Lost in a Sea of Drawers- The God-Box Complex

All right, so I genuinely should be doing so many other things rather than write this blog, but here I am writing it anyway. Who needs sleep?

I’ve been sitting in my dimly lit dining room for a while now contemplating life and avoiding my work and realized that I’ve been avoiding much more than just writing a paper on my personal growth this semester. It’s the week before finals week, and like so many college students, I am having hourly conniptions and moments where I feel as though my heart and head are going to simultaneously implode because normal human beings aren’t supposed to be able to handle this much pressure.  And to top that all off, I sound like a forty year old smoker with this beautiful cough that causes my skull to feel like tiny men with hammers are hitting me. Honestly, this is clearly the perfect time to feel like shit. But hey, sometimes life happens. And somewhere along the line of stress and pressure and school and people, I decided that it was a worthy excuse to push God aside and right onto that overused backburner and give in to worry and mistrust. I mean seriously, what the hell? It goes so much deeper than school. I am trying to fit God into my life, very feebly I might add, and I somehow believe that I’m entitled to be upset that it doesn’t seem to be working.

When I think about all the different aspects of my life, it reminds me of that episode of Spongebob where his brain is portrayed as being run by a bunch of mini Spongebobs who organize thoughts and knowledge in little file cabinets for easy access. I like to divvy up my life into different sections and compartments. My life looks like a giant dresser filled with a slue of all different sized drawers each with a pristine label. It’s kind of funny how I’m one big contradiction: I’m a disorganized perfectionist. I should be the poster girl for those Starburst commercials. But, anyways, my chaotic dresser is filled with my life. One drawer would be labeled “Friendships” another  “School” another “Anxieties”, and the list goes on and on-“Boyfriend”, “Hopes and Dreams”, “Young life”, “Quiet times”, “Verses I know”, “Verses I want to know”, “Future”, “Past”, “Sin “, “God", etc.

Each drawer is a different size containing different tidbits of what make up my life. As I mentioned, my God is one of my drawers. It’s a very big drawer. I mean, God is so big, so I wanted to give Him room. But  I could only do so much. Because my dresser, my life, has lots of different things I want. As long as God’s drawer is the biggest, everything else will be fine. You see, quite frequently, I open the God drawer. I clearly see how every other aspect of my contorted life is so incredibly messy and broken and I just want it to be perfect and nice and neat. So I open the God drawer, my God-box in an attempt to move Him into the other compartments of my life. But as I look inside it is nothing more than a dusty, old, barren drawer that, quite frankly, is a waste of space.

            Don’t misunderstand me. God has not left me. No, that’s my job. His is to be my perfect heavenly Father who continually shows me grace and love despite my disobedience and stupidity. Never once did He ask to be a part of my life. No, God is the “Go big or go home” type of guy: God did not send His Son to live and suffer and die in my place to become ‘a part’ of my life. He wants the whole damn thing. God isn’t in my drawer because He can’t fit. He wants to be the whole dresser. My God and my life should be much more synonymous than they are in the reality in which I live.

I have realized how so often, I compartmentalize my Savior and attempt to make Him much smaller and less important than He is. I find one overwhelming drawer of my life and attempt to force and push my God inside to make it all better. It’s in these times that I take my eyes off of Jesus and instead try to make Him make sense in my life, not make sense of my life. But I’m all turned around and confused. Jesus wants to be my life, not a part of it! My God is a jealous God, and He does not only want to come first- He wants to come and be everything. Instead, I try to make him my ‘god of relationships’ or ‘god of school’ or ‘god of future’. But God isn’t the idols I turn to or the drawer I gave Him. God is God of my life. He is the same God yesterday, today, and forever. He is Lord. He wants to bring all of me into all of Him. I'm so awkward. I constantly try to make God fit me like He’s a piece of the puzzle. I try to customize Him like some art project. But He’s so big. Like huge and ginormous and awesome and, holy heck SO GIANT- He doesn’t fit me. He overwhelms and envelopes me and asks to be my All in All.

It’s high time I stop trying to create a pocket-sized God to fit into my agenda, and instead live inside my living and loving God who desires to be Lord of my life.

The reason I’m writing this is because I’ve been lost in my sea of drawers recently. “Remain in me and I will remain in you; apart from Me, you can do nothing”- this is the whole point of John 15. In fact, it is one of the main points of the entire Bible. Remain means to continue to exist, to endure, to last, to live on. We are supposed to live on in Christ and He will most certainly continue to exist in us. Apart from that truth, we are nothing, we are dead. I haven’t been remaining in contentment these past few weeks. I have allowed my compartmentalizing to open my ‘Anxieties’ drawer and wreck havoc in my brain. I have shown a misplaced trust in the things and people of my life and honestly, a misplaced faith in myself. When have I ever proved to myself that I can trust me? Look, I already sound insane. I need God. I have been feeling that pressing, parched need and thirst. I’ve been forgetting my Savior. I’ve forgotten just how very big He is. I’ve forgotten that He is greater than my anxieties, more loving than this world, more important than school, more trustworthy than my friendships, more satisfying than my relationship, more together than my brokenness. He. Is. More. More than any idol I stupidly put my faith in, more than my unfaithfulness, more than this world or Me. He’s everything. Man, I wish I had a better memory and a faithful heart. #humanprobz

“Set your eyes on things above, not on earthly things!”- Colossians 3:2

In my attempt at living life with my puny god on the backburner, I have not been seeking truth in His beautiful words. But by His grace, He impressed this upon my heart tonight:

“Hear, O Israel: The Lord our God, the Lord is one. Love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength. These commandments that I give you today are to be upon your hearts. Impress them on your children. Talk about them when you sit at home and when you walk along the road, when you lie down and when you get up. Tie them as symbols on your hands and bind them on your foreheads. Write them on the door-frames of your houses and on your gates.”-Deuteronomy 6:4-9

God is life. I desire to talk about Him always, to learn more about my Joy and Hope and Grace, to dance and sing His praises, to suffer and struggle and persevere in the glorious name of Jesus, to be Loved recklessly by my Creator and to Love Him with every ounce of all that I am, however great or small that may be. During these last two weeks of school, don’t forget Him as I have. Don’t push Him aside to focus on your present pressing matters. Don’t allow your hearts and souls to be ruled by the fear of anything in and of this world. Look up. Trust Him. And know Him better.

Don’t give God a drawer in your dresser. Don’t make him a file in your cabinet or a space on your shelf. You will not find life unless you live in the wardrobe. You’ll find life in the Narnia waiting inside.

