The Prodigal Journey

This isn't my most recent writing--that one is next, but this is one I never posted and feel the need to post now...

We all know the story of the prodigal son—it is such a beautiful picture of God and of his unyielding love for us. He never stops waiting at the door for us to return. He always welcomes us home. He runs to greet us with open arms.

I cry just about every time I read that story. I love the simple beauty of it all. But as I was reflecting on this story today, I had a thought… What about the journey the prodigal son took to get home to his father? In the parable, recorded in Luke, Jesus doesn't tell us what happened between the pigsty epiphany and the reunion of father and son. It just says that the son got up and went.

So what was this prodigal journey like?

I have quite the imagination, so as I ponder this question, I have a mental image of the son, setting out on this journey, dressed in rags, weak from hunger, and in general, in bad shape. Knowing what I know about Jesus' day, I am fairly certain that there were no sidewalks for him to walk along, and he had to maneuver through roads that today would be called wild terrain. I imagine a "road" that was narrow, filled with rocks and animal manure, and probably with trees with thorns. Again—that could just be my imagination.

As he walked along this "road," (again, I hesitate to call it a road in our sense of the word) I think of him stumbling from weakness, and probably falling flat on his face on more than one occasion. His hair was probably matted with dirt (and who knows what else!) but he didn't care. No matter how many times he fell and no matter how terrible he looked, he kept putting one foot in front of the other out of hope, but probably surrounded by a little fear, too.

And when he finally got close to home, it happened. His father saw him, and ran to greet him. Again, my imagination runs away from me sometimes, but I imagine the son sagging into his father's arms. I see him collapsing, and relying on his father to hold him up. The journey was hard, and now that he is home, he is going to let his father take care of him—clothe him, nourish him, and give him rest.

The son in this story had strayed so far—so far, in fact, that I am sure he never thought he would see his father again. And there he sat in the mire and muck that is a pigsty. (Not that I would know, because let's face it, those of you who know me know that I would never end up in/near/around a pigsty.) And it hit him—the son thought, "I don't HAVE to be here. I have a perfectly good home with a father who loves me. What am I doing here?" So without a second thought, he got up and set out for home.

And here is where it gets hard. The journey for the son could not have been easy. The story doesn't say he saved up some money from his job, or that he went home and got provisions. It says he got up and went. No looking back.

And as I said earlier, I don't imagine the road home was an easy road. Each rock that caused him to stumble was a consequence for his choices. Each time he fell from weakness –that was a consequence. Each thorn that cut his flesh, each rock that cut his foot, and each ghost that whispered failure in his ear were consequences to be endured.

As I am walking my own prodigal journey, I am reminded of the consequences of my actions. Not just my sin, but my actions, too. Everything I do—each of my actions, has an equal and opposite reaction. (Shout out to Mr. Pace—my high school physical science teacher…) The journey that I face as I walk back to my Father is wrought with consequences—the consequences of my choices. Some of them are good—but some of them aren't. And like the prodigal son's journey, my journey will end with open arms.

I read a quote today that struck me. It was by, of all people, Leonardo DiCaprio. He said, "We're all after love, aren't we? Love is what people are hungry for." Love is what people are hungry for… I totally agree with that statement. But the love people are hungry for isn't on this earth—it is in the open arms of the father—waiting for my return from my prodigal journey.

Broken to beautiful:

Growing up in Korea had so many benefits. One was kimchi. For those of you who know what it is, you are in one of two camps. Camp 1: best food ever. Camp 2: who wants to eat fermented cabbage? How disgusting. Love it or hate it, it was a benefit. (Clearly I fall into camp 1!)

In order to make kimchi, you have to get these clay pots, called *drumroll* Kimchi pots. I know. Creative. They come in a variety of sizes, but all the same shape. They are shaped like a vase—narrow opening that bows out to its widest point, and then it comes back to a narrow bottom. Oh yeah, with a lid. They are sturdy—Korean’s make beautiful pottery called celedon. These kimchi pots are not in the same category. These pots are definitely function over form.

Anyhow, back to the point. As I grew up in Korea, kimchi pots were everywhere—from the side of the road, to the local market, to… you name it. But another thing that was prevalent was the broken shards of pottery we would find while playing outside.

One day when I was four or five, my friend Jason McCoy and I were hiking the mountain behind our houses. It was just something we did. We definitely grew up in a different time, different place! So there we were, hiking around, probably playing something like war. But I remember tripping and falling and cutting my hand on a broken piece of kimchi pot. I remember thinking, “Useless broken kimchi pot—get rid of it…” OK, so those might not have been my exact words, but you get the gist.

Fast-forward 25 years. Over the last 2½ years, God has brought me to remarkable highs—closer to Him than ever before. When I lived in Korea the four years previous, I took a little vacation from seeking God. I pretended to seek Him, but for the most part, I sought my own pleasures. (BTW, it didn’t work out for me so well…) When I moved back here, God got my attention—subtly, because that is whom He chose to be at that point. And steadily, over time, God brought me closer to him. And I loved it—every minute of it.

And then, I went and shattered it all. I have been making such unwise choices these last few months. I have broken my life—and my functioning into a million little pieces. Like that kimchi jar from my childhood, I feel useless, broken and disposable. Just throw me away.

You see, I keep thinking that I was created for one purpose—like that kimchi pot. And once broken, it no longer serves a purpose and should be gotten rid of. But my God—creator God, provider God, loving God, has other plans. Thankfully. You see, just because I started out for one purpose doesn’t mean that is my only purpose. I may have started out as a kimchi pot, but that doesn’t mean I will stay one forever. In fact, brokenness comes, no matter how well cared for things are.

I am offering up to God my brokenness right now. I don’t see any value in the shards of my life—my most recent purpose is broken, too. But God doesn’t see brokenness when he looks at me. He sees the potential for my next stage in life. He is taking the broken bits of pottery that I am crawling on my hands and knees to offer him—and it is all I have to offer him, and he is beginning to rearrange those bits.

No—I don’t look like a kimchi pot any more. I don’t know what I AM going to look like when He is done. But this much I know is true—whatever it is, I will be a new creation—just with a lot more character.

Standing in the Shadow...

Monday night I went with some of my girlfriends to a place called Sips-n-Strokes. It is a cool place—you go and take a bottle of wine (if you want) and learn how to paint a picture. We went, sans wine, and painted a picture. I will post it sometime soon. Mine was not nearly as good as Lindsey’s, but that is beside the point. When we were done, we took a picture—all six of us holding our paintings in front of us. As we said “Cheese!” Christy Drake said, “We’re standing behind the cross!”

Standing behind the cross… What does it mean to stand behind the cross?

