beautifulstuff617

[beautifulstuff617]

“In the days and the doing and the being”

A short phrase written in a poem by a wonderful friend. Words that have echoed in my head and heart like a thematic motif in the cinema we call life. Words like honey in the desert of a world that demands more and takes more and asks always...for more. Because the days and the doing and being are never quite enough for the culture in which we find ourselves. A culture in which a dreaded, looming, omnipresent question skulks in the corners, eager to twist the victories of yesterday into the anxieties of tomorrow. This question disguises itself in good intentions and projects apparent concern, making it all the more confusing and troubling when it leaves wounds you can’t quite explain. Its name is ordinary, mundane....expected, even.  Spoken amidst sentences with other innocuous words and phrases, it builds your confidence merely to remind you that your efforts--and most decidedly, you-- are still not quite enough.

“So...what’s new?”

And I’m not talking about when you say “what’s new?” as a stand in for “what’s up?” or “how are you?” I’m talking about those moments when you’ve just completed your masters and the only thing people want to ask you is “what will you even be able to do with THAT?” Or when you just finished a huge project and people immediately want you to tell them what the next project will be. When you get married and you get asked about kids, a house, a move.  This little question robs us of good and produces a persistent anxiety for more--not the good kind. It projects this expectation that we cannot truly be satisfied until we have achieved some hidden checklist of acceptable life goals thrust upon us by the society in which we live.  And don’t get me wrong, I am a very strong believer that our work is never finished when it comes to the state of hearts, our character, our pursuit to become more like Jesus--but these are not the things I am addressing. It is the constant pressure, the push, the “dream” for the visible successes; and how even when we reach these, there is always another step, another expectation, another NEW. And I’m a little tired of it (if you couldn’t tell.)

This question is tricky. It poses the idea that the daily movements and patterns of our lives--the smaller moments that define the bigger things-- simply are of no concern. It reduces our worth to our biggest accomplishments and subtly devalues the wild victories made in the every day. And believe me, they are...wild victories.

So tonight, I want to take a few moments to honor those victories. The unnoticed and rarely acknowledged battles won in the stunning tapestry of the ordinary. The severe and untold story of the breath-taking in between. I do not want to discredit the mountains of life, the highlight reels and supercuts, but if you are someone like me who often finds themselves attempting to live faithfully in the middle rather than the heights or depths, this is a gift for you. I see you. I see your wild victories.

I see you. You who lost somebody you loved  but still find a way to keep breathing. You who got your heart broken once, twice, fifteen times but you choose to give love anyway. I see you if you fight an addiction, where each day is a war and you know the war is coming again tomorrow, but still you stand. I see you when you study hard, when you sit with your family even though your family is a mess. You who walks with someone who can’t walk on their own. 

If you’re the person on the other end of the line in the middle of the night, if you’ve got a monster in the closet, if you struggle with anxiety and sometimes you beat it and sometimes you don’t...I see you. If you’re a mom, a dad, a wife, a husband, a son, a daughter, a sister, a brother, a friend a mentor, a pastor, a teacher and everyone has an opinion of how you can be a better one...I see you. If you stuck in your heels when you didn’t want to, if you stood up for someone, if you work to be kind in a world that is often unkind....these are the wild victories.

Maybe you didn’t do something new this week, this month, this year, this decade...but maybe you took one small step out of fear and no one knows it but you. Maybe you created something lovely. Maybe you realized you needed help and you got it. Maybe you gave something away that was hard to give away. Maybe you started to fix something that has been broken and it’s not healed yet, but it’s getting there. Maybe you’re...getting there.

Maybe you don’t have something new because you are just literally trying to survive. So if you are sick and started, stopped, or are in the midst of treatment...that is enough. If you are raising a kid in ANY sense of the word...that is enough. If you’ve got heavy things in your bag but are still walking...praying...reaching. If you are so tired but won’t go down easy. If you’re in a rough season of your marriage, if you lost your job and still haven’t found one yet, if you’re having financial trouble. If you’re trying to get pregnant and can’t. If you didn’t want to be pregnant but you are. If you’re the only caretaker left. If someone you love is sick. If you are miles from who you want to be but still know who you want to be...it’s okay. You don’t need a new thing. Keep walking. And if you can’t walk, keep praying. And if you can’t pray...keep reaching.

Yes. The new things are wonderful and we should celebrate them when they come, but I want to do better. I want to do better at acknowledging not only the big moves and bold changes, but the tiny steps and daily faithfulness. I want to cheer as loud for the person who decides to stay in the mess as I do for the person who leaves everything behind for a grand adventure. So here’s to you.

You who feels so alone but sits with someone who feels alone. And you..who put your heart out there and got rejected. You who fought so hard and lost. You who laughed with someone, cried with someone, made time for someone, forgave someone. You who showed up when no one else did. You who sent a letter just because. You who took a risk...who took a step before knowing the next one. I see you. I’m cheering for you. Keep going.

When I look at the people who’s stories are preserved in the gospel, they are the stories of ordinary people who gave what they had. A boy’s lunch. Some friends carrying their friend. Hurt people reaching out for help. Lost people learning things they needed to learn and hearing things they needed to hear. People eating together, walking together, growing together. Not every day was filled with the exciting and the remarkable...and that was okay, because the small things were filled with great love. (Mother Theresa)

And so, hear me tonight. If you cooked a meal, changed diapers, or tucked someone in.  If you volunteered. If you arrived earlier or stayed later than you had to. If you ran out of patience and still showed grace. If you aren’t doing exactly what you want to be doing, but are giving all of yourself anyway. If you gave someone a second, third, fourth or 20th chance. If you did something out of character only to find it was in character all along. If you had a hard conversation and didn’t run from the hard conversation. If you helped your mom, dad, aunt, or grandpa. If you mowed the lawn, cleaned the gutters or the tub, redid the bathroom, or let the in-laws stayed longer than you would have preferred. If you were open and honest. If you wanted to say something but knew it would be more harmful than helpful, so you didn’t.  If you are humble enough to know you are still learning...and are still willing to learn. If you’re still waiting for an answer to a prayer you keep praying. If you spoke when you were called to speak. If you got out of an unhealthy situation. If you protected someone or fought for someone. If you have done all you can do and still feel like you didn’t do enough, or that you aren’t enough...I see you. I hear you. And what you are and who you are is good. And even if those things don’t seem as significant as that NEW THING everyone keeps asking you about...they are. 

It is not only about who you are in the new things, but about who you are in the old, the repetitive, the tired, and the slow. In the days and the doing and the being. These are the windows to the wildest victories. These are the wildflowers of the soul.

Do not despise the day of small things or small beginnings.

“For in the days and the doing and the being...there is love.” -Terri Witmyer

[beautifulstuff617]

Whistles in the Crowd

Redbox convinces me every time. It stands there innocently, persuading me that I am a full grown adult who can certainly be trusted to return a movie within 24 hours. It beguiles me into thinking I have matured so much since last time and won’t end up paying more to rent a movie than I would to buy the movie. It whispers like an old friend who knows me, “It’ll be different this time, Christie.. you’re different this time. TRUST ME.”

