The only conclusion I can come to this morning is that I must have pissed someone off. (Perhaps something as I'm not completely clear on whether or not demons are classifiable as people.) But oh, oh, they were angry this morning.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not a morning person. I try, I really do. And I'm usually happy in the mornings, but it's a quiet, 'give me an hour to be social' sort of happy. A quiet happiness at the morning. This morning, I woke to nothing but... condemnation and degradation.
There are things I've never been good at. Money management has never been a strong point. I don't bounce checks, I don't have multiple overdue (or even a single overdue or maxed out) credit cards, I pay all of my bills and I pay them on time, every time. I'm just consistently broke (which is why we're very excited about a second job opportunity!), can't help small splurges (usually at the grocery store), and really suck at tithing/giving. It's really... well it's shameful. I am ashamed with how I spend the small amount entrusted to me. How is it that I can always find an extra five bucks for more chicken breast, or an extra bottle of honey, or that now rare diet coke, but can never find it when it comes time to give it away? I know that I am a poor steward of the resources entrusted to me. It is a sin that I confess often, and look forward to God's transforming work there. Even if it just involves a husband who is good with it and handing my checkbook over to him. I'm okay with that. I know I suck at it. I know I have to change.
And I know I don't pray enough. I pray constantly, but with little focus. I know I really need to spend concentrated, dedicated time in prayer. For others, for myself, for my city, to just talk to Him and really listen. But I'm trying with that one too. As it gets warmer and warmer I look forward to getting back into my hammock prayer time. I put thought into each day. There is far more time dedicated to it now than a year ago, or even a month ago. Not every change in the Christian life is that of Paul, sometimes it takes years.
Most people know that I'm harder on myself than anyone ever could be on me. And my faults and failures do often bother me. But I've learned that beating myself up, putting myself down, heaping extra punishment upon myself, or any other destructive behavior doesn't help, but only damages more. I've gotten a lot better at just giving it to God with sincere confession and repentance. That's why this morning was just so startling. I didn't sleep well. I woke up near panic. PANIC. About a bill that needs to be paid in 2 weeks, which I will have the money to pay in 2 weeks. About the half sink full of dirty dishes. About needing to remake my work calendar. I'm no longer panicked, as the light of day has revealed the silliness of those anxieties.
But I find myself still close to tears because it was more than just a misplaced morning panic. It was insults and condemnation. "How can somehow who fucks up so often still call themselves a Christian? If God cannot entrust to you $5 then how can He give you the gift of salvation? You're such a fuck up. That's all you are, one giant fuck up. A stupid, selfish bitch." That is a small, small sample. That's a relatively clean sample at that. Even though the morning has revealed the silliness of the anxiety, waking up to someone (thing) hurling insults at you isn't exactly a solid way to start the day, and is a lot harder to forget.
I'm not sure why I'm writing this. It's not for comfort. I know the anxiety and attacks were lies. And not very convincing ones at that. It took morning grogginess to give them any power. And they're losing what little power is left as the sun rises. I guess... I just want to encourage you. We all have bad mornings, bad nights, bad days. We all have those days when everything seems to be attacking, when the anxieties are overwhelming, when the self loathing is stronger than the truth of who you are. Don't let them get to you, don't let the lies overpower the truth. Don't let them take what you've worked so hard for. Because you have worked so hard for who you are. You have worked so hard to overcome the obstacles and build a life to be proud of. We both have. So as the sun continues to rise, let the lies vanish like the dew, and let our hearts be turned toward the Son who shines all truth. Let us sit at His feet and listen to what He has to say about us.
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
Day One Hundred and Eleven - Places
As in all of our lives, my life has been marked by certain events that changed me. They're not always the most dramatic moments, or the happiest, or the saddest. Sometimes, it's the culmination of a bunch of little ones that add up to something significant. To a single moment, where all of them come together. And believe it or not, I am incredibly sentimental, and hold tightly to these memories. To those people. Some, I get to keep in my life; others were for a single season, never to be heard from again.