The B.S. Christian- A Rant on Grace, or Lack There-of

    I have been itching to write for a while now. I feel as though over the past week, my brain has been overwhelmed with convictions. It's to the point where I honestly don't know what to write. I don't even know what the Father wants me to say. So, I'm just going to start typing and see what happens. Maybe the Father will make some use of the mess of my scrambled thoughts. Lord, speak.
    I have written a lot about brokenness and grace and all that jazz throughout this past summer. And shockingly enough, I don't believe I'm done yet.
    I've been taking a deep look into my life. And what I have found are ample amounts of shame and grief and sin and worry. I need to be honest. I am a complete mess at this point in my life. I literally feel as though I have absolutely nothing together. This is not a cry for pity of any sort. In fact, I think, as much as this sucks, that it is very good. At this moment, I want to completely shatter any false image of me. In fact, I want to break. I want to be nothing. I want to crucify me in all my nature. I want to disappear in the hope that through my shattered frame, Christ can be seen.
    I am an incredible liar. My secret is that once I convince myself, it's not hard to drag the rest of my world along. And I would get away with it too, if it wasn't for that meddling Savior. Much of my life seems driven or rather halted by fear and cowardice. I have this inherent desire to protect a false image of perfection. And though at times I deny the false image, I fall back to protecting it because I long for it to be true. What I mean to say, is that I have no issue admitting that I'm a sinner. After all, as a Christian, that is a requirement of our 'humbled image'. The trick of perfection is remaining within the lines of the 'forgivable sins' (*note the increasing use of sarcastic quotation marks). To look good isn't about doing no wrong. That would be flat out obnoxious and completely unbelievable. No, to look good, you gotta dig up some pride issues, some denial, some doubt. And don't get me wrong- pride and denial and doubt are real. But they are the tip of the surface of an incredibly deep iceberg. Because that's all we can see of anyone. The tip of the iceberg. And funny enough, if there's a surface, we know there's a base. But because we can't see exactly what that is, we as humans completely underestimate how far down and rooted into the ocean of our lives it actually goes.
   I'm so angry. I'm angry with the structure of our society, the lies we all live in ever-so comfortably, but mostly, I'm upset with myself. I claim Jesus as Lord. And yet, I don't understand grace. If I did, wouldn't I live my life in that way? I can talk your ear off about the many knowledgable tidbits of information I have gained over my study of this topic. And I have learned. But man, do I need more practical practice. I have the utmost difficult time accepting grace. I can't forgive myself. I can't move on. A friend gave me the example of a 'camp-out'. I camp out in a rut I dig for myself, staring at the road ahead, and glancing behind, terrified, not moving, simply sitting. I begin to build walls around me, guarding myself from grace, hindering my ability to move, created barriers of excuses to stay in my comfortable but completely unsatisfying fortress. There are two roads- the wrong path and right. The problem is, I know not to enter the wrong path, but the right is terrifying and filled with scary, uncomfortable fears I need to face. The wrong path looks so much easier and inviting. So instead of choosing, I give in to indecisiveness and become immobile. And the longer I sit in disobedience, the harder my heart and mind become, and slowly, my flesh turns to stone.
    It doesn't make much sense, does it? You see, I see myself. I live with myself. I chose wrong things frequently. And I hate some of my choices. And, though I despise admitting it, or admitting any type of weakness, many times I have found my hatred of sin to reach the sinner inside of me. I know Christ already paid the price. I don't have to ask to be forgiven. He's already done that. It was finished long ago. But I know I deserve Hell. And I know that far to frequently, I sin and ignore God, or avoid Him or even consciously disobey what I am told. Therefore, I act in a way that denies a lifestyle of gratefulness to my Father. And it cause an intense shame, and deep seeded pain, that I allow to rule over my life because that is easier to accept than an undeserved act of love.
   I say this all the time, and for good reason- I need Christ to know Christ. I need His love to be loved. I literally can do nothing, even accept a free freaking gift, on my own.
    At this point in my life, I feel the Father tugging on my heart. He is telling me it time to heal. It is time to allow Him to annihilate the feebly constructed walls around my soul. It is time to stop trying to do things to be 'perfect'. And it is time to move with Him. You see, my definition of perfection has been horribly misconstrued. I have made it to be a mere image, seen by the eyes of men and women that surround me. In my mind, I have made perfection worldly. I have said that it is looking good enough. But the Father, He is whispering into the innermost depth of my being, "Beloved".  He says I am perfection in His perfect eyes, created that way, and restored by Him into who He intended me to be. I already have perfection. Love-that messy, beautiful, indescribable, healing God-Love is my perfection.
    I am at a beautiful place in my life. I am finally able to see that and I praise my God. I am so intensely aware of my brokenness. There isn't much room for pride at the moment. I'm at a position where I am completely aware of my utter dependence on my God. My need for Him is not something that ever increases or decreases. However, my knowledge of that need is another matter entirely.
    We are all told frequently that we need to always be improving ourselves, always working towards a goal, always striving to be better. And I have come to realize that this mentality is a lie and trick, fed to us by a nasty piece of work, the work of the Great Deceiver, the Accuser, The King of Hatred.         Improvement is not bad or wrong. Of course not! However, the "you are not enough, you need to earn perfection and God, you need to do more", that mindset and heart-set is not what the Father speaks. No, He says, "You are accepted. You can do nothing to earn my love. I have taken mercy on your souls so to save you from what you deserve, and in my undeniable love for you, I have lavished my grace upon my One and Only Son, on the cross, over my world, over my beloved children. I have poured out an underserved gift upon you. I promise to never leave you where you're at. Trust me. Do not limit my love. Accept it as I have accepted you."
    I have been making all of these plans to change my life for the better. You want to know how often these plans work out for me? How often they fill me up spiritually? I'll give you a hint- it's the lowest of the low. Recently, my big quest has been discipline. I suck at being disciplined. It is an unreliable part of me, something that affects nearly every aspect of my life, and something that causes deep shame and grief and pain that manifests itself in many different ways and sins and disobedient tendencies. And I have always blamed my lack of improvement on my need of discipline to actually be able to work on discipline. The real issue is that I'm not going to get better in a day, that I wouldn't get better at all unless the Spirit works and moves and transforms me. This is a heart issue. I can't fix that. And that is so damn frustrating!!!
    That is literally only one of many examples in my life. And the thought of me needing to fix them all is so overwhelming that I normally end up crying. And that's because the pressure is too great. I'm not supposed to fix them all. I am to remember that God loves me exactly where I'm at, and He PROMISES not to leave me there. I only need to have faith. He will accomplish His plan. And His will, well, that will be done!
    I forget or maybe don't fully understand that I no longer have to play the part of a slave. I am not a slave to sin any longer. I have freedom to be a servant. A servant of Christ, of True Life, of Love. The funny thing is, I don't always know how to live in freedom. It scares me. But so does everything! God, give me strength!
    When it comes to grace, the greatest fear is judgment. We are afraid of admitting and confessing the extent of our brokenness and weakness and need, because we are afraid of letting others down, of the cruel stares we may receive, the lack of compassion, and the string of judgments. Why do we so intensely fear the opinions of mere man? Perhaps it's because we know our own thoughts. Perhaps we show a lack of grace in our own lives. Or even worse, a limited grace. We forgive and accept the societally forgivable. But when it comes to the taboos and grimy dirt, we all the sudden stick our noses in the air and act as though we above such lowly things. And, excuse the language, but that's a load of bull shit. I'm so sick of the pristine image we have given to the manmade creation of the "perfect Christian". It's disgusting and completely in contradiction to the very character of our Redeemer. He loved and took compassion on the very lowest of society. He loved prostitutes, the lame, the lepers, the sick, the tax-collectors, the children. This was the lowest caste in that culture. And He proves in that love, that no one earns His favor or grace. It. Is. Given. For goodness sake, He went and hung out will scum of society. He went and hung out with who the world condemned. And we (I'm including myself) think we have some right to grace because we aren't that bad?! Like, what the Hell! Or rather, if we are that bad, we hide it. Well, one thing I have discovered: I would much rather be the prostitute thrown into the street and picked up by Jesus than some masked sinner pretending in worldly perfection. I'm not above grace. I'm not above scum of the earth. I am one. And I want to receive love like one. Freely. Without condemnation. And I'm going to love. Because He enables me to do so. With grace. I suppose, I should start with myself.

