read recent best-sellers. These were extremely thought-provoking reads for me this summer. If you ever want to read them and discuss them with me, I would love it.

Runners-up: Pensees by Blaise Pascal (definitely old, definitely great)

Well, I think that's it. I hope you are excited for the new year, and that you can look back on this past one and see how God has had His hand on your life... He loves you today and forever.

So long 2008.

jesus-blind

2008-12-30T16:09:00.003-06:00

Christmas is over. My last blog was about anticipation and a craving for light.

Did I find it? Or did I lose it, and experience subsequent disappointment?

Well, in some ways I felt like I missed it all together.

School got out later than ever. I didn't make cookies. I shopped for presents on the 22nd and 23rd. I missed having solitude time with God from roughly the 16th to the 28th (due to busyness and well, oversleeping).

The third missed opportunity is probably the best diagnosis for my disease. Jesus-blind.

I'm convinced. I don't just miss out on light and Jesus at Christmastime. It is a year-round phenonmenon. I am in a continual process of falling and getting up again. The falling is of my own volition, the getting up requires divine help.

I wish I could make it to a place where I don't fall into formulaic prayers and lukewarm spirituality. The funny things is, these things that I desire most I find when I am weakest.

When I am wrong, I find forgiveness in Jesus.

When I am weak, I find strength in Him.

When I committed the same sin that trips me up week after week, in Him I find grace.

This past weekend was a spiritual valley... I beat myself up inside over my mistakes... I swung twice and missed. I looked at my blank journal. Strike three.

My dearest friend prayed for me, and that encouraged me to seek my Father.

I started to pray again. I broke out of my formula, and prayed about the things that were plaguing me.

I stopped worrying about my penmanship and what people would think if they read about my struggles. God knows I am still being sanctified, I shouldn't forget that either.

I am at peace today, I saw a glimpse of Jesus. My problems are shrinking in light of His face.

christmas in november

2008-11-23T18:28:00.002-06:00

I started listening to Christmas music earlier this year, in hopes of preventing Christmas Day disappointments.

I hope I am not the only one who has experienced what I am referencing. That feeling of emptiness after four advent weeks of expectation. The gifts are opened, the cookies are almost gone (unless you are at Grandma Carol's), and the needles are falling of the tree. Inevitably, I write a Christmas journal about the sadness I feel.

I don't mean a shallow sadness, it runs deep and almost aches.

It isn't the presents. I like giving them away. It isn't the cookies. I am allergic to them. It isn't the trees, they are evergreen all year long... just not inside my home.

It's the Light... it's Jesus.

Something about December, and the focus on the Savior always makes you feel closer to Him. It is easier to believe that Peace came to earth when we see His people at peace with each other.

I wish I was at the manger, stroking the head of the Savior of the world. My desire for a touch from God resurfaces in December... my Thomas heart leaps at the sight of Nativity scenes and Light, bright Light.

Do visible manifestations of God coming to earth make you feel His nearness, the God who is there?

I long to be near Jesus in December, and the 25th always reminds me of this frail body that still keeps me from eternal communion with Him... the One who came to redeem this mortal flesh.

Each passing day reminds me how desperately I need Jesus, and how much I want to serve Him until He calls me home.

Even if it makes me sad, I am eagerly expecting Christmas. Sometimes, sadness is good. It reminds us of the One who wipes away tears, and sent His Son so that all weeping may one day cease.

why does God allow the bad bounce?

2008-11-20T22:34:00.002-06:00

The last couple weeks have been trying ones for my soccer team. We lost two playoff games in two separate tournaments... one for NAIA and one for NCCAA. We are a currently waiting to see if we get an at large bid for NCCAA, it's a complicated system... if you want to ask later, I'll fill you in.

After our first loss the team was struggling, questioning why it had to happen. My coach asked that if any of us had thoughts about the game that we would write them out and share them. I sent out this email to the team, and it was requested that I share it on my blog. So, pardon any soccer jargon, I wrote it to my teammates.

Why does God allow the bad bounce?

I know a lot of us have struggled with the “Why does God allow teams like ours to lose and teams like St. Xavier win?” We have all the pieces… we love God, He blessed us with soccer skills, and we love this team. The energy we get from being together is magical, and so far we have been blessed with success…. why did God stop blessing us just short of NAIA?

First off, God doesn’t usually bless His children in the most chronological, understandable way. He often withholds blessing for many years, and sometimes doesn’t bless His children in their lifetime on earth, sometimes He blesses the descendants with the fulfillment of His promises.

Do you all remember the story of Abraham? God spoke to Abraham and told him he would give him a son, and that his descendants would be like the stars in the sky. Problem was Abraham and his wife were old, and Sarah had probably gone through menopause a couple decades earlier. Abraham believed God, and God gave him a son…twenty-five years after the first time God told him he would make him a great nation! Talk about patience.

Other characters in the Old Testament also show us how waiting for the blessing isn’t easy either. Joseph was a slave in Egypt and thrown in jail even though he was innocent. The Israelites were slaves in Egypt 300 hundred years. Paul was beaten and thrown in jail for spreading the gospel.

God loved Joseph, the Israelites, Paul, and Abraham very deeply. And He redeemed them by sending His Son Jesus to die for them…. in Paul’s lifetime, but centuries after many of them had passed away.

So, what I am getting at is this… God loves you, and He loves this team. And I believe He is not finished with us yet. I want you all to remember that being a “deserving” Christian doesn’t mean that the story book gets written the way we wish it would. Sure, I wanted to go to NAIA… I know all of you wanted to. It seemed like the next step for our team, but it is step that will be taken another season by another team.

I have never learned the greatest lessons of my life through my greatest victories. Most of the important things I have learned have been through suffering and painful experiences that I would have escaped if given the option. But looking back, I wouldn’t trade them for anything.

I can’t promise you that we will experience success this coming weekend, or in any of the upcoming games our team may be given. We may experience triumph, and we may struggle. What I can promise you is that God is still faithful, and He loves us. Do you believe that? Let that truth sink into the deepest parts of your soul. God loves you, and His plan for you is greater than you can imagine, win or lose.

We have a little time left together as the 2008 Trinity Women’s soccer team. Let’s practice and play for His glory. Run with your hearts girls… bring your Heavenly Father pleasure with your sacrifice.

I love you!
Abby

peace in the midst of bruises

2008-11-05T20:42:00.003-06:00

I can hardly stay awake. My legs ache like never before... well, maybe a few times before. I feel like a bruised bag of bones. Yet, I am incredibly satisfied.

I woke up this morning at 5:30 a.m. happy. For those who know me, this is an anomaly. I usually take about an hour to wake and find my smile in the morning. But today, life was good. I was glad to be alive.

My team played in the conference tournament semi-final match today, and won after double-overtime and penalty kicks. A bit of a nail-biter, but awesome. My dad said he was having heart attacks listening to our game on the internet.

I was excited to play this game today, and the nerves set in later than usual. This is it. I am a senior. My dad said I am full of sports clichés these days, and he is probably right. My team has to take it one game at a time. In 90 minutes, it could all be over.