But tonight, it is not the people who fill my mind, but the places. The places that because of singular moments, have become, in their own way, holy to me. Sacred. In the Old Testament, when people had great moments of revelation of God, they would build altars and name the place to remember, and have their children remember, and generations remember, what had happened there. That's what these places are to me. They are altars, that every time I visit, I am reminded.
Room 202 in my old high school. I went there today, to visit my favorite teacher of all time. She and I got to catch up, and it was lovely. I even sat through one of her classes. That woman taught me how to think. Okay, she taught me how to think critically on my feet. It was there, in that room, that I discovered an enduring love of logic, and for the first time in a long time, found a place where I belonged. After we talked, I left for a little bit, to visit other teachers that I remember fondly, and when I came back to say goodbye to her, the room was empty. And it was striking. It still had the same feel, the same exact smell of paper and copy ink and dust and old stage make up and dry erase markers. It was still, the way it used to be at 5am before we left for debate tournaments. It was incredibly comforting. So many places change with time, and become something far different than you remember them. But this one, for now at least, remains completely unchanged. Untouched by time. It is one of my altars.
Another is the bottom of the steps to my apartment. I cannot tell you how many times I have sat on those steps and had deep, intimate God talks with friends. An entire summer was filled of nights with those steps. Though no longer every time I walk on them, every time the air is right, the temperature is warm, the stars are out, and the city is quiet (which is more often than you'd think) I am again brought back to that time and worship. It is one of my altars.
There is a bridge, close to the home in which I grew up. It is on gravel, the lowest bridge in the county. It's in the middle of nowhere, literally fifteen minutes from the closest small town. It goes over the interstate. Which is awesome because during a break in traffic, if you look up, you can see every star in the sky. You can see the milky way with your naked eye. And when the semi trucks rush underneath, less than 18 inches from your feet, you cannot help the slight surge of adrenaline. Especially if you look down. I love going here, and have shared this particular altar with a great many friends. It's beautiful. It's one of the most beautiful places on earth, second only in my heart to my most sacred altar, Chapel By The Lake.
These are only some. There is a summer camp in Florida, in particular a single room of a single building, which will always be near and dear to me. There is a porch on a dilapidated house in the center of this town. There is a single home on a lake in Arkansas. There is a room in a building called POOR house in West Palm Beach. There is a park in a small town in northeast Iowa.
These places serve as a witness and a reminder: to never forget what happened here. To never forget that I was changed. To never forget the events, people, and moments that changed me. Throughout my life, I hope to have a great many more altars made, because I never want to stop learning and growing. There is seemingly an infinite amount of room in my heart for altars, so let them come. Let me be changed, let me learn, let me be forever moved closer and closer to the heart of my God. And let me never forget a single one of them.
But tonight, it is not the people who fill my mind, but the places. The places that because of singular moments, have become, in their own way, holy to me. Sacred. In the Old Testament, when people had great moments of revelation of God, they would build altars and name the place to remember, and have their children remember, and generations remember, what had happened there. That's what these places are to me. They are altars, that every time I visit, I am reminded.
Room 202 in my old high school. I went there today, to visit my favorite teacher of all time. She and I got to catch up, and it was lovely. I even sat through one of her classes. That woman taught me how to think. Okay, she taught me how to think critically on my feet. It was there, in that room, that I discovered an enduring love of logic, and for the first time in a long time, found a place where I belonged. After we talked, I left for a little bit, to visit other teachers that I remember fondly, and when I came back to say goodbye to her, the room was empty. And it was striking. It still had the same feel, the same exact smell of paper and copy ink and dust and old stage make up and dry erase markers. It was still, the way it used to be at 5am before we left for debate tournaments. It was incredibly comforting. So many places change with time, and become something far different than you remember them. But this one, for now at least, remains completely unchanged. Untouched by time. It is one of my altars.
Another is the bottom of the steps to my apartment. I cannot tell you how many times I have sat on those steps and had deep, intimate God talks with friends. An entire summer was filled of nights with those steps. Though no longer every time I walk on them, every time the air is right, the temperature is warm, the stars are out, and the city is quiet (which is more often than you'd think) I am again brought back to that time and worship. It is one of my altars.
