Rambling Jen

Stuff Christian (Girls) Like

2011-11-26T19:51:00.000-08:00

OK, so SCL had a guest post by John Crist about Stuff Christian (Guys) Like. I would like to offer my rebuttal:

*(Please note this is all tongue-in-cheek!)

Stuff Christian (Girls) Like:

Let’s face it—adages are often repeated because there is always some grain of truth in them.

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder—yep! We’ve all seen the guy/girl who’s married WAY up. All that glitters is not gold—yep! We’ve all had our dream date only to find that a pretty smile and blank stares can only keep you interested for SO long. And girls always like the bad boys—yep. We all know the girl who thought she could “turn” him back to God. Many of us WERE the girl who thought we could “turn” him back to God.

Good girls, well, we like the bad boy, but we Christian girls LOVE the reformed bad boy. But how can you tell if he’s a bad boy or (to quote one of the biggest put downs from high school) a poser?

So here is MY Reformed Bad Boy Score Card:

Drives a motorcycle: +5 points

Drives an SUV/Truck: +0 points

Drives a sedan: -2 points

Drives a Prius: -5 points

Has at least one item made of leather in their wardrobe: +3 points

Has at least one pair of pleated khaki’s: -3 points

5 O’clock shadow because he just rolled out of bed: +2 points

5 O’clock shadow that has been groomed: -2 points

Plays the guitar: +3 points

Plays World of Warcraft: -3 points

Spent some time in rehab (substance or alcohol) AND kicked the habit: +2 points

Spent some time in rehab (physical therapy): +0 points

(EXCEPTION: If physical rehab was a direct result of motorcycle accident: +5 points)

Has a few years of Jr. College under his belt: +1 point per year

Has NO higher education under his belt: +3 points (Flat rate)

Has at least one story about a scar that begins with “I was riding on my bike when…” and he’s referring to his motor cycle: +2 points

Has at least one story about a scar that begins with “I was riding on my bike when…” and he’s referring to his bicycle: -1 point

(EXCEPTION: Mountain biking: +1 point)

Doesn’t need product to make his hair look tousled: +2 points

Needs product to make his hair lay down: -2 points

Spends 30 minutes using product to make his hair look tousled: -5 points

Doesn’t believe in social media: +7 points

(EXCEPTION: Has a Facebook account ONLY to keep up with his friends from his multiple backpacking trips around the world: +2 points)

Has a Twitter, Facebook, and Pinterest account: -3 points PER ACCOUNT. Double for Pinterest.

Facebook profile pic is the generic blue man: +4 points

Facebook profile pic is of his dog: +0 points

Facebook profile pic is of him with ANYONE else: -4 points

(EXCEPTION: Profile pic is of him and his mom: +1 point)

So there he is—the golden (reformed) bad boy of the sanctuary. What is on your “Reformed Bad Boy Score Card?”

Pitiful Chooser:

2011-11-25T20:37:00.000-08:00

O to grace how great a debtor
Daily I'm constrained to be!
Let that grace now like a fetter,
Bind my wandering heart to Thee.
Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it,
Prone to leave the God I love;
Here's my heart, O take and seal it,
Seal it for Thy courts above.
*Public Domain

If I have one strong childhood church memory it would be singing "Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing" in Korean church. I don't know why it is such a strong pull but every time I hear it I am transported back to Hai Yun Dai Baptist Church and the cold, hard, brown, wooden pews. It is such a vivid memory that I can't help be feel like I am 7 again. I can hear the piano and organ in the background as the congregation shuffled to their feet to sing. It was such a staple to me--I often *think* I remember it being sung every Sunday in Korean church. I am sure it was not…

It was not until adulthood that this song began to mean something more than a fond memory to me--until I truly experienced the proneness to wander and the unfailing redeeming love of God. My favorite verse of the song is the 3rd verse, quoted above. I love this verse because I think it exemplifies the struggle man faces when it comes to a relationship with God. (Side note--it is the only verse that has remained unchanged from the original over the last 250+ years.)

Robert Robinson penned Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing at the ripe old age of 22. Yep--he wrote one of the most profound hymns at the age of 22. When I was 22, the only thing I wrote was my name at the bottom of the credit card receipt. At the age of 22, Robinson had more understanding of God than most people do at 72. He understood several things about God and Man. Things I have struggled my entire life to know. He knew that:

1) We as humans are pitiful: In the original version of the song he says, "Sorrowing I shall be in spirit, Till released from flesh and sin." He understood that as humans our very nature was in direct opposition to God and that causes our sorrow--that natural inclination to sin. When will our souls find true peace? When we are released from flesh and sin. We can be released from sin before being released from our flesh, but none of us can maintain that purity because of our flesh. "Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it. Prone to leave the God I love."

2) We as humans have the free will to choose: There are so many references in this hymn to our freedom to choose--though many of those references refer to asking God to take that choice away--"Jesus sought me when a stranger, Wandering from the fold of God," "Let thy goodness, like a fetter, Bind my wandering heart to thee," and "Here's my heart, O take and seal it, Seal it for Thy courts above." When I hear these phrases I think of one theme--God, I love you and I don't want to mess it up, so take me, take my will, take my heart. I give it to you freely and know that in your hands, all is well. The only problem with that is when I change my mind. Which I do often. Because I am pitiful. Like the song says, I am prone to wander. And God lets me, because He is God. He doesn't want me, my will and my heart if it's not an offering. Though I may wish to be leg shackled to God, God doesn't roll that way.

3) And even though we are pitiful choosers, God's grace is enough: "Streams of mercy, never ceasing, Call for songs of loudest praise," "He, to rescue me from danger, Interposed His precious blood," and "Here I raise my Ebenezer; Here by thy great help I've come; And I hope, by thy good pleasure, Safely to arrive at home." The words don't say, "Streams of mercy, dribbling past me," or "He sometimes rescues me from danger…" No! God's grace and mercy are in abundance and are always available. His grace, to quote a current praise song, is enough. His grace will always provide. In Hebrew, Ebenezer literally means, "stone of help" and is often biblically translated to mean "God has led us thus far." If God has led us thus far, then is He going to stop now? He hasn't stopped leading me thus far and let's face it, I have tried His patience! God is our stone of help, our Ebenezer. Raise your Ebenezer--your monument to God's grace that has brought you this far.

You see that is the ultimate struggle man faces when it comes to our relationship with God. We do not accept that His grace truly is more than enough--and though our hearts desire to be one with God, it is our inability to accept His grace that causes us to wander. That feeling of unworthiness is what really moves us away from God. This undeserving feeling takes on many forms--pride, desire for acceptance by the world, temptation... We are constantly seeking quick fixes for the God-chasm in our lives. We don't feel worthy of His unconditional love and acceptance so we look outside of Him to find it. And when the world fails us, it only reinforces our feeling of unworthiness. It's a catch-22. The only way to break it? To accept that we are not worthy but that "He, to rescue me from danger, Interposed His precious blood."

Oh Robert Robinson--I doubt when you wrote Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing you ever imagined that I would need those stalwart words today to remind me that God is enough--even when I am a pitiful chooser. (Which sort of rhymes with pitiful loser… Same, same, right?)

PS The link is to a version of the song by Mumford and Sons... Excellent version!

Jenny A-Z

2011-10-13T18:50:00.001-07:00

- Available: Not so much until March 31…

- Age: I admit to 29. I now have anniversaries of my 29th birthday. And No—I won’t tell you how many anniversaries I have had!

- Annoyance: miscommunication! Say what you mean and mean what you say!

- Animal: Elephants. As long as they are not chasing after yummy food. With me and a friend on their backs. I wonder... do I have room for a baby one in my back yard?

- Beer: doesn’t have to change colors. Enough said.