Monday night, I had the privilege (really?!) of disposing of my first mouse. I got home from work today to find a little mouse waiting for me. I screamed. Like a little girl. Then I did what any other 32 year old woman would do… I called my dad. Fortunately for me, not so much for the mouse, the pest control guy was coming over that afternoon.

I called Corie to make sure that he really was coming over, and he was. So when Corie got here, he found the little sucker, and set lots and lots of traps for him. Every time I saw the mouse, to set the record straight, I screamed… Yeah. Just call me Jenny the Brave. ☺

So I went out to paint with my sweet friends, all the while wondering if my glue traps with peanut butter had done their jobs. On the way home, I was talking to Ramsi, and made her stay on the phone with me until I could see if the traps had done their jobs. Unfortunately for her ears and hearing, they had. But it was strange—the traps with the peanut butter were empty. One of the traps far away from where I left him had this poor little mouse stuck on it.

The mouse—I never thought I would say this—but I felt sorry for the mouse—once I was done squealing. He was stuck to this glue paper. The more he moved, the more stuck he got. The more he thrashed about, the more he was mired in the glue. And he couldn’t get out. No matter how hard he tried.

Being the girl that I am, I used tongs to pick the glue paper up and took him to the outside garbage can and tossed him. I was feeling sort of sorry for him, but really, I was glad he was gone. But as I tossed him, I thought—I feel like I am that mouse some times…

The glue trap, very obviously, is like sin… The more I thrash about in it, the more mired in it I get. I get stuck, and start to thrash, trying to get out. And rather than allowing the blood of Christ—and the cross to speak for me and get me out of my messes, I continue to thrash about, trying to get out with my own strength. Spoiler Alert—it doesn’t work…

So what does this have to do with standing behind the cross?

Well, everything in life has to do with standing behind the cross. God’s love is so overwhelming, so all encompassing, so complete, that standing behind the cross should be so easy. Any yet it isn’t.

Standing behind the cross means that I am not seen—that Christ is seen instead of me. I like to think that I am OK with that, but I must not be since I spend so much time in front of the cross… mired in sin and the muck that is my life when I strike out on my own.

Standing behind the cross isn’t as easy as it seems. Total and complete submission is hard—and it is even harder when you think you are submitting, but aren’t. I am so completely in that category. I think that I have been submissive and have really followed God’s will… but I haven’t! And realizing that is a kick in the pants.

So tomorrow morning when I wake up (more than likely in a panic because I don’t have anything ironed and I have overslept… like usual!) I will decide to stand behind the cross… and I will decide again 20 minutes later. Well, if I make it that long before needing to make that decision. And I will continue to decide all day long to live in the shadow of the cross. And sometimes I will succeed. And other times… Well, other times I won’t. And I will ask for God’s forgiveness. And God—the I AM, the creator of all created, lover of my (imperfect) soul, WILL forgive me.

God loves me, and will restore me. No matter how many times I wander out of the safety of the shadow of the cross.

The Inventors Curse

Inventors curse...

I know—it is a phrase you probably have never heard before. It came from a blog I read regularly—www.prodigaljohn.com. Jon Acuff is a friend of mine from college. I remember meeting him my first week at Samford. I think it was even at orientation. Jon was this loud kid from Boston wearing a US Postal Service uniform shirt. Everything was “wicked,” and Jon was cool. And even more baffling, Jon was friends with me. Who knew?

Anyhow, back to this idea of “inventors curse.” Jon defines it as “that little voice inside us that says, ‘No one has ever failed like this. No one has ever done something so wrong. You are the only one in the world that struggles with this.’"

For those of you who know me, you know that I am usually stuck between the need to control and the need to be perfect. Not a good place to be. I feel like the little ball in that old Atari game—Pong. Control is on one side, and perfection is on the other side. I bounce back and forth… back and forth… Now, I don’t demand perfection from anyone else but myself. But honestly, that adds enough stress to my life that expecting others to be perfect might just put me completely over the edge.

The other day, I was reading Jon’s blog, and he was posting about what do to with a prodigal son or daughter. Jon was talking about things that parents can do to help their children who have gone astray, or to keep them from going astray. The first two were good—excellent, in fact. The first was that your life has currency. He basically said that your life experiences have weight and value when it comes to your own prodigal. The second is that you close the gap by creating firm boundaries. And the third was removing the “inventors curse.”

I began to really think about the inventors curse. I think it is Satan’s most effective tool in pulling me away from God. You see, when I sin, Satan starts to creep in and say to me “You are the only one—no one understands what you are going through…” And when I buy into it, I buy into this scam of the inventors curse. Satan isolates me—because I honestly believe that I am the first or the worst. And rather than finding strength from my friends or others who have struggled with these same things, I try to do it on my own. Remember—I am constantly bouncing between control and perfection!

But you see, I am not the first or the worst. I am not the first to commit a sin, nor am I the worst. In fact, I am far from it. And I forget that so often. I forget that my sin carries as much weight as anyone else’s. My sins are as painful to God as the “worst” sin of the “worst” sinner.

And the worst thing about the inventors curse is that it founded in pride—that my thoughts, my choices, my actions, my words, my sins are so original and so bad that Jesus’ blood doesn’t cover them. How arrogant am I to think that? How belittling to the sacrifice of Jesus on the cross. How prideful.

And when I buy into the inventors curse, I allow myself to be separated from anyone who really can help me. If I didn’t invent that particular sin, then there are people out there that know what I am going through, and can help me. You see, there is safety in numbers. No—I am not talking about the advice my parents gave me when I went to college. I mean, that Satan attacks when we are most vulnerable. I am most vulnerable when I am alone—physically and spiritually. When there is no one holding me accountable and no one supporting me, then Satan attacks with a vengeance.

Ecc. 4:9-12 says “Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their work: 10. If one falls down, his friend can help him up. But pity the man who falls and has no one to help him up! 11. Also, if two lie down together, they will keep warm. But how can one keep warm alone? 12. Though one may be overpowered, two can defend themselves. A cord of three strands is not quickly broken.” Two are better than one. And three are better than two. And four are better than three… I think you get the idea. The more people I have supporting me, the less chance there is of me allowing the inventors curse to take hold. And the greater chance I have of being successful against Satan’s attack.

So as I sit here, thinking about all that I have done wrong—all my sin—equal in Gods eyes to any sin out there, and I have a choice. I can choose between buying into the inventors curse, and living a life of solitary guilt and shame. Or I can buy into the Inventors cross—and let the blood of Christ cover my sins and me.

So tonight I took my personality profile. It is scary how accurate it was! Here is the summary... I would love to know what your profile says... (http://www.humanmetrics.com/cgi-win/JTypes3.asp)

Guardians of birthdays, holidays and celebrations, ESFJs are generous entertainers. They enjoy and joyfully observe traditions and are liberal in giving, especially where custom prescribes.