There is a bridge, close to the home in which I grew up. It is on gravel, the lowest bridge in the county. It's in the middle of nowhere, literally fifteen minutes from the closest small town. It goes over the interstate. Which is awesome because during a break in traffic, if you look up, you can see every star in the sky. You can see the milky way with your naked eye. And when the semi trucks rush underneath, less than 18 inches from your feet, you cannot help the slight surge of adrenaline. Especially if you look down. I love going here, and have shared this particular altar with a great many friends. It's beautiful. It's one of the most beautiful places on earth, second only in my heart to my most sacred altar, Chapel By The Lake.
These are only some. There is a summer camp in Florida, in particular a single room of a single building, which will always be near and dear to me. There is a porch on a dilapidated house in the center of this town. There is a single home on a lake in Arkansas. There is a room in a building called POOR house in West Palm Beach. There is a park in a small town in northeast Iowa.
These places serve as a witness and a reminder: to never forget what happened here. To never forget that I was changed. To never forget the events, people, and moments that changed me. Throughout my life, I hope to have a great many more altars made, because I never want to stop learning and growing. There is seemingly an infinite amount of room in my heart for altars, so let them come. Let me be changed, let me learn, let me be forever moved closer and closer to the heart of my God. And let me never forget a single one of them.
Monday, March 12, 2012
Day One Hundred and Ten - Good, Good God
Oh how many things are on my mind today. It's a jumble in there. (Not that it's very different from most days, but you know.) I woke up late this morning, my body was telling me it was long past my 7, it was 8 and it was time to get up. My clock told me it was 9. Dammit.
Every morning I start my day with a routine. I grab my phone, read a devo, (during Lent read a special Lent devo), pray for about 10 seconds, and read the headlines on Foxnews and USA today. By the time I actually got out of bed, it was 9:30 and it had already occurred to me that there was no way I would be able to get everything done today that I needed to do.
I got right to it anyway, though, determined to get as much accomplished as humanly possible. I'm writing this blog so early because I plan on working through The Voice and then going to bed.
Bed is pretty much my favorite part of the day. Not just because I love sleep so much. I do, and anyone that knows me knows I need far more sleep than the average person. But my before bed routine is my favorite part of the day. It's when I get to leave the day at the door of my bedroom (did I mention how sparkling clean it is right now?!) and walk into my haven. No worries here. A cool breeze coming from my bedroom window, clean sheets and fluffy covers, and my bible. I started a regular reading plan at the beginning of the year because I knew my time in the Word was lacking. Okay, it was more than lacking. It was practically non-existent. It has become something so much more than a plan. It has become a joy, and a deeply needed refresher at the end of every day. Like a glass of cool water. And so much more. I learn more and more about the God I serve and who He is. His character. His people. What was written down about what He has been doing throughout history. His plan. The revelations of Himself throughout history. His glory. His justice. His holiness.
I have completely fallen in love. I'm reading parts I never have (the law in Exodus, and the entire book of Job) and parts I've read a hundred times (the book of Luke) but what I find continuously amazing is how new it is all the time. Stories that I've read over and over always have something new for me. Even if it's just a renewed sense of comfort from the stories. He was, He is, and He always will be. And He loves me. And He loves you. And all He asks is that we love and trust Him.
I admit, some of the stories confuse me. They were messages for times and peoples far removed from my own, with cultures and customs that seem as foreign to me to as a separate planet. But the themes are constant, even if the messages get a little lost in translation. (My translations, of course. There are people that study this stuff for a living and they tell me their brief opinions in the commentary, and they are incredibly helpful. It is my knowledge that is limited.) God is Holy. God is Just. God is Good. God is God.
And because even the stories I've known and read since childhood are still new; I never have to stop. There will never come a day when I say "I now know all there is to know from the Bible, it is time to move on." Ever. I'm not that smart. If Augustine, Luther, and Piper didn't get there, there is no chance that I ever will. Not with ten lifetimes. Not with a hundred. In fact, if there is anything to learn from those amazing men, it is that as I age, the full weight will dawn on me on how much there is to be found in that holy book.