I wasn't sure why I was so happy this morning... usually my stomach is tied in knots from the moment my alarm goes off. Today, I experienced a peace that passed my understanding.

I know where this peace came from, it came from the Prince of Peace. Everyday I spend away from His feet, I realize how desperately I need Him.

"... and the Peace of God, which surpasses all understanding will guard your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus." Phillipians 4:7

Many things tried to steal my peace today... a psychology test, bad passes in the game, or cheap fouls. And even though I may have stumbled, God is still kept me in His hands, and His peace covered me.

Heavenly Father, please help me rest in You, and help others find their peace in You as well.

drama, love, and maggots

2008-09-15T22:19:00.002-05:00

My eyes casually browsed the salmon-colored pages of my syllabus while the professor lectured on class absences and participation. Group project: 12% of final grade. I suppress a sigh and begin to scan the room for possible “group members,” hoping that my smart, hardworking friends have not already created a posse without me…

I have never liked group projects. I always feel like I have experienced a mini-defeat regardless of the grade assigned. For some projects, I have worked less, and therefore I learned very little. Or, for other projects, I wanted to do all the work myself to secure that golden A (and all the credit that comes with it).

My brother, sister, and I couldn’t quite figure out the group project growing up. Dad asked us for one thing for Father’s Day. One thing. A comic book. An original character and story, inked by his three oldest children. That was seven years ago. Captain Fox is still underwater in Professor Octo’s lair… the world created by Isaac, Michal, and I may never be conquered or saved. Poor Dad, I don’t know if he ever recovered.

Group projects are hard because it means you have to work with people, people who have their own agendas, opinions, and emotions.

Working with people is messy. It’s easy to hear talks about loving one another, forgiving one another, and servant leadership. We all agree with it in theory. But actually practicing it? That is a different animal indeed.

It is easy to become bitter towards people who miss cues and stumble over lines I wrote for them. If everyone acted out their part in Abby’s life drama, we’d all be okay. My whitewashed tomb only has room for my worms and filthy rags.

It’s hard to love people who hurt you and bring their worms into your life.

But, it’s not my drama, it is God’s story. And He asks you and me to be a part of it. My hang up is that the Kingdom is not about me writing fairy tales in my ivory tower. It means me washing your feet, turning my cheek, and giving all that I have and all that I am.

The crazy thing is, once I get past the “me” factor… and focus on my Savior, you, and all the people that surround me everyday… I find joy and peace.

Today I was so happy. I couldn’t even explain it, I didn't know why I felt so peaceful. But I realized that I have begun to believe again, believe that God is sanctifying me, and sanctifying His children around me. I am falling in love with God, and that love is spilling over to others.

So, maggots and all Jesus loves me. He died for me, and died for you and your maggots too. So, this whole group project thing… want to work for the Kingdom with me?

the dying fire must be stirred

2008-08-22T10:09:00.003-05:00

I've said it before. I love storms. I fear the drought. I relish the healing rush of rain, and the glorious smell that lingers as the clouds pass on. I am afraid of dry heat... heat that saps the land of its strength, killing young and old.

My affinities to certain weather systems aptly diagnose my feelings towards the creative process, and even my spirituality. I worry too often that I will lose my creative edge in a drought of ideas and inspiration. As days and weeks pass, widening the gap between me and my last creative pursuit, I begin to wonder if God has removed His hand of blessing from my imagination. Rather than ask Him for a fresh outpouring creativity, I begin to focus on what I can do to light the fire... when the best thing I can do is ask my Heavenly Father to ignite it once again.

My spiritual life often follows a similar pattern... I spend the rainy days of blessing worrying about the coming drought. I am experiencing drought, and the worst part is I know it is my fault. I have neglected spending time with my God, and I feel far from Him. I have been recovering, crying out to Him... begging for His presence. I know that my God will never forsake me, and that I cannot be snatched from His hand. However, I can still experience the pain of loneliness when I don't invest in the relationship that was bought at so great a price.

I am pursuing my Jesus, and the peace that covers my soul when I rest in His presence. Hear my cry, sweet Redeemer... draw me to You, let me walk in Your perfect ways.

for all those who cheat at candyland...

2008-07-24T10:54:00.007-05:00

I have always possessed a paralyzing fear of hell. In fact, one of the main things that first drove me to the arms of my Savior was a fear of hell.

At the age of four I thought I was more or less perfect, but my mom explained to me that hitting my brother and lying to my dad about finishing my dinner were not exactly angelic traits. Without Jesus' sacrifice I was on the fast track to eternal damnation.

I joyfully accepted Jesus' offer of salvation. Unfortunately, while I would like to say it was all smooth sailing from there, it wasn't.

I still messed up. At 6 I cheated in Candyland with my brother, slyly slipping Queen Frostine underneath the first card in the deck, then magnanimously I allowed Isaac to go first. I was grounded at 7. I continued to be an occasional liar, just enough to keep up an appearance of innocence. I generally didn't get into trouble, so don't worry, I will not turn this post into a confessional booth.

Even though I appeared good, and generally made the right choices... I knew that even with Jesus, parts of my heart were still tainted. Because I knew my darkness, I doubted that I was saved.

I cannot count how many times I sat and listened to a preacher give an invitation, and sadly wondered if I really had received the "gift." I said the prayer again... and again.... and again.

"Lord Jesus, thank you for dying on the cross... I accept your free gift of salvation... please forgive me for the sins I have committed..."

I began to think strange and horrible things. Maybe I was damned, maybe I had unwittingly committed the unpardonable sin. Maybe I was not chosen... maybe I was not predestined.

I started to fear the demonic... I imagined they were exercising some sort of power over me that was keeping me from God. I figured I was probably not worthy of Christ, and He would rather not have me.

I'd lie awake in my bed at night, gripped by fear, almost physically pained... assuming that hell was my future, and Jesus was my past.

I struggled with this for years, all the while attending youth group and church, even serving others in ministry. But I was cracking, and my mom knew it.

One day, exasperated, she showed me Psalm 139. She read it out loud to me, and one verse in particular jumped out at me, it burned in my mind. "You hem me in, behind and before, and lay Your hand upon me." (Psalm 139:5) This verse seems simplistic, but the thought of God having His hand upon, that extremely personal picture, brought me to tears. I wept before the presence of God, the Father who loves me, and realized that He desired me... and He was not going to allow anything to separate me from Himself.

From that point on, I began to rehabilitate. I started believing the promises of Scripture again.

"My sheep hear My voice, and I know them, and they follow Me. I give them eternal life, and they will never perish, and no one will snatch them out of My hand. My Father, who has given them to Me, is greater than all, and no one is able to snatch them out of My Father's hand. I and the Father are one." John 10:27-30

I was in Jesus' hands, and the Father had His hand upon me. I stopped kidding myself into believing that somehow I had to be good enough, or that I was going to hold on long enough.

The Father desires that none should perish, but that all should come to repentance. He was calling me to Himself, but I allowed the fears of this world and the next to crowd Him out, I put my emphasis in the wrong place, and almost lost the faith I wanted so badly.

Some of you may also struggle with whether or not you are "saved" or question the legitimacy of your born again experience. My pastor said once that the fact that you care and worry about such questions is a sign, a sign of the hand of God on your life. God's hand on your head.