All else being equal, ESFJs enjoy being in charge. They see problems clearly and delegate easily, work hard and play with zest. ESFJs, as do most SJs, bear strong allegiance to rights of seniority. They willingly provide service (which embodies life's meaning) and expect the same from others.

ESFJs are easily wounded. And when wounded, their emotions will not be contained. They by nature "wear their hearts on their sleeves," often exuding warmth and bonhomie, but not infrequently boiling over with the vexation of their souls. Some ESFJs channel these vibrant emotions into moving dramatic performances on stage and screen.

Strong, contradictory forces consume the ESFJ. Their sense of right and wrong wrestles with an overwhelming rescuing, 'mothering' drive. This sometimes results in swift, immediate action taken upon a transgressor, followed by stern reprimand; ultimately, however, the prodigal is wrested from the gallows of their folly, just as the noose tightens and all hope is lost, by the very executioner!

An ESFJ at odds with self is a remarkable sight. When a decision must be made, especially one involving the risk of conflict (abhorrent to ESFJs), there ensues an in-house wrestling match between the aforementioned black-and-white Values and the Nemesis of Discord. The contender pits self against self, once firmly deciding with the Right, then switching to Prudence to forestall hostilities, countered by unswerving Values, ad exhaustium, winner take all.

As caretakers, ESFJs sense danger all around--germs within, the elements without, unscrupulous malefactors, insidious character flaws. The world is a dangerous place, not to be trusted. Not that the ESFJ is paranoid; 'hyper-vigilant' would be more precise. And thus they serve excellently as protectors, outstanding in fields such as medical care and elementary education.

Functional Analysis:
Extraverted Feeling

ESFJs live in their Extraverted Feeling functioning. Feeling, a rational (i.e., deciding) function, expresses opinions easily in the E world of objects and people. ESFJs have the ability to express warmth, rage, and a range of other emotions. Actions are encouraged or rebuked based on how they affect other people, especially people near and dear to the ESFJ. This type's vocal decisiveness predisposes many of its number to facility with administration and supervision.
Introverted Sensing

The secondary Sensing function aids and abets the dominant Fe in that sensate data is collected and at once compared with the inner forms or standards. Data on which decisions are made are thus focused and given a contrast which tends to be stronger and clearer than the original stimuli. The strengthening effect of Si on Fe may be responsible for this type's reputation for wearing their "hearts on their sleeves." At any rate, ESFJs reflect the "black and white" view of reality which is common to the SJ types.
Extraverted iNtuition

Intuition is tertiary--as the ESFJ matures, and as situations arise which call for suspension of criticism, Ne is allowed to play. Under the leadership of the Fe function, iNtuition allows for a loosening of the more rigid Si rights and wrongs; teasing and slapstick humor emerge. ESFJs are also capable of discerning patterns and philosophies, but such perceiving is subject to the weakness of the tertiary position, and the results often lack the variety and complexity of connections that more complex systems require.
Introverted Thinking

The inferior Ti function may rarely be expressed. In fact, ESFJs may take affront at the aloof, detached nature of dominant Ti types, or conversely, be drawn to them. Some ESFJs construct rationale which have the appearance of (Jungian) Thinking logic, but under scrutiny are in fact command performances of "Thinking in the service of Feeling," (i.e., Thinking-like conclusions which do not obey the tenets of impersonal logic; they rather construct scenarios from only those "hard, cold facts" which support the conclusion reached by the dominant Extraverted Feeling function. To wit:

You don't sew with a fork, so I see no reason to eat
with knitting needles.
-- Miss Piggy, on eating Chinese Food

Famous ESFJs:

U.S. Presidents:
William McKinley
William J. Clinton

Jack Benny
Desi Arnaz ("Ricky Ricardo")
Don Knotts ("Barney Fife")
John Connally (former Governor of Texas)
Terry Bradshaw, NFL quarterback
Sally Struthers (All in the Family)
Mary Tyler Moore
Dixie Carter (Designing Women)
Steve Spurrier, Heismann trophy winner, Univ. of Fla. football coach
Sally Field
Danny Glover, actor (Lethal Weapon movies, Predator 2 Margaret Butt
Nancy Kerrigan (U.S. olympic figureskater)
Elvis Stojko (Canadian olympic figureskater)
Fictional ESFJs:

Babbitt (Sinclair Lewis)
Hoss Cartwright (Bonanza)
Leonard "Bones" McCoy (Star Trek)
Monica (Friends)
Haleh (ER)
Donald Duck
Rabbit, Winnie the Pooh

What if your heart lies?

Every day, with my angels, I start off talking about the calendar. We always go over the date, and talk about what makes today special? How is today unlike any other day we have lived… Sometimes the kids get it and are profound, and others days… Not so much. I guess kind of like me!

One of the things I emphasize to them (EVERY morning) is that today is special because they have the power to make it the best day possible. We talk about making wise choices—and how those wise choices will help us as we go to sleep tonight. We won’t be up worrying and wondering “What if…” I also remind them that there will never be another September 15, 2008, so they need to work hard at making today worth remembering—for positive things, for doing their best, for giving 100%.

I know—it is pretty heavy stuff for 6 year olds—because it is pretty heave stuff for this 32 year old. How do I go throughout the day making wise choices at every turn? I don’t know if it is possible.

I always joke that I have been known to be wrong—but it was just that one time, back in 1988 when I was 12. Hmm… But in reality, I am wrong every day. But what is the common denominator with my “wrong choices?”

I heard a quote recently that I have modified to make “my own” that says "The number of its supporters doesn’t measure the rightness of a decision." How hard is that in our ever-growing secular world? It is so hard!

We are bombarded day in and day out with images, slogans and all manner of outside pressures that encourage us to look at our hearts—do what your heart says. If you want it, buy it! If you don’t like her, divorce her. If you don’t want it, toss it. We live in a disposable world.

There was a band that I used to really love—they were called The Paul Coleman Trio. They have a song called “Run. The song starts off like this:

Sometimes you gotta run into the arms of danger
Sometimes you gotta be the sacrifice
Sometimes you gotta say things that don't come easy
They say just follow your heart but what if it lies?

Hmmm… They say just follow your heart but what if it lies? Any of you who know me, know that I am a strong believer in choosing how you feel. My heart is as imperfect as my soul. Things that feel so right to my heart, are all too often so wrong. There are some feelings you can’t choose—gut instincts, reactions and other feelings are totally natural. But choosing to continue to feel them is another game altogether. I can be hurt by someone’s actions, but I can choose to either forgive them and try to move on, or allow that hurt to remain. Make sense?