- Birthday: December 22

- Best Friend: Benita

- Blind or Deaf: Blind to the obvious, deaf to logic? Does that count?

- Best weather: Fall and spring are perfect temperature-wise. Sometimes summer—if I am at the beach or pool. Occasionally winter—like yesterday when we got snow. How’s that for straddling the fence?

- Been in Love: Yes—it’s the best and the worst all rolled in one.

- Believe in Magic: nope

- Believe in Santa: Yes… strangely since I don’t believe in magic.

- Candy: Snickers or Reeces (cups, not pieces!)—it’s a photo finish

- Color: green or violet

- Chocolate/Vanilla: Chocolate—hands down.

- Chinese/Mexican Food: love both, but eat more Mexican

- Cake or pie: Red Velvet Cake… or white cake/white icing—almond flavored.

- Continent to visit: Africa or Australia. Have family in Oz, so that would be way cool, but Africa has elephants—also way cool. But elephants don’t love me, so…

- Cheese: Makes everything better. Seriously. It’s been tested and proven. Try it if you don’t believe me. ☺

- Day or Night: night owl reporting for duty… at midnight! ☺

- Dancing in the rain: YES!!! Best memory of it?! Jenni, Elizabeth, Beth, Angie and I dancing in the rain in front of the entire freshman pledge class of Sigma Chi.

- Eyes: blue-ish grey and green sometimes too… Depends on what I am wearing.

- Everyone's got: potential. Live up to it!!!

- Ever failed a class: High School Algebra. Yuck. I hated it. I was a Larry Bird—practicing 2 hours a day, but it just didn’t help. Sorry Mrs. Lee.

- First thoughts waking up? Seriously?! (No—that really is my first thought…)

- Greatest Fear: Snakes... or someone I love dying. Probably not in that order, though!

- Goals: to write words correctly—not using txt type.

- Gum: Big Red. Maybe it was the commercials from when I was growing up?! Or maybe it’s because it’s spicy. I like spicy!

- Get along with your parents: YES! I admire all that they have done—and will do.

- Hair Color: dark blonde

- Height: 5'8-5’9

- Happy: Choosing to be everyday!

- Holiday: My birthday. But since that is not recognized by any government agency, I would have to say 4th of July. It is half-way through my summer vacation and I am just about antsy to get back to work—but not quite! Oooo…. or Columbus Day.

- How do you want to die: in my sleep peacefully as a very old woman, not with my eyes open, and screaming. That indicates a very painful ending.

- Ice Cream: Chocolate peanut butter anything.

- Instrument: Flute… tried guitar for a while, but…. Would like to learn (really learn) guitar. Have one in my closet gathering dust!

- Jewelry: I almost always wear my sapphire ring and cross necklace.

- Job: first grade teacher and domestic goddess. It is hard to juggle them both, but both are a calling I cannot avoid….

- Kids: Wally—though he really doesn’t count, does he?

- Kickboxing or karate: KICKBOXING!!!!

- Keep a journal: Always have done… I would grab it if my house were on fire.

- Love: Freely given, freely taken—no strings attached.

- Laugh: love those belly laughs—the ones that you can’t stop!!! Giggling is fun, too.

- Movies: Where do I begin? Not big on action flicks—though Braveheart is one of my all time favs. I am willing to pay matinee price for most movies, and full price for just a few.

- Motion sickness: Blessed—don’t suffer!

- McD’s or BK: If on a desert island and had to choose… BK. Assuming there are no Starbucks around!

- Numbers: don’t make sense to me, so why have a favorite or least favorite?

- Nickname(s): Jen is the only one I answer to anymore. Although I get called Cooper a lot—and I like that one, too. It all started in college when my roommate was also called Jenny (with an i, though…) There had to be some way to differentiate between us. And Cooper it was!

- One wish: Can’t share—it won’t come true!!!! ☺ But if I were to get ONE MORE wish, it would be to have as much time with the people I love as possible. Oh—and summer vacation year round. I guess that is ONE MORE wish on top of the one I just filched.

- Pepsi/Coke: Diet Pepsi

- Perfect Pizza: Joe’s pepperoni with pineapple and jalapenos. Unbeatable!

- Piercings: Ears. I had my bellybutton pierced once when I was in the Philippines—it wasn’t a good idea… 3rd world country and all… then it got infected and I had to take it out. Should have known better, eh? OUCH!!!! I call it my “I’m turning 30” crisis.

- Quail: I've never had it. I have had pigeon—at the American Restaurant, in Hong Kong. YUMMY.

- Reality T.V: The Amazing Race and the recaps with Lee and Michele the next day.

- Radio Station: 100.5 usually….

- Roll your tongue in a circle: yes—thanks for the genetics, Mom and Dad!

- Ring size: 7

- Song: Currently—Viva La Vida by Coldplay (or any of their songs really….) and Free Fallin’ acoustic version by John Mayer.

- Shoe size: 8.5 or 9 depending on the shoe!

- Salad Dressing: Italian

- Sushi: Surprisingly, I like it…. and I can’t/don’t eat fish… Who knew?

- Shower: every day—sometimes 2x a day.

- Strawberries/Blueberries: blueberries AND strawberries… Don’t make me decide!

- Tattoos: I don’t have any, but some can be attractive on the opposite gender!!!!

- Time for bed: anytime between 7:30 and midnight.

- Thunderstorms: I curl up in a ball under my covers and rock while sucking my thumb… but other than that, they are GREAT.

- Unpredictable: my hair.

- Vacation spot(s): Krabi, Thailand, with a 36 hour layover in Bangkok! (And NO spending the night in the airport ever again in Thailand—Hannah and Jon!!! I’m too old for that!!!)

- Weakness: just say “please” and I will have a hard time saying no. Ask my friends.

- Which one of your friends acts the most like you: HOPEFULLY none of my friends act like me—if they did, who would bail me out of trouble when I get knee-deep in?

- Worst feeling: apathy—I have to agree with Lee on this one… That or the one I get often when I wonder, “Did I turn off the oven?” and I am at school. That one stinks, too.

- Worst Weather: hot and humid with a thunderstorm.

- X-Rays: This year—none. But it is ONLY March. Oh wait—I did have one when I had some dental work done back in January. I guess that counts, eh? Oh wait—that was December, so… No—none this year.

-Year it is now: 2009

-Yellow: reminds me of the sunny beach at Boracay—one of my all time favorite vacations. Thanks, Hannah, Benita and Lonna!

- Zoo animal: Elephants and monkeys. For very different reasons. Fortunately, the elephant can’t throw their feces like the monkey, but monkey’s are just so funny… Gotta love those opposable thumbs….

A blessed member of the 99%

2011-10-13T18:40:00.001-07:00

The word blessed is used so often now--I don't know if I am noticing it more or if it's become an "it" word. The word blessed means several things. Dictionary.com gives the following definitions:

1. consecrated; sacred; holy; sanctified
2. worthy of adoration, reverence, or worship
3. divinely or supremely favored; fortunate
4. blissfully happy or contented.

Most people, I think, mean the final definition when they say blessed--blissfully happy or contented. "I am so blessed to have won X award!" or "I feel so blessed to have scored the winning touchdown in the championship game." Blessed has ceased to be a Godly word and has become a catchy self-righteous phrase.

When I use to say it, I think I started off meaning divinely favored but I think it slipped into blissfully happy. I feel like I had forgotten the true meaning of the word blessed. I had a job I adored, my family was in good health, I had a home and a dog I love.

Then about 18 months ago I lost my job and I began a journey that has led me to the realization of exactly HOW blessed I am. Exactly how Divinely favored and fortunate I am. You see, God provided me a job that meets my needs. I am not employed full time yet but I have a job and my mortgage get paid every month. Some months I eat peanut butter sandwiches every day for lunch and some months I can afford to eat out a little.