John 8:1-11

At dawn Jesus appeared again in the temple courts, where all the people gathered around him, and he sat down to teach them. The teachers of the law and the Pharisees brought in a woman caught in adultery. They made her stand before the group and said to Jesus, “Teacher, this woman was caught in the act of adultery. In the Law Moses commanded us to stone such women. Now what do you say?” They were using this question as a trap, in order to have a basis for accusing him.

But Jesus bent down and started to write on the ground with his finger. When they kept on questioning him, he straightened up and said to them, “Let any one of you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone at her.” Again he stooped down and wrote on the ground. At this, those who heard began to go away one at a time, the older ones first, until only Jesus was left, with the woman still standing there. Jesus straightened up and asked her, “Woman, where are they? Has no one condemned you?”

“No one, sir,” she said.

“Then neither do I condemn you,” Jesus declared. “Go now and leave your life of sin.”

People Love a Good Liar

    Recently, as in this whole summer, I have had ample time to think. I keep trying to find different ways to distract myself, but somehow, I just end up back in my room, alone with nothing but my thoughts and the God of the Universe.
    As Christians, we talk about brokenness and sin and our deep need for a Savior frequently (as we should). But, Christian or not, we are also human. And that means we have this tendency to remain surface level. Sure, we act like we are deep creatures with important stories and riveting thoughts and hearts that long to change the world. And maybe, we are partly telling the truth. But half truths are equivalent to full lies. You see, really, we all like to pretend. We are like children, creating worlds where we can be lions and tigers and bears. We put on these masks, these labels and play a role. We are all human, yet in some twisted mind game, we refuse to admit it. Somehow, we have gotten the idea that our human nature is wrong. It is something to be hidden and covered up and never talked about. And you know what is so ridiculously silly about the whole thing? We ALL know the big secret.        
    Brokenness. What we refuse to admit are the specifics. The quantity. The actual sin itself. And why? Because of fear. Because of cowardice. Because we are so utterly terrified that if someone only knew the extent of the deep fissures within our souls, the shattered pieces of our purity, the lack of innocence that infects our beings, the disease of sin that spreads across our skin- if people only knew, then people couldn't possible love us. Because we have been taught since birth that love is conditional. That love is from people. And that people can only love those who stay within the lines of what is socially acceptable, of what is socially comfortable. People can only love a good liar.
    And you know what? I believe that. I believe that people practice conditional love. Why? Because people are so damn broken, so fallen, so consumed with the lies of Satan, that we can't comprehend anything more. Our minds have been conditioned to believe that love comes from saying the right things, pleasing others, and not doing what society condemns as unlovable.
    Like every kid in America, I have been yelled at to clean my room a million times. Seriously, I go through periods of time when it looks as though a tornado touched down between my door and bed and created a disaster that would take obscene amounts of time to sort through and clean up. My brother on the other hand, when you look at his room from the threshold, it looks clean. The floor is void of any clothing or food. It may have an item here or there scattered among the fluffy white carpet, but overall, it looks good from the outside looking in. But then you step across the door frame and you turn around.     Everything, piles of clothes and food and games are smashed together in a contorted web of destruction just behind the corner of door. It's just as much of a train wreck as my natural disaster of a living space.
    This is our hearts. Our lives. Our secrets. For some, our sin, and crap and pain is so obvious. For others, it's hidden to look like we have it all together. But for both scenarios, it all comes down to the same thing. We all have dirt. We all have sin. We all have emptiness and sadness and pain and grief and shame.
    Around 2,000 years ago, a man came into this world with a new definition of love. Some call it 'agape' love. I call it Jesus. He came, and He loved those deemed unlovable. He picked up a prostitute from the ground and called her a daughter of the Most High. He ate with a hated tax collector and called him His friend. He welcomed a criminal into Paradise and called him His brother. Jesus comes into the room, into that havoc of living space and He builds a home. And He changes everything.
    As humans, we have built a wall within that room, separating justice from love. We have a rule book to prove it. And then a Carpenter from Nazareth comes in and with Faith and a Cross, the wall becomes rubble. And He was hated for it.
   It comes down to this. We look to people for affirmation, for worth, and value, and love. Because people surround us. People are our reality, our world, our tangible god. But one day, it will all be dust. And the One who created this dust, He can make beautiful things. He who designed us for so much more, He will remain. And so will we if we remain in the Father's Love. Never once does it say to remain in the love of man. Because man is human, and human is broken. But the Father, He sees man, He sees human as He designed it to be. Blameless, Perfect, Loved. And He came into this earth and he became broken. He became sin. And for that reason, the Father knows a love we can only hope to understand one day. He knows a love without conditions. Because, "He became sin so that in Him we might become the righteousness of God."
    And His opinion really does far out-way that of a feeble, fleeting, man. If we look at the Son of God, at the Son of Man, we will learn something about true Love. And perhaps we will learn that we are capable of so much more.
    One day, I hope I can be more real. I hope I can have enough confidence in the love of my Savior, in my redemption to my Father, that I can walk unashamed knowing my humanity on this earth, and knowing my perfection in eternity. It all comes back to Love. Everything is rooted and established in this deep, intrinsic need to Love and be Loved. 
    When we share our brokenness with the world- the dirty, grimy, specifics- there will be hate. But tell me, do you receive perfect love from people by wearing the mask that "saves" you from shame? Because, more then anything, I think that creates the argument of hypocrisy. 
    Man will always judge. But the Ultimate Judge loves you. And He is calling you to be Loved. So, "If you have any encouragement from being united with Christ, if any comfort from his love, if any fellowship with in the Spirit, if any tenderness and compassion, then make my joy complete by being like-minded, having the same love, being one in spirit and mind. Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit. Rather, in humility value others above yourselves, not looking to your own interests but each of you to the interests of the others." (Philippians 2:1-4)
    This is Love. True Love. A Love that through a Savior, we can experience and we can give. It is a love without judgment, without boundaries, without chains. It is freedom. Freedom to look beyond the grossness of what Satan corrupted, and glorify the Father who sees whom He created. 

Now for the ever-so-typical and cliche, 1 Corinthians 13. An oldie but a goodie. 

"Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.  It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails."

The King of Social Awkwardness

    Do you ever just stop and really contemplate Jesus. I don't mean just talking at Him, or thinking about the idea of Him and His character. I don't mean talking or even just thinking about Jesus. Do you ever actually think of Him as a living and present God. Because, and I'm gonna be real honest here, I would say that I rarely do this. That sounds so bad. Sure, I think about Jesus a lot. All the time in fact. I talk about Jesus constantly. But, recently, I've just been thinking about how too often, I act like Jesus isn't in the room. I leave Him on the cross and forget the my Redeemer is the Living God that did in fact rise from the grave to live among His people, to be God With Us. It's really quite rude of me. So much of the time, I ignore the creator of my existence. I ignore my Purpose, my Joy, my Love. Because I'm to busy talking at Him or about Him. I have very poor listening skills.