Alas, I am the same. Alas, the red plastic case is still sitting on my coffee table and the DVD of the movie “Sing” is still tucked away in the DVD player 5 days later. Alas, you can play the game, but the house always wins. (Except in Ocean’s 13.... Spoiler alert. Sorry.)

But here I am, attempting to make those six dollars worth my time...and yours.

Without spoiling two movies in four paragraphs, SING follows the story of an entrepreneurial showman/koala named Buster Moon who attempts to put on a successful show to save his theater. Haphazardly mixed in are various memories of Buster’s Father believing in him and Buster wanting to make his father proud even though he’s no longer with him. After one -too -many individual story lines culminate in a crushing demise for Buster and his unlikely cast of characters, the plot lifts toward a sweet (mostly expected) resolution. During said resolution there is this time that I like to refer to as “The moment.”

The Moment- When someone realizes they are doing exactly what they are meant to be doing and someone else is present to witness and acknowledge it (silently or verbally.)

If I can be real for a second here, I will confess: I absolutely love seeing people in their moments. There is hardly a thing like it in the whole world. It can be someone I’ve known for years or a complete stranger, but when you get to be that witness of the moment, you can’t stop the chills or the goosebumps or that nagging feeling you just got a taste of the world exactly as it should be. I am a collector of moments.

So in the movie, this character is onstage having her moment, and Buster Moon is backstage watching her have it. And then he whispers to himself, “Wow Dad, I sure wish you could see this.” Right then, a loud cheering whistle comes from the crowd. It sent chills all the way through me and around again. Because for a split second, you don’t know who’s whistling, and I thought, “He’s hearing his dad!  His dad is there cheering for him in the crowd. He’s going to turn and he’ll see his dad...just for a second.” (So obviously, I started weeping....at the Illumination films movie about animals in a singing competition.NBD.) But then Buster turns, and he sees this other character clapping and cheering for him---a character who can invest in his dreams; one who can help him rebuild what he’d lost; someone to believe in him in his father’s stead. (Tears streaming down my face. #coldplay #fixyou)

Flash forward two days later to our Reprise of Storymakers at Five to Thrive. If you don’t know anything about me or what I do...I get to tell stories for a living...stories that point people toward Jesus and toward hope. Storymakers was a piece that I had the privilege of writing and creating with some incredible people. We got to tell that story again this past Saturday through acting, dancing, lighting, poetry, music and more. The cast and crew of this piece are all people I love with all of my heart. They are some of the most wonderful and dedicated people I know, and they take storytelling for the gospel very seriously. They told this story with passion, with excellence, and with patience. They did justice to every character and every movement. And when we got to that final fade of the lights, I rocketed to my feet. Because when those people walked out after the end of the performance, I caught them in a moment.  I know it won’t be the only one for any of them because they are all meant to do many great things, but it was certainly a moment. And though there were hundreds of people between us--with them onstage and me back at the sound booth--we shared this space and time together: they in their moment and me in mine.

And in moments such as these, it is very easy to notice who’s missing...just like Buster did. All week I had been dreading thinking about it, the fact that there would be another important event in my life where my dad would be absent. Time makes things easier, but not all things. So for a split second Saturday night, I wished it. I wished he was there. I wish he could’ve seen it. I wished one of those laughs were his or that I could hear his voice cheering in the crowd. I wished I could give him a big hug after and have him tell me his his favorite part. But almost just as quickly, I looked up and around...and there they were. All of these people I love so much from every corner of my life cheering me on, believing in me.  They laughed with me, they hugged me, they told me their favorite part. They smiled at me from the stage with familiar, knowing grins. Just like that phantom whistle in the crowd... all of these people stood in the gap for me. When it hurts to have my dad missing...more of them show up to fill in the holes in their own wonderful way.

We all get to be there for one another. We all get to see each other. We all get to push one another toward our moments and challenge each other to keep going through the mess of life. Stories are full of unexpected plot twists and losses and heartache, but they are also full of unlikely casts of lovable characters, sweet resolutions and inexplicably beautiful moments. Stories are meant to be shared, just like journeys.  And when there are people missing from that journey, we’ll love deeper, cheer louder, and fight harder so it aches a little less. 

This is the church. This is the body. I have never been more thankful.

So thank you to my dear friends for loving me constantly and fiercely, to my incredible mom (the bravest person I know) and brother and future sister who teach me more about love every day. Thank you to SnL for giving me a venue to dream while preaching the gospel and  to have moments like we had Saturday. Thank you to the youth pastors and students for sharing  your stories with us and being a part of our journey. To the strangers who gave me hugs, to the old friends who drove hours to see me, to the people who make me laugh so hard my stomach hurts, and to everyone who has ever done a kind thing for me or my family these past few years... Thank you.

 You are my whistles in the crowd.

[beautifulstuff617]

Why Not

 I think we should give the happy endings a second chance. Maybe happy isn’t the right word. I want to give the redemptive endings another chance. I think we’ve gotten too used to things being broken. It’s easier to write about the broken endings because the broken things are real. But a happy ending? That’s a cliche, it’s a fairytale, it’s...not real. 

But why not? When did we stop wanting more. When did we become okay with shrugging our shoulders and saying Disney ruined our lives by making us think that if we dreamed enough anything could be possible? Most of the redemptive endings in the world started with an impossible dream, a bold move, a stupid risk. 

I’m not saying Disney got it all right, you won’t see me wishing on stars or talking to crickets anytime soon. But what if. What if we lived in a world where the outcast kid that everybody called a failure became the hero? What if we could see beyond the beastly exterior of those people who are hard to love and love them anyway? What if the girl oppressed by her broken family could help restore her broken family? What if the orphans found homes and the lost got found?

Recently I was thinking about characters. I love to create characters-- building up a whole complex person from a name and a face to their deepest fears and grandest hopes. I try to imagine who they will become as the story unfolds, as they meet other characters,as they choose whether to move ahead or wait; speak up or stay silent. And that’s the thing: at the end of the day, I don’t have complete control over their choices. I can start them off with certain traits and quirks, dreams and dispositions, but somewhere along the way, the character becomes their own person. And suddenly I can’t make them do anything in the world because they’re no longer the sort of person who will do anything int he world. The story will now only make sense if the character makes decisions that line up with who they are. 

I think somewhere along the way, a lot of us decided to become the kinds of characters who can only believe in half-redemptive stories. Sure, Cinderella gets her prince, but let’s face it...it probably won’t work out for them. Maybe that loser kid does save the day once or twice, but he’ll fall back into the same routine sooner or later. I’m afraid we’re afraid to hope all the way. And I didn’t realize it till this afternoon washing dishes when I finally started praying for what I’ve been really wanting to pray for. The things I’m scared to ask for because it’s easier to pray for a half-redemptive thing or a vague thing so if it doesn’t happen I don’t have to be disappointed. The things that are good and new and beautiful. I closed my eyes and let them play across my mind like scenes from a future that could really become reality. 

