I had to stop looking at fashion magazines last October. I think people think I’m being dramatic or funny when I say that, but sadly this bit of information is true. It’s not that I read magazines that often, but at some point I realized that what had started out as harmless fun had become harmful to my heart.
Before this past year, I would have never considered myself to be the type of girl that struggles with materialism. Don’t get me wrong- I have always liked fashion and shopping, but I was usually very content with what I had. But almost as soon as I made the commitment last summer to be a self-supported missionary in the worst economic crisis in a half-century, the little sin of materialism crept slowly and steadily into my life. I didn’t even realize it was happening at first, but eventually the reminder of all the pretty things that I may never be able to afford started to almost haunt me. I distinctly remember crying last November because I couldn’t even afford a little summer dress that was on sale for $30. You know things are bad when you burst into tears over a dress that you probably won’t even like 2 years down the road. And so I made the decision to lay down the glossy pages with the pretty faces for a long time. Only recently have I been able to enjoy fash mags again. But I still have to ask the Lord to protect me from loving the things of this world too much. I still have to be careful not to find my identity in looking cute.
While I like to pretend that I’m trendy and maybe sometimes even a little fierce, I’ll admit that my fashion attempts are a tad misguided at times. Sometimes I simply cannot rely on my own instincts. And so when the Dilliard’s saleswoman tapped on my fitting room door the other day to ask if I needed help or a different size, I jumped at the opportunity to get a much needed second opinion. I soon as the words "I need a cocktail dress for a friend’s wedding" left my lips, the saleswoman jumped at the opportunity to bank on commission by pulling for me 15 of the most expensive dresses in the store.
Faster than you can say “Semi-Annual Sale” my new fashion advisor was back. Are you scared of one-shoulder? asks my new BFF. Not at all, I say. Bring it on. I crack open the fitting room door and she slips me a gorgeous BCBG dress, the exact dress in fact I’ve been lusting after for weeks but steered clear of because I knew it easily costs almost what I make in one paycheck. I’m treading on dangerous ground here. Against my better judgment, I decide to try it on, just to see. Maybe it will look terrible, I think, and then I won’t even have to worry. No such luck. It’s gorgeous. I’m gorgeous in it. I know this because now not one but two sales women are practically squealing like a pair of tweens who just spotted Justin Bieber. They tell me over and over how gorgeous I look, probably to make a sale, but I’d like to think the way I looked in it actually had something to do with it too. I glance down at the price tag again. Gulp. The number didn’t magically shrink like I had hoped. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t afford this dress. Which I decide is really okay, because I enjoy being able to pay my bills like a responsible adult. I also enjoy being able to afford feeding myself, because I really like food.
I inform the crestfallen Dilliard’s employees that as much as I love it, I simply cannot afford the dress. Who cares? interjects employee Two. It’s (yes you guessed) gorgeous! Call Daddy! jokes employee One. Umm, did I give off the impression that I’m a spoiled rich girl and/or a reckless spender? I think. Cause I definitely didn’t even wash my hair this morning. Employee Two perks up as she tells me that I could open up a Dilliard’s card today and get a whopping 10% off! Uhh, I hate to break it to ya sweetheart, but the extra $34 I’d save isn’t gonna help me much. Begrudgingly they decide it is time to graze in less expensive pastures.
“Semi-Annual Sale!” Saleswoman Numero Uno is back with another fistful of dresses. I shopped the MaxAzria sales rack for you! she practically sings. Oh great. Even at 30-50% off, I’m still looking at more than I pay in cell phone and car insurance combined each month. But the dress is just soooo pretty that I can’t pass up trying it on. I still have some Christmas money from last year, so maybe I could make this work . Yeah, only if it’s 50% off and they give me another discount for some loose threading around the snap closures. I slip it on and boom!- instant glamour. Greasy hair aside, I feel like I should be cartooned and slapped on a Jordi Labanda notebook. Flowing fabric, one sleeve, intricate beading; I look like I belong on the runway. The women also love this one, but luckily for me they agree that this dress might be too fancy for the event at hand. I breathe a sigh of relief while I decide what to tackle next.
At this point there are still several cute and more affordable dresses left to try on, but because saleswoman and friend realize that I will be purchasing a dress under $125 they quickly lose interest. And here I was thinking they actually cared about the customer!
Without having to show the Sales Hawks the rest of the options, I quickly breeze through the rest of the dress searching process. Because they weren’t around, I also received the added bonus of not being forced into trying on the few dresses that were designed for people neither young nor hip. Yes, here even the ugly dresses are expensive too.
My fair-weather saleswoman comes back to half-heartedly help me choose from the three I had narrowed down. Actually, that’s a lie. She stands there as I choose the final one, a very cute, very versatile, and much more affordable frock. I don’t know why she was so glum. The dress was still expensive in my book. I checked out excited about my purchase but even more excited about the upcoming event- the upcoming wedding of my sweet friend Tess to her fiancé Jared.
I realized on the way home how silly these shenanigans had become, how silly my battle with material things had become. Whatever void I’m trying to fill, it will never be filled apart from Christ. I don’t ever need to be the most beautiful girl in the room, and I certainly don’t need a dress to make me beautiful. Beautiful things don’t equal a beautiful girl. Only Christ can make me beautiful, because He is beautiful.
Monday, November 22, 2010
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Something Beautiful
One of my greatest joys in life is making things beautiful. Maybe not necessarily in a typical way, because not everyone perceives beauty in the same way. But the more I discover what beautiful is to me, the more I realize that I hold it as one of my highest values. I don’t think this is superficial. The Lord himself values beauty. After all, he created it! He created His children with different opinions, personalities, & interests, and He meant for us to sparkle and shine for Him in unique and beautiful ways. As children of the King, we see His world through individual eyes. In many ways, beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
Over time, I have come to decide that beautiful is hand-crafted. Beautiful is so much more than this, but hand-crafted is one aspect. I absolutely love making things. Pretty things. This is not to say that I can’t look at things that are dark or masculine or outside my normal realm of thought and find them beautiful, because I can and often do. But when I have in mind to make something beautiful, it’s usually something that will speak to my personal aesthetic.
My personal aesthetic takes center-stage when seen in the light of my secret career aspirations: toiling away all day in the sugar heaven of a cupcake shop or surrounding myself in a sea of florals as a florist. (Don’t fret, friendlies, I love ministry and am not going anywhere soon! These will hopefully be my old lady jobs.) My yearning to be the one who coordinates the outfits of the Ann Taylor LOFT mannequins totally makes sense to me now, as does the delight I find in painting my nails. I am not super artistic, but I do think I was born to create. And every so often, I indulge in a little bit of hand-crafted, creative fun that I hope will translate into something beautiful.
Today I decided to do just that. I went to the diva of craft stores, Hobby Lobby, in search of the items needed to create the perfect wreath for my new place in Tuscaloosa. In my mind it was a early housewarming gift for myself and Rachel for when we report to campus (which Lord willing will be soon- I'm 75% of the way there!), kind of like the joy of an early paycheck, only prettier.
In the neighborhood where I lived in Birmingham there was a wreath on almost door for just about every season, and the crafter in me dreamed about the day I’d have my own house with my own wreaths. Now, before you judge me as a crazy crafting-wreath-lover, you must know that you’ll never catch me with one on my door for Valentine’s Day, St. Patrick’s Day, Columbus Day, George Washington's birthday, or any other seemingly insignificant holiday. So Christmas, Easter, Fall (cause it’s my special season) and Fourth of July (for my patriotic BFF) it will be. If I get that far. Today witnessed the creation of the standard Fall wreath and nothing else. We’ll have to see what the Rachinator says before baby wreath gets some friends.
Not at all where you thought this blog was going, eh? From a narrative on one facet of beauty to my most anticipated craft project of the year to date, my train of consciousness (much like my creative energy today) is on the loose!
Over time, I have come to decide that beautiful is hand-crafted. Beautiful is so much more than this, but hand-crafted is one aspect. I absolutely love making things. Pretty things. This is not to say that I can’t look at things that are dark or masculine or outside my normal realm of thought and find them beautiful, because I can and often do. But when I have in mind to make something beautiful, it’s usually something that will speak to my personal aesthetic.
My personal aesthetic takes center-stage when seen in the light of my secret career aspirations: toiling away all day in the sugar heaven of a cupcake shop or surrounding myself in a sea of florals as a florist. (Don’t fret, friendlies, I love ministry and am not going anywhere soon! These will hopefully be my old lady jobs.) My yearning to be the one who coordinates the outfits of the Ann Taylor LOFT mannequins totally makes sense to me now, as does the delight I find in painting my nails. I am not super artistic, but I do think I was born to create. And every so often, I indulge in a little bit of hand-crafted, creative fun that I hope will translate into something beautiful.
Today I decided to do just that. I went to the diva of craft stores, Hobby Lobby, in search of the items needed to create the perfect wreath for my new place in Tuscaloosa. In my mind it was a early housewarming gift for myself and Rachel for when we report to campus (which Lord willing will be soon- I'm 75% of the way there!), kind of like the joy of an early paycheck, only prettier.
In the neighborhood where I lived in Birmingham there was a wreath on almost door for just about every season, and the crafter in me dreamed about the day I’d have my own house with my own wreaths. Now, before you judge me as a crazy crafting-wreath-lover, you must know that you’ll never catch me with one on my door for Valentine’s Day, St. Patrick’s Day, Columbus Day, George Washington's birthday, or any other seemingly insignificant holiday. So Christmas, Easter, Fall (cause it’s my special season) and Fourth of July (for my patriotic BFF) it will be. If I get that far. Today witnessed the creation of the standard Fall wreath and nothing else. We’ll have to see what the Rachinator says before baby wreath gets some friends.
