A Very Cliche Topic

I hate it when things are not reciprocated. Looking over the patterns of my life, however, it seems a constant thing I must deal with. If I respect you, shouldn't you respect me? If I'm kind to you, shouldn't you be kind to me? Most would agree. Nevertheless, there is one area in life where all of us have failed: love. Unreturned love is devastating. As I've posted before, to love is to be vulnerable. When the love is not reciprocated, the vulnerablity is attacked. The pain is deep, personal, and confusing.

I know.

And because I am familiar with rejection's sting, I am brought to a different understanding of God. Hosea is one of my favorite books in the Bible. In it, God commands his prophet, Hosea, to marry a prostitute, have children by her, find her when she runs back to her sin, and buy her back. Gomer the prostitute represents Israel, God's runaway lover. She has turned away from God and given herself to other gods. Hosea records God's words, full of fury, love, judgement, and tenderness. That's what I love about Hosea: reading it gives us insight into God's emotions - the part of Him that responds to us. And His responses are overwhelming.

With Israel as His lover, God first wants to "expose her lewedness before the eyes of her lovers" then wants to "speak tenderly to her."

With Israel as His child, God calls down judgement on him, then asks, "How can I give you up?"

And finally, God promises restoration. This part hits me hardest: "I will be like dew to Israel; he will blossom like a lily. Like a cedar of Lebanon he will send down his roots; his young shoots will grow."

Israel - a tree stripped bare, no leaves, no branches.
God - sees Israel, has overwhelming compassion, nourishes it back to health.

He loves me. There's no unreturned love I could ever give Him. In fact, I often fail to reciprocate. But even so, His compassion is so great, that He sees me, cries over me, wants me, changes me, provides for me. And I have yet to even comprehend a small piece of this love.

February 6th

When I was a child, my dad worked a lot of late shifts. He took us to school in the mornings, since my mom had to be at work early. Thus, he worked evenings. Every night, after my mom tucked me in, he came home from work, climbed the stairs and checked in on me. If I was still awake, he'd sit on the edge of my bed and ask me about my day. Then, he'd sing me to sleep. His favorite was "Amazing Grace." Even now, I hardly need the hymnal when we sing it in church. What is to many a cliche Christian song, for me, it is the sweetest memory of my dad. It breaks me; it mends me; it depresses me; it strengthens me.

The idea of grace has struck me recently. It seems no matter how much I feel I disappoint God, the reality of a second chance is always mine. I have rejected His love, His healing, His peace. And yet, he still offers it to me. Not only that, but because of His unfailing love, I am able to love others, something that has never happened to me. He breaks down my walls. He gives me ineffable joy. I can't begin to describe it. Even though I fail and grow weary, He gives me strength.

His grace is not just enough. It is overflowing.

And so, I remember my dad. The one that some could blame for my reluctance when it comes to grace. I, however, only remember his calm, tenor voice, teaching me of the grace the relieves fears, that sustains through dangers, toils and snares, that found me when I once was lost. And I know that he is there, bright shining as the sun, praising God to His face.

Happy birthday, Dad. I love you.

Sleeplessness

"Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable." - C.S. Lewis

It's Sunday. Very early, Sunday morning. I'm far from sleep, from dreams, from rest.

Conflicted. It's the only word that suits me at this early hour.

I have a choice to make. My bare instincts scream at me to run as fast as possible in the other direction, to absolutely sever the ties that keep me bound to one of the things I fear the most. I want to completely hide myself, to climb into the coffin of my selfishness and wait for this to pass.

But if I do this, I will continue on, locked up forever, and become incurable. To run is to forfeit the joys and the reciprocation, to disobey my Lord's 2nd greatest command, to hurt someone who is very close to me. If I keep running, I will never be caught. I will never know the honorable, Godly, righteous love that could be mine and that I could return. I will be even further away from understanding that which frightens me, and when I truly fall in love in the future, I fear I will never be able to take off my running shoes.

This is hard. Ima go try to sleep.

Lessons Learned

I've learned a lot over the past few months. I thought I should probably document these lessons, just in case I have to learn them again.

I've learned that it is never a good idea to catch a curling iron that is plugged into the wall.

I've learned that just because he doesn't talk to you for a few days, it doesn't mean he's not interested. It could just mean he's busy.

I've learned that I am definitely not a math / science person. On the filp side of this, I've learned that I am gifted in literature / theology. They are my passions, and I want to spend the rest of my life exploring these area of the world.

I've learned what a paradox senior year can be. The closer I am to becoming an adult, the more independent I am. I want to live on my own. I want to make my own decisions. The more I think about it, though, the more it scares the dickens out of me.

I've learned what it feels like to be looked down on because I attended a prayer meeting. I'm sure I'm not finished learning this lesson.

I've learned how important it is to say goodbye to people, even if you know you'll see them tomorrow. It's important. It just is.

I've learned that when I get older and have a husband and kids, it is not a good idea to leave suggestive love notes to said husband in the exact same place where the nanny always looks for her paycheck because this makes the nanny feel very, very uncomfortable.

I've learned that I am an introvert. Yes, I greatly enjoy the company of people, especially close, small groups of friends. But I will always need time to reenergize and hang out with myself.

I've learned that worshipping God doesn't necessarily mean singing. True glorification of God means doing everything for His pleasure. This manifests itself in school work, playing the flute, acting on stage, getting coffee with your friends, just listening to someone who needs to talk, and everything else we do. We must use what has been given to us to give it back to God: our time, our talents, our dreams.

I've learned that the people I spent most of High School wishing I could be friends with really don't have more fun than me and my friends. I will never be friends with everyone. Not everyone will like me. And that's ok.