You see, I don't have the life I grew accustomed to while I was teaching. I can't afford it. But I made the choice to take a job that gives me enough to meet my needs, not get into any more credit card debt (and continue to pay off the debt I already incurred) and remember every day that I am Divinely favored. It is not easy. But that is a heck of a lot better than just being blissfully happy in my book.

I don't blame big corporation for my bad luck or for my financial struggles--it is because of them our country is great. It is the innovation of ideas that have given rise to the factories that dot our landscape. It is the creativity of great American minds that has led to an easier way of life--just think of the recently late Steve Jobs. It is because of the tenacious spirit of the American people that we have continued to thrive through war, famine, depression and national tragedy. We were not a country of whiners. Until now.

As I have been watching the news on TV and seeing all of the discontent that has been bred over the last several years, I am amazed. I see people who appear to be healthy, have a home to go home to when they get done protesting or working--which ever they choose that day, clothes on their back, Starbucks coffee cups in their hands, and dissatisfaction in their hearts. All because they view themselves as a "have not."

They are NOT the have nots. They claim to be the "99%." 99% of what, I ask myself? Once they get whatever it is they are seeking--are they willing to acknowledge that they themselves are actually a part of the 1%? As Americans, they possess and have access to more of the worlds wealth than anyone else? Are these malcontents really willing to give up to the other 99% of the world their share of what they're demanding of Wall Street?

Just curious.

25 Things to Know about Me

2011-10-13T18:39:00.000-07:00

1. I am a writer. Well, I imagine myself to be one. Nothing is more inspiring (or scary, really) than a blank word document and an idea niggling to get out of my brain.

2. I love the Twilight series. And I am 33 years old. They say admitting it is start to recovery... Oh--Team Edward all the way....

3. I like to sing. I am not so good at it, but I like to do it.

4. I no longer kick walls when I am mad. I gave that up in high school when I put my foot through some sheet rock... not realizing what sheet rock was and that it was not as durable as the cement walls I was used to. Imagine the broken toes I could have avoided?

5. I have a Starbucks addiction that I am currently seeking a patch for.

6. I love grilled chicken quesadillas--with the veggies. They rock.

7. I have lived overseas more of my life than I have lived here in the US. But I feel more comfortable here than there.

8. I secretly want to marry an English man. I am not sure if it is the lure of England (one of my favorite places!), the accent or the fact that there are none around here. You pick.

9. I hate camping. Every snake in the great outdoors is just plotting to get near me and attack. They have been told since hatching by their mother's that their life's goal is to find me. (And I bet you think I am kidding about this one, aren't you?)

10. I use commas too much in my writing. Just ask Dad. Actually, I am not good with punctuation in general, so....

11. I sometimes forget to feed Wally. :(

12. I love to travel--I thought I had gotten it all out of my system when I lived in Korea, but I guess not since I am already trying to figure out a way to go somewhere way cool. I miss the days of deciding a week out of a holiday that I wanted to go to New Zealand or Thailand. (Thanks for the memories, Benita!!!!)

13. I am not good at doing nothing.

14. I learned Portuguese in college so I could take a night class rather than have to take a language during the day and do the language lab. Do I remember any of it?! Not so much...

15. My college roommate was named Jennifer, too. We both went by Jenny. (Me with a "y" and her with an "i." Talk about fun confusion when the phone rang--"Can I speak to Jenny/Jenni?" It's not like I could say "with an "i" or a "y"?")

16. I love to go to Starbucks with my sisters (Lee and Michele) to feed my coffee addiction. We have the best time--sisters=friends.

17. I love elephants. I am not sure where this adoration for the pachyderm came from--maybe it was listening to The Baby Elephant March on the 8-track player in our car growing up... Too bad my yard is barely big enough for Wally.

18. I like classical music. It is relaxing.

19. I prefer my hair straight, but it takes too much work. I would much prefer to have the extra 40 minutes of sleep in the mornings....

20. I am finding this task harder than it looks! I wonder if it is cheating to use that as one my unique things? I am going to vote no.

21. I love shoes! I have a bunch of cool ones (from the retail therapy I try to avoid) but usually end up wearing the same 5 pairs all the time.

22. My most memorable vacation was to Italy--despite the stolen purse and passport. On the upside--the stolen postcards were mailed for me! :) I spent the first few days thinking, "Am I really here?" Good times, Sara and Benita!

23. I can't eat seafood. I have been known to try it on occasion, but....

24. I love my job.

25. I am petrified of the dentist. My goal for 2009 is to go to the dentist with out crying. Seriously. Thanks to the modern marvel that is Korean dentistry, I face my fear every cleaning.

Inequalities:

2011-09-21T19:34:00.000-07:00

Tonight I was in Target--one of my favorite passtimes--with my sister Michele picking up a few necessities… and a few unnecessities, too! As I was browsing in the stationary aisle (my favorite aisle in the store!) I saw a spiral notebook that said "I>u." The first grade teacher in me kicked in and I immediately thought "hungry alligator eats the bigger/greater value." And as it dawned on me the message on the cover, everything inside me rebelled. (For once I rebelled at the right thing!) The selfishness and the me first attitude that was conveyed with those three characters was mind boggling.

We live in a culture that has lost respect for the needs of others. Selflessness has become synonymous with "door mat" and looking out for number one has become de rigueur. Since when did people looking out for others and doing a kind turn become almost foreign to us?

Philippians 1:20-21 says, "According to my earnest expectation and hope, that I will not even be put to shame in anything, but that with all boldness, Christ will even now, as always, be exalted in my body, whether by life or by death. For me, to live is Christ and to die is gain." Those verses right there are the antithesis of "I>u" whether the u is others or the U is Christ. To live is Christ and to die is gain is the least selfish thing you can do--dying to Christ ultimately means that you put yourself aside and "I" is no longer important. I am not defined by these things--they are not who I am.

So here I am thinking of my own inequalities…

I

10 Years Later

2011-09-11T17:23:00.000-07:00

Ten years ago today, my life changed. If there is one event I could change in my lifetime, this would be it. Today is the 10 year anniversary of the attacks on the United States on September 11, 2001. Today is a day of mourning for what was lost--the loss of human life and the loss of a sense of security we had up to that point. The images are astounding, heartbreaking and bewildering--even 10 years down the line. I don't know that I will ever be able to think about that day or see a news piece featuring the events without tears.

As I have watched the coverage and memorials off and on all day I am struck with so many emotions--some easily identifiable such as anger, sadness, and nostalgia of an easier time and some not so easy to pinpoint. But that being said, right now I am grateful.

Yeah--you read that correctly. I am grateful. I am grateful for the sacrifices heroically made by the firemen and women, police men and women and military men and women who have sworn to "protect and serve" and did that day and have every day since and for the every day men and women who risked their lives to help complete strangers. I am grateful that while many rightfully ran away from the devastation, those brave first responders were running towards it, hoping to save the innocent while knowing they were likely running to their deaths. Likely leaving the second wave of victims of the horrible attacks that day--the ones who were left behind and lost their loved ones. The victims who lost their loved ones because they were too brave to run away. To quote a survivor, "The sight of a fireman was a calming sight." Without their leadership (and the leadership of so many others--from the helping hand that pulled many from the rubble to Mayor Giuliani to President Bush and everyone in between), many more lives would have been lost.

I am also grateful that we are 10 years down the road from such a terrible event. We survived. Instead of crumbling under the terrible and oppressive fist that tried to break our spirit and destroy our way of life. Instead, we found courage in our fear. Hope in our loss. We have had 10 years to heal our wounds and figure out a new way to be "American." And I think we've done an admirable job of it. Some of our wounds will never heal. Some of our scars we will wear proudly for the world to see. And some we will keep private.