Not at all where you thought this blog was going, eh? From a narrative on one facet of beauty to my most anticipated craft project of the year to date, my train of consciousness (much like my creative energy today) is on the loose!
After 30 minutes of strategic browsing in crafter's paradise, I emerged with these raw materials.
And after 1 hour of careful assembly, my wreath was born!
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Miss Rosa
Back in my hometown, I have this neighbor named Miss Rosa. Well actually, that’s not true. Miss Rosa is my neighbor, but Miss Rosa is not really her name. Miss Rosa’s son told me once that he thinks her name is Maeying, but before I or my family was privy to this information we had already started referring to her as Miss Rosa. Looking back, I don’t even know how we came up with that name, but somehow we did and it stuck. It just fits her somehow, and I mean that in the most endearing way possible. I think Rosa is a rather sweet name, but maybe that’s because I associate the name Rosa with roses. Come to think of it, Miss Rosa gardens a lot, which subconsciously may have influenced the choosing of our new neighbor's new name. Sweet Miss Rosa, she has no clue that according to us, that is her name.
When I really think about it, it is pathetic that this woman has been our catty-corner neighbor for 12 years and we still do not know her real name. It is not that we don’t care. Well, I don’t know if I can honestly say that for the rest of the family, but I for one do care. With the realization of caring comes this confession: I am a bit ashamed that I don’t know something as important as my neighbor’s name.
I know you’re all dying to know how we could possibly not know our neighbors name, and I believe there are two main reasons for our ignorance. The first of these is that Miss Rosa’s English is pretty terrible. I do not say that to be harsh or cruel, because I know she tries. She never lets her language barrier or thick accent stand in the way of trying to chat. She’s actually very friendly, more friendly in fact than most people on my street. But in the 14 years of being co-residents of Festival Drive, the only person I know who can understand her well enough to hold a conversation of some significance is Rachel. I joke that they have that Asian connection, even though Rachel is only ¼ Chinese. The second reason is that perhaps we chose to be big dummies. What I mean by this is that we, like most Americans, didn’t take the time to understand.
I have aspirations of living overseas one day, preferably in western Europe because I’m fascinated with most (but definitely not all) European people… but we’ll see where the Lord takes me. It’s much more than the superficial cool factor that takes my heart there. Seeing nations of melancholy people who have the gospel at their fingertips but have no idea where to find Truth makes my heart break. My job with Campus Crusade for Christ took me to Italy for nine days last spring, and it was during those nine days that I became convinced I could totally kick it in Europe. Of course there is always the risk of wasting away during the first couple months due to the fact that I’m not banking on high language proficiency, and you need to speak the language to order food, but hey, I’ll take that risk. Italy, of course, would be the exception to this rule, because after a week there I became quite the expert in ordering gelato and Coke on tap (the best Coke always comes from a fountain) and if forced to return for an extended period of time I may end up becoming a little too plump for my pleasing. All joking aside, to someone who wants to live overseas someday, this whole conundrum serves as a huge wake-up call. I feel so Carrie Bradshaw as I write this, but the question I find myself asking is: Will I someday be someone else’s Miss Rosa?
Miss Rosa’s daughter once told me that their dog, a brown toy poodle, was named "Twigs". But Miss Rosa calls "Twigs" Brownie, so to us "Twigs" is Brownie. Miss Rosa and Brownie walk up and down the street every night at dusk, whether for exercise or leisure I’m not sure. I don’t know much else about my neighbor, other than that she has beautiful gardens in her backyard that border on being a jungle, that she goes to church every Sunday, that she drives her Saturn up the street entirely too fast, and that every time someone passes Miss Rosa and her Brownie by, they will be met with a friendly greeting and a sincere smile. In many ways, I admire this woman I don’t know much about.
I’m praying for a greater language proficiency, but I also pray that wherever I may live, I will be have the courage to step outside myself to be someone else’s Miss Rosa.
When I really think about it, it is pathetic that this woman has been our catty-corner neighbor for 12 years and we still do not know her real name. It is not that we don’t care. Well, I don’t know if I can honestly say that for the rest of the family, but I for one do care. With the realization of caring comes this confession: I am a bit ashamed that I don’t know something as important as my neighbor’s name.
I know you’re all dying to know how we could possibly not know our neighbors name, and I believe there are two main reasons for our ignorance. The first of these is that Miss Rosa’s English is pretty terrible. I do not say that to be harsh or cruel, because I know she tries. She never lets her language barrier or thick accent stand in the way of trying to chat. She’s actually very friendly, more friendly in fact than most people on my street. But in the 14 years of being co-residents of Festival Drive, the only person I know who can understand her well enough to hold a conversation of some significance is Rachel. I joke that they have that Asian connection, even though Rachel is only ¼ Chinese. The second reason is that perhaps we chose to be big dummies. What I mean by this is that we, like most Americans, didn’t take the time to understand.
I have aspirations of living overseas one day, preferably in western Europe because I’m fascinated with most (but definitely not all) European people… but we’ll see where the Lord takes me. It’s much more than the superficial cool factor that takes my heart there. Seeing nations of melancholy people who have the gospel at their fingertips but have no idea where to find Truth makes my heart break. My job with Campus Crusade for Christ took me to Italy for nine days last spring, and it was during those nine days that I became convinced I could totally kick it in Europe. Of course there is always the risk of wasting away during the first couple months due to the fact that I’m not banking on high language proficiency, and you need to speak the language to order food, but hey, I’ll take that risk. Italy, of course, would be the exception to this rule, because after a week there I became quite the expert in ordering gelato and Coke on tap (the best Coke always comes from a fountain) and if forced to return for an extended period of time I may end up becoming a little too plump for my pleasing. All joking aside, to someone who wants to live overseas someday, this whole conundrum serves as a huge wake-up call. I feel so Carrie Bradshaw as I write this, but the question I find myself asking is: Will I someday be someone else’s Miss Rosa?
Miss Rosa’s daughter once told me that their dog, a brown toy poodle, was named "Twigs". But Miss Rosa calls "Twigs" Brownie, so to us "Twigs" is Brownie. Miss Rosa and Brownie walk up and down the street every night at dusk, whether for exercise or leisure I’m not sure. I don’t know much else about my neighbor, other than that she has beautiful gardens in her backyard that border on being a jungle, that she goes to church every Sunday, that she drives her Saturn up the street entirely too fast, and that every time someone passes Miss Rosa and her Brownie by, they will be met with a friendly greeting and a sincere smile. In many ways, I admire this woman I don’t know much about.
I’m praying for a greater language proficiency, but I also pray that wherever I may live, I will be have the courage to step outside myself to be someone else’s Miss Rosa.
Friday, August 6, 2010
And It's Probably Cause, You Think You're Cooler Than Me
I’ve been denying it for years, but tonight I feel the need to confess what I know to be true. Sometimes I pretend that I’m cool, but deep down, I’m really kind of a dork.
No, I’m not the kind of dork that collects Star Wars memorabilia or counts down the days to MegaCon every year, and I’m certainly not the type of dork that is deemed cool by Hollywood’s standards right now. Yeah you know what I’m talking about, the “hot nerd” type- aka- the beautiful celebrities that claim they are really big geeks. Nope, I’m just your average dork. There would have been a time when I would have been ashamed to admit this, like say, every day until yesterday. So why come clean now? I would say it’s the fact that I am totally vibing that song, “You think you’re cooler than me,” but I know that it’s not. (Although it does make me laugh every time and prompt me to pretend that I'm cool while cruising down highway 90 in my aviators and extra lipgloss). No, the real reason I share this juiciness with you now is that quite frankly, the Lord is bringing me face to face with this reality. And as strange as it sounds, I think He wants me to share it.
My descent into dorkdom/denial of dorkiness started approximately 10 years ago, just a few days before my sophomore year of high school began. For the past 10 years, that day has lived in infamy as the day I was branded "dorky".
I don’t remember exactly where I was when my best friend delivered the news, but I do remember exactly what she told me. As we chatted, she recounted the events that had transpired in the hallway that day. I walked by in my shortalls and floppy Blossom-esque hat on my way to the TV production classroom (I really am not making up these details to make myself seem less cool. This is for real)for mandatory pre-planning. I smiled and waved to my best friend and the two other girls she was with as they worked on tasks for student government(SGA- aka- the cool kids). A few minutes later, the conversation had somehow taken a trip down memory lane, when in the sixth grade, my feelings had been crushed when this same friend had informed me that some of the things I said and some of the clothes I wore were, well, dorky. And to be fair, she was right. I really was dorky. But somehow I had believed that that was then, and this was now, right? Wrong. Apparently I still was a dork, because right before my BFF had a chance to redeem the rest of the story and say how wonderful she thought I was now, one of the girls blurted out, “well, it’s true!”
“Well, it’s true.” That’s all that was said. The conversation changed right after, no other comments were made, no more laughs delivered at my expense. Most people would probably not see count this as a big deal, but I am not most people. And I can tell you in that moment, I. was. crushed. Mortified. Ashamed. I felt so foolish, for you see, I kind of actually thought I was friends with “well, it’s true” girl. Sure, she was beautiful and popular and stylish, but she had always been nice to me. I mean, we had cheered together as little girls! She knew my name!
This is probably seeming a little ridiculous by now, and maybe it is. Truth is, if I can count hearing that a pretty, popular girl said I was dorky as one of the most traumatizing things that has ever happened to me, then I’ve really had a pretty good life. But as a 15 year old with fragile self-esteem, I felt that night like my world was going to end. I cried myself to sleep that night and maybe the next night too. Yet even worse than my shattered ego was the attitude of my heart. I hated pretty, popular girl for what she said about me. I hated me for being so uncool. I envied her for being so pretty and likeable. And years later, as graduates of the same university, I still feared her. I feared what she thought of me. I feared what everyone thought of me.