    I was talking to God tonight. Notice I said "to", not "with". It should be "with". And I was thinking about why I struggle so much with that. And again, my stupid human, feeble, over-logical, brain entered the equation. I can't see Him. Physically, in His flesh, in a human form, I can't see Him. Suddenly, in that moment of realization, that fact, that thought, made me so sad. For multiple reasons.
    For one thing, it upsets me that my faith still doesn't seem strong enough when something such as physical evidence is not present. I know that faith is about believing in the unseen, for that is eternal. For another thing, and this is the child within me, but, despite my knowledge of Jesus, despite what I know to be true, despite what I know as reality, I don't really care. I want Him here. You can tell me all sorts of truths about how He lives within me, about how I can see Him and experience him through others, about how He is here. And all of that is truth. But that's not what I'm saying. It's not what I want. My desire is that my Jesus would stop being invisible, and that I could just see Him and touch Him and talk with Him, and not in some abstract method or form.
    Then I thought about why I wanted that. What would I say? What would we do? What would He say? What would He do? (hahaha WWJD) And as I thought about this, I realized how desperately I long for His comfort. How, especially recently, I have been so scared. Literally, I don't know how I was placed in Gryffindor, because I feel as though I lack so much courage. I'm not really brave at all. Recently, dealing with life just terrifies and worries me and causes me so much anxiety. I just want to crawl into my bed and safely stay there. I feel incapable of being who I am supposed to be, who I am called to be, because I feel so inadequate. I feel so confused. I feel lost and broken. It's funny how I know the answer to all of that. After all, it is the overused, ever-so typical, Sunday school answer.
   But I'm so freakin' stubborn. I just want Him here! I feel like a five year old throwing a temper tantrum (which, isn't unusual for me seeing as I act like a five year old 82% of the time). So then, I decided to think about why I wanted all this. What I desired in detail. And this is what I imagined...

    Jesus walks into my room. I just cleaned it. It was the aftermath of a tornado 72 hours ago, but it's all ready for company now. I dusted and everything. He walks in and He looks around. He looks so out of place in my pink, girly room. I'm sitting on the ground, leaning against my bed. And I just stare at Him. And He stares right back, not daring to break eye contact. His eyes are kind. They have little crows feet and they crinkle in the corners, probably because He smiles and laughs so much. I feel like Jesus likes to smile and laugh. His face is the very definition of compassion. A very slight smile plays on the edges of His lips as his stares into my awestruck face. He is so glad to be in my room. And I don't even know what to do. I think about getting up. I think about saying something- anything. I think a lot of incomplete thoughts. And I'm also well aware that He knows what's going on in my head. At least, I know He's capable of knowing. Because, heck, this is freaking Jesus! I know Him. Not well enough, but I know Him. I know that well over 2,000 years ago, He was mobbed by throngs of people just wanting to catch a glimpse of Him. I know that He loved to annoy the Pharisee's and play against their hypocrisy and pride. I know that He wept when Lazarus died. I know that He told Peter that he would deny Him three times before the rooster crowed. I know that He was beaten and humiliated and murdered by the people He came to love, and be with, and save. People like me.  I know that He knows every single disobedient, sinful, disgusting thing I have ever done, every thought I have ever had, every word I have ever spoken. He knows my brokenness fully. And as He's standing in my room staring into my eyes with nothing but compassion reflecting in His own,  I feel naked. Because I can't hide. I can't even pretend to myself that I can hide. Because Jesus Christ is in my bedroom.
  
    I have a hard time imagining anymore to this daydream. Because in my head, my brokenness still scares me. I hope that none of it matters. I hope that He loves me despite it all. But I just feel so inadequate to even be in His presence. But this is what I hope for.

    In this moment of social awkwardness (and Jesus is the King of socially awkward situations *see the Gospel*), He comes to me. He walks towards me and bends down. He places his hand on both sides of my face. And suddenly, tears fill my eyes. And, uncontrollably, I'm losing it. He sits besides me and pulls me close to Him. He holds me tightly and rubs my back and kisses the top of my head. So far, no words have even been spoken.
    After what I'm sure is an obscene amount of time, I finally pull myself into a sitting position. I take a deep breath, and I look back into the eyes of the Holy One. There are tear stains on His cheeks. I imagine that takes His thumb and rubs away the remains of my crying tirade. And slowly, I reach my own hand to His cheek, and brush away the evidence of sadness. And then, because of course, I'm a little coward, He must be the one to speak the first words.
    "Dear one," He says "You forget me."
     And just when I thought my eyes couldn't bear more tears, they begin to leak again. And I finally speak. The only words I can muster. They aren't beautiful, or eloquent, or at all what I would want them to be. They don't seem like enough to express the sadness and pain and regret of my heart. But they are rooted in the deepest truth.
    "Jesus, I'm sorry."And the tears continue. The room is quiet. I can't look into His face anymore. I wait for Him to leave, ashamed to be in my girly pink room.
    "Daughter, why do you still not see? Why do you still forget who I am? Who you know. Who you are in Me?"
    "I don't deserve who You are."I angrily cry out.
    "Beloved, look at me." He whispers.
    And, after a while, I slowly and finally look up.
    "You. Are. Loved. And Daughter, you are forgiven. It is forgotten. Long ago Dear One. You are my precious Joy. You are Mine."
    And I don't know what to say. I'm dumbfounded. He is right, of course. I know this is what He has said. But it is the hardest truth to root in my heart and soul and being, because truly, a Grace such as this feels so unbelievable, uncontainable, unimaginable, unreal for a world such as ours. But here is Jesus, in my room, reminding me in person of who I am because of who He is.
    And, of course this is a daydream so I don't know, but I would think that I would probably laugh. Whenever I am uncomfortable, or overwhelmed beyond belief, I tend to laugh and sometimes cry. And He joins me. And the most beautiful sound, the joy of our laughter fills the air and mind and body and soul. It fills me more than I have ever been filled. And I am complete. I am whole. Because my Savior Loves me. And I'm new.
   I'm sure that with all of this, a new outburst of confidence is sure to accompany being whole in Christ. So I spring to my feet and pull Him with me.
    "I want to show you everything!"
And of course, because I can condense nothing, I literally show Him all things. I talk His ear off. I show Him my favorite books and my photo albums and my friends. I show Him my stuffed animals and my favorite blanket and all my snow globes. He stumbles upon the picture of Him in the garden hanging on the wall above my bed, and He laughs at how unrealistic and untrue the portrayal of Him is. I show Him the wand my brother got me from Harry Potter World and the purple box my boyfriend made me. And then I show Him my journal and Bible. I go through and read Him different entries and He comments, "Ah, I remember when you were going through that," and "It hurt to see how much pain that caused you," and "Ha, I remember when you were so mad I wouldn't tell you what I was doing. All in good time."
    Then we would go through the annotations in my Bible and laugh at my ridiculousness and He would probably roll His eyes at many of my comments.
   I would take Him downstairs and show Him my absolute favorite part of my house- my baby grande piano. I would play Him every song I know. Maybe He would even ask me to teach Him one. We would laugh and talk and be together. It would be how it always should be.
  