I prayed for a place where all the chains fall off and all the fear flees. For a place where even though the same broken thing has happened so many times, it wouldn’t happen this time. I prayed for love to heal the things that love once broke. I prayed for warmth...like the way the sun feels when it streams through your windows in May. I prayed for families to be families again. I prayed for the kind of laughter you can feel in your toes and the kind of friends that can speak without saying anything at all. I prayed for old tired things to end and fresh winds to blow. I prayed for bold moves and stupid risks, and that maybe they wouldn’t seem so stupid anymore. I prayed that we would become the sort of characters who can be entrusted with much because we won’t stop fighting for the more we see beyond that hazy horizon in front of us.

I want to become the sort of person who has faith enough for the best kind of endings and middles and beginnings. I want to become the sort of character that can do anything in the world because anything in the world aligns with who I’ve become. I want to become a writer of impossible stories, knowing all along they’re not really all that impossible.

[beautifulstuff617]

Shang, Gender, and rants from a 20-something.

After its iconically epic 5 second intro, almost any 20- something can begin singing in a full, robust, voice every lyric to Mulan's "Be A Man". The song is meant to humorously and perhaps subversively define what are considered the defining qualities of a worthy man.The plot line occurring during the song depicts Mulan, a girl, unable to measure up to the "manly" standards placed before her-- metaphors that promote the importance of strength, agility, and mystery. Near the end, the captain sends Mulan packing, singing, "Pack up go home you're through, how could I make a man out of you?"

Well Captain Shang, you can't. Because she's a girl. And guess what, you can't make a man out of anybody else either, because by your standards only a small group of people will ever be manly enough for you. Mulan can be a girl evidencing the qualities that you define as manly, and a guy can be a guy and demonstrate those same qualities, but does that truly and completely make either one of them...a man?

Don't get me wrong, I get the song. I love it as much as the next person and realize they are using the general stereotypes about what a man is to then juxtapose how Mulan is able (by her own strength, will, and loyalty to her family) to achieve the same standards regardless of her sex. However, I find myself more and more frustrated with these underlying definitions of what really makes a man a man or a woman a woman.

I know I'm tackling a big issue in a small blog, so please grant me grace if I don't word things just right, but sometimes you just gotta say something, you know?

So let me break this down.

1. The double standards have gotta go.

If I see one more ad about inner beauty or telling kids to be themselves, I think I'm going to punch something. Not because that isn't a good message: It's the exact right message. The reason I want to punch something is because we send that message a billion times on the surface and then send the other message right underneath it: "But be this way or you won't be accepted." 

"Girls, you are beautiful just as you are"- but if you're too big or too skinny or don't have this hairstyle or don't like this type of movie or are too independent or cry too much or don't cry enough or don't date somebody, you're missing something and the problem is probably you.

"Guys, there are a thousand ways to be a man"- but if you aren't into watching sports or playing them or guns or fixing cars or going out with the guys for a beer on game day or working out, or making crude remarks..then you'll be left behind and it's probably your fault.

I'm not trying to re-sterotype here. These are real things I've heard from real guys and real girls about why they don't feel like as much of a guy or as much of a girl. Whether the pressure is put there by society, or parents, or friend groups...heck, most of the time it's not even said out loud. It's the underlying things that are more sinister. Like when you're the girl who doesn't get invited to the sleepover because you don't care much for painting your nails or gossip...or when you're the guy who isn't the most athletic or doesn't have that "immediate bro connection", and all the other guys just seem to naturally hang out without you.

It's gotta stop. Girls, that girl who doesn't love gushing about Harry Styles, she'd still like to come to your party. Because maybe she doesn't want to hang out with Harry, but she wants to hang out with you. Guys, maybe that  guy who is a little harder to connect with seems like he won't care if he's not invited to poker night or the man cave, but I bet he'd be grateful if you asked. And guess what, if they don't want to be there, THEY CAN TELL YOU. We're human beings and we are capable of saying what we think, people. What I'm saying is, we need to stop naturally excluding people when they don't fit into our mold of what we think someone should or shouldn't be. We need to give people the opportunity to decide what they want to be a part of and stop making decisions based on our own assessments of their character. If you really think it's okay for people to "be themselves" let them be themselves.

One more thing, for good measure, (again, unless someone specifically tells you otherwise, because I'm not trying to box anybody in here), Guys, girls don't like being called your bro or referred to as "one of the guys". Just because a girl likes watching football or beating you at video games or has the same sense of humor as you, doesn't make her a guy. #Shang

2. Let's get some new definitions in the book.

Yesterday, I was given a survey by a college student that asked me the question, "What does it mean to be a girl? What does it mean to be a woman?" which then lead me to the next question, "what does it mean to be a boy? what does it mean to be a man?"

Those are not easy questions to answer. You know why? Because of the double standard thing. There are two answers to every question. There's the answer that I want to be true, and the answer that consistently seems to be true.

So since I've already ranted about what seems to be true, here's the answer I want to be true. 

What it means to be a man or what it means to be a woman is what it means to be a human being. 

 I'm not saying we're the same, because I know we aren't. But it's just impossible to say every woman has these characteristics and every man has these characteristics because there will always be exceptions and it's the exceptions who end up lonely, excluded, and feeling like they are less. I'm not about that.

But we are all humans, and in our individual ways, I think there are qualities that make up how all of us together are supposed to look. It's a lot like a body made of many parts, all working together. They can't all be an eye or a voice or a bicep or a pectoral. They can't all be the fastest feet or the prettiest hair. They can't all be talented hands or the strongest arms, but they all come together in this beautiful conglomeration of people reflecting a creator. So maybe if all the biceps would consider hanging out with the eyes or the pretty hair would give the kneecaps a chance...there wouldn't be so many self-confidence issues.

So here are some statements I'd like to see:

Be a man. Be strong and gentle, be as quick with your convictions as you are with your compassion. Put others before yourself. Step up to lead when you are needed, but be just as eager to serve when you are needed. Protect what you love and fight for what you believe in. Listen. Speak. Have courage when it’s hard and don't be afraid or ashamed of your heart.

Be a woman. Be assertive and kind. Be independent and confident but give others the chance to help you. Speak from your mind and your heart. Put others before yourself. Be as quick with your convictions as you are with your compassion. Step up to lead when you are needed, but be just as eager to serve when you are needed. Protect what you love and fight for what you believe in. Listen. Speak. Have courage when it’s hard and don't be afraid or ashamed of your heart.

See, the truth is, the things that I find most valuable in men and women, are similar. They materialize differently. They look different, sound different, have all kinds of distinct wrappings and trimmings. The blatant strength of one is matched by the gentle strength of another. We are but many parts reflecting something bigger than ourselves. Let's work together instead of trying to rip ourselves apart.