He wants you... do you trust Him?

"Such knowledge is too wonderful for me; it is high; I cannot attain it." Psalm 139:6

falling into the infinite

2008-07-15T20:45:00.005-05:00

He gazes down the aisle, the doors open... He sees His Bride, His heart beats rapidly... He has waited for her... she isn't looking for Him.

The bride's eyes are on a group of men waiting outside the church doors... they are filthy, their eyes are hungry... they make lewd gestures at her, calling her names she doesn't know.

She drops her bouquet, tosses off her veil... and walks into their arms.

.....................................

What does it mean to fall in love with God? As a child we sing of the love of Jesus for us, and how much we love Him. As an adult we talk of "falling in love with Him." Sometimes this feels like an impossibility. How does one fall in love with an invisible groom?

I started wondering if our relationship to Christ is similar to the "arranged" marriage of olden days. A groom was hand-picked by the parents of the bride. A lucky bride would have parents who knew her well, and loved her enough to pick someone who love their daughter and take care of her.....

What if the bride left the groom at the altar and took off with some unbathed men riding a pack of Harleys (no offense to the motorcycle enthusiasts)?

Sometimes I feel like the Harley bride... I leave my Jesus at the altar and seek out stone idols, figuring He will be waiting when I come back. It is hard to maintain loyalty to the unseen Groom, until one stops and starts to remember...

We all cry (ok, many girls cry and a select few, very strong men cry) at scenes in movies where the man sacrifices for his love. Sometimes he dies.... sometimes he will even sacrifice being with his lover because his sacrifice will save her or something important to her.

Christ died for me because He loved me. Do I truly understand that? No one else on earth has died for me... but Jesus knew me before the foundations of the world, and He left heaven to come and face death, that I might live eternally with Him in perfect peace and love. This is so monstrous, so beautiful... I can't comprehend it.

Back to the invisible factor... we are sensual beings. We taste, smell, see, hear, and touch. We hug the ones we love and feel loved when we receive physical affection. I always wished that I could hug Jesus. What I have forgotten is that even though touch and sight is important, it is not imperative.

Ultimately, you don't fall in love for physical attributes.

When someone asks you why you love someone, you don't say, "He (she) is cute and gives hearty hugs." If that is all you love about someone, your love will be shallow and it will struggle when troubles come. But, if your love is firmly based in the other's character and spiritual attributes, your love will endure.

This is wonderful, because with Scripture, we know the attributes of God, and we can fall in love with His character... a character that is infinite, and we can fall ever deeper in with every passing hour.

This sounds simple, but true love requires work... and God is no exception. He has sacrificed everything for me, and I will forever fall into His love.

math geek, you are loved

2008-07-09T20:52:00.004-05:00

I'm surprised I don't have a dent in my head where the math part of my brain resides... or at least an air pocket. Math and I are on, well... less than speaking terms.

I took my required math class this last semester and it almost killed me. The whole semester I was trying to understand why:

a. This was a required class.

b. Anyone likes math.

c. When I will ever again use matrices to figure out a problem.

I sat on the couch every Wednesday afternoon/evening and tried to figure out the problems. My suitemate called it the couch of confusion, appropriate... I like to call it the couch of pain.

Wise people kept telling me that I should appreciate the math geeks, they make life easier for artsy people like me. They make the money, wear the suits... and I get to wear a linen skirt and graduate with an English degree... a certified starving artist.

I don't understand why poetry does not speak to the souls of the mathematically gifted, nor do they know why I don't get a rush when I finish a 21 step problem.

I love abstraction... the twists and turns that might lead to an answer. My math buddies prefer concrete answers, especially if they can graph it.

You know what? That's okay. I have been thinking a lot about the body of Christ...

I wonder what kind of God it is that has created us all so uniquely... the poetic, mathematic, musical, athletic, comedic. We are all created in God's image... and the world revolves according to His scientific laws and the heart is moved by poetry inspired by His creation.

And all of these people that are reflections of Himself, are invited to be one with Him, through the sacrifice of His Son... math geeks and poetry nerds alike.

How beautiful... how divine.

please hang up and dial again

2008-07-06T18:40:00.005-05:00

The city seems so far now,

What was once a train ride away

Is now separated from me

By an angry conversation and words

Spoken that should have been

Silenced before leaving my lips.

I called your flat, you didn't answer.

I listened to the machine, just to

Hear your voice... please pick up.

I sat with the receiver in my hand,

Staring out the window, looking

For an answer on the leafless trees.

I wrote that poem last December, and didn't know where it came from. I hadn't experienced a situation like that before, and I assumed I was channeling someone else's life experiences... you know, creating a more dramatic Abby Seeland. I hadn't thought about this poem for awhile, until this morning at church.

If the poem applies to me, it's not a guy giving me a cold shoulder, it's God.

My pastor Jay Thomas preached this morning about Habakkuk... not the usual go-to book of the Bible. In the first chapter Habakkuk is crying out to the Lord to save the righteous from violence. He appeals to God's purity and asks how He can stand idly by when evil reigns.

The Lord does answer Habakkuk, and tells him that faith waits, and the key verse of this little book is in chapter 2, verse 4: "The righteous shall live by faith."

When Jay read this verse I immediately thought of Abraham, who was justified by his faith in God's promise, a promise that he would have a son... a promise that God took 12 years to fulfill.

12 years? Why? That is more than half my lifetime. I am used to quick, easy answers. I am Generation Wikipedia, information at my fingertips. And I have found that God has not changed with the technology, He still works in His perfect timing... even though I have found a faster internet connection.

I often write the word "patience" on my thumb or the back of my hand. I seem to be perpetually waiting for God to answer me, and more often forgetting that He has.

Jay said it's okay to ask the Lord questions, but it's not okay to question the Lord's character or power... He is good, and He cannot transgress His nature.

Sometimes, most times, God answers my questions and prayers in ways I don't expect and often don't immediately appreciate. And now I pose a question to myself... "What do you expect?" If the Lord of the Universe deems it necessary to step into my world and change something, I am not going to understand it by looking at it through sin-colored glasses. I am evil, and I need His help to understand His ways, His timing.

I want to be patient. I want to ask the Lord for answers, and immediately see the beauty of His goodness. I know that He has helped me before, and I trust He will do it again. As I look back over the years, and consider the works of His fingers, I know that they have all been wonderful and good.

Sometimes life hands you a silent receiver... but that doesn't mean that God won't pick up soon.

Patience.

healed, ungrateful wretch

2008-07-04T20:23:00.004-05:00

Have you ever asked God for healing?

I have many times. I have asked for healing for myself and for others. I asked God to heal my cousin who needed a heart transplant. I asked Him to heal a family friend who had cancer. And I asked Him to heal me of my infirmities.

I forgot that I asked Him.

I was reading the Gospel According to Matthew the other day and I saw the passage where Jesus heals a woman who has a flow of blood on His way to raise a girl from the dead. I remembered reading this passage in high school and identifying with the woman... I hadn't been sick for twelve years, only three or four. I also was afflicted by an secret illness that had many symptoms, but no conventional or unconventional way of getting better was presenting itself. I was tired, it was sapping my body... and like the woman, it wasn't a disease that I felt comfortable talking about. I was unclean.