Today in church, our sermon was on joy. One statement stuck out to me so clearly. My pastor, Les Hughes, said (to paraphrase) that the more we are thankful for the more joy we have. And that is not a situational truth. That is a universal and lifetime truth. The more things in this world that I can find some kernel of thankfulness for, the more joy I can find. I don't want to live a life of angst. I don't want to live a life of sorrow. I want to live a life of joy. In order to do that, I must find something to be grateful for in every situation--no matter how heinous or terrible the events might be. And I can think of no more terrible of an event in my lifetime than the attack on our country on September 11, 2001. So today, I am choosing to be grateful for the resilience and compassion of my people and rejoice in the sovereignty of my God.

My Own Lady Lazarus

2011-08-01T17:05:00.000-07:00

When I was in high school, I fancied myself a poet. I still write poetry now, but now I really focus on other forms of written expression. I fell in love with poetry and met a sad, melancholy poetess, Sylvia Plath. In the midst of my teen-age angst I felt like Sylvia Plath understood me--and her sadness reflected my own. How wrong I was… thankfully.

I read and fell in love with a poem called "Lady Lazarus" that Plath wrote towards the end of her life. She talks about having become an "expert at dying…" though she never quite succeeded--until attempt #3. (But I don't think she ever meant to kill herself--comparing herself to a cat with 9 lives. Maybe she was just trying to release some of her demons and pain. I am no expert, so take that for what it's worth!) She compares her pain to the plight of the Jews in Hitler's Europe, and being a walking miracle.

She also compares herself to Lazarus from the bible--raised from her own death. I, too, am my own Lady Lazarus, but not for the same reasons Plath dubbed herself Lady Lazarus. You see, I too died and have been spared through no effort of my own. You see, I was saved from death by this amazing enigma called grace. For Plath, her saviors were the humans who saved her from physical death. And though she sought reprieve from her own anguish and darkness, she did not find it.

I died. I was raised. But my savior is Jesus Christ. I am saved from something worse than death--but I am saved from the eternal separation from God. Hell. I have been granted reprieve from anguish, darkness and my sorrow has been assuaged. I no longer cry out in loneliness for something "more." I have it.

Plath says, in Lady Lazarus, "A sort of walking miracle, my skin" which is about the only part of this poem I now identify with--I am a walking miracle. How can I be alive and dead at the same time? I am. I am my own Lady Lazarus.

My Own Lady Lazarus

A sort of walking Miracle, my skin*
covered in grace that lives.
Covered by blood that forgives.

But I, a woman on my own,
am not alone.
Hand in hand we walk.

A heart that is yours.
Seeking to be sought.
Sought while seeking.

Raised again out of darkness, sorrow
no longer my companion.
A sort of walking miracle*

Thankfully.
Covered in grace that lives.
Blood that forgives.

*Line borrowed from "Lady Lazarus" by Sylvia Plath

Forgiveness Rules:

2011-06-15T15:01:00.000-07:00

When I was little, I used to daydream that I would find a genie and he would ask me for my 3 wishes. Being the clever kid that I was, I would ask for 10,000 wishes and trick the genie into giving them to me. Now, everyone knows that according to the “Genie Rules,” the first rule is that you can’t ask for more wishes. But, in my world, I somehow managed to finagle extra wishes.

As a kid, I was also rather manipulative. My sister Michele was the prime target of my machinations and because of who she is—that beautiful person—she gave me a skewed idea of what forgiveness is about. No matter what I did, Michele forgave me—and I never deserved it!—and she did it without qualm or second thought or consequence. She made me think that everyone is as forgiving as she is and that because I was sorry, it was all OK. She was, and still is, the most forgiving person I know.

In my spiritual journey, I accept the fact that I need forgiveness, but the actual forgiveness I have a hard time accepting. I think that’s pretty natural—human nature, if you will. And I get to the point where I just throw my hands up in the air and say: Accepting forgiveness can suck. Yep. I said it. Feeling forgiveness can really suck—especially when I don’t deserve it. Rough estimate here, but that averages out to be about 100% of the time. I never, and I mean NEVER, deserve the forgiveness I am given.

Today I read an amazing piece on forgiveness. My college friend, Jon Acuff posted on his blog an amazing story on forgiveness. He reminded me that no matter how many times I mess up and how often I stray, God forgives me. And not only does He forgive me, but he throws a party in celebration of my return. And it sucks because I don’t get it—I don’t understand how there is a love that is that encompassing and that pure that it can forgive the things I have done and said. It sucks to be forgiven just because I’ve asked—especially when I realize that I don’t deserve it—at all.

In fact, I feel so undeserving, my prayers to God often sound like this:

OK, God. I’ve done it again. Why can’t I love YOU more than I love the world? Why do I put myself in front of you? I want you, God. I want to be closer to you and to know you. But I’ve done it… AGAIN. I am so sorry. Change me, God. Change me.

To pray that prayer continually for years—sometimes a hundred times a day—I feel like I am running out. Running out of grace. Running out of words. Running out of forgiveness. But the beauty of God is that I am not even close. The blog I read today talks about God having 10,000 welcome home banners waiting for me—and it’s true. Not only are there 10,000 banners but also there are 10,000 forgivenesses waiting to be given. And what happens when I run out of those 10,000? I get 10,000 more. Unlike “Genie Rules,” God’s “Forgiveness Rules” are much more lenient—all I have to do is ask and I will be forgiven—no matter what I’ve done. And that is hard to accept.

And even though I’ve acknowledged my need for forgiveness and asked for it, when it is given so freely, I have a hard time accepting that I have been forgiven. Eventually I will learn how to accept forgiveness with the same grace it was given. Until then… being forgiven while feeling so unworthy sucks.

Thank God for “Forgiveness Rules.”

Just give me one tree.

2011-06-08T21:50:00.000-07:00

Not too long ago, I had a tree planted in my back yard. The main reason I did this was because I wanted Wally to have some shade, but little did I realize that the tree I could afford is a scrawny little Charlie Brown Christmas Tree. I know it will eventually it will grow into a full tree that gives shade in the summer and gorgeous colors in the fall. But until then, I hope it doesn't snap in two when the wind gusts and that it's baby roots are digging deep.

Tonight I was reading in Genesis 2--the passage where God is providing for Adam through the Garden of Eden. I am in the middle of a huge transition right now in my life. I am in a job that is OK--but I know that there is a job out there that I love. I used to teach--and I loved it. I was fulfilled, I was happy, I was making a difference. Then I was fired. I was reeling, I was in pain, I was shocked. Now I am in a job that provides amply for me and has been a true blessing. But, this job is temporary. I don't know how much longer this job is going to be available to me.

So I have been praying lately about what to do about my job situation. I know that God has something special for me--but I am scared. It's natural--I know. But I hate being in limbo. And I have been in limbo for over a year. And it's rough.

As I read the passage about God providing not just a tree for Adam and Eve, but an entire garden. Now, we all know how well that ended for them--for us all, really. But God did it--he provided an entire garden for them. And I was reading about this garden, all I could think was "God, just give me one tree--one tree. One provision." I know I sound so selfish, but I don't know what else to pray--I need a shelter from this storm in my life. I need sustenance to keep me moving in God's will. I need roots to keep me from drifting away.

I need my tree.

Bicycle Salvation

2011-06-05T21:24:00.000-07:00

Growing up in a large family meant lots of things—lots of chaos, lots of bickering, lots of laughter and lots of hand-me-downs. Being the youngest in a large family meant that I was the prime target for most of the hand-me-downs in the Cooper house. Some of them were greatly coveted and cherished—like my sister Michele’s bell-bottom jeans with the patches on them or my sister Lee’s cassette tape deck I inherited when she went off to college. Some of the hand-me-downs were much less of a joy to receive—like the Dorothy Hamill haircut Michele and I sported for about 4 years in the early 80’s.