I have to interject now, lest I go any further in my not-so-sad sob story without informing you that this girl is actually a very nice person. She loves the Lord, genuinely loves people, and I promise you that if she even had the slightest idea of how traumatized I would be by those three little words she whispered almost a decade ago, she would never, ever had said them.
But those words stuck like shrapnel in my brain, the only “truth” about myself that I could believe. I let that belief shape a lot of who I became. Because surely, if somehow that pretty and likeable thinks I’m a dork, then everyone must think that, right? I don’t think any change was visible on the outside, but something inside me changed that day. That was the day I started living in denial, denial of who I was and denial of who the Lord said I was. That was the day I started offering only the pieces of me that I thought people would like.
Flash forward ten years to today, where the Lord has brought me face to face with my fears. I think he’s tried to make me do business with this one before, but in my own sin and stubbornness I have refused to listen. This has nothing to do with that girl; I’ve forgiven her in my heart a long time ago. But now the Lord wants me to forgive me. Forgive myself for not being cool enough, or pretty enough, or nice enough, or godly enough. He wants me to believe that being a dork isn’t bad, because really, what is cool anyway? He so desperately wants me to believe in what I have to offer and give myself wholeheartedly to others, because he believes in me. He wants me to hop down from the shelf, in all my dork-glory, and be the woman he created me to be. And he wants me to invite others to do the same for themselves.
So today I present to you Katie Stickle, in all my dork finery. So what if I have an unhealthy fear of blushing because I get embarrassed easily and my whole face looks like it’s on fire? Or if I’m totally okay with wearing something that is so last season as long as I think I look cute? Who cares that I’m still totally awkwarded-out when guys try to hit on me, or that I get intimidated by pretty girls because I wonder if they can sense how not cool I feel. (And to think that the Lord has called me to ministry to sorority women. Crazy!) I’ll fess up now that I own an Aladdin thermos, and that try as I may my hair never stays in place, and that one of my shoes is usually untied. I may be shy, but I’m totally loveable.
That’s me. And if that makes me a dork, so be it. God told me he loves the dorks too.
No, I’m not the kind of dork that collects Star Wars memorabilia or counts down the days to MegaCon every year, and I’m certainly not the type of dork that is deemed cool by Hollywood’s standards right now. Yeah you know what I’m talking about, the “hot nerd” type- aka- the beautiful celebrities that claim they are really big geeks. Nope, I’m just your average dork. There would have been a time when I would have been ashamed to admit this, like say, every day until yesterday. So why come clean now? I would say it’s the fact that I am totally vibing that song, “You think you’re cooler than me,” but I know that it’s not. (Although it does make me laugh every time and prompt me to pretend that I'm cool while cruising down highway 90 in my aviators and extra lipgloss). No, the real reason I share this juiciness with you now is that quite frankly, the Lord is bringing me face to face with this reality. And as strange as it sounds, I think He wants me to share it.
My descent into dorkdom/denial of dorkiness started approximately 10 years ago, just a few days before my sophomore year of high school began. For the past 10 years, that day has lived in infamy as the day I was branded "dorky".
I don’t remember exactly where I was when my best friend delivered the news, but I do remember exactly what she told me. As we chatted, she recounted the events that had transpired in the hallway that day. I walked by in my shortalls and floppy Blossom-esque hat on my way to the TV production classroom (I really am not making up these details to make myself seem less cool. This is for real)for mandatory pre-planning. I smiled and waved to my best friend and the two other girls she was with as they worked on tasks for student government(SGA- aka- the cool kids). A few minutes later, the conversation had somehow taken a trip down memory lane, when in the sixth grade, my feelings had been crushed when this same friend had informed me that some of the things I said and some of the clothes I wore were, well, dorky. And to be fair, she was right. I really was dorky. But somehow I had believed that that was then, and this was now, right? Wrong. Apparently I still was a dork, because right before my BFF had a chance to redeem the rest of the story and say how wonderful she thought I was now, one of the girls blurted out, “well, it’s true!”
“Well, it’s true.” That’s all that was said. The conversation changed right after, no other comments were made, no more laughs delivered at my expense. Most people would probably not see count this as a big deal, but I am not most people. And I can tell you in that moment, I. was. crushed. Mortified. Ashamed. I felt so foolish, for you see, I kind of actually thought I was friends with “well, it’s true” girl. Sure, she was beautiful and popular and stylish, but she had always been nice to me. I mean, we had cheered together as little girls! She knew my name!
This is probably seeming a little ridiculous by now, and maybe it is. Truth is, if I can count hearing that a pretty, popular girl said I was dorky as one of the most traumatizing things that has ever happened to me, then I’ve really had a pretty good life. But as a 15 year old with fragile self-esteem, I felt that night like my world was going to end. I cried myself to sleep that night and maybe the next night too. Yet even worse than my shattered ego was the attitude of my heart. I hated pretty, popular girl for what she said about me. I hated me for being so uncool. I envied her for being so pretty and likeable. And years later, as graduates of the same university, I still feared her. I feared what she thought of me. I feared what everyone thought of me.
I have to interject now, lest I go any further in my not-so-sad sob story without informing you that this girl is actually a very nice person. She loves the Lord, genuinely loves people, and I promise you that if she even had the slightest idea of how traumatized I would be by those three little words she whispered almost a decade ago, she would never, ever had said them.
But those words stuck like shrapnel in my brain, the only “truth” about myself that I could believe. I let that belief shape a lot of who I became. Because surely, if somehow that pretty and likeable thinks I’m a dork, then everyone must think that, right? I don’t think any change was visible on the outside, but something inside me changed that day. That was the day I started living in denial, denial of who I was and denial of who the Lord said I was. That was the day I started offering only the pieces of me that I thought people would like.
Flash forward ten years to today, where the Lord has brought me face to face with my fears. I think he’s tried to make me do business with this one before, but in my own sin and stubbornness I have refused to listen. This has nothing to do with that girl; I’ve forgiven her in my heart a long time ago. But now the Lord wants me to forgive me. Forgive myself for not being cool enough, or pretty enough, or nice enough, or godly enough. He wants me to believe that being a dork isn’t bad, because really, what is cool anyway? He so desperately wants me to believe in what I have to offer and give myself wholeheartedly to others, because he believes in me. He wants me to hop down from the shelf, in all my dork-glory, and be the woman he created me to be. And he wants me to invite others to do the same for themselves.
So today I present to you Katie Stickle, in all my dork finery. So what if I have an unhealthy fear of blushing because I get embarrassed easily and my whole face looks like it’s on fire? Or if I’m totally okay with wearing something that is so last season as long as I think I look cute? Who cares that I’m still totally awkwarded-out when guys try to hit on me, or that I get intimidated by pretty girls because I wonder if they can sense how not cool I feel. (And to think that the Lord has called me to ministry to sorority women. Crazy!) I’ll fess up now that I own an Aladdin thermos, and that try as I may my hair never stays in place, and that one of my shoes is usually untied. I may be shy, but I’m totally loveable.
That’s me. And if that makes me a dork, so be it. God told me he loves the dorks too.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Thoughts on a Child's Tale
"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand." - The Velveteen Rabbit
I have tried to write this blog several times before, and somehow I just couldn’t get all my thoughts to flow in a coherent fashion. I could run with it in a thousand different directions. But tonight just felt like the right time to share that something about The Velveteen Rabbit resonates deeply within me, and I assume it’s because the Lord is trying to teach me something or some things. I have begun noticing that many times the Lord captures my attention through tales- fables, the parables, even a cartoon or two. Perhaps that’s why I love telling stories so much, because stories speak to my heart in such a relevant way.
At the heart of our story is this: the Velveteen Rabbit longs to be Real. But in order for that to happen, he must first be loved. This love is risky; it is not for the faint at heart. Like the Skin Horse warns, “it doesn’t happen often to people to break easily, or have sharp edges, or have to be carefully kept.” But the Velveteen Rabbit cares nothing of these warnings for the weak. He takes the risk, and at our story’s end he does indeed become Real- not just Real to the boy, but the Real that comes from being truly alive. And at our story’s end this rabbit, the Rabbit formerly made of Velveteen, visits the boy who first gave him to chance to become Real. And he is the most beautiful rabbit of them all.
I think I’m a lot like the Velveteen Rabbit. Not that I was fake before, I just wasn’t alive. On the outside I may have looked alive, I was living and breathing and maybe even smiling once in a while. But I’d be willing to bet that on certain days, if you looked inside, you’d see cotton batting in place of my organs. It was as if somewhere along the way I started to believe the lie that I didn’t have anything important to say. Maybe I never did believe. And with that, I shut off my heart to the world and at times to God himself.
It didn’t happen all at once- Satan was too smart to pull that. Surely I would have caught on sooner. But slowly and surely, over the past 10 months, my heart started to slip away. I bought into the lies that I was boring, that I was foolish, and that I certainly had nothing to offer the world or to the Lord. And so I kept to myself, not wanting to bore or burden anyone with my words, my hopes, my friendship. Until now.
As the Rabbit wants so badly to be Real, I too long to be Real. I want to choose the gutsy love, the love that is not for those who break easily or who need to be carefully kept. I know that in the midst of this difficult season, the Lord is offering me that love, His love. His offer has actually always been on the table; in fact, it's offered freely to everyone! But I'm just now starting to truly understand the value of his offer.