I wished that Jesus would walk across my path... I was willing to get on my hands and knees, crawl through the dirty streets just to get close to Him.

I asked Him to heal me, in spite of the fact that my illness was only three or four years old. I asked in faith... I prayed that I had faith.

My mother was seeking out different doctors to help me at this time, and soon we found one that started addressing my specific problems one at a time, and I started to get better. I thought this doctor was a miracle worker, and I was thankful for her help.

Even though my body still struggles with some issues, I am so thankful that I am much healthier than I was 7 years ago.

But wait... I'm thankful? Who healed me? My doctor? The lab who tested my six vials of blood?

Another passage comes to mind, another passage of healing. The ten lepers. Jesus heals all of them, and only one comes back to thank Him. 9 healed men never thanked the Savior of the universe for transforming their lives. I used to feel a bit ashamed of those men, why didn't they say thank you? Then I realized that I am one of the nine. I was healed. God used the doctors that have helped me, God touched my body and healed it.

I often examine the prayers I write in my journal... and unfortunately I usually have a paragraph of thank You's followed by a page of please's. Sometimes the ratio is even worse. Why are my manners so bad when I talk to my Heavenly Father? You'd think I would learn and stop taking Him for granted.

I want to be more grateful. If I woke up every morning and truly believed the things that I pray... "Lord, thank for giving me one more day to live in Your presence...," how would that change my life?

Every minute, every breath.... every cool breeze, every sunbeam... every work day, every day of rest... every hug, every person... every blessing. Thank You Abba Father.

dogs, lions, and ballerinas

2008-06-25T14:48:00.006-05:00

I am pretty sure everyone starts asking you the question, "What are you going to do with your life?" before you get into college. They start asking when you start talking, by saying "What do you want to be when you grow up?" And oh the beautiful choices. The choices are offered even earlier with baby-sized baseball caps, fire trucks, toy kitchens, miniature easels, and so on. I certainly was interested in what I would "do" as a grown-up. Here is the evolution of my future plans:

4 yrs: Ballerina, in love with pink.
6 yrs: Vet, then after dog-dander allergy discovery, became future marine biologist.
8 yrs: World Cup soccer player.
10 yrs: Author/artist
12 yrs: Author/artist/concert pianist

And finally, as a teenager I wanted to be something that combined writing/drawing/piano with a passion for ministry... I decided I would be missionary teacher.

I was terrified. I was going to screw this up. What if I don't become what God wants me to be? What if He wants me to be something I don't want to be? Back when I wanted to be a world class soccer player I had a vision. I was sitting in the van while my mom ran into the store. A vision of the African continent was floating in my mind's eye, and I started to cry. I believed God was calling me to missions and I was too afraid to go. I didn't want to leave my family and live in a hut in lion country... and I didn't want locals to offer me grubs on a leaf a la carte.

My mom came back to the van to find her nine year old in the grips of an emotional crisis. She told me that I didn't have to worry, if God said go to Africa, He would prepare me and He would be with me. I felt better but I wasn't convinced.

My chameleon dreams haunted me in college... I transferred schools, considered transfer, changed my major, and considered major changes... the usual suspects. The only thing I knew for sure was that I wanted to serve God, and write.

I entered college with a laundry list of things to do: play soccer, study abroad, go on missions trips, be a wilderness camp counselor... on and on and on. And now, with my senior year approaching, I can look back and see that I accomplished many things, but I didn't do everything on my list.

I thought if I didn't do everything, and prepare myself for anything, God couldn't use me. I wanted to be the smartest, most skilled, cleanest vessel God had ever used for ministry.

Wait a second, how much of this is about God anyway? How much of this is about the sacrifice Jesus made for me on the cross? I have had a pretty me-centered view, one that reeks with self-fulfillment and actualization.

God has a tendency... He uses the unlikely, the under-prepared. He doesn't mind taking the scum of the earth and making them His sons and daughters. Shepherds were the first to see baby Jesus. Fishermen were His disciples. In Jesus' genealogy there are second sons, foreigners, murderers, and prostitutes.

I am not afraid; I don't need to prove myself to the world. What is required of me? I need to act justly, love mercy, and walk humbly with my God (Micah 6:8). That's right, walk in humility. It's not about me, God can make me whatever He wants. And, as the Creator and Savior of my soul and personhood... Giver of any gift that I possess... His plan will be the most fulfilling. Show me where to walk Lord, I will follow.

wanting to be john

2008-06-23T14:23:00.003-05:00

I used to not like John. I mean the apostle John. I was so frustrated every time I read his gospel and he would refer to himself as the "one Jesus loved."

I thought it was so prideful to single himself out as the one that Jesus loved out of all the other disciples. What made him so special? I was jealous. I wanted to be the "one that Jesus loved." I wanted to be sitting at the table with my head on His breast, listening to Him speak about His kingdom.

I wasn't only jealous of John, I was jealous of anyone who had a special encounter with God in the Bible. I wanted God to step into my life like He had stepped into theirs. I wanted Him to tell me that I was born again, come and ask for water at my faucet, heal my cousin, have dinner at my house. I wanted to hug Jesus, touch His face. I used to dream about what it would be like to hug Jesus... all I could imagine was light, blinding light and a feeling of safety.

I think we all want to experience specific, special, one and only love. I wanted this love from God, what I didn't realize is that He had given it to me; I just wasn't able to understand it. It was hard because I wanted to physically experience His presence. It is difficult to understand how an infinite, eternal being loves a finite one. I know that I am capable of love, but not of loving the whole human race the way God does. I can only love a few people deeply, and wish for the good of many. But to really love others, know them intimately, and step into their suffering and weakness, that is divine. I project upon God the capabilities of my love, assuming that because I cannot be intimate with everyone, He cannot either.

It is wonderful to realize that the God who loved John, loves me. The Jesus who died for John, died for me, and died for everyone. I do see His love, I see His love through His Word, His creation, and through the people He has placed in my life.

Someday I will be in heaven with John and the ones I love. And I will see Jesus, He will touch my face, and I will be His.

image

2008-06-20T15:56:00.002-05:00

I have always worried about my appearance. Since I was very little, I have memories of my childish concerns over clothing and hair. I remember wanting to be like Lacy Carlton with her mismatched pastel socks; when I tried to un-match my own, my mother prevented my idolization of Lacy and my socks stayed paired. I also wanted to look like little black girls with their corn-rows and colorful barrettes; again, to my mother's chagrin, I attached many clips to strands of straight blond hair and created something new and exciting, at least in my opinion. They were promptly removed.

As a young girl I possessed a thin, athletic body and was known for being fast. I loved running around, being skinny. I was grateful that I wasn't pudgy like some poor girls.

Then it happened; in high school I started worrying about my weight. On a long car ride to Illinois from our home in California I began analyzing my legs. When I relaxed the muscles, the legs spread. I was fat. It didn't matter that I wore a small t-shirt and size two pants, I needed to lose something else because I had already lost my self-esteem. It quickly became an obsession and I began to worry about what I ate and how much I weighed. The problem was, rather than eating less because I was worried about the scale, I ate more in despair. I would stuff myself until I felt sick and then wish I was brave enough to throw it up, something I knew I could never do.