3. Loneliness isn't okay

This is what all of my arguments boil down to. A friend told me recently that this is such a hard topic to discuss because as soon as you tell your guy friends you feel left out that they don't invite you to certain things, you suddenly feel like they are inviting you out of obligation rather than genuine eagerness to hang out with you. He said, "I just get used to it. I'd rather just feel left out."

Loneliness is not something anyone should have to get used to. I don't want to be okay with that. I hope somebody else out there agrees.

So all of this comes down to: be who you are, for real. Take a second to think through what you really think it means to be a guy or a girl and how maybe you or someone else has been excluded or included because of that. Think about someone who doesn't fit the norm. Get to know that person. Discover the qualities in them that make them someone worth knowing--beyond all expectations and standards and hype.

Let's eradicate loneliness from our culture. Let's be a culture defined by men and women who can share all kinds of similarities and differences and remain just as womanly or manly no matter what those things are. Let's shut down the "shang" culture that there's only one way to be the right kind of man or woman.

Let's change the world a little today, okay?

.

[beautifulstuff617]

Iceman

Kids are the best.

Seriously. If you are ever despairing where the world is headed or despondently standing in line at the checkout contemplating the ennuis of your existence, spend one minute listening to a kid and something will shift.

Today I found myself at Rite Aid at an hour I would prefer not to be at Rite Aid. I was waiting in line at the pharmacy counter and trying not to sigh impatiently at the gentleman in front of me who seemed to have one thousand questions. But my impatience was immediately assuaged when this man's son, probably 6 years old, began creating loud sound effects and jumping from blue square to blue square on the tile floor. More often than not he would slip and fall, then with serious determination and lips pursed, pick himself back up and make the sounds of feet crushing and rockets launching as he leapt. Finally his dad spoke.

"What are you doin there buddy?"

"I'm iceman!"

"Iceman?"

With brow creased and a steady gaze into the middle distance, he performed his soliloquy with an elegance many Shakespearian actors would envy.

"I am made of ice. I can only touch the blue, if I don't touch the blue then I will be killed. I will melt because anything that isn't blue is lava and lava melts iceman."

Dad smiled, "My brothers and I used to play that game...we'd pretend like the floor was 'lava' and you couldn't touch it."

I cringed as he made air quotes when he said "lava"

Unhindered by the air quotes and the babying voice of his father, the boy looked up fiercely with wonder, "YOU WERE MADE OF ICE TOO?!"

I realized that there's a day in our lives when we stop pretending. We don't believe we are iceman on a daring quest to avoid the white tiles. We don't dress up in our swimsuits and go diving into our parents duvet cover like it's a swimming pool. We don't talk to each other in a language we made up or spend and afternoon drawing worlds in sidewalk chalk. We become the sort of people who use air quotes and reminisce about who we used to be. We put on our big kid clothes and walk on the tiles because they're just tiles. We ask people to kindly refer to us as Mister or Miss [insert boring last name here].

But between you and me, I think we'd all rather be iceman.

With wonder in our eyes, desperate to believe there is someone out there LIKE US. Someone else who thinks they're a superhero, who thinks they have an important quest to fulfill, who doesn't care if they look foolish because they know who they are.

So before we get so caught up in the everyday ado of the hum drum weekday..let's not forget that we're never too old to imagine. And even though we might be bigger and a little more responsible, we can still be those heroes and dream those dreams.

So tell me the truth...Are you made of ice too?

[beautifulstuff617]

All the Many Roads

Somewhere along the way we've all read that poem. We've seen it plastered on the motivational posters in the middle school library or had to write a 300 word essay on it for Honors English class. It usually features a dirt path splitting into two in some sort of golden autumnal wood that only exists in a Tolkein novel. The Lucinda calligraphy font scrolls in quotes: "I took the road less traveled by, and it has made all the difference." Sigh. What a lovely, lovely thought. I'm not daft, I get it. Robert Frost has mastered metaphor and has us all sitting thinking of becoming the out of the box thinkers, the go against the grain-ers. But I just want to pay some quick respect to where respect is due. Here's a toast to the roads we travel all the time. The concrete and macadam, the dirt, the dust. The gravel on your driveway, the Coul-de-sac at the end of the street. That place where you take a left out of your neighborhood and drive toward your best friend's house. The highways belting their way around sleepless cities, dense lines of red and white wrapping them like twinkle lights on a tree in December. Here's a little ditty for the dirt road by the lake house that kicks up all the footprints of the kids who ran barefoot trying to catch the first rays of summer between their sticky fingers. Let's remember the path through the mud where your jeep got stuck because you thought off-roading meant you could go anywhere and you still believe it. Close your eyes and sweep down the interstate snaking through the rocks in Tennessee, where the yellow dotted lines sound like golden leaves waltzing to an October breeze on your windshield. Don't forget those endless brown fences waving as you pass on Kentucky back roads while the dusty sun sets and alights the hills with fire. Hold your breath for all the times the stars weren't bright enough to light your way as the pine trees towered like giants in Maine, threatening to swallow you up in their branches but the way was too brave to stop there. A salute to the toll booths and the salty sea wind teasing your hair through the window on all those drives past dunes and tides and the ocean waves goodbye. We'll sip some sweet wine to the marching lines of palm trees on the turnpike in Orlando where spring breakers cheer and Katy Perry blasts out the windows of Wranglers and four day rented convertibles. How about the ups and downs of the sneaky lanes that lead you around all the painted mountains on your way, and summer or fall or spring, the way those ridges sing you don't even need your favorite mixtape. Tunnels under bays, suspended bridges sending wishes into rivers stretching their fingers toward the sea, while the jazz from your speakers dreams a little dream of all the roads you haven't yet seen. Snow kissed mountains in the west, daring you to climb till your vision clears at the top of a place you've never been. Here's to the routes tracing the Pacific coast, gliding past surfers and movie stars, tipping its hat to dreamers and the sandy feet of cliff divers. The roads, they see it all. All the places we haven't been. They're neighbors with cacti and snowmen alike, they play poker with the ice blue lakes and grin at all the sailboats. Interstates and highways are no strangers to painted deserts and lonely plateaus. They wave good morning to canyons and noble arches; sing goodnight to skyscraper melodies. They whisper to mountain wildflowers and drink late night coffee with diner dives. The road is what gets you to the places worth going. So maybe a wry smile for the morning commute, that's seen gray cold winters and blue sky 75's with the music too loud. You've been there every day, even when we hated you. Through traffic jams and coffee spills, giggling midnights and long rides home. So here's to you black and blue, yellow striped or dotted white. Dusty, dirty, clean...road work and construction signs. We beat you up at every turn but you keep giving what our human souls crave: the adventure. Schuylkill slow or South Dakota fast, less traveled or more...let's go places. Let's go.