I've learned that people, no matter who they are or how much they care about you, will always let you down. Conversely, I will always let people down. Human beings cannot be heros, nor can they be perfect. Only God is completely reliable.

I've learned that people get so used to seeing the side of me that I let them see, that when I show small parts of my true self, it scares them and they rarely know how to do deal with it. Thus, I've learned patience and trust is key.

I've learned that the approval of others is an impossible and exhausting goal. The Apostle Paul said it best in Galations 1: "Am I now trying to win the approval of men, or of God? Or am I trying to please men? If I were still trying to please men, I would not be a servant of Christ."

Finally, I've learned that all I really needed to know I learned in kindergarten. Life gets complicated, but somethings always stay the same.

Why Chekhov Was An Idiot

Black and white.

It seems I'd be able to see them. I know what's right, what's wrong. But what do I know about the middle stuff? The gray?

I have found that nothing that happens to me has the ability to affect me in a purely good or bad way. And so, I am frustrated. Everything has its downside or, for you optimists, its silver lining. How do I deal with what should be good turning bad? I'm honestly getting very tired of disappointment. I'm afraid, though, that if I constantly expect the good things to turn out bad, that I'll never enjoy anything and I'll lose hope.

Take, for instance, Lady Macbeth. I've never had a significant female role on stage before. I've always been overshadowed by more important roles, and that's fine. I love Shakespeare. I want to play her, and I want to do it well. I want to be challenged. I want to experience being significant. And now I have the opportunity. I was cast as Lady Macbeth (in an adaptation of sorts, but still Shakespeare).

A seemingly happy, good thing, right?

Of course not.

Due to scheduling and personal reasons, it might not work out. Gosh, I want it to. A lot.

Next, we have the boy. There's always a boy. I've found them to be sorry things to peg one's hopes on, but still I persist. He finally asked me out. Himself, not through anyone as I expected. I was really happy. Really, really happy.

But also due to scheduling and personal reasons, it might not work out. I might never get the chance to say yes to him. I want to, though. A lot.

It seems that while I'm sucking the marrow out of life, I'm choking on the bone. I want to live and experience and commit myself. I want to thoroughly enjoy my last few months at NCCS. But now it's getting in the way of the things I really want to spend my time doing.

So, no, Chekhov. We cannot draw from personal experience to elicit only one emotion for a scene. Single emotions do not exist. The coin has two sides. Deal with it.

On Soaring

When I was in 8th grade, I anchored the 4x400 meter relay on the track team. My last race as a middle schooler was that relay on the day of the championship. The girls who ran the first three legs lost a lot of ground. By the time I had the baton in my hand, we were next to last. I completely forgot everything around me, the crowd, the baton, the other girls on the track. I just ran as fast as I could. I remember coming around a bend and seeing my coach ecstatically jumping up and down, motioning for me to keep going. I didn't feel tired. I didn't really feel anything except the absolute joy of running my heart out. I finished the race 5 meters away from the 2nd place finisher.

One of my favorite chapters in the Bible is Isaiah 40. It always seems to put God and myself into perspective. Basically, He is big and I am not. He is in control, and I am not. It's a tough lesson, but Isaiah adds comfort. As almost any Christian runner could tell you, Isaiah 40 holds a very famous verse.

"but those who hope in the LORD will renew their strength.
They will soar on wings like eagles;
they will run and not grow weary;
they will walk and not be faint." (v. 31)

The thing that gets me about this verse is how aptly and concisely it describes life. You have times when you soar: when you realize you've fallen in love, when you hold your child for the first time, when you're on a spiritual "mountaintop" like on the retreat. You have times when you run: that's everyday, ordinary life. Finally, you have times when you walk. This is the hard stuff: when you've fallen off the mountaintop, when you're being hammored and refined, when life is just hard to live.

As I said before, Isaiah offers a lot of encouragement. Through all these times in our lives, God is costantly present. He will renew our strength. We will not grow weary or faint, even when we're getting breathing cramps or have to start walking. We might have to take it easy for a little while if we get injured, but God will always be our sustainer.

Right now, I'm walking. Sometimes it feels like I'm going so slow. But I'm always moving forward, regardless of my speed.

"He gives strength to the weary..."
"...hope in the LORD..."

I look forward to when I can run and even soar again.

Never Say Never

As I sit on my couch listening to mediocre pop artists ring in the new year, I think about time. I'm sure I'm not the only one contemplating where it went or where it is going. It's that time of year, really. It seems to me that the last 17 years have gone terribly quickly, and that the next however many years I have will go at the same rate.

It's here. 2007. The year I graduate. The year I become an adult (according to the government). The year I move out.

I see Dick Clark, still recovering from his stroke, not able to follow along as the rest of the world counts down the New Year. I hear my grandma talk about my great aunt attacking her nursing home roommate with her walker. I see Meatloaf, way past his prime, still attempting to be a bat out of hell for an audience that is unable to dance or sing along to his lyrics.

So this is where I'm heading? Yeah, there's a lot to be enjoyed and experienced and despised and learned in between here and there. A LOT.

But I'm still kind of nostalgic about where I've been and mindful of where I'm going. It's become important to me to savor life now (and on until it ends): being able to hang out with my closest friends every Friday at Starbucks, making P-rom 07 plans, going to discipleship at my church, flirting using the magic that is facebook, hopefully performing on stage at NCCS again, watching my eagles play, anticipating and going to Costa Rica, talking waaay too late on Saturday nights/Sunday mornings... all these things are going to stop happening some day. I realize this. We're going to grow up, get married, have kids, have grandkids, and new things will become important - so much so that they replace the old things.

So now, I'm going to enjoy it for all it's worth. All of it. Until I die.

Or come up with a better game plan.