It is a gift that never ceases to give. It is a gift that gives the more time you give it. It is a gift that reveals the more you seek. It is a gift that has everything you need, from comfort to strength, principles to confidence, songs of joy and sorrow. It has the answer to who you are and who you were made to be. It has the answer of where are you going, and who loves you the most. It reveals the truth about love, and the truth of truth, and the truth of life.
So marvel with me for this absolutely amazing gift, this gift that will never cease to give. Thank you, God, for this gift. Thank you for giving me a source of joy and knowledge and comfort that will never run dry.
Every morning I start my day with a routine. I grab my phone, read a devo, (during Lent read a special Lent devo), pray for about 10 seconds, and read the headlines on Foxnews and USA today. By the time I actually got out of bed, it was 9:30 and it had already occurred to me that there was no way I would be able to get everything done today that I needed to do.
I got right to it anyway, though, determined to get as much accomplished as humanly possible. I'm writing this blog so early because I plan on working through The Voice and then going to bed.
Bed is pretty much my favorite part of the day. Not just because I love sleep so much. I do, and anyone that knows me knows I need far more sleep than the average person. But my before bed routine is my favorite part of the day. It's when I get to leave the day at the door of my bedroom (did I mention how sparkling clean it is right now?!) and walk into my haven. No worries here. A cool breeze coming from my bedroom window, clean sheets and fluffy covers, and my bible. I started a regular reading plan at the beginning of the year because I knew my time in the Word was lacking. Okay, it was more than lacking. It was practically non-existent. It has become something so much more than a plan. It has become a joy, and a deeply needed refresher at the end of every day. Like a glass of cool water. And so much more. I learn more and more about the God I serve and who He is. His character. His people. What was written down about what He has been doing throughout history. His plan. The revelations of Himself throughout history. His glory. His justice. His holiness.
I have completely fallen in love. I'm reading parts I never have (the law in Exodus, and the entire book of Job) and parts I've read a hundred times (the book of Luke) but what I find continuously amazing is how new it is all the time. Stories that I've read over and over always have something new for me. Even if it's just a renewed sense of comfort from the stories. He was, He is, and He always will be. And He loves me. And He loves you. And all He asks is that we love and trust Him.
I admit, some of the stories confuse me. They were messages for times and peoples far removed from my own, with cultures and customs that seem as foreign to me to as a separate planet. But the themes are constant, even if the messages get a little lost in translation. (My translations, of course. There are people that study this stuff for a living and they tell me their brief opinions in the commentary, and they are incredibly helpful. It is my knowledge that is limited.) God is Holy. God is Just. God is Good. God is God.
And because even the stories I've known and read since childhood are still new; I never have to stop. There will never come a day when I say "I now know all there is to know from the Bible, it is time to move on." Ever. I'm not that smart. If Augustine, Luther, and Piper didn't get there, there is no chance that I ever will. Not with ten lifetimes. Not with a hundred. In fact, if there is anything to learn from those amazing men, it is that as I age, the full weight will dawn on me on how much there is to be found in that holy book.
It is a gift that never ceases to give. It is a gift that gives the more time you give it. It is a gift that reveals the more you seek. It is a gift that has everything you need, from comfort to strength, principles to confidence, songs of joy and sorrow. It has the answer to who you are and who you were made to be. It has the answer of where are you going, and who loves you the most. It reveals the truth about love, and the truth of truth, and the truth of life.
So marvel with me for this absolutely amazing gift, this gift that will never cease to give. Thank you, God, for this gift. Thank you for giving me a source of joy and knowledge and comfort that will never run dry.
Sunday, March 11, 2012
Day One Hundred and Nine - It's More Than Just A Bad Idea
Little known fact: I am allergic to alcohol.
Lesser known fact: Alcohol allergy is an actual thing.
Yesterday, it all got out of my hands faster than I could think. I went to my old work place (a bar) to visit my friends, and before I knew it, I was surrounded by regulars and drinking far more than I knew I could handle. I don't remember exactly, but I think it was around 6 drinks in 5 hours. Which is WAY more than my body can handle. Though I appeared drunk, it was my body reacting to the alcohol. Which as soon as I got home got far, far worse. My mother considered taking me to the hospital the effects were so drastic. My body was shutting down. And it was terrifying. I could feel my body reacting to the alcohol that, to me, is now an incredibly potent poison, and here was nothing I could do now. I just had to wait it out.