We, as humans and “herd animals” want to be accepted by others. We eventually begin to measure the rightness of our choices by looking at what others say and think about our lives or us. That is where I get into so much trouble.

My heart just wants to be accepted—and so as I go through each day, I often ask myself “Will this choice please my colleagues, students or peers?” Why do I do that? The answer is simple—because I want to feel accepted. My decisions, when I am in that mind set, are made with my heart—which I know to be faulty and untrue. My heart lies—and all too often it lies to make me feel at home in the secular world…

So, how do I keep my heart from lying to me?

Valleys

The other day, a friend and I went to Oak Mountain. It was amazing. The mountains were crying out to God—in a way that I could not at that point. As I listened to the wind in the leaves, I heard the earth applauding God for his splendor and glory. I have communed with nature before—but I have never felt as though I was having a worshipful experience—lead by God’s creation.

The climb up the mountain was beautiful—I was looking up, towards the peak. Granted, we were in the car, and not hiking, but all around me, I could see and hear the beauty that is God’s earth. But, again, I was constantly looking up—reaching for the apex of the mountain, knowing I would find solace there; knowing I would find communion.

As we left, I found myself absorbed with the scene around me as we drove down, down, down, down into the deep valley. As we got deeper, I found myself enamored with what I was seeing. I was seeing trees, flowers, animals, sky, clouds, leaves—just another manifestation of God’s beauty and majesty around me. It was gorgeous. It was dark, with light filtering through the branches, yet very clearly inhabited and life sustaining.

As we descended into the valley, I came to a realization—the valley is a beautiful place! In my life, I spend so much of my life looking up—looking for the peak, for the apex of this life season, that I don’t think about what I am seeing and what I can learn about God and his glory while I am in the valley.

I mentioned how beautiful I found the valley—that I never really thought of it as a beautiful place. My friend was, being an avid outdoorsman, floored, to say the least. ☺ He couldn’t believe that I hadn’t taken the time to see and live in the Valley.

As I look at my spiritual life, I realize that I live with that same philosophy. I am so anxious to get to the peak—to the top of the mountain so that I can be as close to God as I physically can. I forget that the valleys are just as important as the mountain peaks.

The valleys are where your character is molded and forged. The valleys are where your faith is tested and where you find out what you’re made of. You can’t reach the mountaintops if you don’t ever go through a valley.

Then, my mind is taken to the mountaintop, again. When we were up at the top of Oak Mountain, I looked down, and saw how beautifully God created the landscape around me. I saw how the character of the landscape was cut by God’s words—He spoke, and it was. But, without the valleys, the landscape is just… blah. There is no character, no beauty, and no breathtaking scenery.

As I am going through this next season of my life, I am realizing that I am coming out of the valley. But this time, as I come out of the valley, I am learning that while I need to be reaching for the top of the mountain, I also need to enjoy the valley as I am journeying through it. I need to find God’s majesty and light sprinkling down into the undergrowth of my sadness. I need to discover God’s sustenance in the darkest places. But most importantly, I need to remember that when I get to the top of the mountain, the view is so beautiful because of the valleys I went through to get there—not despite them.

This one I also wrote a while ago--I am slow to post these days! :)

Happiness vs. Joy:

So not too long ago, I wrote about the difference between sadness and sorrow. And as I read it again today, it felt so incomplete. I felt like it was missing something—something critical. So I started to think and ask God—what am I missing here…

And I just realized it isn’t that I am missing something, per say, it is more that I left it a bit incomplete. I addressed the sorrow and sadness aspect, but I completely left out the other sides of the coins—happiness vs. joy.

I have not truly experienced sorrow in my lifetime. I am grateful for that. God has spared me that. I have felt sadness—and fleeting as it was, it was real. I have experienced a lot of happiness in my life—and sometimes even joy.

Webster defines happiness as “delighted, pleased, or glad, as over a particular thing.” Happiness is a good thing. We all need happiness. In fact, we as a culture are obsessed with happiness. There was even a movie called “The Pursuit of Happyness.” (Now, I loved the movie, and it wasn’t what the world would call happiness, which is probably why I loved it so much!) But we are a culture and a world that is obsessed with being happy.

Look at TV ads and magazines—if you just buy this product, you will be happy. No more wrinkles for you. No more _____________ (fill in the blank) for you. You will be happy if you just have this one thing… Really? I have a lot of things, but still am not always happy. Happiness, just like sadness, is like a vapor—here one minute, gone the next.

About 2 years ago, I went out and bought an iPod nano. I was so excited. It was cute, it was green, it was the next big thing. Then, less than a year ago, it was stolen. Out of my car. In my driveway. Yeah. I was ticked off, but mostly that I was stupid enough to leave something as expensive as that just laying about. When I first got the nano, I was so excited—and once buyers’ remorse wore off, I was happy. But did my iPod bring me joy? No—not so much. My happiness with my iPod was contingent on having the iPod. And I didn’t have it for very long. Sigh

So much of life is that way. The only happiness it brings is the happiness you feel when you have it. And too many things can be taken away. Objects—they can be stolen, lost, or broken. Relationships—they can be fractured or broken. Feelings—they can be misleading. Having things doesn’t make life more pleasant. Happiness is based on being “delighted, pleased, or glad, as over a particular thing.” Wow.

Now joy—that is something I can get behind. Webster defines joy as “to feel joy; be glad; rejoice.” To rejoice. Hmmm… I love that. Rejoice is a verb. It is an action—a state of being, almost. I can be full of joy in the midst of a storm. It is an action that I can choose to do—or not to do. It is like sorrow in so many ways—it is pervasive. It sinks deep within and colors everything that you see, do and say. Joy, very often is a choice. But how does one choose joy over happiness?

Joy comes from one source—God. Without God, you cannot find joy. God fills you to overflowing with joy—if you let Him. People who don’t know God are looking for that source of joy. And unfortunately, they substitute happiness for joy. They think, quite mistakenly, that happiness and joy are one in the same. Happiness is an emotion based on circumstance. Joy is a state of being despite circumstance. How amazing is that?

As I head off to bed, I am both happy and joyful. I am happy that I have a bed to go to. I am tired—exhausted, really, but yet I am joyful. I am filled with joy from God because I think I have glimpsed my life from an outside perspective. I am not perfect—no matter how hard I try, I cannot ever be perfect. And that kills me.

But you know what? No one is perfect. The only perfect being on this Earth died to save my imperfect soul. If I can’t find joy in that, then I am not looking with the right heart, attitude and eyes. I choose to be joyful because when faced with the reality of who I was before Christ and who I am now, how can I not be? God loves me—hairy warts, stubborn heart (that is sometimes two sizes too small!), and all.