However, there were some things my parents knew needed to be “brand-new” if at all possible and my first bike was one of those things. I remember it clearly—we were living in Jacksonville, Florida at the time and I was 5 years old. For Christmas, I got my dream bike. It was everything I wanted—from the blue glittery banana seat with the white trim to the matching streamers hanging from the handlebars. It was perfect. Sigh. This bike was also the second scariest thing I had ever faced in my five long years on Earth. (The scariest event to that point was my first American Halloween—I dressed as Little Orphan Annie and sat in shock as my parents sifted through my American candy to make sure there were no needles in them. Talk about scarring.)

But anyway, back to my perfect bike. Sigh. I loved that bike and I loved it when my Dad (mutton chops and all!) pulled me into the church parking lot beside my house and taught me to ride my brand new bike. Sigh. I remember being so scared, but excited at the same time. I remember my Dad running beside me as I pedaled as fast and as hard as my little legs could. I remember the wind in my hair—this was WAY pre-helmet days—and the scenery passing by in a blur.

I also remember falling many, many, many times. And each time I did, my Dad came running over, gently brushed off the dirt and brushed away the tears, and put me back on the bike and ran along side me as I regained my confidence. I remember crying “Don’t let go, Daddy—I am not ready yet…” and sure enough, eventually he let go and I actually was ready. For about 15 feet. I’d crash land and then we’d start all over again.

Eventually 15 feet became 20 feet and 20 feet became forever. I can still hear my Dad yelling pointers at me as I rode circles around that parking lot. “Sit up straight!” or “Don’t run into that bush!” When I started to lose my balance and fall off kilter, he was always there. Helping. Soothing. And sometimes chastising me when I deliberately did something foolish. No matter how good at riding my bike I became, I still had spills and tumbles. But I took them in stride. Falling off is just part of the gig. But, Dad was only a shout away and always came when I needed help getting back on the bike and back on track.

Tonight I was at Lee’s house and having a discussion with Lee, my 16 year old niece Emily and my 14 year old nephew Nathan. We were discussing the sermon our pastor preached this morning on the second coming of Christ. Nathan, in a fit of frustration said, “I know! I know! Once saved, always saved… But how do you know if you’re really saved to begin with?!” And so began this journey. I tried to articulate to him that it’s just something you know… but the HOW part was coming up short.

On the drive home, I began to really ponder this conversation. HOW do I know that I really am saved and don’t just think I am saved because I am ticking all the right boxes? Church? Check! Bible reading? Semi-Check! Prayer? Check! Tithe? Uh…

Then it hit me. How do I know I am saved? I know because when I am riding this bike through life and I fall off, I hear that voice that says, “Jenny—don’t run into that bush!” I hear the voice of God encouraging me practice good form and sit up straight. I sink into the embrace of the Holy Spirit comforting me in my grief. I feel the hand of God when I feel shaky—as if my balance is so precarious that I could fall off the right path at any minute. And when I do fall off the right path and make sinful choices? I am chastised and brought back to the right path.

In all my ways and sinful dealings, I can always hear the voice of God calling me home and convicting me of my wrongdoing. It’s like learning to ride that bike—God’s there beside me, directing me and encouraging me. And when I fall off? I still know he’s there—pointing me in the right direction to get out of the mess I have fallen into and holding my hand all along the way. All I have to do is cry out to Him and He will be there. It’s because of that voice that convicts and chastises that I know.

And in that conviction and chastisement I find comfort.

IAMBUT's

2011-05-18T19:47:00.000-07:00

In this culture of discontent, we often find ourselves unhappy because of things we cannot control, choices we’ve made or the circumstance we find ourselves in. I am a perfect example of that. You see, I suffer from the “IAMBUT’s.” It’s a very serious disease that I was made aware of by my college friend and blogger Jon Acuff. I am fairly certain it has reached epidemic proportions. (I have thought about calling the CDC to get exact statistics, but I am not sure if they give those out to just anyone.) We live in a world of instant gratification where a prayer to God--the Almighty, Creator of all life and knowledge, Lover of my soul--sounds more like a wish to the genie in the bottle rather than unadulterated praise and worship and where life is “what you make it” instead of what HE makes it.

If the truth be told, there are two different strains of IAMBUT’s going around. Not everyone has a terminal case of the IAMBUT’s. Like in many things, intent plays a huge role in how your IAMBUT’s are diagnosed. For example the moment I said, “I am a sinner but I want Jesus to be my savior” was the day I became His. Unfortunately, many people who suffer from the IAMBUT’s aren’t wishing for Godliness, eternal life or spiritual wisdom. We are wishing for circumstantial changes--job, relationship status, or physical appearance. We are seeking earthly happiness not eternal joy. I am living paycheck to paycheck but I want to win the lottery.

In my mental meanderings on this subject I have been thinking a lot about Job. If anyone deserved to have a justified case of the IAMBUT’s, it was Job. (I’d totally give him a free pass to wallow for a day, a week... However long he needed, really.) How easy would it have been for Job to say, “I am suffering but I want to be well.” Or even “I am trusting in God but I want this trial to be over.” But he didn’t. Job trusted that it would all turn out well in the end. No “ifs”, “ands” or “buts...”

That little word “but” in the middle of the sentence changes everything. You go from acknowledging who or where you are to imagining yourself as omniscient. Job seems to have understood that. He knew that through all his pain, suffering and sorrow he was where he needed to be, doing what he needed to be doing. He never once said, “IAMBUT” selfishly. He simply trusted. Oh to have the faith the size of a mustard seed...

We all to often forget that we are who and where we are for a reason, just as Job was suffering from famine, death and disease. God was glorified in all Job said and did. I wonder if God is glorified in my words and actions?

God designs our life--nothing in our lives is a surprise to God. We were fearfully and wonderfully made--and made with a purpose in His mind. God doesn’t make mistakes--even when I do. (Though he does reserve the right to discipline and shape me when I have those lapses.)

When I hear myself think, “I am single but I want to be married,” I may as well say, “I know better than you do, Jesus, so send that Christian hunk my way. Pronto.” I am making myself and my wishes a false idol at which to lay my disappointment, sorrow and discontent when things don’t go like I planned. And no matter how much my heart desires it and my actions will it, I will have the “IAMBUT’s” forever. Or at least until the the “I AM” is enough.

So here is my list of “IAMBUT’s” It is raw. It is real. But it is no longer enough. I am exactly where God wants me. (Right now it feels like the part of town you hesitate to drive through past sundown and never without the doors locked, but that’s OK.) So rather than harbor these shards of discontent in my life I am giving them up. Every minute of every day. Sometimes every second of every minute. And sometimes I will fail and pull them back off the table and nurture their bitterness in my heart because they are familiar and they are comforting. Until they cut and burn me. Again.

I am single but I want to be married.

I am flawed but I want to be perfect.

I am working in publishing but I want to be teaching again.

I am me but I want to be good enough.

I am broken but I want to be mended.

Today, I am giving up my “IAMBUT’s.” It’s scary. It’s nerve wracking. However, it’s what I am called to do.

"You shall have no other gods before Me. You shall not make for yourself an idol, or any likeness of what is in heaven above or on the earth beneath or in the water under the earth.” Exodus 20:3-4

Cursors Taunt

2011-05-18T19:02:00.001-07:00

I love to write. It's my secret passion. Not many people know I write. I wish I were better at keeping up with it. I am not. I can tell when I am emotionally in a bad place--I don't write. I hear something that triggers a thought and I sit in front of a blank screen and watch the cursor blink off and on--taunting me. It's like it's saying "Come on, you idiot! You THINK you're a writer... Well, you're not." And so I buy into it. And suffer from the biggest writer's block known to man.