Weeks passed, and the little Rabbit grew very old and shabby, but the Boy loved him just as much. He loved him so hard that he loved all his whiskers off, and the pink lining to his ears turned grey, and his brown spots faded. He even began to lose his shape, and he scarcely looked like a rabbit any more, except to the Boy. To him he was always beautiful, and that was all that the little Rabbit cared about. He didn't mind how he looked to other people, because the nursery magic had made him Real, and when you are Real shabbiness doesn't matter.
Often times over the past few weeks I have compared myself to that little rabbit. At times I have felt pretty shabby; my smile and freckles faded, and sometimes I scarcely felt like a normal person. My heart and attitude were ugly. But I am reminded that no matter how shabby I look to the world, I will always be beautiful to the Lord.
I’m still fighting that battle, the one that says that sitting on the shelf being carefully kept and free from breaking is better than subjecting myself to tough love, Real love. But my heart knows that ultimately, if He’s offering me the chance to become Real -to become like his Son, to allow the Lord to love me- than that’s all this little rabbit wants to care about.
I have tried to write this blog several times before, and somehow I just couldn’t get all my thoughts to flow in a coherent fashion. I could run with it in a thousand different directions. But tonight just felt like the right time to share that something about The Velveteen Rabbit resonates deeply within me, and I assume it’s because the Lord is trying to teach me something or some things. I have begun noticing that many times the Lord captures my attention through tales- fables, the parables, even a cartoon or two. Perhaps that’s why I love telling stories so much, because stories speak to my heart in such a relevant way.
At the heart of our story is this: the Velveteen Rabbit longs to be Real. But in order for that to happen, he must first be loved. This love is risky; it is not for the faint at heart. Like the Skin Horse warns, “it doesn’t happen often to people to break easily, or have sharp edges, or have to be carefully kept.” But the Velveteen Rabbit cares nothing of these warnings for the weak. He takes the risk, and at our story’s end he does indeed become Real- not just Real to the boy, but the Real that comes from being truly alive. And at our story’s end this rabbit, the Rabbit formerly made of Velveteen, visits the boy who first gave him to chance to become Real. And he is the most beautiful rabbit of them all.
I think I’m a lot like the Velveteen Rabbit. Not that I was fake before, I just wasn’t alive. On the outside I may have looked alive, I was living and breathing and maybe even smiling once in a while. But I’d be willing to bet that on certain days, if you looked inside, you’d see cotton batting in place of my organs. It was as if somewhere along the way I started to believe the lie that I didn’t have anything important to say. Maybe I never did believe. And with that, I shut off my heart to the world and at times to God himself.
It didn’t happen all at once- Satan was too smart to pull that. Surely I would have caught on sooner. But slowly and surely, over the past 10 months, my heart started to slip away. I bought into the lies that I was boring, that I was foolish, and that I certainly had nothing to offer the world or to the Lord. And so I kept to myself, not wanting to bore or burden anyone with my words, my hopes, my friendship. Until now.
As the Rabbit wants so badly to be Real, I too long to be Real. I want to choose the gutsy love, the love that is not for those who break easily or who need to be carefully kept. I know that in the midst of this difficult season, the Lord is offering me that love, His love. His offer has actually always been on the table; in fact, it's offered freely to everyone! But I'm just now starting to truly understand the value of his offer.
Weeks passed, and the little Rabbit grew very old and shabby, but the Boy loved him just as much. He loved him so hard that he loved all his whiskers off, and the pink lining to his ears turned grey, and his brown spots faded. He even began to lose his shape, and he scarcely looked like a rabbit any more, except to the Boy. To him he was always beautiful, and that was all that the little Rabbit cared about. He didn't mind how he looked to other people, because the nursery magic had made him Real, and when you are Real shabbiness doesn't matter.
Often times over the past few weeks I have compared myself to that little rabbit. At times I have felt pretty shabby; my smile and freckles faded, and sometimes I scarcely felt like a normal person. My heart and attitude were ugly. But I am reminded that no matter how shabby I look to the world, I will always be beautiful to the Lord.
I’m still fighting that battle, the one that says that sitting on the shelf being carefully kept and free from breaking is better than subjecting myself to tough love, Real love. But my heart knows that ultimately, if He’s offering me the chance to become Real -to become like his Son, to allow the Lord to love me- than that’s all this little rabbit wants to care about.
Friday, July 9, 2010
What Do I Know of Holy?
Lately I’ve been battling a faith crisis in a major way. I know it seems silly, that someone who is going into full-time ministry would fight to believe that God loves her. A lot of it has to deal with unmet and perhaps somewhat unrealistic expectations, but somehow I’m still not fully grasping it. My head gets it, but my heart is still wanting to rebel against the God I know I love. It’s a little embarrassing to admit that. But I know that if I confess my sin to Him, he is faithful and just to forgive me and cleanse me from every wrong. 1 John 1:9 makes that clear. With that confession comes another- that over the past few days, I’ve felt too weak to even pray coherent thoughts. So I’ve had this song on repeat in my little Hyundai, hoping that as I belt the words, that God would know what I am trying to say. It’s by Addison Road, and it’s titled What Do I Know of Holy?
I made You promises a thousand times
I tried to hear from Heaven, but I talked the whole time
I think I made You too small, I never feared You at all, No
If You touched my face would I know You?
Looked into my eyes could I behold You?
What do I know of You, who spoke me into motion?
Where have I even stood, but the shore along Your ocean?
Are You fire? Are You fury? Are You sacred? Are You beautiful?
What do I know? What do I know of Holy?
I guess I thought that I had figured You out
I knew all the stories and I learned to talk about
How You were might to save
Those were only empty words on a page
Then I caught a glimpse of who You might be
The slightest hint of You brought me down to my knees
What do I know of You, who spoke me into motion?
Where have I even stood, but the shore along Your ocean?
Are You fire? Are You fury? Are You sacred? Are You beautiful?
What do I know? What do I know of Holy?
What do I know of Holy?
What do I know of wounds that will heal my shame?
And a God who gave life it's name?
What do I know of Holy?
Of the One who the angels praise?
All creation knows Your name
On earth and heaven above
What do I know of this love?
What do I know of You, who spoke me into motion?
Where have I even stood, but the shore along Your ocean?
Are You fire? Are You fury? Are You sacred? Are You beautiful?
What do I know? What do I know of Holy?
What do I know of Holy?
What do I know of Holy?
I made You promises a thousand times
I tried to hear from Heaven, but I talked the whole time
I think I made You too small, I never feared You at all, No
If You touched my face would I know You?
Looked into my eyes could I behold You?
What do I know of You, who spoke me into motion?
Where have I even stood, but the shore along Your ocean?
Are You fire? Are You fury? Are You sacred? Are You beautiful?
What do I know? What do I know of Holy?
I guess I thought that I had figured You out
I knew all the stories and I learned to talk about
How You were might to save
Those were only empty words on a page
Then I caught a glimpse of who You might be
The slightest hint of You brought me down to my knees
What do I know of You, who spoke me into motion?
Where have I even stood, but the shore along Your ocean?
Are You fire? Are You fury? Are You sacred? Are You beautiful?
What do I know? What do I know of Holy?
What do I know of Holy?
What do I know of wounds that will heal my shame?
And a God who gave life it's name?
What do I know of Holy?
Of the One who the angels praise?
All creation knows Your name
On earth and heaven above
What do I know of this love?
What do I know of You, who spoke me into motion?
Where have I even stood, but the shore along Your ocean?
Are You fire? Are You fury? Are You sacred? Are You beautiful?
What do I know? What do I know of Holy?
What do I know of Holy?
What do I know of Holy?
Friday, July 2, 2010
Rhythm is a Dancer
I love…
Waking up and not feeling the least bit tired.
Walking around the quad with my special friend who lives in Africa.
Getting calls from people I love.
Eating my weight in chocolate before noon.
Receiving personalized mail.
Not having to drive.
Spending time with fun friends.
Skating rink music.
World-cup themed cookie cakes.
Making people laugh.
Laughing really hard myself.
Chocolate reprises.
Days when I can’t seem to get that goofy grin off my face.
Dressing up.
Having Rachel do my eye make-up.
Thai food.
Taking glamour shots.
Knowing I’m delighted in.
Living carefree.
Being able to experience all this and more yesterday as a result of turning 25,
and the Lord, for loving me and blessing me with so much more than my fallen human heart will ever deserve. He gives such good gifts to his children, and I received so many of them yesterday!
After some very strategic stalling, I walked in on a "sweet" surprise!
This may be the most natural "action" shot of the night- trying to read my cake! There was a lot of icing to be read!
Confession: I may have watched one soccer game ever from birth to age 24. Then I fell in love with the World Cup this year. I can't get enough!
I told you I ate my weight in it!
I see you, Heather!
A few of my beautiful friends, from left to right: Alana, Elaine, me, Heather, & Rachel.
The favorite pose with my favorite friend!
Waking up and not feeling the least bit tired.
Walking around the quad with my special friend who lives in Africa.
Getting calls from people I love.
Eating my weight in chocolate before noon.
Receiving personalized mail.
Not having to drive.
Spending time with fun friends.
Skating rink music.
World-cup themed cookie cakes.
Making people laugh.
Laughing really hard myself.
Chocolate reprises.
Days when I can’t seem to get that goofy grin off my face.
Dressing up.
Having Rachel do my eye make-up.
Thai food.
Taking glamour shots.
Knowing I’m delighted in.
Living carefree.
Being able to experience all this and more yesterday as a result of turning 25,
and the Lord, for loving me and blessing me with so much more than my fallen human heart will ever deserve. He gives such good gifts to his children, and I received so many of them yesterday!
After some very strategic stalling, I walked in on a "sweet" surprise!