I didn't understand it, because of my allergies I was already on a limited diet that cut out all sweets... no ice cream, cookies, cake, or soda. How could a girl like me have such bad luck? Unfortunately, in high school, there was nothing to worry about. My weight was fine, I just wasn't a stick. Weightlifting for soccer and track had added some bulk to my body, and I hated it. I wanted to look anorexic; I wanted to be outrageously thin.

I constantly compared myself to other women, and wanted desperately to be as thin or skinnier than others. I wanted to drop a pants size, fit into an old skirt. I wanted to change.

I wish I could say I don't struggle with this problem anymore, but I still do. Every time I look in the mirror, every time I step on the scale, every time I eat. I hate how guilty I feel when I eat. Sometimes it is hard for me to think that God loves me even if I am overweight or not fast anymore. Sometimes it is hard for me to think that anyone will love me if I don't weigh in below average. And its true, people often look at the outward appearance. Even Samuel, one of the holiest men in the Old Testament did when he went to anoint the next king of Israel. He was looking for someone like Saul, who had been handsome and head and shoulders above the people. He went to the sons of Jesse and looked at all of them, assuming that the tall eldest sons were God's number one draft pick. God sets Samuel straight, however, in 1 Samuel 16:7,

"Do not look at his appearance or his physical stature, because I have refused him. For the Lord does not see as man sees; for man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart."

Could it be possible that I have wasted the last 7-8 years of my life obsessing over something that the Lord does not even care about? Yes, I believe I have. I can only overcome this battle by the Lord's strength. It is an insidious disease that colors the way I see my Father's world and my place in it. Lord, please save me from myself.

eternal longing

2008-06-19T13:06:00.003-05:00

For most of my life I have owned a paralyzing fear, a pair of twin elephants that I carried around on my back. I was afraid of eternity and death.

It all began at four. I was lying in my bed in our family's apartment in South Carolina one night. I imagined that I was in a grave alone in a pitch black coffin. I was separated from my mom, my dad, and my brother. I was completely and utterly alone, and I cried in despair. Soon after this I trusted in Jesus as my Savior, seeing that He was the only way I could escape being separated from everything I held dear.

This did not erase my fear of eternity or even of death, however. Now I knew that I would not be alone, but eternity was such a very long time, and my idea of heaven at that point was a sterile, cloudy place where my mom and I would wear orange sleeping bags with head and arm holes and my brother and father would wear blue ones. Worshipping the Father in heaven forever seemed rather boring and ridiculous to me, and I couldn't imagine being in a church service for more than 45 minutes, much less thousands of years. I didn't think my voice would last that long. I loved Jesus with all my heart, but I couldn't understand what it would mean to be with Him and His Father forever.

When I started kindergarten we moved to Illinois and attended a Lutheran church. In Sunday School my teacher had us draw a picture of what we thought heaven would look like. I drew exactly what I wanted heaven to be: a very large swimming pool with a slide and diving board. I thought that if that was what heaven was, I would be satisfied staying there for more than a lifetime. I soon discovered that while heaven will be wonderful, it is not guaranteed that there will be a swimming pool (if you find that verse in Revelation let me know asap).

I have come to terms with that now, especially after reading C.S. Lewis' descriptions of heaven, more particularly in his book The Last Battle. In the book, at the end the children have died and they find themselves in a place that is wonderfully familiar, in fact, they are in a perfected Narnia. They can also travel to other lands, one of which looks a little like Great Britain. Aslan tells them to keep going "Further up and further in." It becomes more and more wonderful, until Lewis can no longer describe it because we have not yet been called home. This helped me understand that the God who created this world that I love and created everything in it that is good, is also the Lord of heaven. Heaven will be home, and if He knows how to make me happy here, how much more so will I be satisfied in heaven?

As far as worshipping the Lord in heaven, I have come to see that worship is not just singing in a service; but every act of being, if done for His glory, will be worship. Our fellowship, our service, our speech (and might I add artistic endeavors?) will all be done for His glory without the hindrance of our sinful bodies. What freedom is this? What joy unknown?

Even though I am sometimes overwhelmed by thoughts of years and years of unknown happenings in eternity, I have come to place where I long for them with all my heart. C.S. Lewis (yes, Lewis again) wrote two quotes that summarize my life to this point:

"It was when I was happiest that I longed most... the sweetest thing in all my life has been the longing... to find the place where all the beauty came from."

"I find in myself a desire which no experience in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that I was made for another world."

I have found that the longing for Jesus, the longing for peace, the longing for another world... these satisfy me. It was when I was holding on desperately to those things that I could not keep that I was conquered by fear.

I long for the day when Jesus will call me His beloved and hold me in His arms, and there will be no more darkness, no more goodbyes, and no more fear.

rat poison

2008-06-17T10:06:00.004-05:00

I have been thinking about character lately... especially because of something my sister said the other day.

"Abby gets mad really easily."

I immediately became angry, replying that I only get mad when I am purposefully provoked. I was defensive because I am rather easy going, and more often feel as though I am being a pushover rather than a hothead. But what sort of virtue is this anyway, the virtue of irregular grace and occasional good temper?

In Mere Christianity C.S. Lewis writes:
"Surely what a man does when he is taken off his guard is the best evidence for what sort of man he is? Surely what pops out before the man has time to put on a disguise is the truth? If there are rats in the cellar you are most likely to see them if you go in very suddenly. But the suddenness does not create the rats: it only prevents them from hiding."

I find that I am often on my best behavior when I am in public, amongst those I want to make a good impression on, the ones who do not love me unconditionally. It is easier to be your unlovable, fleshy self when home, amongst those who must love you with all your warts and blemishes.

I want to kill the rats. I want to be a woman of peace, a woman whose words are patient and true... even when surprised... even when provoked.

paper or plastic?

2008-06-15T10:20:00.002-05:00

On Friday, June 13th, I did it again. I frustrated a bank teller by not having a debit card. It takes twice as long to help me, and they usually need to see my driver's license. I have tried to avoid keeping the plastic (credit or debit) in my wallet for the past few years for numerous reasons:

I want to keep track of my money.
My checkbook works just fine.
A little person, one of my tech savvy sisters for example, just might have a shopping spree on American Girl's website at my expense. You never can tell.
Did I mention I don't trust myself?

I have discovered, however, that this is counter-cultural. Checks have become rather arcane, in the left corner I might as well have my name and "521 N. Cave" as an address.

Have you seen the Mastercard commercials? You see shoppers in a store, all happily swiping credit and debit cards. Everything is running smoothly, a well-oiled machine... until someone pulls out cash, or heaven forbid, a check. The loser who writes the check looks extremely sheepish, like they just discovered that not only have they written a check, they are also in their underwear. They quickly exit with their purchases and the machine continues to run and the birds start to sing again.