Sorrow vs. Sadness

I wrote this about 4 weeks ago and am just not getting around to posting it...

Sorrow… That is not a word we use very often. We say sad or maybe even inconsolable. But sorrowful? It isn’t a word we use very much. Tonight, I was confronted head on with the word sorrow and it got me to wondering—what is the difference between sadness and sorrow?

Sadness, according to Webster, is “affected with or expressive of grief or unhappiness.” I am very often sad. I am good at expressing my grief or unhappiness. Sadness, though powerful, is fleeting. It is there for a short time, and eventually fades, like a bruise. I think of it a lot like a vapor—here one minute, but it doesn’t take much for it to be gone the next. I feel sadness—it is in my heart and mind. But there is where it stays.

Sorrow, on the other hand, is different. Sorrow is another ballgame altogether, really. Our good friend Webster defines sorrow as “deep distress, sadness, or regret especially for the loss of someone or something loved.” Hmmmm…. It is missing something, though. I feel as though sorrow has much more to do with our soul than with our feelings.

Sorrow sweeps into our hearts—it saturates our minds, and seeps into the very marrow of who we are. Sadness doesn’t seem to be as pervasive as sorrow. I am able to express my sadness—but my sorrow? I am not able to do that. I can honestly say I can’t express my sorrow. To express that which has caused our deep distress, sadness or regret requires vulnerability. And I don’t show weakness… That is one of my weaknesses.

So what do you do when you are confronted with sorrow, rather than sadness? How do you look someone who is so immersed in sorrow that “I’m sorry” or really any other platitude sounds trite? How do you comfort them? My heart cries out for action, for words—anything, really! But unless you know sorrow, you are useless. All you can do is hold a hand through it. Sometimes that is all that is needed.

Tonight, when I was confronted with raw sorrow, God took my words away. He knew that anything I said would sound forced, fake or insincere. I asked for His ears to listen with, I begged him for His heart to feel with, and His words to comfort.

God definitely gave me his ears—I heard the cry of a broken heart. My heart, in turn, was broken. My heart—my selfish little Grinch-like heart—that sometimes IS two sizes too small, was filled with compassion and love for a friend’s sorrow. God gave me His heart to feel with. But His words? They were nowhere to be found. And I think that was ok…

Well, two out of three isn’t bad! ☺

Crumble

Crumble…

Casting Crowns has a song out right now—Slow Fade. The chorus goes like this:

It's a slow fade when you give yourself away
It's a slow fade when black and white have turned to gray
Thoughts invade, choices are made, a price will be paid
When you give yourself away
People never crumble in a day
It's a slow fade, it's a slow fade

People never crumble in a day… Hmmmm…. How true is that statement?

When I was in about the 7th or 8th grade, we had just moved back to Korea from the States. I was in a new school, and it was ok. I hated middle school, but what girl didn’t? ☺ Anyhow, none of that has to do with this story. It was either spring or early summer—the wet season in Korea. We had been hit by a typhoon, and there was massive flooding all around Seoul.

In Korea, we lived on a compound. No—not the David Koresh/Waco type compound, but a community of missionaries. We just happened to have a wall around our property. I honestly don’t know why—I just know that was the way it was in Korea when I was growing up. So our compound was set up on a hill—we were probably half way up the mountain. (I guess it was a mountain…) There was a wall that separated us from the family who owned the house above our compound.

One night, in the midst of the terrible rain and storm of the typhoon, the wall between their property and our compound gave way—their house fell into our property. I don’t remember it—I was a good sleeper then. But I do remember waking up and finding a strange Korean family in our house. I also remember the scene—there were pots and pans, laundry, and furniture scattered down the side of the hill. All they held dear was washed away.

The family in the living room was so embarrassed. I guess that is just something cultural. They couldn’t control the landslide—it was well beyond their means of control. The wall that had been built 20+ years before had finally crumbled and gave way. It wasn’t an instant thing—it was something that had happened over the course of the life of the wall. One little raindrop didn’t cause the foundation to crack. It was the culmination of thousands of raindrops over the course of years.

I look at my life like that wall. My foundation was built—like the wise man that built his house upon the rock. But as I have lived my life, I have been hit by storms, and by trials… and by poor choices. And each time I have been hit by the storms of life, my wall seems to have gotten a little bit weaker, and a little bit weaker. Until there is a landslide, and I have crumbled.

The song Slow Fade continues:

The journey from your mind to your hands
Is shorter than you're thinking
Be careful if you think you stand
You just might be sinking

The main thing, though, that causes me to crumble is my mind—and the choices I make. “The journey from your mind to your hands is shorter than you’re thinking…” And that is how Satan gets me… He puts a sinful thought into my mind—at first I am shocked by it because that is NOT of God and shut it down before it even hits the soil of my mind. And sometimes, I am shocked, but don’t shut it down immediately. The seed hits the fertile ground of my mind.

And then, Satan tries again… and again… and again… raindrop after raindrop, storm after storm, until I give in and entertain that thought. Not actually to the point of acting on it, but entertaining it. Then the “What if’s…” syndrome sets in. “Well, what if I did that? It’s not as bad as X…” And once the what if’s set in, I am a goner. My wall takes a hit, and Satan chips a little bit out from underneath me. And it starts all over again…

And suddenly—or not so suddenly, really, I start to slip and fall down the side of the mountain until I hit a roadblock, or rock bottom. And I look back up the mountain, and see the laundry of my sin strewn on the ground for everyone to see. And I am embarrassed. But unlike the poor Korean family in our living room that morning, this landslide wasn’t beyond my control—I willingly took each step closer and closer to the edge. And fell. No—tumbled down the mountain. Leaving the evidence of my sin and sinful life scattered behind for all to see.

People never crumble in a day…. No—it is truly a slow fade.

Things that make you go hmmmm....

No--I am not going to break into song and sing "Things That Make You Go Hmmmm...." It is too late at night for that and I am putting off dusting by writing this blog. I was reading my friend Dan's blog and he was writing about things that confuse him. So, I started my own list... Here goes:

OK, so the one thing that really gets me is the Braille on the drive through ATM at the bank. Really? If you need Braille to help you get money out of your bank account, then MAYBE you don't need to be driving. Just a thought... :)

Another thing that makes me laugh is the directions on how to use a western toilet on the seats in rural Korea, China, Japan... fill in the blank. It just cracks me up!

One of the things that really baffles me is change stealing... I was at a restaurant with my family recently, and my tab came to something like $9.22. I gave her a $20 and she gave me a $10 back. I was thinking "Really?!" it's not the $0.78 that bothers me. It is the principle of it.