    I don't have an end to my daydream. Because I don't want Him to say goodbye. So I will leave it how it is. One day, I feel certain I will be with Him. I'm so impatient.
    As I've been writing this, I've been thinking about how we talk at God so much. And of course, he wants us to talk. He wants us to pour our souls onto Him. That shows trust and faith. But, I think in this life, in this world, in this time, it is much more about listening. Because only when we listen can we discern even a portion of the will of the Father and only with listening can we act in true obedience. Right now, we are creatures of learning. We are being taught and disciplined. There will be a time for talking. But perhaps now is the time to be still and know our God.
  

And Everything is Strange

It's strange being in this house. It's strange lying here in the dark and looking at the familiarity of it all. It's strange being in my grandpa's home without my grandpa. In fact, I don't think I've ever been in this house when he wasn't here. It smells like him. It smells like home. But he isn't here. And he never will be again. Because he is home. And everything is strange. 


Right about now I would hear him snoring. It would be loud and obnoxious and I would turn my music up to try to drown it out. But it's so quiet. And I hate it. This house just isn't right without him here. Because everything here is the same. The ticking clock, the portrait of my great great great grandfather, the rocking chair- it's all as it has always been. 

But the quiet. The quiet is what's different because a part of this ongoing memory is now missing. And it tugs on my heart in an uncomfortable way. It makes me sad. Because it can never be as it was. I will never hear him snore. I will never see him walk through the door in his overalls and plaid shirt and baseball cap. I will never again be asked "Lulu, do you know that today's grandpas birthday?" And I will never respond "Grandpa, apparently it's your birthday every time I visit. You have got to be SO old by now. "

He named me Lulu. Everybody knows me as that here. Because of him. And the man that gave me my name, that loved me more than I deserved, that smells like this house is gone. And that hurts so much.

But I'm glad. I'm joyful. Because he suffered for too long and he is in paradise now. He is with Jesus and he is at peace. I wonder what they talk about. I wonder what he's doing. I wonder if he's told Jesus about us, about me and how he named me Lulu. I wonder if he's told him about how we would come in the summer and pick raspberries or about the time he gave Sawyer a Red Ryder BB gun. Maybe he told him about the time we went fishing and I was too scared to take my catch off the hook so he had too. I wonder if he's told him about the time he made me so angry and I refused to talk to him until he apologized and then, to the shock of everyone, he did. I wonder if he's told him about how I wanted him to dance with me at my wedding. I wonder if he's chuckling about how he got out of it.

I miss him. I will always miss him. I know that the next while will be filled with many tears. But I know this separation isn't forever. One day I will sit on his lap again and I will stubbornly say something sarcastic and he will call me Lulu again. One day, I will be able to tell him I love him. And I will hold onto that hope.

Today, my grandpa will be buried in the earth. Today we will have to let go a little bit more. Today life stops for a moment as we say goodbye to a man who has been there always. Before he died, I went to see him. It was hands down, the most difficult thing I have ever had to do. I had to say goodbye. And so did he. The last thing he said to me was that he loved me and it would be alright. I held his hand for hours, not wanting to let go.

Today, we emotionally will give him to the Father, though I know he is already with Him. Today, his life will be celebrated. And I will remember with joy all that he is to me. I will miss his laugh and his stubbornness and his repetitive jokes. I will miss his cocky smile and our banter and his obnoxious snoring. I will miss him calling me Lulu. I will miss his love. I will miss him. I want him here, but I'm a selfish girl. He is with Jesus. And that is a gift beyond imagining. That is enough to quiet and comfort my heart.

Grandpa. I love you. Present tense. I always will. I'll see you soon. Don't leave my heart.
Love Lulu

The Voice of Truth

I wrote this about a month ago and have shared parts of it before. I do not believe that this contains much of me at all. I truly believe that this is something God wrote on my heart that I am simply putting on paper.This is a truth from the mouth of God. This is just a portion of what I feel he has been teaching me recently. This is about love, and if you have ever struggled with giving, accepting, understanding, or being loved, I think that you should read more.

Far to often, we lose sight of who we truly are. We have this deep, intrinsic need to know our purpose, our name. So we search and seek to earn a label, to gain glory or respect. And as we search in this world, we do not tend to find who we are, but rather we listen to lies of who we are not. And that is what begins to define us. We become deceived into thinking we are all the things we are not. We believe the lies in the chaos that surrounds us. They are whispered in our ears, voices of imperfect people defining who we are, who we are not, who we should be. But the most important Voice of all, His Voice seems to escape us. You see it whispers, "You are Loved". The Voice seems quiet at first, faint and subtle, easy to ignore or overlook. Of course, when we are listening and focusing on all the others telling us we are worthless, we are nothing, we are imperfection, we are guilt, His Voice seems to melt within the noise.  But The Voice is persistent. It never ceases, "You are Loved".

        But we don't listen, and it breaks His heart. It kills Him that we refuse to turn and look and focus on the only Voice that could truly define us. You see, it is with this Voice that we are given freedom, purpose, worth, and our true identity.

The Voice comes from the mouth of the One who created us, the One who formed us, the One who placed each hair on our heads and has them numbered, The Voice of the one who knows our every thought, our every motive, our every shortcoming. The Voice comes from the Perfect One, who despite knowing us fully, sees far beyond what our feeble minds can comprehend, and He begins to groan and plead in an ever-increasing whisper, “YOU are Loved”.

 And our refusal to listen to Him makes Him desperate. "You are Loved!" His voice grows ever louder and still we will not give ear. And this drives the Father crazy. It drives Him mad with grief. And He knows that He must gain our attention because we are everything to Him. We are treasured and holy and perfect to the Creator. But we keep missing it. Time and again we turn to other things, defining ourselves by all the other voices, by our demons and fears and the Fallen himself. And it drives the Father insane with agony over His lost children, jealous with His desire for us. It drives Him to do the most desperate, generous, painful thing He can think of, the only way to gain our lost souls and lost attention. He sends His Own into our brokenness, into our world of confusion and sadness and damaged voices, voices that speak from a deceived mind. He comes in the Name of His Father, in the Name of who He is, in the Name that is above all Names, in the Name that defines all and Loves all. He comes to rescue us from the lies, from the false identity that chains our souls, to understand us. He sends His Son to prove once and for all "YOU ARE Loved"

I Am Loved. God and us are apart of the same sentence. The Great I Am next to the objects of His Love. And it is this Love, this identity, this Truth that draws us into the palm of our Father, that gives us Hope and Joy and Purpose and all His goodness lavished upon us. It inspires our hearts to break for the lost, the broken, the children of the Great I Am. Because His heart breaks, so does ours. And it is all because the Father’s gentle whisper sets a fire in our souls- uncontainable, uncontrolled, “You are Loved”.

Until we listen to the Voice, until we stop and listen and look up and allow the arms of Grace, the Faith of the Father, The Voice of Truth to Love us, we will remain utterly lost. We will remain feeling un-whole, like something is missing. We will continue, tangled up in the lie as old as time itself. Until we stop listening to the lies of the Fallen and the fears and demons that attack us in Spiritual warfare and until we listen to the only Voice we need, the only Voice that matters, the Voice we long for deep inside our souls, we cannot function. Not really. We will only be a shell of who we are really created to be.