This may be the most natural "action" shot of the night- trying to read my cake! There was a lot of icing to be read!
Confession: I may have watched one soccer game ever from birth to age 24. Then I fell in love with the World Cup this year. I can't get enough!
I told you I ate my weight in it!
I see you, Heather!
A few of my beautiful friends, from left to right: Alana, Elaine, me, Heather, & Rachel.
Working my way to fabulous.
The favorite pose with my favorite friend!Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Do You Trust Me?
I’m really not good at trusting the Lord. So it’s kinda ironic that my job description includes trusting the Lord every day. Whether I am on campus meeting with girls or in the field raising support, I simply cannot function without Him. As a follower of Christ, I believe that not only are His plans for me good, but that they are better than the plans I have for myself. His plans for me are better than the ones I have for myself. Ouch. It stings my pride a little bit to write that, because to the world that seems foolish. And I have always prided myself on being a smart girl, not a foolish one. But claiming Christ means claiming that I trust him AND trust in him, despite what the world wants me to believe.
Raising support for 10 months now and seeing God come through in some pretty radical ways, you would think I would be a pro at trusting the Lord. Some days I deceive myself just enough to think that I am. I get into this groove of thinking, "oh yeah, I’m like a professional missionary. I’ve got this lesson on lock-down, Lord. Now that I trust you, can you quit punishing me and answer all my requests now so I can move on to much bigger and better things? Because clearly, I am ready. Thank you!" Yet the only thing that is made clear in those moments is that I am indeed not ready, as I obviously still have some pride issues that need to be ironed out.
And then there are those days like today, when I begin to drown in waves of doubt and frustration that the Lord reminds me of how little I do trust him. This afternoon I was outwardly preparing to run some errands, but my inner five year old was throwing a silent tantrum. I was grumbling to the Lord about a particularly stressful situation when out of nowhere this image popped into my mind. It was a very specific scene from a movie I have not watched in well over a decade, but I know the scene very well. And as silly as what you will read next may sound, I promise the Lord had a purpose for putting this into my brain…
Aladdin is not one of my favorite movies, but Aladdin himself is one of my all-time favorite characters. Maybe it’s because his character is way more developed than any other Disney prince proto-type. He’s got imagination in addition to his bravery. Or maybe it’s because I always thought that if he were real, he’d actually be kinda hot. Okay, so I had a crush on a cartoon. I digress. Cartoon Aladdin’s looks are not the purpose of this blog. But cartoon Aladdin’s actions are.
In this specific scene of the movie, Prince Ali (Aladdin) is perched on his magical flying carpet hovering above the balcony of beautiful Princess Jasmine. He offers to take her for a spin on the magic carpet and holds out his hand to her, asking, “Do you trust me?” Jasmine pauses and her eyes go wide, as if she has been asked this before. Indeed she has, at the beginning of the film by a young man in the marketplace (Aladdin during his pre-prince days). There is some familiarity in this prince’s voice now, enough to cause Jasmine to ask, “What?" as if trying to recall where she has heard this before. Her question prompts Prince Ali to repeat his question, almost insistently, “Do you trust me?” And with that same hinge of doubt in her voice but a look of curiosity, Jasmine trusts Prince Ali and says "yes." The second grader within you remembers what happens next- they sail around the world on the carpet, they sing “A Whole New World,” they fall in love, yada yada yada. Yet none of what happens after Jasmine said yes matters. The only thing that matters is simply that she said yes.
In the exact moment that I this pictured this scene, I felt the Lord whisper to me, “Do you trust me?” And in that next moment, I realized sadly that I don’t always. Some days I would answer that question with an emphatic, “Yes!”, while on days like today, I have more trouble channeling my inner Jasmine. Today the Lord reminded me that just as the viewers know that it is right for Jasmine to take Aladdin’s hand, it is right for me to trust Him. And even if it took a cartoon to open my eyes, I know that next time and every time the Lord asks me if I trust him, I want my answer to be “Yes!”
Raising support for 10 months now and seeing God come through in some pretty radical ways, you would think I would be a pro at trusting the Lord. Some days I deceive myself just enough to think that I am. I get into this groove of thinking, "oh yeah, I’m like a professional missionary. I’ve got this lesson on lock-down, Lord. Now that I trust you, can you quit punishing me and answer all my requests now so I can move on to much bigger and better things? Because clearly, I am ready. Thank you!" Yet the only thing that is made clear in those moments is that I am indeed not ready, as I obviously still have some pride issues that need to be ironed out.
And then there are those days like today, when I begin to drown in waves of doubt and frustration that the Lord reminds me of how little I do trust him. This afternoon I was outwardly preparing to run some errands, but my inner five year old was throwing a silent tantrum. I was grumbling to the Lord about a particularly stressful situation when out of nowhere this image popped into my mind. It was a very specific scene from a movie I have not watched in well over a decade, but I know the scene very well. And as silly as what you will read next may sound, I promise the Lord had a purpose for putting this into my brain…
Aladdin is not one of my favorite movies, but Aladdin himself is one of my all-time favorite characters. Maybe it’s because his character is way more developed than any other Disney prince proto-type. He’s got imagination in addition to his bravery. Or maybe it’s because I always thought that if he were real, he’d actually be kinda hot. Okay, so I had a crush on a cartoon. I digress. Cartoon Aladdin’s looks are not the purpose of this blog. But cartoon Aladdin’s actions are.
In this specific scene of the movie, Prince Ali (Aladdin) is perched on his magical flying carpet hovering above the balcony of beautiful Princess Jasmine. He offers to take her for a spin on the magic carpet and holds out his hand to her, asking, “Do you trust me?” Jasmine pauses and her eyes go wide, as if she has been asked this before. Indeed she has, at the beginning of the film by a young man in the marketplace (Aladdin during his pre-prince days). There is some familiarity in this prince’s voice now, enough to cause Jasmine to ask, “What?" as if trying to recall where she has heard this before. Her question prompts Prince Ali to repeat his question, almost insistently, “Do you trust me?” And with that same hinge of doubt in her voice but a look of curiosity, Jasmine trusts Prince Ali and says "yes." The second grader within you remembers what happens next- they sail around the world on the carpet, they sing “A Whole New World,” they fall in love, yada yada yada. Yet none of what happens after Jasmine said yes matters. The only thing that matters is simply that she said yes.
In the exact moment that I this pictured this scene, I felt the Lord whisper to me, “Do you trust me?” And in that next moment, I realized sadly that I don’t always. Some days I would answer that question with an emphatic, “Yes!”, while on days like today, I have more trouble channeling my inner Jasmine. Today the Lord reminded me that just as the viewers know that it is right for Jasmine to take Aladdin’s hand, it is right for me to trust Him. And even if it took a cartoon to open my eyes, I know that next time and every time the Lord asks me if I trust him, I want my answer to be “Yes!”
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Favorite Day
My favorite day (in Tuscaloosa) didn’t start off so favorably. It was hot as hades, and I just knew it was going to rain. And I was getting sick of the rain raining on my parade. But life goes on rain or shine, and after a quick stop at the bank Rach and I reluctantly headed off to Planet Fitness. Not reluctant to work out per se, but to step inside Planet Fitness itself. That place is sketch, and other highly reputable sources (Alana) have confirmed that it’s true. Maybe it’s because there is more standing around talking than working out at any given time. Or maybe it’s that feeling that someone creepy is probably scamming on you. Yesterday it was because everyone working out within a 5 foot radius of me smelled like moldy french fries. Regardless, we get our little 30 minute cardio in and high-tail it outside, only to find that’s it raining. Scratch that- pouring. And Rach with her I-Pod, and me in my oversized white t-shirt, are NOT stepping out into that rain.
So we decide to wait it out, walking down the strip-mall plaza to inconspicuously take cover away from PF. Guess we weren’t as incognito as I thought, because no sooner do we come to a stop than a door opens and a young man ( or teenager, not sure) steps out of the Chuck-E- Cheese’s! This sweet young worker guy then proceeds to ask us if we’d like some garbage bags to put over our heads so we won’t get wet. After a pretty long pause, we both accept his offer and follow him inside the pizza joint. (Which I immediately regretted because I started craving pizza. Probably coulda scored some free slices if we stuck around. Save that for another rainy day.) As soon as we step in the door, we encounter a little girl screaming her head off as another sibling struggles to hold her back. Apparently she was afraid of Chuck-E and bolted for the door. Yet not even this throws our new friend off his task. He promptly asks another co-worker for some garbage bags. Mind you, at this point I am expecting some small little bags to hold over our heads, maybe like a Publix bag. But oh no, this was much better, because out comes the other co-worker with two clear, industrial size garbage bags! After fumbling around for some scissors and coming up empty-handed, Chuck-E man decides to take it upon himself to bust holes through the bags and create ponchos for us. He even helps me slip it over my head! I’m not sure what Rachel is thinking at this point, but if my ESP is working correctly I know she is also dying on the inside. At this point I’m feeling really cool in my 4 ½ feet long garbage bag. But I can't laugh too hard, so I thank him while also silently thanking God that the bags were clear. Our new friend also searches for two zip-lock bags, and once successful in his hunt, helps Rach wrap up her I-Pod. No single layer for her, nope; he insists she double bag it. I’m not quite sure what inspired this sudden interest in sheltering the two us from the rain, but I figure it must have been a pretty slow day at Chuck-E’s.