To borrow one from Dan--stupid book covers. When I pick up a book to read, I don't want to see some quote from the New England Lobster Fisherman's Weekly that I need a thesaurus to translate--"Mr. Doe's brilliant masterpiece brings together a subtle message with a brash and irreverent sense of humor." Huh? So what is the book about? Give me names, basic plot outlines.

Skinny jeans: Unless you are Heidi Klum, buy a baggier cut. And there is only one Heidi Klum.

Eyebrow piercing: I was at lunch yesterday with a friend and this guy across the restaurant had one. I will admit to having shiny object syndrome, but honestly, it was all I could focus on until he finally stood up and left the restaurant... It was insane.

Anyhow, I could go on and on, but then it turns into complaining when in reality, I am just confused--not whiny! So, now that you know the things that make my eyebrows furrow, what are some things that make YOU go hmmm?

Homeless

The old saying “Home is where the heart is” has been ringing in my ears for the last hour or so. You see, I am on odd breed—I am never “home.” If I am at my house in Calera, my house in Korea is home. When I was living in Korea, Pelham was home. I am, in essence, homeless. Maybe part of it is my semi-bohemian childhood—never the same house for more than 4 years. Maybe it is an indication of my souls’ condition. Maybe… I was “created for a place I've never known” to borrow a quote from This is Home, by Switchfoot (thanks, Lindsey!). This sense of homelessness is tiring.

Home, truly, is where your heart is. And my home should be in the embrace of God—my savior, father and life’s breath. And yet, here I am—homeless. Seeking the place that keeps my soul at rest. Why is it that I can’t seem to find my home? Is it because finding my home means giving my heart—part and parcel to God? Is it because it means that I will be giving up the control over my life?

The song continues:

And now after all
My searching
After all my questions
I'm gonna call it home

And then, like a ton of bricks, it hit me—I am homeless by choice. I have chosen this life of semi-servitude. I have chosen to take the world’s unstable promises built on desperation instead of the promise of His everlasting shelter. It is MY choice to call Him home.

Choice is a dangerous thing. I am free to choose every last detail of my life—because Jesus chose to redeem me on the cross. At any point, Jesus could have left the cross and the tortuous pain that was separation from God. And yet He chose to stay. He chose to give me the freedom that I now use to walk away. Choice has brought me a lot of joy—I know my God and creator of all things. But, choice has gotten me into a lot of trouble, too. Why is it that I can’t allow my heart to find its’ way home?

In Psalm 61, David cries out to God—he says:

Hear my cry, O God;
listen to my prayer.
From the ends of the earth I call to you,
I call as my heart grows faint;
lead me to the rock that is higher than I.
For you have been my refuge,
a strong tower against my foe.
I long to dwell in your tent forever
and take refuge in the shelter of your wings.

My heart continually echoes David’s cry. I long for God to be my “rock that is higher than I,” and my refuge, my tower. I long to dwell in the tent of the Lord forever. I long to go home.

My life in 6 words...

My friend Dan posted about summing your life up in a 6 word sentence.  That is so hard!  Here are a few thoughts for me....

Unworthily, she was loved unconditionally.

Oh wait--that is just 5 words.  Let's try this one...

Home's where she hung her heart. 

That one is OK, but not great.  Too vague.

Wandering feet always brought her home.  

That is pretty good.  But again, not great.  This is really harder than it looks.  

I will keep thinking on it.  Meanwhile--how would you sum up your life in 6 words?!  Choose carefully!

Just call me Gomer

Uhm... no. Not The Mayberry version of Gomer--but Gomer. Hosea's wife, Gomer. You see, in the story of Hosea, Gomer is a prostitute. She leaves the lover of her soul to be with other men--other loves. Each time Gomer leaves, Hosea goes after her and takes her back home. Each time she leaves--no matter how much trouble she gets into, Hosea goes back to find her and take her back home. At one point, he even purchases her back out of bondage. Hosea--a prophet of Jehovah God, is in a marriage to a woman who abuses his love, trust, and sleeps with other men, and yet he takes her back unconditionally.
I am Gomer. No--I am not a prostitute. But I do leave the lover of my soul for another love. I leave my God to pursue other gods--security, love, selfishness... the list goes on. You see, I sell myself into worldliness--away from Godliness.
But here is where my story diverges from Gomer's. Hosea was commanded each time to go and bring Gomer back. When God seeks me out, it is purely out of His desire for me, not because He is commanded to. I mean really--who would send Him?! But the beauty of this story is mind blowing. I am God's treasure. He values me--and seeks me out. No matter where I run, He goes after me, and brings me back home.
Hosea gave consequences to Gomer--she was forbidden to be with any man--Hosea included. After a suitable period, Gomer was allowed to resume her intimate relationship with Hosea. Whenever I run, God allows me to face consequences--but the end reward is always His blessings.
What have I done to deserve such an awesome God?! Provider for my soul--Mountain of strength, brook of respite, and the fragrance that my soul longs for.

God Thunders--and I Quake

A while back, I blogged about wanting God to thunder in my life. What was I thinking? 
Back when I was in high school, a couple of my friends--not my closest friends, but close enough, were in a band. This was just as Smashing Pumpkins were getting popular. Their signature song (or at least the one I remember them for) was "Today" by the SPs. It says "Today is the greatest day you've ever known..." And just like most of my blogs, a song triggers my mental meandering. Today is NOT the greatest day... 
My dad went in for a routine heart procedure and ended up having to have a triple bypass. Not how I anticipated the day going. Yesterday, I wrote about running from God. He sure has an interesting way of reminding me that I need to be running towards Him, not away from Him. A few weeks ago, I got an email from my Dad. He was so positive--it blows my mind. His faith is so inspiring. Here are a few lines from his letter...
"I'm counting on your prayers as Mom and I go through this together. I don't know what all will be involved in the days ahead but I can say with assurance the this did not catch our Father by surprise and He knows every turn that it will take and He is going to be honored through it."
These last few weeks have been a bit like this game of hide-and-go-seek. Except I am at a disadvantage. It is like when you play with your little niece, nephew, and they think they are so clever. I am thinking that I am so clever, but I am not. I am the farthest thing from it. God knows where I am hiding--and today He called me out. He told me--"Enough, Jenny. Enough hiding. You NEED me. You are being stubborn and selfish and stupid. You need me and you need to admit it." God thundered at me today. 
I think I want the snow back.