A young clerk at Whole Foods near my school insulted me once when I wrote a check. He asked me if I was really that stingy that I needed to write one. I can't remember if stingy was the word but whatever it was it was synonymous with tightwad, miserly, penny-pincher, or scrooge. I explained that I just wanted to keep track of the little money that I had. I don't think he understood. I forgave him.

That's okay, soon I will use my thumb to pay for things... or maybe my iPod or cell phone.

I worry about things like plastic money cards because as I have said before, I want to be a good steward of my money, and worry that my tithing habits will be destroyed. I do know though, that most people who tithe have survived plastic. I just don't want to be the servant that fails the Master with my talents.

Unfortunately, on Friday I caved and got a debit card so that I do not ruin my witness to the bank tellers anymore.

I am giving control of my finances to my Heavenly Father, and asking Him to make me wise.

And trust me, if plastic is a problem, I have no qualms about shredding it.

destructive blessings

2008-06-13T14:06:00.003-05:00

Driving in a car....why do I love it so much?

-I love driving with no place to go...not early, not late, just being.

-I love driving to the place where loved ones are, knowing that each mile brings me that much closer to their familiar voices and gentle arms.

-I love driving in the rain, watching raindrops become streams of water that spread their fingers out over my windshield, hugging the dry capsule I stare out from. I watch the road and wait for flashes of lightning, I grip the steering wheel...my knuckles turn white.

I sing songs of thankfulness whenever I encounter crummy weather. I often feel guilty that my joy comes at the expense of another man's misfortune. I have been enjoying the recent unusual June showers that bring...July fireworks? But in Iowa, they are suffering terrible flooding, loss, and even death. I have pondered the loss of the mothers and fathers whose boy scouts were killed in the tornado this week, and wondered at the storms that can be beautiful, yet sinister.

It reminds me of George MacDonald's story At The Back of the North Wind. In the book the boy Diamond must come to terms with the fact that God tells the North Wind to sing her song, and sometimes that means that people will die. The song is chilling but beautiful, the most beautiful thing Diamond has ever heard.

I often feel like Diamond...why must Creation groan and suffer, why must the wind bring rain for the crops and death for the creatures? The Fall has tainted us in more ways than I can ever understand, and certainly will not understand this side of heaven. Perhaps that is why it is the shadowlands, the valley of the shadow of death. When the Son rises, we will see the world for what it is, and the glory and perfection of the Kingdom will be...home. We will know that this is what we have spent our whole lives longing for, this is what we mourned for when the North Wind sang her song. And He, the Father, will wipe away our tears.

milk and speckled eggs

2008-06-12T16:55:00.004-05:00

"Abby?"

"Yes Molly."

"Mom bought you quail eggs."

That was not a typo. Quail eggs.

--I live in an alternate reality, a small world with a limited diet. I say a small world because I drink milk from a goat and eat eggs from a quail, both creatures being smaller than their mainstream counterparts. I have allergies, and my family has always tried to find alternatives for me no matter how bizarre or unappealing they may appear (or even taste).

I am often asked what goat milk tastes like. I reply:

-The fresher it is the better.

-What does it taste like when it isn't fresh?

-Goaty.

-What do you mean?

-I mean it tastes like I am drinking the goat's bath water.

Okay, that was hyperbole.

Benefit: I feel more connected with the global community because of my allergies. I occasionally consume imported desserts that lack corn syrup, my mortal foe and darling of the American food industry. I drink goat's milk and suddenly identify with Heidi of the Swiss Alps. And my pickled quail eggs come in cans found in the Asian section of my local supermarket.

I can't say how grateful I am that there are things for me to eat. I think about children in countries who consume a steady diet of rice, rice, and more rice. My diet all of the sudden is blessed with unimaginable variety. What would it be like to wake up everyday and not have to guess what you were going to eat, only wonder if there will be any rice left?

I am thankful for goats, quails, and alternative sweetners. Goat milk anyone?

fuzzy sheep give freely

2008-06-11T13:06:00.000-05:00

I wrote this a couple months ago...I had some lessons to learn, as usual.

Am I conditioned to be this way? What event in my past has caused me to be suspicious of my fellow man? I am on the mend, that is, my perception of the world and its ways is rapidly changing. Changing so fast it is hard for me to track my progression, until yesterday.

Let's start from the beginning. I have always wanted to help people, people that need me, poeple that really need Jesus. But maybe they don't know it. I hate to see people hurting. But I have been afraid. I am supposed to be suspicious; it's all a scam they say. It's a ploy, they want drugs or alcohol, and you have an innocent face. I am one fuzzy sheep, folks say sheep are stupid and naive. I have been told I'm naive, no surprises there, probably a little stupid too.

Okay, I'm being unclear in my musings, so I'll lay it out nice and easy. What do you say when a homeless man accosts you on the street? He needs some food, a place to stay, or money for the bus. That's what he says. You have money, but feel reluctant. What is he really going to do with your hard-earned cash? You don't want to think about it, it's cold, and you want to keep walking. "I can't, I'm sorry," you reply and head to your car. When you are out of hearing he curses you under his breath and gathers up his wounded pride to beg from another. You feel guilty, but satisfy your conscience by reminding yourself that you have not aided him with his addiction.

This is how I thought, and acted in the past. But I have been thinking again, re-thinking. What if I am not called to judge the motives and intents of my fellow man? What if I am simply called to give of what God has given me regardless of who asks? My Lord said I should walk two miles rather than one, and asked me to give my tunic as well as my cloak. What if, rather than simply recalling these verses I put them into action? What if I stopped protecting myself from hurting people? I have been asking for a change, asking for God to light a fire in me and give me passion, and God has been answering my prayers in ways I had not expected.

Confession: I have been convicted regarding finances. I used to tithe regularly, and have since fallen off the wagon in college. Being away from my home church and parental accountability has caused me to stumble. Giving, why am I so selfish and lazy? I have asked the Lord for help in this area, but help has come in an unusual fashion.

So I went to the bank Thursday, a handful of checks to cash, and some to deposit. As I exited my roommate's little red car, I was approached by a young girl. She and her deaf mother were from Rockford, visiting a sick grandmother, and had an almost empty tank of gas. The mother had forgotten her wallet at home and they needed help. They had asked 20 people for help. I was lucky 21. I said I would help, cashed my checks, and handed the girl 20 bucks for gas. I said "God bless you," because I couldn't think of less generic spiritual thing to say. I wanted to say that it was all because of Jesus. They may have fooled a sheep, but Jesus knows.

lovable little idols

2008-06-11T12:43:00.000-05:00

I used to think that idols were only worshipped by Hebrews. As a child my father read the Old Testament with us and I thought, "Silly Israelites, why do they worship stones and poles? Baal and Ashtoreth are so lame." I was mortified and grossed out to find that their worship of foreign gods included child sacrifice and sexual orgies...and come on, couldn't Aaron have thought of another attractive, powerful animal to cast rather than a cow?

I bought into the lie; we are so much more cultured and refined in our day. We might as well have the 9 commandments because no one struggles with idols anymore.

Unfortunately, like Rachel, I was sitting on my own idols...hiding them from my Heavenly Father. How many shrines did I erect for horses, dolls, and teddy bears? How many times did I pore over toy magazines like holy scriptures, seeking the hidden truths of wealth, power, and possession?