[beautifulstuff617]

Skates

Be honest, you miss it. The disco ball spinning above that smooth parquet just enough to light your feet in front of you. The bass booming up from your heels and bouncing off the iffy snack bar and chuck e cheese style prize booth. You miss the balloons from your second grade birthday party and secretly wishing that Tommy or Suzy would choose to hold your hand when the DJ announced the last song of the set. The skating rink. Wheels on waxed floors, before the brakes were on the back, when playing crack the whip with 17 people was still legal...those were the days. And they were a very long time ago. For me, about 18 years. Until a bunch of 8 year olds stole my heart and pulled me back out onto that old wood floor. This past week, I had the opportunity to work with the Salvation Army kids summer camp in York, PA. About one hundred kids between the ages of five and thirteen attend, going to classes in the morning and field trips in the afternoon. If you're a kid in this camp, you know that every Thursday you go to the skating rink. And when special guest leaders are there for the week, you know you can use your 6 year old cuteness to coerce them into doing things (as Paul would say) "they ought not do." Thus, despite my better judgement and the sound advice of my best friend, little hands and puppy dog eyes won out over my logic and I found myself on a bench wondering how I came to be lacing up my skates. (As an aside, it is important to note that the author of this blog is particularly prone to accidents. Like, if she was walking in an empty room save for one chair, the odds of her running into the chair are higher than the odds of her not running into the chair. She has permanent scars from things like attempting to pull herself up a flagpole, running full speed toward a newspaper dispenser, and opening a pull-tab can of fruit. Okay, let us proceed.) So imagine less-than-graceful me on a slippery wood floor brimming with clumsy 5 year olds and 90 mile per hour 10 year olds then multiply that times 80 and you have yourself one drivers ed of a Christie skating nightmare. After a few minutes, I got my bearings, and once you get your bearings, you become the symbol of balance and grace to someone who doesn't yet have their bearings. For me, it was a pair of dimples and the kind of smile you absolutely under no circumstances say no to. She started out holding my much bigger hand in her much smaller hand, but the hand holding turned into arm clinging as she fumbled around on her skates.We moved at a slow pace, nearly getting stampeded by racing gangs of fifth graders and gaggles of girls with their arms looped around each other. After a painstaking half lap, I tried to instruct her a little. I noticed that she kept trying to walk as if she were wearing shoes, instead of gliding on the skates. But my instruction did little; it was too scary to glide. After another tortoise paced half loop, I started looking for a way out. Yes, she was cute, but didn't she realize I realllyyyy wanted to feel the whip around the corners and speed up the pace during Ariana Grande? How long was I really expected to pull her along while everyone else had fun actually skating? And then came the voice. You know it. It's still and small, but the loudest thing in the room? And you know what He said to me? "I did this for you." I think we love to talk about the humanity of Jesus. We like to casually mention how he took on flesh and understood the full range and limitations of the human experience. But I don't think we can fully grasp the feeling of having power and not using it until we feel it. You can't know the patience of slow until you've felt the freedom of fast. And Jesus did that for us. Jesus does that for us. We were utterly helpless. Stumbling around on our skates, clinging to his arm, crying for him to go faster when we could barely manage a glacial pace. We fall, we cry, we stomp off the floor and give up. We don't know how to stop so we run into the walls, we won't listen when he tries to teach us a better way.. But he wasn't looking for a way out, he was looking for a way in. A way to stick with us completely. So he tethered his arm to ours. He took our hand and said "I have worlds to show you and big roads for you to skate....I could go there faster than one beat of your heart but I want you with me. So I'll stay here until you learn. I'll go slow until you catch your balance. I'll teach you to glide, even if it takes a thousand times. I'll be here the whole time." He came to earth, he took on our awkwardness and our fear. His fingers sculpted mountains and breathed life into humanity, but he chose to breathe the dust of our sandals and get dirt under his fingernails. He saw the stars wash over the galaxy, but he'd trade that for a good cup of coffee with you. The world is one giant skating rink and we're all watching each other. Watching as we collide or avoid collision, watching people effortlessly glide while others cling to the wall. Watching each other trip and stumble, spin and twirl...watching each other get hurt. And Jesus is there too. He's got the best pair of skates. You know, the ones behind the glass counter that you used to press your nose against? He can go forwards and backwards, he can run ahead or fall behind, he can go faster than light and slower than time... but he gave that up to feel our pace. To know what it's like to have those hand- me- down skates from the back of your older brother's closet, with the squeaky wheel and the worn out laces. He knows what that's like, which makes him the best kind of teacher. He can teach you to paint futures with that squeaky wheel, he can restore frazzled laces, and he'll skate slow to Ariana Grande any day of the week. He wants you to know what it's like to skate the way he does, and he'll never give up on you. His game isn't about being the best skater, it's about who he's skating with. And guess what? He's skating with you.

[beautifulstuff617]

The Invisible Legacy

I have this thing about first lines. If you don't judge a book by it's cover, you'd be much better off judging it by it's first line. The first line should captivate you, motivate you to want to know the second line, then the third. Each word in that line should pull your forward into the story. I once read a blog about first lines and the writer noted that his favorite first line was "I helped mother collect the eyes."He wrote, "I DARE YOU not to read the next line." But here's the thing. You can have the most well executed first line ever, but if nothing comes after it...it's just a sentence. It's just a line of words that make you want to know something that doesn't exist. A fancy phrase is just a showy sentence. A first line is a part of something bigger. It's the prelude to the epic; a prologue of the legend to follow. I don't want to be a series of good lines. I want to be a story that catapults you into a sea of swirling adventures, bigger than your most far fetched dream. And if we're honest, I think we all kind of want that. We want our lives to be worth something. We strive to find our meaning. We dream of greatness. The other night, I was in the midst of a netflix binge of the West Wing (haters be hatin...get over it.) In this particular episode, the white house senior staff discover a way to save Social Security. But because of certain circumstances they determine that they either have to forsake their plan completely, or proceed without taking an ounce of the credit. The staff argues, insisting that the president would make history by taking the credit for saving something so massive. "We're going to save social security and no one is going to know about it." One of them says. "We'll know." The president says. "This opportunity only comes once, sir. There's no such thing as an invisible legacy." An invisible legacy. Which begs the question: If you do something great, and no one knows about it... is it still great? Each day we have the opportunity to do something great. And you know what, it doesn't have to be saving social security. It's probably a lesser moment...holding the door for someone, telling a friend you love them, giving someone a hug, writing a letter. Maybe it's thanking your parents or not giving up on a dream. But no one ever wrote a great story with a bunch of good first lines. Great stories are made with ordinary words. Those building block sentences of verbs and steps and little prepositional phrases. You know the ones that take us over and under and through and beside. Over mountains, under fears, through well worn books and beside best friends. The whispers between dishes and running toward tomorrow. You see, the thing is, it's not the great moments that make us great. It's the seemingly invisible ones. So as usual, in his upside down way, God makes the least of these...the greatest of these. He makes the invisible legacy, the noblest of all.

[beautifulstuff617]

Known.

I’ve seen the way a sunrise colors the earth in warmth and heard how notes resonate with holy breath deep enough to drink. I’ve tasted of decanters of laughter colored in prism hope and brimming with sticky daydreams. I’ve been kissed by adventure and swindled by good stories, been caught up in daring west winds and waltzed by salty seas.