So this is a terrible blog. I know it's a terrible blog. But you know what?! I need to write. Even when I don't feel it and even when I don't want to, I need to. I feel my soul withering up and I need to stop it. SO... Thanks for letting me write--even if it is writing. Terribly. Because it is--writing terribly. Ugh. But, first and foremost, it's writing...

The Prodigal Journey

2008-12-21T16:28:00.000-08:00

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:

2008-12-20T21:07:00.000-08:00

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...

2008-10-01T18:34:00.000-07:00

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

2008-09-26T21:39:00.001-07:00

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.

2008-09-20T21:05:00.001-07:00

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?

2008-09-18T18:55:00.001-07:00

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?

2008-09-15T17:01:00.001-07:00

The other day, James 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 to James how beautiful I found the valley—that I never really thought of it as a beautiful place. He 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.

2008-09-08T17:28:00.001-07:00

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

2008-09-08T17:23:00.001-07:00

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. He asked for His ears to listen with, and 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 for him. My heart—my selfish little Grinch-like heart—that sometimes IS two sizes too small, was filled with compassion and love for my dear 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

2008-09-08T17:17:00.000-07:00

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....

2008-07-30T21:00:00.001-07:00

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

2008-06-30T20:12:00.001-07:00

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...

2008-05-03T20:16:00.001-07:00

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

2008-05-03T20:12:00.001-07:00

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

2008-03-03T18:45:00.002-08:00

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

2008-03-03T18:45:00.001-08:00

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...

2008-03-03T18:44:00.001-08:00

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

2008-01-23T19:40:00.001-08:00

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

2008-01-23T19:39:00.001-08:00

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...

2008-01-23T19:38:00.001-08:00

Listening to the snow fall

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?

2008-01-23T19:37:00.001-08:00

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....

2007-12-20T07:26:00.000-08:00

Not just for kids…

I know that because I teach kids, I am exposed to Children’s Literature on a daily basis. I get to read, along with my kids, great books that (unfortunately!) fall into the category “Children’s Literature.” Adults skip right past them on the shelves because they think that the books are only for kids and the story lines and messages are basic, shallow and childish. Ugh!

I am reading this amazing book called The Tale of Despereaux, by Kate DiCamillo. It falls into the category of Children’s Lit. Sure, it is about an unlikely hero (a mouse, with exceptionally large ears, that doesn’t know how to be a mouse), and has a fairy tale plot line (the story of a mouse, a princess, some soup, and a spool of thread), but it is not as basic as it sounds at first!

I started to read it because all of my children are reading it. It is funny, engaging, an easy read and surprisingly thought provoking. Here are a few of my thoughts… and a brief synopsis!

The hero, Despereaux, is the only survivor of the last litter of mice born to Antoinette. She is so disappointed at his birth (he is, after all, tiny with big ears!) she names him Despereaux “for all the sadness, for the many despairs in this place” (DiCamillo, 2003, p. 12). Nice. But Despereaux, even though he knew the source of his name, chooses not to fulfill the future his name holds. He knows he is a mouse, but he doesn’t act like a mouse. He knows he brings despair to his family because he is not what a mouse should be, but that isn’t important to him. Why? Because of love, of couse!

Despereaux falls in love with the Princess Pea. His love for her changes his life. Despereaux forgets who he is supposed to be because he finds a love for that which is greater than he. Hmmm… Sounding familiar to anyone other than me?!

But the story is also about a rat, Chiaroscuro, or Roscuro for short. In The Tale of Despereaux, there is one fact that is made clear from the beginning—rats are hated. They are ugly, dark loving, RATS. Roscuro, however, is very similar to Despereaux. He is a rat, and he doesn’t feel like a rat. He doesn’t want to be a rat. He wants to live in the light. He yearns for it. But, he never feels the life changing love that Despereaux feels. Roscuro’s life is not irrevocably changed by the power of love. (I think you see where this is leading—in a children’s book, no less!)
Roscuro has a mentor, Botticelli. Botticelli teaches Roscuro the way of the Rat. He guides him down the dark maze that is the life of a rat. As Roscuro is about to be on his own, Boticelli tells Roscuro one last thing (DiCamillo, 2003, p. 90):

“I would very much like to torture a prisoner,” said Roscuro. “I would like to make someone suffer.”
“Your time will come,” said Botticelli. “Currently, all the prisoners are spoken for. But another prisoner will arrive sooner or later. How do I know this to be true? Because, Roscuro, fortunately there is evil in the world. And the presence of evils guarantees the existence of prisoners.”

Hmmm…. As I read this I thought, firstly, how glad I was that I had found the love that changes a life for a lifetime. Secondly, how much even the lowest of the low yearn for the light. And thirdly, I thought how much the evil in this world holds us captive. If we don’t know that life changing love, then how can we break the bonds that hold us to the evil world?

I know this is getting long, so I will draw this part to a close… But just think about it, for a moment, how much we are either like Despereaux (born in a world of sadness and despair) but find the love that changes us completely, or like Roscuro, who longs for the light, but has only found scorn, hate and darkness.

So anyhow, go out and buy your very own copy of The Tale of Despereaux—you will not think for long that it is just a children’s book. Books like this aren’t just for kids anymore.

Jesus--Author of my Soul

2007-10-28T12:22:00.000-07:00

I have had a rough few months. I could break it down for you (with all the gory details that make the mundane interesting), but in reality, the tears, that are sure to come, are too high a price to pay for a list of events that I have allowed to define my life over the last few months. Needless to say, I have allowed my joy to be lost, and my ever-hopeful (yet broken) heart has said "ENOUGH."

I like to think of myself as an author. I LOVE to write. Now that I am an adult, I have less time than I would like to actually sit down and write, but my soul longs for a pen and a pad of paper more often than not. I crave the excitement of creating something that brings insight or entertainment to others. I have a million "first sentences" running through my head, and no novel to put them into. When I do get the time to pen a poem or a short story, or add another chapter to the book I am (poorly) trying to write, I revel in the sense of satisfaction of a job well done. Not that it is necessarily all that well written, but it is complete. Now I can go back and edit and revise and make it truly great.

I am, for lack of a better phrase, tied to my writing. I am connected on a level that I cannot explain. Criticize my work, criticize me. My skin is not tough enough to handle any disparaging word. My writing is, in essence, a piece of my soul. (And I am generally too chicken to share it with anyone!!!!)

Today in church, my pastor used a phrase that I had not heard. Maybe I live under a rock, or maybe he coined the phrase right then and there, but it really grabbed my attention and started this blog in my heart and head. Les said "Jesus is the author of your soul." Of course, I wrote it down immediately (like I might somehow forget!) and began to reflect on it.

When I sit down to write something, I look at the outcome. What am I trying, ultimately, to say? Am I praising God's nature? Am I hating men (or just one) because of a broken heart? Am I sad and cannot express it any other way? I always know how I want it to end. I know the steps I need to take to get my piece there, and which crafts I must use to accurately express my thoughts. Then I plan it out--every last detail. When I get someone to edit for me (which is rare because, as referenced above, I don't handle criticism of my work well!), I know where I want the editing and revising to go. I don't want to revision my piece (as implied by revising). I want it to be exactly as I planned it and exactly as I visioned it when I created it.

That is how Jesus is in my life. He wrote my life-song before I was even created. He set it to music, and he brought it into being. Jesus created my cadence and my rhythm. He wrote the opening and closing line. He crafted me. Jesus has a vision for my life, and He doesn't take too kindly to people (in this case, ME), re-visioning it for Him. It isn't my place to be editor of my life.