At this point we’re feeling pretty protected and ready to roll. After a round of thank-yous, we bid Chuck-E and the gang good-bye, and get ready to make the mad dash to the car. So we take off, simultaneously trying not to trip over our full-length rain gear and laughing at our ridiculous fortune. Meanwhile, we are praying that no one we know recognizes us. (We could just imagine some students spotting us from afar and saying, Hey, who are those weirdos in garbage bags? Oh wait, are those the new staff girls?!) Then we plopped ourselves down in the car, super-fly garbage-bag ponchos and all, and cracked-up the entire way home.
I was retelling the story to my aunt and grandma today, and for some reason I don't think they thought it was very funny. I, on the other hand, think it was hilarious. Maybe it was just one of those you-had-to-be-there-moments. All I know is I loved it. It’s funny how God used something as loathsome as the rain to bring a smile to face. He's good at that, that being funny thing. And even if it’s something as silly as running through the rain in a garbage bag, I think he delights in seeing His children smile. So thanks for the laugh, God. And for my favorite day (in Tuscaloosa) so far.
I bet if this was a Hefty One-Zip we could have gotten away with just one.
I begin my career as a poncho model next week.
So we decide to wait it out, walking down the strip-mall plaza to inconspicuously take cover away from PF. Guess we weren’t as incognito as I thought, because no sooner do we come to a stop than a door opens and a young man ( or teenager, not sure) steps out of the Chuck-E- Cheese’s! This sweet young worker guy then proceeds to ask us if we’d like some garbage bags to put over our heads so we won’t get wet. After a pretty long pause, we both accept his offer and follow him inside the pizza joint. (Which I immediately regretted because I started craving pizza. Probably coulda scored some free slices if we stuck around. Save that for another rainy day.) As soon as we step in the door, we encounter a little girl screaming her head off as another sibling struggles to hold her back. Apparently she was afraid of Chuck-E and bolted for the door. Yet not even this throws our new friend off his task. He promptly asks another co-worker for some garbage bags. Mind you, at this point I am expecting some small little bags to hold over our heads, maybe like a Publix bag. But oh no, this was much better, because out comes the other co-worker with two clear, industrial size garbage bags! After fumbling around for some scissors and coming up empty-handed, Chuck-E man decides to take it upon himself to bust holes through the bags and create ponchos for us. He even helps me slip it over my head! I’m not sure what Rachel is thinking at this point, but if my ESP is working correctly I know she is also dying on the inside. At this point I’m feeling really cool in my 4 ½ feet long garbage bag. But I can't laugh too hard, so I thank him while also silently thanking God that the bags were clear. Our new friend also searches for two zip-lock bags, and once successful in his hunt, helps Rach wrap up her I-Pod. No single layer for her, nope; he insists she double bag it. I’m not quite sure what inspired this sudden interest in sheltering the two us from the rain, but I figure it must have been a pretty slow day at Chuck-E’s.
At this point we’re feeling pretty protected and ready to roll. After a round of thank-yous, we bid Chuck-E and the gang good-bye, and get ready to make the mad dash to the car. So we take off, simultaneously trying not to trip over our full-length rain gear and laughing at our ridiculous fortune. Meanwhile, we are praying that no one we know recognizes us. (We could just imagine some students spotting us from afar and saying, Hey, who are those weirdos in garbage bags? Oh wait, are those the new staff girls?!) Then we plopped ourselves down in the car, super-fly garbage-bag ponchos and all, and cracked-up the entire way home.
I was retelling the story to my aunt and grandma today, and for some reason I don't think they thought it was very funny. I, on the other hand, think it was hilarious. Maybe it was just one of those you-had-to-be-there-moments. All I know is I loved it. It’s funny how God used something as loathsome as the rain to bring a smile to face. He's good at that, that being funny thing. And even if it’s something as silly as running through the rain in a garbage bag, I think he delights in seeing His children smile. So thanks for the laugh, God. And for my favorite day (in Tuscaloosa) so far.
I bet if this was a Hefty One-Zip we could have gotten away with just one.
I begin my career as a poncho model next week.Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Anywhere But Here
Lately I find myself wanting to be anywhere, anywhere but here.
This struggle isn’t anything new- on the contrary. If I’ve learned anything about myself over the past almost 25 years, it’s that I don’t exactly thrive in new environments. I kinda just cope until this magical switch happens, and it always does. This is the story of my life: the Lord puts me somewhere, and the only place I want to be… is somewhere else. Where, I don’t usually know. But I do know that it happened when I first went off to college, when I spent a summer in Fort Lauderdale, while I was a new member in my sorority, my first summer at Greek Summit… the pattern recycles itself.
But praise the Lord, He always knows better than I do! And I was walking on campus yesterday, my heart was once again reminded of this. The setting sun and air too crisp for a May evening brought with them whispers of His sovereignty, and a sweet reminder of one of my favorite summers- the summer I spent in Jackson Hole, Wyoming.
My story begins late in the spring of 2008. I was gearing up to spend three weeks in Destin, getting my bronze on and, oh yeah, staffing a summer project too. I was pretty pumped. Until, that is, I received some unexpected news. I would not be reporting to Destin after all. Instead I was asked to relocate to Jackson Hole, WY.
Come again? You mean Wyoming, the least populated state in the entire nation?! Now I’m normally a pretty compliant girl, sometimes known to be a little bit of a pushover. But not this time. No, I was determined to fight back and get my will, in the most polite and respectful way, of course. But alas, the powers that be (meaning Crusade’s regional team), were firm in their decision. There was simply a greater need for single female staff in Jackson Hole, and well, that’s where they were sending me. Little did I know that the Lord, by way of the regional office, was giving me of the greatest gifts I have ever received in my short lifetime.
Immediately upon receiving the final word, I did some research on this Jackson Hole place. I had heard rumors of its beauty, and how refreshing it would be for my walk with the Lord. I had also heard through the grapevine that a few UCF students were coming, so that made it seem a little more appealing. But still, the doubting Thomas within me was stronger than any belief that I could or would love this summer as much as I thought I would love being in Destin.
A few weeks later, I landed in JH nervous but kind of excited, having no clue what to expect but hoping for the best. Stepping off the plane immediately put a few fears at ease, as Jackson Hole is breathtakingly beautiful. I don’t know how to properly articulate the majesty of such a place. The splendor of God’s creation is so evident there. Everywhere you look you can’t help but be amazed. Even the Albertson’s is gorgeous! You laugh, but it’s true. Upon arriving at my new home away from home I met the rest of the staff team, all of whom I came to enjoy working with immensely. I found out I’d be sharing a room with the other single staff women, Ellen & Kelly. I had no clue how much fun I’d come to have with them over the next 3 ½ weeks. Their wisdom and encouragement spoke volumes to my soul, and I doubt they know how deeply my time with them impacted me and my decision to continue in ministry. All in all, the first four days in JH weren’t so bad. They were quite wonderful, actually. I had some time to get to know the lay of the land, cruise the strip, eat gobs of great food, do a little exploring (I looove to explore!) and prep for the students.
Those first four days were crucial for preparing my heart for the weeks ahead, and soon I felt ready to welcome 24 fresh new faces! But the night before the students arrived, I was up most of the night with one of the worst stomach aches of my life. I usually get stomach aches when I’m feeling anxious, but it’s rare that I can’t sleep it off. I wish I had been able to quiet my brain that night, because that stomach ache may have been one of my biggest wastes of emotion. I would soon come to find out that there was absolutely nothing to be nervous about, nothing at all.
The next day the students arrived, and I still recall seeing their anxious yet excited faces. Many of them were feeling the same way I had just a few days prior, I was sure. I remember the nervous energy floating around “the compound”, that same energy that had all but evaporated day two. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a group of strangers bond so quickly. Within days I grew to love each of the girls in my small group, and I wondered how I had been so blessed to have the group I did. Looking back, it is so clear the Lord had his hand over this place, and my heart. I don’t know if I can quite put into words the magic that transpired during the rest of project, one blog post simply couldn’t do it justice! But I’m sure you know how I felt when I say that those next 3 ½ weeks passed by in what seemed to be the blink of an eye. Before I knew it, I was leaving the airport in tears, so heartbroken to say good-bye to these precious students that I had grown to love so much.
To say I that I loved my time in Jackson Hole would be a gross understatement. Every second of that project, I never questioned being anywhere but there. The place I hadn’t wanted to go became the place I didn’t want to leave. Despite my initial refusal the Lord had prepared for me a most precious gift- a more rich understanding of the His sovereignty and grace in my life. It is because of my time there, in Jackson Hole, that I began to truly love ministry. It was because of that next year of ministry that I was convinced of my calling to join staff with Campus Crusade for Christ. And it was my because of my answer to that call that I was led to the exact place I am in now: Tuscaloosa, Alabama.
I don’t know where I would be now had the Lord not intervened that summer. I may have loved Greek Summit, or I may have hated it. I may have walked away from that summer in love with ministry, or ready to throw in the towel. To this day no one but the Lord knows, and who but him should care? I am so thankful for His change in my direction. Through all the valleys I have walked and in all the places where I wanted to be anywhere but, I have learned that the Lord’s plans for me are good. And although I’m still struggling with wanting to be anywhere but here this summer, I will obediently look with anticipation to the days the Lord has planned for me.
A summer in review: JHSP 08
This struggle isn’t anything new- on the contrary. If I’ve learned anything about myself over the past almost 25 years, it’s that I don’t exactly thrive in new environments. I kinda just cope until this magical switch happens, and it always does. This is the story of my life: the Lord puts me somewhere, and the only place I want to be… is somewhere else. Where, I don’t usually know. But I do know that it happened when I first went off to college, when I spent a summer in Fort Lauderdale, while I was a new member in my sorority, my first summer at Greek Summit… the pattern recycles itself.