But I know a deeper love.

Tricky romances have befuddled me and sly eyes have betrayed the whispers I couldn’t keep quiet. I remember too many almost promises broken, too many penny dreams tossed in fountains. I’ve been surprised by enemies, let down by friends. Deft musicians and outspoken card sharks alike have played my heartstrings; I’ve lent out my love to devilish grins and heros in disguise. Loneliness has often been an unwelcome friend.

But I know a deeper love.

I’ve been branded by embraces undeserved in moments where knees gave way and hope was lost. Fierce loyalty has greeted me at the finish line of failure. Dear ones wait up late to remind me how love sounds on the phone. There’s nothing quite like dishes in the sink after long nights around the table where nothing needs to be said to be heard. I’ve counted the stars on each whimsical night, remembering that the line between heaven and earth is thin enough to cross. I know the gravity of falling to the tune of an old phonograph with the windows down and a heart wide open.

But I know a deeper love.

The weight of crushing impossibilities mixed with the bitter aftertaste of disappointed dreams swim in my stomach and rise with a strangled desperation in my throat. Hopelessness pounds its deafening rhythm in my ears. Sometimes slamming the door isn’t enough because the echo of it’s closing haunts my dreams and begs me to open it again. The helplessness digs it’s fingers in between my ribs, keeping me tossing and turning because I don’t ever want the pain to be comfortable. If lies love a song, they know my broken melody.

But I know a deeper love.

Great waves have overwhelmed me and stolen moments have written themselves onto my hands. My face bears the faint lines of crinkled laughter and stubborn tears, but my body bears the marks of my creator. Even if my feet hurt from the walk and my eyes blur in the wind, the journey honors the king, and the king knows. The king knows me.

And I know the king. I know a deeper love.

.

[beautifulstuff617]

Thrive

I saw this quote a few months ago hanging in a schoolroom. It said, "Fair isn't everyone getting the same thing, it's everyone getting exactly what they need to succeed." I have a thing about the word succeed. It's a thing that makes me not like the word succeed. Success brings to mind Donald Trump firing people, someone receiving a medal at an Olympic ceremony , or a student getting an A on a paper. When I hear the word success, I automatically think achievement: working hard to get something; effort being placed forth to gain a reward. Success is something I can earn by my own efforts and lose by my own efforts. So I changed the word. In my journal the quote reads, "Fair isn't everyone getting the same thing, it's everyone getting exactly what they need to THRIVE." I like the word Thrive. It reminds me of plants and how they grow every which way. Trees become tall and strong with thick branches and canopies of leaves. Some flowers grow on spindly vines while others burst forth from the ground. Sunflowers tower like giants in a garden while morning glories peer from beneath their shade. Potatoes grow underground and corn grows in stalks; you pick apples from a tree and strawberries from a patch. You wouldn't try to plant a palm tree in Maine. Fair is everyone getting exactly what they need...to THRIVE. I think we've bought into a few lies around here. I think we've bought into the idea that fair is everyone succeeding. And I think we all think we know what success looks like in the mirror. And I think a lot of us don't see success looking back at us. I think sometimes (especially as young adults) we build up this image: an ideal of the successful, vibrant, Christian life. It's something like this. You go to college, you go to church, you do some sort of service, you are involved in small groups, you get married, you buy a house, you have a 401k and 2.5 kids who attend VBS in your very safe Dodge minivan. And there is absolutely nothing wrong with that. It is a beautiful picture of what pouring out your life for Christ can look like. But I think we miss something when we allow that to be the ONLY picture that matters. Because for some of us, our lives don't look like that. And when our lives don't look like that, we think we've failed. People try to make us feel better about what we don't have. But maybe there's more to us than what we don't have. And when we start saying things like that, others try to talk us out of it, like we've "given up". But maybe we haven't given up, maybe we're just supposed to thrive differently. God doesn't have a cookie cutter calling for an entire generation. If each of us is a unique expression of his image, his love, his grace... then our lives, our thriving lives, won't always look the way we once thought they should. Suddenly we have to grow underground instead of above. Suddenly we're in the shade of someone else's sunflower. Suddenly we're a seed from a dandelion flying aimlessly in the wind instead of digging in roots. Suddenly being faithful to God's call appears to us (and maybe to others) as...reckless. But that's just it. It's reckless in the best way. It's faith in a new way.Not trusting God JUST for the ONE THING that we think will finally make us HAPPY and SUCCESSFUL.Because it's never just one thing. That one thing won't make you whole. That one thing won't make you thrive. So I want to trust God for the whole adventure, whatever it is. Not just for the things I imagine will be good, but for the things I wouldn't imagine that are. I want to trust God to give me exactly what I need to THRIVE. And maybe that doesn't look successful, but I bet some guy walking around the desert in sandals with a gang of young boys didn't look too successful either. Let's let God write the story. All of it. And whether it turns out exactly like you prayed or light years away from what you thought you wanted, let him write it. Because if he's got the pen...the story's gonna be good. It is.

[beautifulstuff617]

Fog

Nobody ever cancelled school on account of fog.

(Well, maybe someone has, but I work really hard on my opening lines and that was a good one, so let's just roll with the metaphor.)

Nobody ever cancelled school on account of fog, because it's just fog. Snow has to be cleaned off of everything, ice and freezing rain are outrightly dangerous and we know this. So we put on our snow tires, we sprinkle our rock salt, we drive in low-gear or give up driving altogether. We prepare for snow or ice or wind even, but fog?

Fog remains the roguish and forgotten adversary doesn't it? Because when fog arrives, you underestimate it; you underestimate its ability to limit you. So you hop in your car like it's any other night, driving headlong into it's crafty cloudy fingers until they envelop you in their misty mystery, changing shapes and bending colors in ways that disguise all that was once familiar. Has that house always been there? Shouldn't the stop sign have been 3 blocks back? Why are all the traffic lights so dim?

You know these roads. You know which way to go, but the fog convinces you to mistrust all you thought you knew. It whispers that the roads zig-zag different ways than you thought and you should turn back while there's still time. All your instincts seem a fraction of a decimal point off base, all the right turns look twisted, and the routine roads don't look the same as they once did. The fog cloaks the world in sly gray questions, fading the mailbox colors, refracting the light and dulling its luster, reframing the trusted landmarks till they bend into unrecognizable monsters.

You turn up your lights but it only makes the fog bigger, as it swallows hope into its dull gray belly.  You think if you look too long it might swallow you too. One glance away from those pale yellow lines and you could be lost completely: off-roading down a hill, colliding with another, stuck in a ditch or sinking in mud. 

So you pull in your focus. You must keep your eyes on those lines. Do not look to the fog, it will only overwhelm you. You cannot trust your instincts, they are worthless here. Your fear will only paralyze you and keep you from making it. Only the lines are trustworthy. Those lines, those marks on the road painted by someone who knows the road far better than you ever could. The fog aims to throw you, capsize you, breathe you in and spit you out. But it won't. Not this time. You may have to drive slow. You may have to stop and catch your breath. You may have to stare into it and ask over and over if it will ever clear or if it only gets worse from here. You may drive for a very long time even as everything stays the same. You may pray for escape or another way.