Listening to the Snow Fall

Listening to the snow fall A few years ago, while I still lived in Korea, the phone rang at 5:00 AM.  So in my world, when the phone rings before 6:00 AM, someone (in my mind) is either dead, in the hospital, or having a baby.  It was none of those three.  I was awakened by my friend Tim, calling to tell me that it was snowing outside.  Tim is fromAustralia, so this was the first time he had ever seen snow in person.  Watching it fall was a completely new life experience for him--at the age of 27!   Now, I love snow as much as the next girl.  I love to play in it, and have been known to go out at midnight to get the good snow before the little kids get a hold of it.  But I don't love it more than my sleep at 5 AM.  So once I made sure that no one was dead, in the hospital or in labor, I (as politely as I could muster) asked Tim why on earth he needed to call.  I would have found out a few hours later when the phone call came to cancel school (or so I thought--we went to school that day anyway!).  As we rang off, Tim said something that caught my attention.  He said "Jenny, I can't get over how quiet the snow is...  I thought it would sound more like rain..."   I had dinner with my good friend Alissa on Sunday.  We chatted and she was telling me about the snow-filled trip she recently took to Kansas.  For some reason, that early morning memory sprang immediately to mind.  All I could think of was "God is trying to get my attention, but I don't hear anything..."  I have felt that way for a very long time.  I feel like God is tugging at me, but every time I listen, I don't hear anything.   God very often has to cause a ruckus for me to pay attention and know what is going on with Him and where He is leading.  NOW, well, now I feel like Tim did watching the snow fall.  I know it is happening, and I know that something is out there for me that I have never experienced, but I can't hear it.  My other senses are telling me that things are different right outside my front door, but I don't know what to listen for.   I am struggling with finding God's will in one particular area in my life.  I am trying so hard to NOT be caught up in what I want, and seeking what God wants.  But if God is answering my prayers, I can't hear them.  I want to hear God thunder, I want to hear Him whistling through the trees, I want to hear Him crack like lightening.  I just want to hear Him.  But, He is falling as quietly as the snow.

Even Starbucks Isn't Far Enough...

Even Starbucks Isn’t Far Enough...

I know this is totally showing my age, but do you remember that song by the Flock of Seagulls called I Run?  It is about a guy running from a girl.  That is not what tonight's blog is about.  But as I sit here with a blank screen in front of me, I keep hearing the chorus of that song--I Ran, going through my head over and over again.  (Though it could be worse--it could be the song I heard as I walked into Sunday School this morning at Moes!)  So anyhow, God and I are in the middle of a smack down.  I know, even now as I struggle, who is going to win.  (SPOILER ALERT:  It isn't going to be me!)  But yet here I am running from Him because I don't like what I know what He is saying to me.  Today in church, my heart and mind were torn into a million little pieces.  I have been diligently praying for things to fall into place.  I want my life in my neat little image of what life should be.  If my life were a TV show, I would want it to be called "Jenny Knows Best."  Oi--I digress.  
After being battered and smacked down again and again in church, I skipped Bible Study (I don't call it Sunday School any more because Benita makes fun of me!).  I just kept thinking "I can't handle this any more.  I have to get away from God."  So I went to Starbucks.  Let's face it--what can't a latte fix?  I even got my sister to go with me so that I wouldn't be alone.  We had some great sisterly bonding time, but it was NOT where God intended for me to be this morning.  And since I ran from Him, He made sure I ran smack dab into Him.  At Starbucks.  With my non-fat Honey Latte.  Michele kept asking these really tough questions--questions I didn't have the answer to.  She kept making observations that I am scared of.  She made me think.  She made me see how selfish I am being.  Thanks, God.  
The Honey Latte was delicious, by the way.  I highly recommend it.  
So anyhow, back to the whole running away business.  I don't even think I realized I had done that until I was speaking to Derek later on today on the phone, and he asked the right question and out came the answer.  And I didn't like the answer.  But it was stark, honest and raw.  I was running away from the one thing that can take care of my concerns and issues.  Why?  
Why?
Why?
Why?
I don't know.  You would think that by this point in my life that I would learn from my mistakes.  Whatever.  I am still the 6 year old that accepted Jesus into her life and heart.  I don't think I will ever get past that.  I think I have phases of growth where the obvious childishness of my ways isn't so obvious, but let's face it--I am still sitting at the kitchen table in the "Cold House" in Pusan, Korea, on Easter Sunday, 1982.  
You see, I want to move forward in my life.  I know where I want to go, but for some reason, God isn't cooperating.  I know.  What is going on?  In church today,Les gave an amazing sermon.  Wow.  It broke me into a million little different pieces.  Because it was an arrow aiming straight to my heart.  It was painful.  It was cathartic (until I decided to run).  It could be life changing.  If I would take off my costume make up and step out of the WWF ring that I feel like I am in.  
I realized today, that after years of praying for what I wanted--which in this case is to get married and have beautiful children, that God hasn't had that in my Plan.  (Yes--that is Plan with a capital P.)  But here is the catch--you see, I have self righteously said "I am doing what God is asking, and He is just not blessing me.  He has forgotten me."  What a load of tripe.  You see, today was about wisdom.  How we all have seasons in our life and we have to know which season we are in, and know that God looks at our past choices and our current circumstance, and our FUTURE circumstance.  I can't seem to see past the end of my nose, much less my past, present and future.  
Anyhow, I realized something--that my prayers--as sincere as they have been, haven't fitted into my circumstances of the "here and now," into this season of my life.  I need to change my prayer to asking God to be the guardian of my heart--since I am obviously not doing that very well.  I am praying that God is answering my desire for a family with "Grow, Jenny!" rather than "No, Jenny."
So, it all goes back to 2 questions:  "Why?" and "If Starbucks isn't far enough, then what is?"

I AM

 

I am

I got this today from my sweet co-worker Patsy Smithey. I thought it was good...

My Name is I AM

I was regretting the past and fearing the future.

Suddenly my Lord was speaking:

"My name is I AM."

He Paused. I waited.

He continued,

"When you live in the past with it's mistakes and

regrets it is hard. I am not there. My name is not I

WAS.

When you live in the future, with it's problems and

fears, it is hard. I am not there. My name is not I

WILL BE.

When you live in this moment, it is not hard. I am

here. My name is I AM."

Helen Mallicoat

Standing Ovation

I went to watch the movie Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium this weekend with my sister, and my nieces and nephew. It was an entertaining 80 minutes (like all Hollywood films, there were a few things I felt like saying "Er?!"), but there was one line that I just loved--it said (more or less) "Your life is an occasion, rise up to it..." What a wonderful philosophy!

Our lives are not just a series of random events that are connected by a common denominator. Our lives are a symphony--a grand event, with a spectacular (and eagerly awaited) start, to (hopefully) a standing ovation finish. Every note is an event worthy of standing alone, but made so much more sweet by sharing it with the melody or harmony that goes along with it.

And the audience--well, they are more than that. They are supporters of the composer, the written piece, and the musicians. They will relive each movement with relish, and be taken away to another time when they hear the faintest strain of the melody.