But praise the Lord, He always knows better than I do! And I was walking on campus yesterday, my heart was once again reminded of this. The setting sun and air too crisp for a May evening brought with them whispers of His sovereignty, and a sweet reminder of one of my favorite summers- the summer I spent in Jackson Hole, Wyoming.
My story begins late in the spring of 2008. I was gearing up to spend three weeks in Destin, getting my bronze on and, oh yeah, staffing a summer project too. I was pretty pumped. Until, that is, I received some unexpected news. I would not be reporting to Destin after all. Instead I was asked to relocate to Jackson Hole, WY.
Come again? You mean Wyoming, the least populated state in the entire nation?! Now I’m normally a pretty compliant girl, sometimes known to be a little bit of a pushover. But not this time. No, I was determined to fight back and get my will, in the most polite and respectful way, of course. But alas, the powers that be (meaning Crusade’s regional team), were firm in their decision. There was simply a greater need for single female staff in Jackson Hole, and well, that’s where they were sending me. Little did I know that the Lord, by way of the regional office, was giving me of the greatest gifts I have ever received in my short lifetime.
Immediately upon receiving the final word, I did some research on this Jackson Hole place. I had heard rumors of its beauty, and how refreshing it would be for my walk with the Lord. I had also heard through the grapevine that a few UCF students were coming, so that made it seem a little more appealing. But still, the doubting Thomas within me was stronger than any belief that I could or would love this summer as much as I thought I would love being in Destin.
A few weeks later, I landed in JH nervous but kind of excited, having no clue what to expect but hoping for the best. Stepping off the plane immediately put a few fears at ease, as Jackson Hole is breathtakingly beautiful. I don’t know how to properly articulate the majesty of such a place. The splendor of God’s creation is so evident there. Everywhere you look you can’t help but be amazed. Even the Albertson’s is gorgeous! You laugh, but it’s true. Upon arriving at my new home away from home I met the rest of the staff team, all of whom I came to enjoy working with immensely. I found out I’d be sharing a room with the other single staff women, Ellen & Kelly. I had no clue how much fun I’d come to have with them over the next 3 ½ weeks. Their wisdom and encouragement spoke volumes to my soul, and I doubt they know how deeply my time with them impacted me and my decision to continue in ministry. All in all, the first four days in JH weren’t so bad. They were quite wonderful, actually. I had some time to get to know the lay of the land, cruise the strip, eat gobs of great food, do a little exploring (I looove to explore!) and prep for the students.
Those first four days were crucial for preparing my heart for the weeks ahead, and soon I felt ready to welcome 24 fresh new faces! But the night before the students arrived, I was up most of the night with one of the worst stomach aches of my life. I usually get stomach aches when I’m feeling anxious, but it’s rare that I can’t sleep it off. I wish I had been able to quiet my brain that night, because that stomach ache may have been one of my biggest wastes of emotion. I would soon come to find out that there was absolutely nothing to be nervous about, nothing at all.
The next day the students arrived, and I still recall seeing their anxious yet excited faces. Many of them were feeling the same way I had just a few days prior, I was sure. I remember the nervous energy floating around “the compound”, that same energy that had all but evaporated day two. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a group of strangers bond so quickly. Within days I grew to love each of the girls in my small group, and I wondered how I had been so blessed to have the group I did. Looking back, it is so clear the Lord had his hand over this place, and my heart. I don’t know if I can quite put into words the magic that transpired during the rest of project, one blog post simply couldn’t do it justice! But I’m sure you know how I felt when I say that those next 3 ½ weeks passed by in what seemed to be the blink of an eye. Before I knew it, I was leaving the airport in tears, so heartbroken to say good-bye to these precious students that I had grown to love so much.
To say I that I loved my time in Jackson Hole would be a gross understatement. Every second of that project, I never questioned being anywhere but there. The place I hadn’t wanted to go became the place I didn’t want to leave. Despite my initial refusal the Lord had prepared for me a most precious gift- a more rich understanding of the His sovereignty and grace in my life. It is because of my time there, in Jackson Hole, that I began to truly love ministry. It was because of that next year of ministry that I was convinced of my calling to join staff with Campus Crusade for Christ. And it was my because of my answer to that call that I was led to the exact place I am in now: Tuscaloosa, Alabama.
I don’t know where I would be now had the Lord not intervened that summer. I may have loved Greek Summit, or I may have hated it. I may have walked away from that summer in love with ministry, or ready to throw in the towel. To this day no one but the Lord knows, and who but him should care? I am so thankful for His change in my direction. Through all the valleys I have walked and in all the places where I wanted to be anywhere but, I have learned that the Lord’s plans for me are good. And although I’m still struggling with wanting to be anywhere but here this summer, I will obediently look with anticipation to the days the Lord has planned for me.
A summer in review: JHSP 08
Home Sweet Home, The Rocky Mountain Lodge, aka- "The Compound."
With a view like this, I didn't mind waking up early every morning!
My first hike!
Hiking Jenny Lake.
Sticks n Stones at Inspiration Point!
One of my favorite drives in the rental car, the road to Wilson.
It was snowing the second to last day- in June!
A quick pit stop in the Tetons after New Staff Training last year... felt good to be back!
“In his heart a man plans his course, but the Lord determines his steps.” Proverbs 16:9
80s themed dance party!
Yellowstone.
One of my favorite drives in the rental car, the road to Wilson.
Snapped this pic on top of a mountain, sitting atop my horse!
My girls from L to R: Kristin, Molly, Lindsey, Me, Heather, & Allison. I love you ladies!
It was snowing the second to last day- in June!
The whole crew: JHSP 08!
A quick pit stop in the Tetons after New Staff Training last year... felt good to be back!
“In his heart a man plans his course, but the Lord determines his steps.” Proverbs 16:9
Monday, May 10, 2010
Psalm 34
The past 9 months of my life have been a battle of sorts. A battle to be joyful, a battle to be satisfied, a battle to believe. For the past 9 months, I have been raising support to do full-time mission work. I knew when the Lord placed this call in my life that the support path would be difficult, but I never thought it’d be this hard. Three quarters of a year in, I am only about halfway to my goal. To say I often fight feelings of discouragement would be an understatement. Not that the Lord has not shown up in some awesome ways! But my heart desires to be on campus so badly it aches. I’ve run the gamut of emotions, from elation to shame and back again. Sometimes I struggle to believe that I can do this, or believe that I am even worthy of the Lord’s provision. In my darkest moments, I fight to believe the Lord’s plan for me are good.
I’m the girl who believes that everyone else’s glasses are full, but is deceived enough to think that hers is half empty. It is from this mentality that my struggles are bred. If I’ve learned anything over these past 9 months, it is that not only is this way of thinking not good for me, it is unbiblical! And it’s certainly not glorifying to my Father in heaven! Praise God, He does not leave us defenseless. He has given us His Word, the sword with which we are to fight and the light that pierces through my darkness.
During this season of my life, I find myself consistently drawn to the Psalms. I love the reading through the Psalms. I find that though I am a very emotional person, I am not always an overly expressive person. I've always had trouble articulating how I feel. The Psalms seem to express the thoughts I can’t always put words to, the things that despite how I feel I know are true. Psalm 34 has been one of those passages the Lord keeps leading me back to. Every time I read it, my heart recognizes it's true. But that's not enough for the Lord; He wants me to believe it for myself. And I want to believe it too, because with the truth comes victory over the battles.
Psalm 34
1 A psalm of David, regarding the time he pretended to be insane in front of Abimelech, who sent him away. I will praise the LORD at all times. I will constantly speak his praises.
2 I will boast only in the LORD; let all who are discouraged take heart.
3 Come, let us tell of the LORD's greatness; let us exalt his name together.
4 I prayed to the LORD, and he answered me, freeing me from all my fears.
5 Those who look to him for help will be radiant with joy; no shadow of shame will darken their faces.
6 I cried out to the LORD in my suffering, and he heard me. He set me free from all my fears.
7 For the angel of the LORD guards all who fear him, and he rescues them.
8 Taste and see that the LORD is good. Oh, the joys of those who trust in him!
9 Let the LORD's people show him reverence, for those who honor him will have all they need.
10 Even strong young lions sometimes go hungry, but those who trust in the LORD will never lack any good thing.
11 Come, my children, and listen to me, and I will teach you to fear the LORD.
12 Do any of you want to live a life that is long and good?
13 Then watch your tongue! Keep your lips from telling lies!
14Turn away from evil and do good. Work hard at living in peace with others.
15 The eyes of the LORD watch over those who do right; his ears are open to their cries for help.
16 But the LORD turns his face against those who do evil; he will erase their memory from the earth.
17 The LORD hears his people when they call to him for help. He rescues them from all their troubles.
18 The LORD is close to the brokenhearted; he rescues those who are crushed in spirit.
19 The righteous face many troubles, but the LORD rescues them from each and every one.
20 For the LORD protects them from harm-- not one of their bones will be broken!
21 Calamity will surely overtake the wicked, and those who hate the righteous will be punished.
22 But the LORD will redeem those who serve him. Everyone who trusts in him will be freely pardoned.
I’m the girl who believes that everyone else’s glasses are full, but is deceived enough to think that hers is half empty. It is from this mentality that my struggles are bred. If I’ve learned anything over these past 9 months, it is that not only is this way of thinking not good for me, it is unbiblical! And it’s certainly not glorifying to my Father in heaven! Praise God, He does not leave us defenseless. He has given us His Word, the sword with which we are to fight and the light that pierces through my darkness.