But at the end of the day...

"Sometimes the only way through the fog...is through the fog."

[beautifulstuff617]

An Ordinary Love

WHADDUP BLOG WORLD.

So it's been awhile. I could say it's because my life is unceremoniously boring and uninteresting, but that's not quite true. I could say it's because I tend to err on the side of laziness and typing a whole 900 words for the lost internet world's entertainment just doesn't appeal to me...but based on the current circumstances, that's clearly also...a lie. 

So let's just say that life has a way of running so fast that sometimes you forget to sit down and reflect on how beautiful it is. But today it hit me in the face, sat me down, and told me to LISTEN. And when life smacks you in the face, believe me, you listen. 

I was reading an article from Relevant Magazine called "11 questions every twentysomething should be asking." Yikes. I'm a twentysomething. And unfortunately the last question I remember asking myself was, "Did I already eat this morning?"

(Yeah. Rocket Science and Philosophical Depth all over that one. AM I RIGHT?!)

But there was one question in particular that convicted me immensely. It read, "Do I love from my insecurities or from my strengths?" Check it.

Loving from your insecurities demands from others. Loving from your strengths gives to them. Loving out of your insecurities means you don't want to see people succeed more than yourself. Loving from your strengths means you are the first to celebrate with others when you hear of their successes. Loving from insecurities daily demands “what are you going to do for me?” Loving from strengths asks others, “what can I do for you?” Too many people love from their insecurities, and that’s not love.

WHACK.

After I came to and filled a ziploc bag full of ice and conviction to nurse my wounded SOUL back to health, I read it a second time. And I realized that I do both of those things, I'm sure most of us do. But my next thought sent me right back to the spiritual first aid kit. Because maybe the reason we are all so desperate for a significant relationship is because we don't understand what real love is.

If I am insecure about myself, then I am also insecure about my worthiness to be loved. And I think that this insecurity, combined with our American Dream culture that continues to tell us if we work hard enough we can achieve or build anything, has convinced us that if we want real love, we need to earn it. And if we don't work hard enough, we will lose it or even worse, never have it at all.

And so we all suffer from love paranoia. We begin to demand things-- because if you don't text me back, then it means you don't want to talk to me which upsets me because it confirms my  deep seated fear that I am unworthy of love. And since I'm so convinced that I am unworthy, the only way for me to believe the opposite is for you to prove it all the time or for me to prove to you that I am worthy of it...all the time. 

And that's not love.

Love is patient. And kind. It's not jealous or prideful. It is not selfish or rude.

Love always hopes.

Love always TRUSTS.

I think we would be less desperate for love, if we truly understood it.

Real love isn't about me at all. Real love is giving over and over with no desire or intention to get anything back. Real love is when you look at someone who loves you and are overcome by the inexplicable fact that you know you can't ever give them back as much as they've given. Real love is surrender, and trust, and humility.

And when I acknowledge that and stop trying so hard to find it, or earn it, or deserve it,  I realize that IT. IS. EVERYWHERE. Because even if all of our fears come true and people do abandon us or leave or don't love us right, God's love is everywhere.

It IS there. It IS real. You could never earn it or deserve it or pay it back.

And that, my friends, is a beautiful thing worth at least 900 words.

Ben Rector has this new song out called "Ordinary Love". And the chorus simply says:

Oh, give me an ordinary love

That I touch, that I hold

Give me an ordinary love

Ordinary love is what I want. The everyday kind of love. The laughter from a friend on the other end of the line. How a warm breeze feels on your face. Sitting around a table at dinnertime. Telling your favorite story for the 40th time because you love how it makes someone's face crinkle up when they smile. That stupid pop song blasting in your beat up car with the windows down and your best friend screaming the lyrics. Staring at a sky full of stars created by the biggest,greatest, God and recognizing that he made you too. The most extraordinary of loves in the most ordinary of places.

You find love when you open your eyes and see that it is right there already-unearned, undeserved, unconditional.

So let's stop diagnosing ourselves with Love Paranoia. Let's live as people who have secured themselves in the heart of the one who's greater than our hearts. Let's learn what love really is so we can stop craving something less that won't ever satisfy us. 

Loving from our strength, means loving from Jesus, because he is our strength. So lean on him, and don't live life as a beggar for love. You're already loved: believe it, own it...

And give it.

[beautifulstuff617]

Sense-making

Most of the time, I don't really like math. But I do like math problems. I like math problems because for the most part, the problem can, in fact, be solved. Someone has put the problem in front of you, and they already know there is a solution, an endpoint, a response that is CORRECT. So if I sit down with a math problem, it might take me some time, but I can come out on the other side with an answer...and let it go.

Unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately), the world is not full of math problems.

It's full of other types of problems.

Problems that don't have answers. Problems with answers that suck. Problems that have way too many answers and resemble the horrible prompt on multiple choice tests where it reads, "Choose THE BEST answer." So, hypothetically, all of them could be right, but only one is the best.  Problems that are visible and problems that are hidden. Problems you have, problems your friends have. Problems you didn't know were problems and discovered too late that you can no longer solve them as easily as could've if you'd seen it sooner.

And then the word "problems" starts to look weird because I've written it so many times in a row. Sorry.

I've become super frustrated recently with my inability to solve ANYTHING. Seriously, if you could somehow transcribe things into math equations, my test has pages of number crunching, and no solutions. Because every time I think I've reached a conclusion, the problem changes, or the solution just doesn't look right anymore. Or I think it's the right answer but I don't like it enough to agree.

And so I sit there staring at my paper and muttering to God about everything. 

"Why on earth is this happening? Isn't it enough that I already have to work through this and this and this...why this too?! Why why blah blah me me me why me blah blah."

And in one of my daily journal rants, God came right back at me.

He said, "Christie. You spend an awful amount of time trying to make sense of these things. You ask why. Why are you here, why are they there. You ask why now and why this and how to "fix" it. But I'm not really interested in answering those questions. I am much more interested in you asking 'who are you? And what is it about who I have made you to be that makes these circumstances and you...a good match?"

Which kinda rocked my world a little. Because suddenly life is a whole lot less about trying to find an answer and a whole lot more about trying to find God. Because his logic isn't like mine, his ways are not my ways. A dead end to me could be his favorite path, and the wide open road could be a place he's not calling me toward. Just because something makes sense doesn't mean it's of God. Just because something doesn't make sense, doesn't mean it isn't of God. Spiritual things do not correlate like earthly things.

At the end of the day the only sense-making there is...rests in the hands of someone I will never be able to make complete sense of.