I am God's creation. Yeah--I know, that is not a shocking theological statement there. But, today, I realized--God is more protective of me and more connected to me as I am to a piece I have written. God doesn't have a thick skin when His creation is criticized. God looks at me--yes even sinful, evil ME, and sees a His new creation. He sees in me what he envisioned in the first place--not what I have revised myself to be. I am HIS--He planned for me, and wrote my life.

I am drawn to John 15. I love the "Message" translation of the Bible, so that is what I am using today. Jesus says '1 "I am the Real Vine and my Father is the Farmer. 2 He cuts off every branch of me that doesn't bear grapes. And every branch that is grape-bearing he prunes back so it will bear even more. 3 You are already pruned back by the message I have spoken.' It says nothing about being pruned (or in this authors world, 'edited') by anyone but Him.

Hmmmm.... This wasn't exactly where I thought I would go with this, but here I am, nonetheless. I guess all of this to say that I really would love for my book review, when I am dead, to say that my life was true to my author's vision. Is there any higher compliment?

Numbers

2007-04-29T14:20:00.001-07:00

Numbers
I am NOT a mathematical person, but as I sat here today reading a friend's emails, some numbers came into my mind...
10--the number of months since I stepped out on faith--leaving the security of my job behind and moving back to the States
5,000+--the number of times I have questioned that decision
0--the number of times I have regretted that decision
2--the number of birth sisters I have
1--the only birth brother I have
2--the number of sisters of my choice
1--the number of brothers of my choice
6--the number of people who call me Aunt
5--the number of pages I am short on my final 5 page paper for one of my graduate classes. Er?
+1--the number of regrets I feel (1 more than I should!)
2--the number of broken hearts I have nursed back to health
2--the number of times I feared my heart wouldn't recover
1--the number of pets I have had on my own
6.5--the number of years I have been in school to become what I have always wanted to be.
3--the number of majors I had in college before deciding what I wanted to do with the rest of my life
0--the number of job prospects I have right now
5--the number of boyfriends I have seriously had
0--the number of boyfriends I have had this year
3--the number of children I want to have one day
0--the amount of independence I am willing to give up right now
??--the number of people who will read this blog!!!

Too

2007-04-17T13:29:00.000-07:00

Too

Too—such a great word. It encompasses so much, and convicts so much. It acknowledges so much and shares so much blame. It shares responsibility. It gives credit. It is also one of the hardest words to add at the end of a sentence. You know what I mean—“My project was great, and his was great…too.” Or “He hurt me and I hurt him…too.”

So last night I had coffee (nectar of the gods, to some people) with my friend Alissa. She has been going through a difficult time in her personal life and we were talking about developments there and the lack there of in my life. Alissa has been a dear friend of mine for years. I met her when I was first out of college and going to Hunter Street Baptist Church. At first we were casual acquaintances, but over the course of serving in ministry together at the church, she became one of my closest friends. I missed her dearly when I took a job at SFS and moved to Korea. But, every time I was home, she was the one friend I could count on to remember me and make it a point to catch up. During our chats, she very often gave (and continues to give!) me food for thought.

A resounding theme in our conversation last night was the idea of compassion. I have always thought of my self as a compassionate person. But I realized after a few minutes that at the time in my life when I needed to show compassion the most, I did not. I chose selfishness—I chose to nurture my own hurt over comforting someone else’s pain. It was a complete shock to my system. But more on that later.

Compassion. That is such a hard concept--we all think we have it down pretty well, but in reality, do we? What exactly is compassion!? According the secular world, compassion is taking into account another person’s pain and trying to alleviate it. Because I was created a spiritual being, I think there must be more to it. In Matthew 9, Jesus felt compassion for the lost that he saw around him because they were “without a shepherd (vs. 36).” Then Jesus commanded his disciples to act on that—he said “The harvest is plentiful, but the workers are few. 38 Therefore beseech the Lord of the harvest to send out workers into His harvest." They were commanded to first beseech God on behalf of the lost, but also, I can’t help but wonder if an unspoken command was given there too—to go out and begin to reap the harvest. Compassion is not without command. Jesus didn’t have a personal relationship with these people, yet he loved them enough to feel true compassion for the lost. I think in the spiritual realm, compassion is not just taking into account someone else’s pain, but taking someone else’s pain. It is not about considering it and being moved by it. It is FEELING the pain and moving to action, regardless of our own hurts, fears, or concerns.

A few years ago I was in a relationship that I now know to have been bad for not just me, but him, too. Of course, at the time, I could NOT see it, even though most of the people around me were yelling “RUN!” The ending of that relationship was terrible. I was hurt more deeply than I have ever been hurt before. I never (for one little moment) thought that Tim was hurting, too. I remember, now, sitting in my living room, in tears. Tim was telling me over and over again that the person he showed the night before was not the person he really is. He, too, was broken in some way. Maybe not as deeply as I was, and maybe not for the same reasons. But he was broken, too. I did not have the monopoly on pain. He needed me to put aside my selfish hurts and say to him “It’s OK..” and I couldn’t do it. It was easier, in the short run, to have a difficult, nasty ending to our friendship than to deal with it and let it take its natural course.

Tim said that he was sorry. I wish that I’d had the courage to say that I was sorry, too.

Sticks and Stones...

2007-03-10T21:17:00.001-08:00

So, any of you who read my blog often hear me talk about my good friend Dan. He uses the written word so effectively and our conversation (or just reading his blog!) inspires me. I was recently reading his last blog entry and it was about how much power words have. His blog dealt specifically with a specific word used to describe gays. (You all know what word I am talking about...) But the overall theme of his blog has stuck with me. It has made me look at words I use everyday... and how those words affect the world around me--and the world within me. The words I use to describe myself are more hurtful and damaging than those used by strangers. I know which buttons to push and which ones to ignore. And when it comes to myself, I can't simply apologise and say that I don't mean it--because I know better. I meant every word. And my world within cracks a bit more each time. And the world outside me also is affected by my world with in. If I refuse to believe my own apology, how can I believe the apology of the world?We all have heard (and probably used) that phrase Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me. Whatever. I have been teaching kindergarten for the last month or so. I love it. It is so wonderful. The best part of teaching kindergarten is the look of pure joy of discovery. Kids are learning so quickly how the world works. Who to emulate, who to avoid, who to tease and who to steer clear of. They are also learning the power of words.When conflict arises, a favorite phrase of mine is "Use your words to solve this problem." (Sound familiar anyone?!) But, what about situations where no words are sufficient? What about problems that are so big that words cannot even begin to express? What about those issues that are so big that you can't wrap your mind around it, much less articulate it intelligently. Kids look at the world so purely. There are no problems that are too big to solve with gentle words, a hug, and a pat on the back. When did we outgrow this simple mindset? Kids rarely put themselves down (unless there are underlying issues--but that is another blog altogether!). They choose to believe the best about their world within and the world outside. Why can't we? Why can't we believe the best about our own world and the world we live in? Why do we have to divide ourselves into 2 groups? Why can't we be the loved and the loving instead of the self-righteous and the impure? Where are the words to heal the hurts that have been inflicted? Any more, the power of words needs to be followed by the power of action. A gentle word, a hug and a pat on the back... Can you think of a better solution?

I Choose...