I remember one internal battle that I fought and lost. I reflected on a difficult question: Would I give away my doll to a poor girl, would I give away my doll for the sake of Christ? I would have said yes out loud to save face, but I knew I couldn't, and I hoped I wouldn't have to. Even as a girl I knew that I was the rich man, I couldn't sell all.

One day, when my mom was going through our toys to get rid of the excess, I began to sing the praises of my teddy bear Snowball, who had been a good friend and companion to me during creepy nights on my bunk bed. My mom, with classic bluntness replied, "You realize that at the end of the world, after Jesus comes back, Snowball is going to burn." I was horrified. I had visions of an earth on fire, and the red flames were licking the face of my beloved bear. I was traumatized at first, but that day began my letting go process, and I began to deal with my grief. Grieving the death of my god.

We worship little gods everyday. The gods of convenience, gods of pleasure, gods of power, gods of style. Why do we do this? Why do we worship frail things made of dust, made by the Creator, or at worst, made by ourselves? Can anyone imagine God creating Adam and rather than saying His work was good, falling upon His holy face in awe at His creation? I don't think so. Then why do I worship clothes and toys made in China?

We go to tanning beds, when the true sun is outside. We watch relationships on tv, and sit next to the real people we love. We worship at the altars of me, and reject the One who made us. We seek the immediate satisfaction of an idol who is there, and the reject the God who is everywhere...calling our names, and waiting for us to come home.

cracking the ring of fellowship

2008-06-09T18:12:00.000-05:00

When I was a girl, I loved to talk. I read the word loquacious once in the vocab section of a magazine and proudly told my mom that it described me to a t. I liked talking to anyone of any age, younger or older; it didn’t matter to me as long as they would lend me their ear for a few minutes.

I loved social events, birthday parties, sleepovers, field trips…I lived for them. I drew flowers, cakes, and puppies around the happy days on the calendar, and eagerly waited for their arrival.

Then it happened. When I was ten, my family moved from Illinois to California, and my comfortable social world crumbled around me.

I quickly learned that I was not as cool as I thought I was, and that other people didn’t need me. I got burned a few...okay, more than a few times saying something dumb in front of my peers. I started talking less, and listening more. The listening was good and healthy. But the fear wasn’t.

I have been alone. I have started over in social settings many times, and felt the disagreeable feeling that burns in your stomach. The feeling that tells you no one else knows you, and if they know you exist, they won’t let on.

I soon sought out others who were on the fringe to talk to, because I knew that even though I was alone, no written rules said I couldn’t reach out to other loners.

Sometimes, after living somewhere for a few years, I became comfortable again. I had go-to friends and didn’t “need” to seek out anyone. I always felt guilty when I watched someone sit by themselves. Sometimes I rejected comfort and sat with them. More often I ignored as others had done unto me.

This lesson is still being learned, the lesson of fellowship. I still find myself in transitional periods attending nights of fellowship and food where I don’t belong. Sometimes I think the problem is I don’t eat the food. I have allergies, and it is a safer bet for me to eat before attending. Maybe my lack of participation in the breaking of bread with the faithful has harmed my social quotient. Maybe not.

What is the ring and how can I crack it? Often the problem is we all think about ourselves, and the most important person in the room is ME. I am not concerned about the comfort of others…as long as someone condescends to ease my social disturbance I couldn’t care less how others feel. When will I learn?

why i stopped hating the president...for less than political reasons

2008-06-08T13:02:00.000-05:00

It would be more in vogue for me to say that the president I ceased to hate was George W., but I laid down the hatchet at the age of 5 when Bill Clinton was entering the oval office. My parents were conservative and I would often hear them venting their frustrations about his positions and policies. We were on a road trip to the East Coast. I was sitting in the back of the van in a booster seat and I loudly proclaimed to my mother that I hated Bill Clinton. I assumed my mom would confirm and sympathize with my sentiments. Unfortunately for my young ego my mom told me it wasn't right for me to hate anyone, and that even though she and my dad disagreed with the the new president, they didn't hate him.

From that time on I tried to keep hate as far away from my heart as possible. My mom once said that hating someone was wishing they were dead. That is something I would never want to wish on anyone, especially someone who has not yet made their peace with God.

Jesus said that I need to love my enemies, a thing that I have found is difficult to do in reality or abstraction.

--How do I love the neighbor kid who tormented me when I was seven?

--How do I love the soccer player who punched me in the back and called me names I had never heard before?

--How do I love someone who commits injustice, a thing that I hate?

I think one of the only ways I can love my enemies is by realizing how bad I am, and know that God loves me in spite of my sin. The better I think of myself, the harder it is for me to love others who are less than perfect.

The closer I get to Jesus, the harder it is for me to harbor ill will towards the ones He loves. Jesus, give me Your love.

entitled

2008-06-04T21:43:00.000-05:00

In my short life I have thought a lot about myself, and about the things that I believe I deserve.

I become distressed and disagreeable when things don't go according to my plan, whether that is something small like doing the dishes instead of reading a novel, or something big like moving away from home to another state or going to a college I didn't expect to attend.

My first response is usually a woe-is-me attitude. Why do these things happen to me? All I want is a little free time, a home by the beach, education at the school of my choice, and an all expense paid trip to Europe. Is that too much to ask?

Not if our world revolves around me.

So often my joy is stolen because I think I am entitled to some vague happiness that can only be satisfied by earthly love or material gain. I want to have adventures, and since I am young and able-bodied...why not?

The problem is, I don't deserve anything. What amazing talent sets me apart from the rest of the human race and demands that I should be pampered? Nothing. It is because of the grace of God that I have been given what I have, and there are no guarantees that that will not be taken away from me.

Do I believe that God still loves me if I am not utterly satisfied with everything and every circumstance?

What about the poor? Does God love them less because they have less? Throughout scripture God shows concern for the poor..."You, O God, provided from Your goodness for the poor." (Psalm 68:10) So if God cares for the poor, I think it is safe to assume that He has taken care of me as well in my comfortable middle class home, with a bed, clothing, and food to eat everyday.

What about those afflicted with the mental retardation? Does God care any less for my sisters with autism, whose deficiencies may prevent them from ever going to college or getting married? I don't think so. They are the children of the kingdom, and Jesus welcomes them to Himself.

What does it mean for me to become poor in spirit, so that I too might be blessed? How can I become pure in heart, so that I too might see God?

Well, I don't think I will ever see God if I am always looking at me. Father in heaven, let me seek Your face.

homeless, cold, and hungry

2008-05-14T12:55:00.001-05:00

--How many times have you been accosted by someone for food or money?

--How many times has someone told you not to give away your resources because it will be spent on drugs and alcohol?

Yes, I know that the homeless can be addicted to harmful substances, hence their life situation. But, don't they deserve the love of Christ as well?

After meeting a few guys on Michigan Avenue, including Bruce and Ugly Old Toad (he insisted upon that title) I began to rethink what it means to give, and give joyfully without a heart full of bitter suspicion.