So the only logical thing to do, would be know him more. Trust him more. Reach for him more and ask him to teach me who I am and what he's asking me to do in this step of the puzzle. I might not ever come to a full solution, but I can search for his face in my number crunching. When I reach a dead end, I can declare in faith that it's not supposed to be that way.I can open doors that look scary, close ones that look lovely, and kick down doors that look impenetrable. And when life throws me curveballs at every turn, I can swing with confidence, knowing that a creative redeemer works within me. And He knows how to move and change circumstances... whether I strike out...or grand slam. 

My eye doesn't need to be on the ball. It just needs to be on Jesus. He's the one who has made me the way I am, and is able to do something in these circumstances whether I feel equiped to face them or not. It's not even about who I am, it's about who's working in me. And that makes me...a good match for anything. Because he's overcome the world.

So what am I muttering about?

It doesn't have to make sense. It just has to make faith.

[beautifulstuff617]

I just don't get it.

In church last Sunday, the pastor told a story about a woman in a courtroom. He said that one day her son and his friend went exploring in a nearby cornfield for the afternoon. And his friend decided to shoot and kill him. In the courtroom that day, the woman walked up to her son's killer and forgave him. In sincerity, in love, and in truth.

And I just don't get it.

I heard a story of a high school student from this area who was diagnosed with terminal cancer. I don't know about you, but it's hard to imagine what goes through your mind every day knowing for certain that the number of days you have left are numbered and there's nothing you can do to change it. And yet as a teenager, this boy left a legacy of pure joy and hope and LIFE. In the eyes of people who didn't even really know him, he is remembered as a friend, a light.  In the arms of death, he did nothing but fully live, leaving a trail of joy behind him.

And I just don't get it.

Yesterday when the bombs went off in Boston, I saw a lot more people running toward the explosions than running away. I saw people lifting fences, holding the hands of strangers, aiding medical personnel. I saw people who discovered in the midst of the chaos that the only logical thing to do...was go back into it. 

And I just don't get it.

I look at these things and I don't understand. I don't understand why kids get killed. I don't understand why some people die from the same diseases that others survive. I don't understand what makes someone want to hurt other people. I don't understand how death, violence, and injustice are things we all hate and yet can't seem to stop. 

But I also don't understand the kind of love that can forgive a murderer.

I don't understand the kind of joy that stares death in the face and wins.

I don't understand the kind of courage that runs toward disaster.

I don't understand the compassion that compels someone to die in someone else's place.

But I know the Rock, for there is no other. And somehow this hope does not disappoint us.  He IS the grace that forgives us. He IS the joy that overwhelms us. He IS the courage that slays giants and speaks the truth when it's hard. He IS the one who re-writes the story.

And I don't get it. I don't get how he does it. But he does.

Because it is only through Christ that impossible things are made possible.

"Don't be afraid. Just have faith." Mark 5:36

"Shine your light so I can see it

Hold it up cause the whole world needs it

Love has come what joy to hear it

He has overcome. He has overcome."

[beautifulstuff617]

My Late Night 19 sentence epiphany

I had to write this down as soon as I thought of it because it really struck me as wonderful. And when I began this blog it was, in fact, to write about wonderful and puzzling and beautiful things. But as I was getting ready for bed this evening, I had one of those finite thoughts, where I realized that I will someday get older and that my time here will be over. Right now, it seems like I've lived a lifetime and another 2 or 3 spans of my "lifetime" seems like a very long time. But it isn't. It isn't at all. We all have (if we are so blessed) 70, 80,90 years? Yet in that short span of time, our lives somehow manage to intersect with these other people who happen to be sharing the planet with us for those same 70, 80 or 90 years. And we are given the insane privilege of being a part of eachother's lives for this blip of time we're caught up in.

Does that rock anyone else's brain? If we're friends...do you realize the improbability of us being friends? Let me break this down. As far as we know, the earth has been around for a long time--people have been on it...maybe a couple of thousand years? So the odds of you and I being born where we are born, at the time that we are born, in the contexts and social constructs in which we live that raised us in a way that we could even meet at all... is already ridiculous. Then add in that somehow my lifeline intersected with your lifeline based on a series of decisions we had no idea would lead to our meeting. For example, where our parents decided to live, what school we went to, if those schools got re districted,what sport we chose to play, if we took piano lessons, which girl or boy we did or didn't date, what secrets we told, where we decided to go to college, if we transferred, if we moved, if we got a job, if we got married, if we had a kid or didn't, if we jumped out of that airplane or took that trip to Southeast Asia. I mean, in retrospect, the very thought that any of us have met any of us is a miracle.

Friendship indeed, must be one of God's greatest gifts.

Now that, is beautiful stuff.

[beautifulstuff617]

Can and Can't

One of my favorite parts of my favorite movie is when Captain Jack Sparrow gives Will Turner a mini-speech on their first journey. The two are arguing about Will's Father, who Jack insists was a pirate and a good man, but who Will insists was a noble man of character. Tired of the cumbersome arguing, Jack swings the main sail around causing Will to dangle over the water, precariously holding onto the beam. And this conversation ensues:

Jack: Now while you're just hanging there, listen up. The only rules that really matter are these: what a man can do and what a man can't do. For instance, you can accept that your father was a pirate and a good man or you can't. But pirate is in your blood, boy, so you'll have to square with that some day. And me, for example, I can let you drown, but I can't bring this ship into Tortuga all by me onesies, savvy?

So, can you sail under the command of a pirate, or can you not? 

And more and more I've just been thinking of the things we can do and the things we can't, and how much time we spend focusing on the things we can't do. I can't change your mind if you don't want to change it. I can't make you stay if you want to leave. I can't solve world hunger in a day or make the pain stop or figure out the exact right answer right now.

But I can pray. And I can do small things with great love. And I can wait. I can be me and search with integrity. I can do these things.

And I think, just like Captain Jack says, that the truth, the real truth lies somewhere between what we can and cannot do. I can't change the past but I can find something to learn there. I can't make your pain go away but I can stand in it with you. I can't uncross the stars but I know they are lovely either way. My circumstances are what they are, but the adventure is of my choosing.

And at the end of the day, God can do all things. Truth.

[beautifulstuff617]

For you

 This is for you: the people I thought of and loved even more as soon as I read this. I think you know who you are. And if you aren't one of those people, I do hope you read this and it makes you a little more thankful for the people you get to call friends.

In a perfect Friendship this Appreciative love is, I think, often so great and so firmly based that each member of the circle feels, in his secret heart, humbled before all the rest. Sometimes he wonders what he is doing there among his betters. He is lucky beyond desert to be in such company. Especially when the whole group is together, bringing out all that is best, wisest, or funniest in all the others. Those are the golden sessions; when four or five of us after a hard day's walking have come to our inn; when our slippers are on, our feet spread out toward the blaze and our drinks at our elbows; when the whole world, and something beyond the world, opens itself to our minds as we talk; and no one has any claim on any responsibility for another, but all are freemen and equals as if we had first met an hour ago, while at the same time an Affection mellowed by the years enfolds us. Life--natural life--has no better gift to give. Who could have deserved it?

-C.S Lewis The Four Loves