During this season of my life, I find myself consistently drawn to the Psalms. I love the reading through the Psalms. I find that though I am a very emotional person, I am not always an overly expressive person. I've always had trouble articulating how I feel. The Psalms seem to express the thoughts I can’t always put words to, the things that despite how I feel I know are true. Psalm 34 has been one of those passages the Lord keeps leading me back to. Every time I read it, my heart recognizes it's true. But that's not enough for the Lord; He wants me to believe it for myself. And I want to believe it too, because with the truth comes victory over the battles.
Psalm 34
1 A psalm of David, regarding the time he pretended to be insane in front of Abimelech, who sent him away. I will praise the LORD at all times. I will constantly speak his praises.
2 I will boast only in the LORD; let all who are discouraged take heart.
3 Come, let us tell of the LORD's greatness; let us exalt his name together.
4 I prayed to the LORD, and he answered me, freeing me from all my fears.
5 Those who look to him for help will be radiant with joy; no shadow of shame will darken their faces.
6 I cried out to the LORD in my suffering, and he heard me. He set me free from all my fears.
7 For the angel of the LORD guards all who fear him, and he rescues them.
8 Taste and see that the LORD is good. Oh, the joys of those who trust in him!
9 Let the LORD's people show him reverence, for those who honor him will have all they need.
10 Even strong young lions sometimes go hungry, but those who trust in the LORD will never lack any good thing.
11 Come, my children, and listen to me, and I will teach you to fear the LORD.
12 Do any of you want to live a life that is long and good?
13 Then watch your tongue! Keep your lips from telling lies!
14Turn away from evil and do good. Work hard at living in peace with others.
15 The eyes of the LORD watch over those who do right; his ears are open to their cries for help.
16 But the LORD turns his face against those who do evil; he will erase their memory from the earth.
17 The LORD hears his people when they call to him for help. He rescues them from all their troubles.
18 The LORD is close to the brokenhearted; he rescues those who are crushed in spirit.
19 The righteous face many troubles, but the LORD rescues them from each and every one.
20 For the LORD protects them from harm-- not one of their bones will be broken!
21 Calamity will surely overtake the wicked, and those who hate the righteous will be punished.
22 But the LORD will redeem those who serve him. Everyone who trusts in him will be freely pardoned.
Thursday, May 6, 2010
The Grace Killer
If you have traveled to London, you have perhaps seen royalty. If so, you may have noticed sophistication, aloofness, distance. On occasion, royalty in England will make news because someone in the ranks of nobility will stop, kneel down, and touch or bless a commoner. That is grace. There is nothing in the commoner that deserves being noticed or touched or blessed by the royal family. But because of grace in the heart of the royal person, there is the desire at that moment to pause, to stoop, to touch, even to bless.
- Chuck Swindoll
For years I've yearned to understand grace, to know what it was like to experience true grace for myself. It was like this great big mystery that I knew was good, was good for me, and was freely given to me. Yeah, I knew all about the grace you learn about in Sunday school, but somehow that didn’t satisfy me. Maybe because deep down, I knew there was more to it. Some people I knew just really seemed to get it, to relish it, to live it! And so often I wondered what it would be like to experience grace like that, the grace that makes people sing and dance and clap, the grace that truly sets people free.
If I know anything, it’s that God so desperately wants his children to understand grace, to receive it for ourselves. Understanding grace means to cherish grace. To cherish grace is to cherish the giver of grace. True grace knows that it is wholly undeserved, yet lovingly given even if it may never be returned.
I know I love God. And I know that I believe that anything he has for me has to be good. So what is it about grace that makes it so hard for people to receive? It’s called the fall, people, our own stupid pride.
Isn't it amazing how, as Christians, we often fall to our knees in praise when the Lord answers our requests, the first thought being, "I don't deserve this!" Oh, but how different that story was even the very moment before we were touched by His grace. I'm the first in line to admit this. Even if I send up a half-hearted prayer, my attitude is whole-heartedly one of entitlement. I deserve this, Father. Why aren't you giving it me? And yet the moment the Lord chooses to stoop down, to bless me, I turn instantaneously into a blubbering mess. I don't even take time to enjoy the gift he's chosen to give! Often times, in that moment, I reject His grace, the same grace I so often long to embrace.
My friendships have taught me more about God’s grace- and about how good I am at rejecting it- more than most books I’ve read. 9 times out of 10, I am on the receiving end of friendship. I have been blessed with sweet friends that pursue me time and time again, calling me even though I rarely call them first. Yet they always seem just as eager to talk with me, to care about my life even when I don't care about my life. I have been given friends that sit with me as I battle my own demons over and over, talking circles around myself, yet they never give up on me, and never get tired of loving someone who never feels like she has her act together. (Side note: No one really does. Nor should anyone desire to. To desire this is to not to desire Christ.) I have friends that assure me that through thick and thin, they won't be going anywhere. So desperately I long to repay these precious people for their kinds words, their hours of encouragement, their prayers, their advice! I long for nothing more than to return to them ten-fold the love and grace they've shown me. This is a good desire. Yet on the flip-side, so often I wonder what delight my friendship could possibly bring to them. It’s disgusting how quickly the Enemy turns me from a grateful recipient of love to a self-loathing rejecter of grace. In this moment, I turn into what Chuck Swindoll would call a grace killer.
It is in that next moment, then, that I must choose for myself to accept grace. Not that I should ever take advantage of grace- of course I should love and cherish and serve well the people the Lord has placed in my path! But I should never believe that my sin is greater than God’s grace, nor should I ever reject the grace that is so freely given to me. To do so if not glorifying to the One I claim I seek to bring glory to.
Understanding grace means understanding that there is nothing in me that deserves to be noticed, or touched, or blessed by the Lord. But in His infinite love, he chooses to do so. His word says it brings him delight! The Lord is noble, but he is not British nobility. He is not aloof- far from it! He knows everything about me, the good, the bad, the ugly. And yet, he notices me. Before the creation of the world, He chose me in him to be holy and blameless before him (Ephesians 1, read it!). Before the foundation of the world, he saw me and said, “I. Want. Her.” The Lord takes the time to pause, to stoop, to touch and to lavishly bless me, despite the fact that I did nothing to earn his favor. Why? Because that’s what grace is. And that’s what love does.
* Quotations by Chuck Swindoll taken from his book, The Grace Awakening.
- Chuck Swindoll
For years I've yearned to understand grace, to know what it was like to experience true grace for myself. It was like this great big mystery that I knew was good, was good for me, and was freely given to me. Yeah, I knew all about the grace you learn about in Sunday school, but somehow that didn’t satisfy me. Maybe because deep down, I knew there was more to it. Some people I knew just really seemed to get it, to relish it, to live it! And so often I wondered what it would be like to experience grace like that, the grace that makes people sing and dance and clap, the grace that truly sets people free.
If I know anything, it’s that God so desperately wants his children to understand grace, to receive it for ourselves. Understanding grace means to cherish grace. To cherish grace is to cherish the giver of grace. True grace knows that it is wholly undeserved, yet lovingly given even if it may never be returned.
I know I love God. And I know that I believe that anything he has for me has to be good. So what is it about grace that makes it so hard for people to receive? It’s called the fall, people, our own stupid pride.
Isn't it amazing how, as Christians, we often fall to our knees in praise when the Lord answers our requests, the first thought being, "I don't deserve this!" Oh, but how different that story was even the very moment before we were touched by His grace. I'm the first in line to admit this. Even if I send up a half-hearted prayer, my attitude is whole-heartedly one of entitlement. I deserve this, Father. Why aren't you giving it me? And yet the moment the Lord chooses to stoop down, to bless me, I turn instantaneously into a blubbering mess. I don't even take time to enjoy the gift he's chosen to give! Often times, in that moment, I reject His grace, the same grace I so often long to embrace.
My friendships have taught me more about God’s grace- and about how good I am at rejecting it- more than most books I’ve read. 9 times out of 10, I am on the receiving end of friendship. I have been blessed with sweet friends that pursue me time and time again, calling me even though I rarely call them first. Yet they always seem just as eager to talk with me, to care about my life even when I don't care about my life. I have been given friends that sit with me as I battle my own demons over and over, talking circles around myself, yet they never give up on me, and never get tired of loving someone who never feels like she has her act together. (Side note: No one really does. Nor should anyone desire to. To desire this is to not to desire Christ.) I have friends that assure me that through thick and thin, they won't be going anywhere. So desperately I long to repay these precious people for their kinds words, their hours of encouragement, their prayers, their advice! I long for nothing more than to return to them ten-fold the love and grace they've shown me. This is a good desire. Yet on the flip-side, so often I wonder what delight my friendship could possibly bring to them. It’s disgusting how quickly the Enemy turns me from a grateful recipient of love to a self-loathing rejecter of grace. In this moment, I turn into what Chuck Swindoll would call a grace killer.
It is in that next moment, then, that I must choose for myself to accept grace. Not that I should ever take advantage of grace- of course I should love and cherish and serve well the people the Lord has placed in my path! But I should never believe that my sin is greater than God’s grace, nor should I ever reject the grace that is so freely given to me. To do so if not glorifying to the One I claim I seek to bring glory to.
Understanding grace means understanding that there is nothing in me that deserves to be noticed, or touched, or blessed by the Lord. But in His infinite love, he chooses to do so. His word says it brings him delight! The Lord is noble, but he is not British nobility. He is not aloof- far from it! He knows everything about me, the good, the bad, the ugly. And yet, he notices me. Before the creation of the world, He chose me in him to be holy and blameless before him (Ephesians 1, read it!). Before the foundation of the world, he saw me and said, “I. Want. Her.” The Lord takes the time to pause, to stoop, to touch and to lavishly bless me, despite the fact that I did nothing to earn his favor. Why? Because that’s what grace is. And that’s what love does.
* Quotations by Chuck Swindoll taken from his book, The Grace Awakening.
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