We do not have to find our identity. We have one, given to us freely. Do you see it? Because it is of the upmost importance that if you believe in the Christ, you understand this; "YOU ARE LOVED" because that is Him. It is who He is and who He calls you to be. The Great I Am tells you that you are His beloved! Loved beyond reasoning, beyond imagining, beyond belief. That is who you are. You have to know this to know Him! We are pieced together in His redemption. Without Love, there is nothing! You cannot love, not fully, until you grasp even a glimmer of His unconditional Love for you. It doesn't matter how smart or wise or popular or successful you are. It doesn't matter how gross and disgusting and broken and self-addicted you are. It is not who you are not, but who He says you are. This is present tense, not future, not past. It is a word that is eternal. Presently, this is who you are. He looks at you with His perfect eyes and sees whom He created perfectly. He sees His blameless, perfect, righteous child. He sees the ones He Loves! And you can do nothing to change that. You can neither earn Love nor lose it. We are literally bathed in this identity, covered in the blood of Love, safe and protected in the shadow of the cross. If you don’t believe this Truth, you call the Perfect Father a liar. And He cannot be what He is not. And He is Love. And Love does not lie. So stop hiding and running and look up, because He guarantees that when you finally face Him, you will fall to your knees, renamed by Love. Unconditionally, irrevocably, undeniably, YOU. ARE. LOVED

What Matters

So I am going to forewarn you. This is not a pleasant post. This is not something light or easy. This is a part of my brain that is hard. I have debated posting this, but I'm trying this thing where I am real with people. So take this as is.

It's funny what happens when I just sit here thinking. It’s crazy how strange it is to just allow my thoughts to be. So often I find myself trying to control them, trying to tame them, even trying to forget them. But, how refreshing it is to take a deep breath and just release them- all the good, all the bad, all the ugly.

I was just telling one of my best friends how I find my brain to be one of the most dangerous parts about me. I feel like my mind is my own weapon against me. It is so easy for me to get stuck in all the thoughts that run through there on a daily basis, never seeming to cease.

So, *side tangent*, one time, in all my overanalyzing, I realized something incredible. Every girl I have ever talked to, save for a few shallow exceptions, have, at some point or another, overthought a situation. In fact, I always see girls worrying and gossiping and complaining about something.  We can never really seem to shut up. And then I took a look at all my guy friends, at all the men in my life. Sure, they worry and complain, but then there are those times when you see a guy gazing off into the distance with this blank look etched across his face. I’ve always been curious about what could possibly be going on above his eyes. So one time, when my curiosity got the best of me, I asked. And I got the ever so typical answer, “nothing”. But I pressed on, refusing to take the answer people say to hide what is actual going on inside their brain. And as I pushed, I continued to get the infuriating, one-word answer of “nothing”. Finally, after endlessly nagging, I got a firm and exasperated multiple word answer: “Sydney, I’m telling you that I really can’t tell you what I was thinking about because I don’t know. Truly I was thinking about absolutely nothing.”

I was stunned. He sounded so honest, but I couldn’t believe it. This is a concept that I can’t grasp. Perhaps it’s because I think about thinking about nothing- the concept that requires no thought.

To any girl reading this, can you honestly say that you can actively, or even subconsciously think about nothing, or rather just not think at all? If so, I envy you, because I have never experienced this sensation. It seems wonderful.

You see, my mind doesn’t work quite like that. Sure, I try to tune it all out, the noises, the constant stream of fears and worries and reality and depth. I try to focus on only the good, the thoughts that bring me happiness, the things I want to hear and believe and think about. But recently, a new, or perhaps repressed thought keeps bubbling up inside me.  The thought is a somewhat depressing thought. Honestly, I doubt you’ll want to think about. Because, that’s the point.  Really, we subconsciously trick ourselves. It’s ingrained in our human nature. You see, we can’t really face reality. We can’t handle it. So we fill our lives with distractions, labeling them as important. Whether it’s sports or school or money or drugs or alcohol or tv or stuff or anything, we use this as a distraction. Because, and I honestly believe this, without distractions, what are you left with? I have this theory, that we are left with facing ourselves, and a great majority of the time that scares us, because maybe we won’t like what we see. Maybe reality is far too depressing because, in many ways, it is beyond our comprehension.

So, I realize that I’m going all Holden Caulfield on you, and I’m not writing this to depress you. I writing the truth of my brain. I’m telling you that it isn’t all full of happiness and carefree thoughts. Is anyone’s? How often I try to pretend that I don’t have fears or worries or doubts, that I don’t understand so many things, that I’m not broken. But I am. I’m broken. I feel like everyday we follow Eve and bite into the apple. We have this thirst, this obsession with knowledge, with understanding and comprehending our world, ourselves, reality, humanity, life, God. And we can’t. Because at the end of the day, we are afraid to face the knowledge of trust. We are afraid to admit that we don’t know. We are afraid of the unknown, and that might be the only useful thing I really know.

So, I’m going to tell you about a recent experience that will forever remain with me. This may be one of the most difficult accounts I have and will ever write about.  It’s not pleasant. It may sound harsh at parts. You may disagree with my thoughts. But I’m not asking for anyone to agree with me. I’m just showing you me. I’m not holding back. All the good, all the bad, all the ugly.

My grandpa has been dying for over two years. And for over two years he has lived, if you can even call it that, in excruciating pain. He’s also lived undiagnosed. For the past couple of years, he has lived, drowning in the unknown. He has been facing something the majority of us refuse to ever think about. He has been suffering more than anyone I have ever seen. He has been broken down in everyway and is only left with the question of importance. What matters?

I love my grandpa. I’ll tell you a little bit about the grandpa I know. When I was born, I don’t think he liked me very much. Oh, yes, he loved me from the start, but I doubt that he liked me. He thinks babies are ugly. And, I mean, he has a point. But from the second I was born, he had already made the commitment to teach me the art of stubbornness. He flat out refused to call me by the legal name given to me by his daughter and son-in-law. To him, I have always been Lulu. It was apparently a character in some old comic, and I reminded him of her. He and my grandma are the only two people I have ever allowed to call me this. I think I can only remember two times that my grandpa called me ‘Sydney’ and I hated it. I am forever Lulu to him.

I have been sassy with my grandpa since I could talk. He gives me crap, and I dish it right back. Our banter was well known within our family. He is stubborn, close-minded man who was always watching some baseball game in one of his two favorite chairs. He was the king of naps and I would always come into the room to find him asleep with the remote resting across his forehead. He was grumpy and negative, but he has a laugh that fills my heart with joy. I would always, even as a teenager, come over and sit on lap and he would tease me about something and, somehow with him, I always had some witty response. If only I could do that with all the other people who tease me!

One time, I found out that my grandpa hated to dance. In fact, he refused to even dance with my mom at her wedding. I always told him that I thought I could get him to dance with me at mine. He said it wouldn’t happen, but I firmly believe in my persuasion abilities.

I have always been one of his favorites. I know it, and so does my family. I’m not gonna lie. I’m stupidly proud of that. Of course, he loves all my brothers and cousins, but I have always gotten along with him the best. I think it’s because he knows I won’t take crap. I’m just as stubborn as he is. I would like to think that I’m more open-minded, but somehow, I have a feeling that isn’t really true.

I have known him for eighteen years, as an overweight, stubborn, loving grandfather. He could make me smile and laugh and he could infuriate me. He was a man of many talents.