I was lucky this time. Very, very lucky. I'm not sure how many times my body can handle that. Alcohol, for me, has gone from a bad idea that will make me feel sick to something that I now approach as I would a gun. I'm not afraid of it, it's useful. But it something to be treated with extreme caution. To me, it has become something dangerous, something my body cannot tolerate, not even the smallest amounts.
But I also know it's a blessing. I have an incredibly addictive personality. And alcoholism runs in my family, fairly strongly. But now it is not anything that I will have to worry about or struggle with. Sure, some days I wish I could share a drink with my friends, but those days are fewer and fewer because it is just so much better if I stay away all together. It's not that I can't say no when there is alcohol around, I'm getting rather good at that. It's learning to say no, always no, to any craving. Because I really don't know how many times my body can take what I did to it last night. And I'm not going to hurt this body any more than I already have, not for something as trivial as alcohol.
Lesser known fact: Alcohol allergy is an actual thing.
Yesterday, it all got out of my hands faster than I could think. I went to my old work place (a bar) to visit my friends, and before I knew it, I was surrounded by regulars and drinking far more than I knew I could handle. I don't remember exactly, but I think it was around 6 drinks in 5 hours. Which is WAY more than my body can handle. Though I appeared drunk, it was my body reacting to the alcohol. Which as soon as I got home got far, far worse. My mother considered taking me to the hospital the effects were so drastic. My body was shutting down. And it was terrifying. I could feel my body reacting to the alcohol that, to me, is now an incredibly potent poison, and here was nothing I could do now. I just had to wait it out.
I was lucky this time. Very, very lucky. I'm not sure how many times my body can handle that. Alcohol, for me, has gone from a bad idea that will make me feel sick to something that I now approach as I would a gun. I'm not afraid of it, it's useful. But it something to be treated with extreme caution. To me, it has become something dangerous, something my body cannot tolerate, not even the smallest amounts.
But I also know it's a blessing. I have an incredibly addictive personality. And alcoholism runs in my family, fairly strongly. But now it is not anything that I will have to worry about or struggle with. Sure, some days I wish I could share a drink with my friends, but those days are fewer and fewer because it is just so much better if I stay away all together. It's not that I can't say no when there is alcohol around, I'm getting rather good at that. It's learning to say no, always no, to any craving. Because I really don't know how many times my body can take what I did to it last night. And I'm not going to hurt this body any more than I already have, not for something as trivial as alcohol.
Saturday, March 10, 2012
Day One Hundred and Eight - Here Ya Go
Friday, March 9, 2012
Day One Hundred and Seven - Patience
I'm terrible with patience. Instead of trying to convince you, allow me to illustrate the point with a little story about me as a kid.
We all know my deep and desperate love for all things Zelda. Well, when I was a kid, I had a gameboy. And Christmas was coming, and as I had handpicked my gift (Ocarina of Seasons) I just... couldn't wait. Every day after I came home from school and before mom came home from work I would, very carefully, unwrap the present, take the came out of its molded plastic by the careful cut I had made, take it out of the little cardboard box, and play it. Before she got home, I would put it away and package it and she never knew. By the time I opened it on Christmas morning, I had played it half way though.
I've never been good with patience. But after spending years waiting for something over which I have no control, it's gotten a hell of a lot easier. And that's how it works with patience. It's not something you receive, it's something you learn. Over time. And it's now been years, and the waiting has changed me.
Because it's not about getting to the end, anymore. I thought it was. But it's not. It never has been. It's about who I am when I get there. And... well... for the first time in my life, I'm really happy with who I am. I know that when I get there, I'll be ready. And that was worth all the waiting in the world.
We all know my deep and desperate love for all things Zelda. Well, when I was a kid, I had a gameboy. And Christmas was coming, and as I had handpicked my gift (Ocarina of Seasons) I just... couldn't wait. Every day after I came home from school and before mom came home from work I would, very carefully, unwrap the present, take the came out of its molded plastic by the careful cut I had made, take it out of the little cardboard box, and play it. Before she got home, I would put it away and package it and she never knew. By the time I opened it on Christmas morning, I had played it half way though.