And the best part is that a symphony is well planned, well organized, and well loved. They cover all moods, emotions, and seasons. No matter what the piece, there are always fans. There are also always critics.

I am trying to let my symphony be an event, when it draws to a close, that ends with a standing ovation. Not for me, but for the composer. I want my life to reflect the craftsmanship of a master.

Listening to the Snow Fall...

 

Listening to the snow fall

A few years ago, while I still lived in Korea, the phone rang at 5:00 AM.  So in my world, when the phone rings before 6:00 AM, someone (in my mind) is either dead, in the hospital, or having a baby.  It was none of those three.  I was awakened by my friend Tim, calling to tell me that it was snowing outside.  Tim is from Australia, so this was the first time he had ever seen snow in person.  Watching it fall was a completely new life experience for him--at the age of 27! 

Now, I love snow as much as the next girl.  I love to play in it, and have been known to go out at midnight to get the good snow before the little kids get a hold of it.  But I don't love it more than my sleep at 5 AM.  So once I made sure that no one was dead, in the hospital or in labor, I (as politely as I could muster) asked Tim why on earth he needed to call.  I would have found out a few hours later when the phone call came to cancel school (or so I thought--we went to school that day anyway!).  As we rang off, Tim said something that caught my attention.  He said "Jenny, I can't get over how quiet the snow is...  I thought it would sound more like rain..." 

I had dinner with my good friend Alissa on Sunday.  We chatted and she was telling me about the snow-filled trip she recently took to Kansas.  For some reason, that early morning memory sprang immediately to mind.  All I could think of was "God is trying to get my attention, but I don't hear anything..."  I have felt that way for a very long time.  I feel like God is tugging at me, but every time I listen, I don't hear anything. 

God very often has to cause a ruckus for me to pay attention and know what is going on with Him and where He is leading.  NOW, well, now I feel like Tim did watching the snow fall.  I know it is happening, and I know that something is out there for me that I have never experienced, but I can't hear it.  My other senses are telling me that things are different right outside my front door, but I don't know what to listen for. 

I am struggling with finding God's will in one particular area in my life.  I am trying so hard to NOT be caught up in what I want, and seeking what God wants.  But if God is answering my prayers, I can't hear them.  I want to hear God thunder, I want to hear Him whistling through the trees, I want to hear Him crack like lightening.  I just want to hear Him.  But, He is falling as quietly as the snow.  

Home Sweet Home--at the end of the world?

So, most of you know that the place I have called home for the last 18 months is not, in fact, my home.  My sister Michele has graciously allowed me to share the house my parent own, and for that I am grateful.  But, as most of you can relate, I am anxious to move on/move out.  I have a million reasons to want to stay--such as cheap rent, half of the utlities, and well, the location is fantastic, but...  You know what I mean.  (I am looking in Calera.  It is a quaint little town, and it never entered my mind to look there.  I don't know why--it is really a great town.  It is not too far out from where I work, but it is not as close as where I am now.  When I first started looking, I thought "WOW--that is a long way away..."  It really isn't.  UGH!!!!  FOCUS, Jenny!  Back to the topic at hand)  Don't get me wrong--it is not that I am not happy where I am, I just need more room.  I need more room for. . .

1.  My shoes.  Yes.  That is really at the top of my list.  I have some awesome shoes and CANNOT find them.  I hope the moths haven't eaten them.

2.  My Dog.  He has a huge yard, that he has demolished.  He needs his own place where I don't mentally write down how much I am going to have to pay to repair what ever it is he has broken.  Too bad the moths can't eat him!!!  (JUST KIDDING!!!!)

3.  My beautiful Korean furniture (which is worth a lot more than I would like to think I spent on furniture).  It is a beautiful reminder of my life in Korea and of all the blessings I experienced while living in Korea.  It is also in the garage.  In the non-climate controlled garage.  I hope the moths haven't eaten them.

4.  My hanging clothes... which are currently in my closet, in my armoir, in the hall closet, in my parents closet and in the garage in boxes.  The same non-climate controlled garage mentioned above.  I hope the moths haven't eaten them.

5.  My junk drawer.  I don't have one here.  So all my junk is strewn around the house.  I need a drawer for it.  Then I might not have as much.

6.  My framed art work.  It has no home.  No where to be seen and enjoyed.  No where to be loved.  That is why I had it framed--I love it and want to enjoy it.  Hard to do in the non-climate controlled garage. 

7.  My soul.  I need room to be me again.  If I am in a foul mood (hard to believe, I know!), I need to be alone.  REALLY alone.  Out in Calera by myself alone.  (Get the picture there?!)  If I need the whole living room floor for some inane idea I have for  my kids in my classroom, I can have it--no questions asked!  Selfish--maybe just a little.  But I would give it up, if asked.

8.  My relationship with my sister.  (Which, in hind sight, should be 1 on my list, not my shoes...  She can't be eaten by moths, nor do I want her to be!)  She and I truly are good friends, but. . .   even the best of friends need space.  Michele is an introvert.  I am NOT.  Michele likes Survivor.  I do not.  Michele likes to sleep really, really late on Saturdays.  I cannot.  Michele has put up with a lot from me, over the last 18 months.  What started off as a few months turned into 6, then 12, and now 18.  Yeah.  Some of you think she ought to be sainted.  I might agree.  But, I want us to keep our close friendship, and living together permanently, is NOT a good idea.  We work well together, but better apart.  (Sounds like some line a former BF fed me when we broke up!!!!)

9.  My independence.  I know--I am such an independent spirit!  I love to be uninhibited, and FREE!  But, I have forgotten what it was like to be independent.  I have started to rely on Michele, and I need to rely on myself.  I need to be self-sufficient.  Until I meet a man and get married, that is.  Then I am happy to rely on HIM as much as he wants and I need!  Now, I am not talking about leaving God out of the equation, but I am talking about things like remembering to pay the bills on time, and monitoring the thermostat so that the power bill isn't overwhelming each month.  THOSE kinds of things.  You know, normal ADULT things that you learn as you grow up.

So I just went back and reread this silly little posting, and realized--so many of these things I have listed are so temporal.  But valuable, none-the-less.  I don't think it is wrong to have posessions, or to enjoy the ones you have.  I think God intended for us to enjoy the earth He created and the things in the earth... just not more than we love and enjoy Him.  But, anyhow, as I looked over that list, I thought, "A lot of this I would give up when I get married, so why is it so critical now?!"  I don't know.  I wish I did.  Maybe because I don't know when that time will come, or maybe because I think that I cannot think of being married (or finding someone) until I have truly lived on my own.  Any ideas?! 

Anyhow, as things progress, I will keep you posted.  NO, Calera isn't the end of the world, but it might just be the beginning of my world....