2007-03-10T21:14:00.001-08:00

Each Day. . .
It's quiet. It's early. My coffee is hot. The sky is still black. The world is still asleep. The day is coming. In a few moments the day will arrive. It will roar down the track with the rising of the sun. The stillness of the dawn will be exchanged for the noise of the day. The calm of solitude will be replaced by the pounding pace of the human race. The refuge of the early morning will be invaded by decisions to be made and deadlines to be met. For the next 12 hours I will be exposed to the day's demands. It is now that I must make a choice.
Because of Calvary, I'm free to choose. And so I choose.
I CHOOSE LOVE. . .
No occasion justifies hatred; no injustice warrants bitterness.
I choose love. Today I will love God and what God loves.
I CHOOSE JOY. . .
I will invite my God to be the God of circumstance.
I will refuse the temptation to be cynical. . . the tool of a last thinker.
I will refuse to see people as anything less than human beings, created by God.
I will refuse to see any problem as anything less than an opportunity to see God.
I CHOOSE PEACE
I will live forgiven. I will forgive so that I may live.
I CHOOSE PATIENCE
I will overlook the inconveniences of the world.
Instead of cursing the one who takes my place, I'll invite him to do so.
Rather than complain that the wait is too long, I will thank God for a moment to pray.
Instead of clinching my fist at new assignments, I will face them with joy and courage.
I CHOOSE KINDNESS
I will be kind to the poor, for they are alone. Kind to the rich, for they are afraid.
And kind to the unkind, for such is how God has treated me.
I CHOOSE GOODNESS
I will go without a dollar before I take a dishonest one.
I will be overlooked before I will boast. I will confess before I will accuse.
I choose goodness.
I CHOOSE FAITHFULNESS
Today I will keep my promises. My debtors will not regret their trust.
My associates will not question my word. My wife will not question my love.
And my children will never fear that their father will not come home.
I CHOOSE GENTLENESS
Nothing is won by force. I choose to be gentle.
If I raise my voice, may it be only in praise. If I clench my fist, may it be only in prayer.
If I make a demand, may it be only of myself.
I CHOOSE SELF-CONTROL
I am a spiritual being. . . after this body is dead, my spirit will soar.
I refuse to let what will rot, rule eternal. I choose self-control.
I will by drunk only by joy. I will be impassioned only by my faith.
I will be influenced only by God. I will be taught only by Christ.
I choose self-control.
Love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control.
To these, I commit my day. If I succeed, I will give thanks. If I fail, I will seek His grace.
And then, when this day is done, I will place my head on my pillow and rest.

Home is where the heart is. . .

2007-01-27T14:36:00.000-08:00

I went back to Korea last week. It was amazing. It was horrible. Being in Korea should have been like being "home." But, not to sound trite, but... you can never go back home. At least not to the home you remembered. Having lived in Korea for the better part of 22 years, you would think that it was "home." But Korea is not a place that readily accepts non-natives as their own. For as long as I lived there, and as much as I considered Korea my home land, it never considered me a native daughter, or even as an adoptive daughter. I was always a stranger in a strange land. I never felt the rejection as a personal rejection--it wasn't me that was being rejected--but everyone who is not Korean. I knew that, but it didn't change my feelings about the land I grew up in. Going back to Korea last week was a life changing experience. I didn't see enough of the people I wanted to see, and too much of the people I didn't want to see. But, as it turned out, as much as I loved being back in Korea, I was desperate to get back. Not only because of Wally the Wonder Dog, but also because my life has moved forward here--something I had not realized. I knew life in Korea had moved on--it always does. But no matter how much I thought I had not started moving on with my new life, I have. And it is a good thing. Going home is never easy, but once you get there, you realize that you have just left home. And it feels good.

So This is Christmas...

2007-01-02T06:52:00.000-08:00

Every year, when Christmas comes around, I get caught up in the whole "I love Christmas, but hate the whole commercialism aspect." But this year, I came to the stark realization that this is Christmas. The Christmas's I remember from my youth are gone. The days of gifts being a $5 coffee cup for my parents are gone. Not because I can't find a $5 coffee cup to buy for them, but really, I think I allow myself to be caught up in what other people will think about what I am getting them. When did the sentiment "It's not the gift, but the thought that counts" cease to be a part of what we believe about Christmas? When the wise men came to worship Jesus after His birth, they brought with them the most valuable items of the day. But, it wasn't the value of gifts that is an important aspect of the story. It was that they brought was they had and that they gave it all to Jesus. It is the whole idea that we are to gift God with what is most valuable to us--our lives, our decisions, and ourselves. It is, in this case, both the gift and the thought that counts. Next year, I hope to be less concerned about what I am giving, and more concerned with the thought behind it--and the reason for the gift. I will use the time to remind myself of the commitment to God I have made, and the value of the gifts to Him I am giving.

Quilting my life

2006-11-30T22:10:00.001-08:00

I have recently gotten into quilting. It is amazing to see a little scrap of fabric turn into something real, something beautiful, something tangible. No matter how poorly I sew, the end product is actually quite nice. No matter what I do to the quilt, short of slashing it with a pair of scissors, it is turns out OK. My friend Benita comes around so often to give me pointers and to say to me "It might look better like this..." or "Have you thought of this...." She is amazingly helpful. It causes me to wonder, though--Are our lives like making a quilt? I am total crap at sewing--I can hardly sew a straight line to save my life. However, here I am, making these really pretty quilts. Some for me, but mostly for others. My 5 year old niece is not going to care if I her final product is perfect (which fortunately for me, she feels that way, because it definitely wasn't perfect!). She sees it as a part of me. So are we as humans that way--we start off as this little scrap of a person, and as a new year is sewn into our lives of experience, we grow, just a little bit. Then all those years start to grow together and connect. All of a sudden, you look back and see this thing that you have created, and wonder "Where did that come from!? I remember sewing each of these parts together, but how did it turn out to be so big and intricate?" Then you start to remember your flaws-- "Ugh... I didn't do that the right way..." or "what was I thinking?" And others just see the time, effort and energy that went into making your quilt. The stitching may be crooked, and the colors may not always clash, but the quilt that is my life will turn out OK in the end. It will be beautiful and valuable to someone, one day down the line.

2006-11-30T22:06:00.000-08:00

Choose carefully
My good friend Dan and I were having a great chat the other day--he is so profound and I always leave our conversations with much to think about. The idea of every emotion we feel being a choice came up in the course of our conversation. I have long been a firm believer that every thing we feel--from love to hate to forgiveness is a conscious choice. We choose who we fall in love with (but attraction is different--I think attraction is a reaction, not a feeling), and we choose who we allow to hurt us and how deeply we allow them to hurt us. Everything we feel is a distinct choice.
Our conversation got me to thinking about the choice we make to love and how our society has romanticized that idea to the point where we don't take credit for this amazing thing called love, and if it does go belly up, we only shift blame. I am FIRST in line to admit to that. When a relationship of mine ended (a while ago now!) I was so angry with myself that I allowed myself to fall in love with someone who was so clearly contrary to what I needed (THANK YOU Benita for being so clearheaded for me!). But I chose to ignore the glaring character flaws because I chose to believe I was lucky to have him. (Whatever.)
At one point in our conversation, Dan and I came to the conclusion that when you decide on your life partner, you are choosing to love someone for the rest of your married life together--thick or thin, sickness and health, and all that comes with it. (At one point in time, I might have said for the rest of your life, but we all know that divorce is too much a reality to say that!) You have to be careful who you choose to fall in love with-- and you have to look at who that person has the potential to be. And if you see the potential of your mate, and still choose to love him or her, then you have to be committed to that. Unfortunately, not everyone values the choice to love someone forever, and keeps that commitment.
We also talked about forgiveness. I think that forgiveness is the hardest thing to decide to do. But, in my experience, deciding to forgive is the most important thing you can do. There was a person that hurt me and my family very deeply, and for years I was bitter, angry and unforgiving. Eventually I realized that I had to choose to forgive this person--even if I didn't feel it at first. Eventually, the feeling of forgiveness came.
I say that forgiveness is the most important decision you can make because it effects every choice you make--is it a choice that I can ever forgive if I need to?