I've never been good with patience. But after spending years waiting for something over which I have no control, it's gotten a hell of a lot easier. And that's how it works with patience. It's not something you receive, it's something you learn. Over time. And it's now been years, and the waiting has changed me.
Because it's not about getting to the end, anymore. I thought it was. But it's not. It never has been. It's about who I am when I get there. And... well... for the first time in my life, I'm really happy with who I am. I know that when I get there, I'll be ready. And that was worth all the waiting in the world.
Thursday, March 8, 2012
Day One Hundred and Six - Tired at 9pm
Tonight, I was determined to stay up at least until 10pm watching TV and playing video games.
1) I now remember why I have never replayed Twilight Princess, that entire game makes no f*ing sense. The chickens...? Really? Chicken palace in the sky? I love you sometimes, Japan, but we've gotta talk about how much weird is too much weird. Back to OoT.
2) My interest in TV wanes. There are good shows on, but I couldn't care less. I just want to do my bible reading and get some sleep. Not because I have a lot to do tomorrow, I only have a mild amount to do tomorrow and timing isn't really important, I could wake up at 10am and still get it all done. But I want to, I want to go do my bible reading while I am still conscious and I want to get some sleep.
3) I wake up most days between 7 and 7:30. And frankly, I have no idea why. Who does that when they don't have to?! I start my job (at home) every day between 9 and 10am. There is no reason for me to get up at 7am other than because I want to. And I do. I find myself more productive, but... it's still nuts.
Or is it? Do you know how quiet this town is at 9pm? The world has a strange hush then, its just when the night owls are coming out. I don't remember where I first heard it but it is true (summer of 2009 exempted): "The probability of you doing something you'll regret drastically increases after 10pm." Don't get me wrong, there is something to be said for spontaneous behavior that lasts into the night. There is something to be said for staying up until the sun rises. But there is also something to be said in waking up to see it, and using the night as a quiet time for your soul.
My point is this: there is a time and a season for each. If it is your season of quiet, don't fight it. It is mine. But if it is your season for loud, don't let anyone look down on you for it. There is a time for quiet and a time for loud, a time for nights and a time for mornings, a time for coffee and a time for sleep. Personally, I like the quiet seasons better than the loud, but that too is a new development. Maybe I'm just getting old ;)
1) I now remember why I have never replayed Twilight Princess, that entire game makes no f*ing sense. The chickens...? Really? Chicken palace in the sky? I love you sometimes, Japan, but we've gotta talk about how much weird is too much weird. Back to OoT.
2) My interest in TV wanes. There are good shows on, but I couldn't care less. I just want to do my bible reading and get some sleep. Not because I have a lot to do tomorrow, I only have a mild amount to do tomorrow and timing isn't really important, I could wake up at 10am and still get it all done. But I want to, I want to go do my bible reading while I am still conscious and I want to get some sleep.
3) I wake up most days between 7 and 7:30. And frankly, I have no idea why. Who does that when they don't have to?! I start my job (at home) every day between 9 and 10am. There is no reason for me to get up at 7am other than because I want to. And I do. I find myself more productive, but... it's still nuts.
Or is it? Do you know how quiet this town is at 9pm? The world has a strange hush then, its just when the night owls are coming out. I don't remember where I first heard it but it is true (summer of 2009 exempted): "The probability of you doing something you'll regret drastically increases after 10pm." Don't get me wrong, there is something to be said for spontaneous behavior that lasts into the night. There is something to be said for staying up until the sun rises. But there is also something to be said in waking up to see it, and using the night as a quiet time for your soul.
My point is this: there is a time and a season for each. If it is your season of quiet, don't fight it. It is mine. But if it is your season for loud, don't let anyone look down on you for it. There is a time for quiet and a time for loud, a time for nights and a time for mornings, a time for coffee and a time for sleep. Personally, I like the quiet seasons better than the loud, but that too is a new development. Maybe I'm just getting old ;)
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