Last week, he went into impatient hospice. And no one truly knows what’s wrong. He’s been to so many doctors and had so many tests done. They have had theories but nothing conclusive. He probably weighs as much as me. His once deep voice is faint and hardly audiable. He looks so frail, so unlike the man I have known my whole life.  

I have been afraid of seeing him. Because I knew that when I did, it could be the last time. I have been afraid to remember him in this way- sick and weak and hurting so much.

Nearly a year ago, I talked to him on the phone. Now, like I said, he is a stubborn old man. I know he has his views on religion and Christianity and God. And, though I would never pretend to know a man’s heart, he has always struck me as the type to put God in a box. He’s a formality, taken out on Sunday’s and placed gently back inside the box, waiting for the next time he could be used again.

So, anyway, a year ago, my grandpa called me. And for some reason, he told me that he believed that God had forgotten him. And I didn’t know what to say. What do you tell a man, who has been physically suffering for so long without an answer, how do you tell him that God is there when clearly, he doesn’t seem like it? So, I’m sure I said something lame, something along the lines of  “I’m praying for you. You’re not forgotten.”

So, for the past year of my life, I have been very concerned for my beloved grandpa’s soul. I have asked people to pray that he would find God. I have asked that people wouldn’t just focus on praying for the end of his suffering, but on praying that through his suffering he could come to know Christ, personally. It may sound harsh, but I would much rather my grandpa suffer nearly unendurable pain on earth than spend eternity apart from God. I wanted him to be here as long as took for him to know his Savior. And he is very stubborn and negative, and I’m sure, like me, always has to learn things in the hardest of ways.  I believe that God listened to my prayer. He’s still alive.

About a week before my final exams, my mom called me. She told me that it probably wouldn’t be much longer now. He was going into hospice. He was going to die.

Now, this is not something I was really able to process. In fact, I kind of refused to. I know, very well, that death is a part of life. But I wanted his death to lead into True Life. And, I suppose I was feeling a bit selfish. I desperately wanted to see him before he left me.  But, I knew that once I saw him, I had to admit to myself what was happening.

I figured, he must be scared. I feel like I would be, facing the unknown, facing death, facing God. Maybe I’m just too young and naïve, or maybe I’m a coward, but I just figured it had to be frightening to know that you are about to leave this world. We all will one day. Heck, it could be any moment. But it seems like it would be different to know how quickly it was approaching.

When I got home from school, my grandma called and said that my grandpa really wanted to see me. So, the next day, my mom and I left for Defiance Ohio. I walked into his room and stared at what little was left of this man that I loved. And I could feel my heart breaking. My grandma was sitting in chair reading and he was just laying there. His skin was so loose from all of the weight he had lost. He cheek bones were more clearly defined than I had ever seen them. His eyes protruded a little more than usual. Everything about him was skinny and frail. And when he saw me, his face lit up, and in a voice that didn’t belong to him, he said, “Lulu here’s to take care of me”.  And everything, all the strength in me, seemed to just melt away. And I went over to him and grabbed his hand and kissed him and held onto him. I sat next to him, holding his hand for nearly two hours. Both of us refused to let go. And then, he just starting talking. And I listened to every word, trying to remember everything he said. He talked about everything- there’s really no better way to describe it. He seemed, so different.  There was this peace about him, like I had never seen before. He talked about how he just had to endured, how it was up to the grace of God, how he could bare this burden of pain. He wasn’t worried about himself at all. He was worried for those who would be left behind. He went through and talked about the pastor he wanted at the funeral and how my brothers would be pallbearers. He went through his grand kids and said how he would think about each of them. And then he started crying and looked at me and firmly grasped my hand and said “And then I thought of you. You’re special. You’re special”.

And, I wish I knew what he meant because I was sitting there, trying to be strong and falling apart at the seams. I had been a coward about seeing him, afraid to speak, afraid of so many things. And here he was saying that I was special. And I looked around and all of us, my mom and grandmother and grandpa and me, were crying.

He talked about our family, about how he was so glad my grandma would be financially ok, about which of my cousins he was worried for, about his kids, about everything. He said how he wished my little cousins would go to Sunday school. He talked about how he thinks he done good in his life. He said how he tried to help people.

After a little while, he looked at me and said with a smile, “I wouldn’t have danced with you at your wedding anyway.”

I suppose, I’ll never know, but I still think I could have made it happen. But in that moment, I realized he wouldn’t be there. That he would never see me graduate college, or get to threaten my boyfriend, or dance with me at my wedding. I realized he would never meet his great grand kids, or rather, they wouldn’t meet him. And for some reason, I hated that. I hated that he wouldn’t be there. It was selfish, but true.

After a bit, two of my grandparents’ friends came in to visit him. I don’t know them well, and honestly, didn’t care much that they were there. They came in and sat down, the woman next to my grandma on the couch in the corner and the man in a folding chair at the foot of my grandpa’s bed. My mom sat at his feet on his bed and I sat in a chair by his head, still grasping his hand. The couple asked how he was feeling, and went through what are apparently the normal formalities to talk about with a dying man. And then, I noticed they started to do something very interesting, something most humans do. They started incessantly talking. The room couldn’t be quiet for all of 7 seconds without one of their obnoxious voices penetrating the silence. And they talked about the most annoying things. They talked and joked about some friend they knew, talked about money and jobs and baseball.  They asked me about college and my major, and I lifelessly gave them the answers they didn’t really care about. They talked and talked and talked. It was all about filling the silence. But I wasn’t really listening. I was staring at my grandpa. I decided to focus my attention of trying to remember him. I looked at hand in mine and started comparing the two. They were similar. I remember looking and seeing how similar our hands were. I looked at his skin and remember thinking about how that skin had been through so many more years of life than mine had been. I started praying that Jesus would come be with him. I started praying that he would come hold my grandpa, ease his pain. My eyes traveled to his face. His eyes were closed. Everyone in the room assumed he was asleep. After all, he was on painkillers and all sorts of medicine that made him drowsy. But, I knew better. We was awake. Every now and then his hand would twitch and his thumb would rub soothing circles around the back of my hand. And suddenly, I realized that me and my grandpa were on the same wavelength. And as I was thinking this, the man’s voice interrupted my thoughts. “Lowell, did you get a chance to catch the Indians game the other day?” And then my grandpa said something I found hilarious. “No, can’t say I’ve really been able to get into them.”

The whole situation was comical. Here was my grandpa, dying, being asked if he cared about some stupid, pointless, ridiculous baseball game. And all I could feel was the anger in my heart and the stupidity of it all. The stupidity of these people, of humanity, of this ‘reality’ that we cloak ourselves in. And it made me sick. Because this man, couldn’t deal with the room. He couldn’t deal with depression. He couldn’t deal with death. I realized that they talk to distract themselves. They were too afraid to think about the things my grandpa was thinking, I was thinking. And I realized that my grandpa had been closing his eyes trying to tune them out. He didn’t care about anything they were saying. Because it was so damn unimportant.