How do I do this wisely and only give to the honest? I can't. There is no way that I can read the minds of these men, but what I can do is pray...pray that God lets me make eye contact with those who truly need help, and ones that I can help with the resources I have. What kind of resources? It may be 5 bucks, a turkey sandwich, prayer, or a smile that says to them "You are a human being too." One of the things that bothered some of the men most was that people duck their heads and refuse to even look at them. It hurts to be out in the cold, and probably hurts even more to be dehumanized by your fellow man.

If I am idealistic, you can let me know. It's not the first time I have been accused of such a thing. But the following haunts me, I cannot escape it...

The He also said to him who invited Him, "When you give a dinner or a supper, do not ask your friends, your brothers, your relatives, nor rich neighbors, lest they also invite you back, and you be repaid. But when you give a feast, invite the poor, the maimed, the lame, the blind. And you will be blessed, because they cannot repay you; for you shall be repaid at the resurrection of the just." Luke 14:12-14

Ugly Old Toad can't pay you back.

martin luther king jr.: the loving social activist

2008-05-13T11:59:00.000-05:00

The following is a reflection I wrote a couple weeks ago for my class Christian Classics. It will reveal my ignorance, but that is okay...we all need a little dose of humility now and then.

----My knowledge of Martin luther King Jr. has certainly been limited up until I completed the required reading for this course. I have always known about him, and as a young child I often confused him with the Rev. Jesse Jackson and Rev. Al Sharpton; my mother quickly corrected my error. Because of my conservative upbringing, while I knew the importance of the civil rights movement, I cautiously handled anything that called for social action. I was extremely impressed with the Martin Luther King I encountered in these readings, and I was excited to find that he was so much more than what I heard him to be.

Martin Luther King called to our country's attention the plight of those who were being oppressed. As Christians living in a comfortable, middle class society we forget that God cares for the oppressed and the downtrodden because we often are unaware of their presence. Sometimes in our effort to pursue inward spiritual holiness, I believe we neglect those in need around us because we are focused upon ourselves. I was impressed that King was able to show through quotations of church fathers and scripture that the oppression of the African Americans was wrong and that it was necessary for Christians to actively pursue justice.

I was intrigued by the way King used peaceful protest as a means of direct force to bring about the process of change. He was dealing with a hard issue for Christians; to what extent may we use force, yet remain peaceful and loving? Sometimes it seems as though Christians (and others) will condone force when it is not directly related to them, for example, we will fight for justice through endorsement of a war for the protection of our country. But, when it comes to protecting the rights of people of a different race, economic status, the elderly, or the unborn, we are afraid to rock the boat because the consequences of our peaceful, yet forceful protest will hit too close to home. We are afraid to sacrifice anything, resources or peace of mind, for the good of someone else.

King wrote in his Birmingham letter that when the ministers said that the gospel had no social concern, they were actually separating the secular from the sacred, and the body from the soul (299). This is unfortunate because Christ provided for the physical and spiritual needs of the lost that He came to save. He did not simply forgive the sins of the lame man, but gave him the ability to walk. While we will not be able to heal the way Jesus did, we can make life better for those around us by speaking up for their rights and showing them the love of Christ by caring for their needs. We cannot separate our love for our neighbor from our love for God.

It is interesting that King pointed out that we are afraid as Christians in America to be nonconformists. Perhaps we believe that we are in a Christian nation, and thus things are mostly alright and much change isn't necessary. Are we willing to take a look around us and see who is in need? The manifestation of need is different than it was when King wrote his letter, but last time I checked we are still living in a fallen world that has more problems than we can solve on our own strength.

I want to live out my Christian spirituality in a way that is deeply personal, yet purposefully active in a pursuit of peace and justice for those who are oppressed by poverty or injustice. King is an example of this, he saw that the oppression of his people was unjust, and because of his commitment to Christ he found it necessary to speak out on their behalf and be a force for change.

In one of the other readings we read in class, Loving Your Enemies I found that we can still apply much of what King said to our present day struggles with race relations and other social issues in our country. This statement sums up the main thrust of his argument, "There will be no permanent solution to the race problem until oppressed people develop the capacity to love their enemies. The darkness of racial prejudice will be displayed only by the light of forgiving love" (Tyson 430). It is so important for us to recognize that in any pursuit of peace or justice we must love and forgive those who are causing the suffering. This is a difficult truth to swallow. How can we love those who exploit the innocent through sex trafficking? How do we love those who harm and hate people of other races? And even more difficult, how do we help those who have been hurt learn to love those who have offended them? These are questions that can only be answered through the healing power of the gospel and the example of Christ.

As Christians who are completely sold on the power of the gospel to transform the lives of hurting people, I believe it is important for us not to just show concern for those who are physically and emotionally hurting. We must actively pursue their good and seek peace and justice. Loving your neighbor is not just a feeling; we must prove our love for others by our actions.

poverty and justice: part 1

2008-05-12T20:51:00.000-05:00

----As a Christ-follower how should I think about and act on issues like poverty and hunger?

I want to establish what I am not saying right away. I’m not saying that Christians do not work in the world against evils like poverty and hunger. They do, and the things they do have brought about changes and saved lives. This I like and I recognize the work that they have done. What I am trying to understand is what still needs to be accomplished, because last time I checked Jesus still has not returned and I am called to bring about His kingdom on earth.

What evils are still prevalent and what injustices still need addressing? I want to know what I am supposed to do and what things Christians should become aware of and begin to act on rather than staying in a spiritually stagnant status quo.

I started reading Ron Sider’s "Rich Christians in an Age of Hunger" and it is radicalizing my mind already after having read the first chapter.

In the first chapter he cites statistic after statistic showing that poverty and hunger are two of the greatest problems in the world today.

Because of the issues of hunger and malnutrition, thousands of children are dying from starvation and disease. Many children become brain damaged because they do not get enough protein for their brains to develop properly.

The statistics on children are particularly challenging for me because I have been and continue to be concerned for children and the unborn. If I am going to be consistent in my care for the little ones in our world I need to seek the welfare of the starving ones as well as for the unborn.

----How can I help? These problems seem so big and I know that I am small. But, the God I serve is greater than any of the tragedies in this world. I trust that if I am willing to learn and see these problems for what they are, God can show me what He would have me to do. I am excited to continue reading this book and see how I can apply it to my life now, and in the days to come.

---When I throw away wasted food, what am I really doing? If I say that it is wasteful and I should eat it because a child in Africa would love to eat it, it doesn’t seem to have much of an impact because I cannot mail him my leftover spaghetti. But, if I look at it as I could have made less food, saved money, and then sent that child in Africa five dollars so he could eat for a month, now I can smell change and the stench of moldy food begins to fade.

the first post

2008-05-12T17:27:00.000-05:00

So, I've finally caved. I have considered writing my own blog for some time, and now here it is, in all its infant glory.

The question is, why? I am now a blogger with the hopes that these posts will help me wrestle with issues that I am encountering on a daily basis. I am confident that by writing out my current thoughts I will come to a better understanding of where I stand on particular issues.

I will also be randomly posting poems and short stories as the muse inspires.

This blog is a way for me to learn, so if you choose to think about these things along with me, I would be happy to have a companion. So, welcome fellow sojourner!