How often do we do this? I understand that we, emotionally, can’t always give ourselves over to these thoughts because they are literally too much for us to handle. We need distractions, or maybe we just trick ourselves into thinking that. And I just started thinking about how ridiculous we truly are. Sports and money and jobs and school and this little society we have constructed and labeled as “important” will one day fall away. How often have I spent nights ceaselessly worrying about getting through my classes and having enough money for gas and getting a job? How often have I worried about the outfit I’m going to wear and the shoes that would compliment it.  And it all means nothing. At the end of it all, I am going to look into the eyes of my God, and have to face him and myself. And everything else, none of it matters.

I know what people will say. You have to do the little things, go through the hoops, because that’s the world we live in. If you’re going to survive, there are things you have to do. And you know what, maybe they’re right. In order to survive, in order to support those you love, we have to fall in line and worry. And maybe that’s why I get so frustrated with the world. Because everything about my being and soul screams that this isn’t my home. Everything inside me tells me that I am not meant for this. The Everything in me is constantly reminding me that greater things are yet to come. And I believe that in this room, full of stupid distractions, my grandpa and me were thinking the same thing.

I continued to sit there, blocking out the dumb chatter, and continued looking at this man who I may never see alive again. His eyes remained closed, and his hand remained attached to mine. He seemed so peaceful. And then his eyes opened and he looked at me and asked “Are you hungry?” and I responded with the truth, “yes”.

“You should go get food. You should go.” He replied. And I knew what he was saying. I couldn’t sit there forever. We had to let each other go. And I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to leave him with people who didn’t understand, I didn’t want to leave him at all. It seemed stupid that I had to leave for some bodily function. But I knew he was right. And I felt like I should tell him a million different things. I felt like there was so much I needed to say. I wanted to tell him how much Jesus loved him. I wanted to tell him how Jesus would take care of him. I felt like I needed to say something to make sure it would all be ok. But as I looked at him, at this man, the only words I could form were “I love you”. And they sounded so muffled by my tears and I held his hand tighter and kissed him again and he just looked at me and said, “It will be alright.”

I let go of his hand. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. I ran over to my grandma and she held me tightly and just kept repeating, “He loves you so much”.  And I ran back to him and kissed him again and then I left. I left the two people I didn’t care about, and my grandma and my grandpa. I walked back to my mom’s car and we drove to a Frisch’s Big Boy to eat food, to take care of that annoying bodily function, just like my grandpa had told me to do.

It was strange, saying goodbye, without really saying goodbye. It was strange being able to see what we normally try to ignore. Everything just seemed strange. I don’t really have any more words. I guess this is the last thought I have. We spend so much time trying to know things. We spend time trying to figure everything out. But I think, we make things so complex. God has never asked us to know everything. He has never said that we needed to. There is only one thing the Lord has commanded and that is just to love- love Him, love His children, love His Son. The rest is for God. 

THE SKY

I am one of those people who discovers something she likes and continually goes back it. For example, nearly a decade ago I discovered the turkey dinner at Bob Evans and now, let's just say I don't look at anything else on the menu. Well, I discovered this Psalm and have fallen in love with its' beautiful words.

Psalm 19

The heavens declare the glory of God;
    the skies proclaim the work of his hands.
 Day after day they pour forth speech;
    night after night they reveal knowledge.
 They have no speech, they use no words;
    no sound is heard from them.
 Yet their voice goes out into all the earth,
    their words to the ends of the world.
In the heavens God has pitched a tent for the sun.
     It is like a bridegroom coming out of his chamber,
    like a champion rejoicing to run his course.
 It rises at one end of the heavens
    and makes its circuit to the other;
    nothing is deprived of its warmth.

 The law of the Lord is perfect,
    refreshing the soul.
The statutes of the Lord are trustworthy,
    making wise the simple.
 The precepts of the Lord are right,
    giving joy to the heart.
The commands of the Lord are radiant,
    giving light to the eyes.
 The fear of the Lord is pure,
    enduring forever.
The decrees of the Lord are firm,
    and all of them are righteous.

 They are more precious than gold,
    than much pure gold;
they are sweeter than honey,
    than honey from the honeycomb.
 By them your servant is warned;
    in keeping them there is great reward.
 But who can discern their own errors?
    Forgive my hidden faults.
 Keep your servant also from willful sins;
    may they not rule over me.
Then I will be blameless,
    innocent of great transgression.

 May these words of my mouth and this meditation of my heart
    be pleasing in your sight,
    Lord, my Rock and my Redeemer.

I have this very strange obsession with the sky. Wow, I can't even believe I'm writing a blog about this, but I feel like people don't get it. So I'm gonna try to explain why because I believe it's important. We'll see how this goes....

I just would really like people to get as excited about it as I get. Ok, so first off, have you seen it? I mean do you ever actually look at the sky? IT IS NEVER THE SAME. It is constantly changing and every second you look at it, it changes. There's always this different aspect of beauty to it. And yet, it is always the sky. We see all of these colors that just appear above our heads at each sunrise and sunset, like a painting being formed by an unseen hand right in front of our eyes. And it amazes me how people can see this miracle happening everyday and barely take notice because it becomes "normal", just another part of our daily lives that will surely continue to be there. And then the sun goes down and we get to see like a million shining lights just appear. And I feel like we just take it for granted. This incredible beauty. 

I don't know, but maybe the reason I love it so much is because for a long time, I felt like I couldn't see God. Going through high school, I believed in this greater Being, but had the upmost difficult time feeling His presence. And the point I'm trying to make is that God is everywhere. He literally breathes His glory into our world, into our lives, every second and we constantly are blind to it. We focus on all the wrong things. I mean seriously, if you are having a difficult time seeing the Father, just look up at the flippin sky! "The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of his hands. Day after day they pour forth speech;night after night they reveal knowledge.They have no speech, they use no words; no sound is heard from them.Yet their voice goes out into all the earth, their words to the ends of the world." 

When I look at the sky, I don't just think that it's pretty. What a silly word to describe a part of the masterpiece created by the Most High! When I look at the sky, I see a piece of the glory my Dad made for me and for all His children. And it literally is just that, a piece, a sliver, a glimpse of all He is. It is a small reflection of the Love He feels for us. If the incredible sky, in all it's starry beauty, in all its' glorious sunsets, in all its' awakening sunrises is only a tiny piece of our Treasure, can you even imagine seeing the full glory of God? 

The sky is all around us. It encapsulates us and protects us. It is always there, a constant in our lives. And yet, it has ever changing beauty. It is always the same sky, but filled with an infinite amount of beauty that we can never recreate or truly comprehend.

God is all around us. He encapsulates us and protects in the embrace of His arms. He is always there, a constant in our lives. And yet, He has ever changing beauty. He is always the same God, but filled with an infinite amount of beauty that we can never recreate or truly comprehend.

Lift up your eyes and look to the heavens:
    Who created all these?
He who brings out the starry host one by one
    and calls forth each of them by name.
Because of his great power and mighty strength,
    not one of them is missing ~Isaiah 40:26

I have no words to truly describe our Father. I have no real way of conveying His limitless Love for you because I can't even fully comprehend it. It's far to overwhelming, far beyond my ability to know and understand to be able to tell you.  Our lives are so busy and filled with a million things that we believe matter. That's how our tricky world gets to us, by defining worthless things as detrimentally important. But let's not become so busy that we miss out on the Love that surrounds us and embraces us even when we ourselves cannot truly see It.

So, I believe I have successfully blogged about the sky. Judge me now. :)