But God

I've lacked blogging inspiration in my surroundings lately, so I'm turning to the scatterbrained musings of this 20-odd-years head to maintain what little momentum I can muster. As I'm writing on the last half of my lunch break and am short on time as well as inspiration, it works out pretty well.

There is a phrase in the Bible that always gives me chills when I read it. (Hint: it's in the title of this post.) It's like a light that bursts on in a place crowded in darkness; a small smile given to someone who's too weak to press on, as if to say, "Watch this."

I know a lot of people who have "life verses". Yeah, I tried doing that. The verse changes depending on the stage of life I'm in. Years ago when I first tried this, the verse of choice was Romans 5:8. It's still a favorite. Here's the context:

For when we were yet without strength, in due time Christ died for the ungodly. For scarcely for a righteous man will one die: yet peradventure for a good man some would even dare to die. But God commendeth his love toward us, in that, while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us. - Rom. 5:6-8

There we were, wallowing in the mire of sin without a light or a hand to help us out. We had intentionally turned from God. We were without hope, utterly lost and blind. Man couldn't save man. No man is that good, that righteous, that powerful. Man would barely surrender his life for a good man, let alone the whole stinking mess of the human race.

But God

See? Chills.

While we wandered that darkness, unable to carry ourselves away from it, God stepped in. He found us worthy of His love. He deemed us deserving of His blood. Man couldn't fix the mess, but God could.

When I'm wandering around in a daze wondering how I'm going to do something with my life that counts, I'm reminded that I am not. I don't have that strength. I don't have that wisdom. And I don't need to. God can use anyone, with any education, from any walk of life. We don't bring anything to the table but our hearts and our faith. Isn't it easier to hand it over to Him? He gave us all the talents we possess. It seems He would know best how they can be used.

For ye see your calling, brethren, how that not many wise men after the flesh, not many mighty, not many noble, are called. But God hath chosen the foolish things of the world to confound the wise; and God had chosen the weak things of the world to confound the things which are mighty. And base things of the world, and things which are despised, hath God chosen, yea, and things which are not, to bring to nought things that are. - I Cor. 1:26-28

The enemy is waving his fist crying, "See what I've done? Fix that if you can." To which we can calmly reply, "Yeah, that's nice. But God."

Here's one more for today because my half hour is winding down:

And you hath he quickened, who were dead in trespasses and sins; wherein in time past ye walked according to the course of this world, according to the prince of the power of the air, the spirit that now worketh in the children of disobedience: among whom also we all had our conversation in time past in the lusts of our flesh, fulfilling the desires of the flesh and of the mind; and were by nature the children of wrath, even as others. But God, who is rich in mercy, for his great love wherewith he loved us, even when we were dead in sins, hath quickened us together with Christ, (by grace ye are saved;) - Eph. 2:2-5

In Paul's fashion, the sentence runs on for a while longer, but this is the focus here. (Also, "quickened" makes a nice word study.) We used to be like the world, wandering in that darkness. We didn't have anything to live for but fulfilling our fleshly desires, working out the disease of sin in our lives. But then God stepped on the scene. He offered light to any and all, and by His grace and mercy welcomed all who took His hand. He has given us a purpose, empowered us to live for something more, shown us hope.

It was nothing we did. I know from 20 years of experience that I'm far better at making messes than fixing them. But God.

(How's that for a lunchtime musing? Also for your perusal, a few other verses: I Cor. 10:13; 12;24; Phil. 4:9)

Living vs. Existing

"To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all." - Oscar Wilde

It's been over 6 months since my last post. While I thoroughly enjoyed the hiatus (including the one I took from Facebook), I've developed quite a list of topics I have wanted to blog about. Also, a few southern friends requested I restart the blog so they could keep up with the family. Mom covers the chicken topic enough now, so maybe the reading will be better than before.

For the last few months I've been wrestling with the feeling that I'm just spinning my wheels. I go to work, work 8-9 hours a day at a job I enjoy, come home and try to find something creative for supper, tap out a few words of one of my current stories, and go to bed to start all over again. On the weekends, I sleep in until 7:30, read a book, eat one meal, maybe go to town, and tap out a few more words.

Maybe it's just a phase. I don't really buy into the whole "young people finding themselves" mentality, but perhaps this is just one of those life transitions where I'm finding my rhythm. Maybe.

Something with which I have always struggled is being anxious. By now anyone who has read this blog knows this. I worry too much and over-think things and second-guess myself, and I know a lot of what I'm working through is managing that aspect of my brain.  But then I sit still and try to count all the things I accomplished in 2014. It doesn't really amount to much in 10 minutes' hard consideration. Drawing it out, my life is pretty colorless. Again, maybe it's just a stage. Maybe I'm in a quiet place where all I'm supposed to be doing is sitting still and learning, listening, developing. Maybe.

I found the above quote from Mr. Wilde quite a while ago and it often comes to mind when I hit one of these contemplative moods. Much as it scares me to admit, I'm not really living my life so much as muddling through it with as little effort or involvement as possible. I'm so caught up in the personal struggle to find my place, of learning the steps, that I've sunk deeply into myself and blocked pretty much everything else out. (I'll be the first to agree that my social interaction is at a level which is undoubtedly detrimental to my health.)

And then I pop out of that shell, take one look at the world, shiver, and withdraw again. Back to the anxiety.

I know I'm here for a purpose. In my family, in this city, as the particular job I hold, in the certain church where we've found a home. In this time, these circumstances.

Another quote which I hold close is from J. R. R. Tolkien and The Fellowship of the Ring. It's more like my life quote at the moment:

"I wish it need not have happened in my time," said Frodo. 

"So do I," said Gandalf, "and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us."

God picked me specifically for this location so I could do something for Him. More and more I'm coming to terms with the fact that it may not be very grandiose by the world's standards or even by Christendom's standards. But it's my role. I may be that supporting character who meets one of the key players ten years down the road and has traveled just the right path to know how to nudge them back onto theirs. When I look at it that way, I can't help but get a little giddy.

It's not about finding a springboard to move one from a quiet town to a big adventure. It's about making the most out of whatever circumstances in which one finds oneself. We can't all be world explorers or geniuses or composers. Those people need the clerks and babysitters and nurses. They need the girl behind the phone whose name they can't remember who relieves one small distraction on their plate by informing them that the timeframe they need will work just fine, and who bids them good day with a smile in her voice and doesn't correct them when they get her name wrong again while saying good-bye. (It's not that I'm bitter, but "Amber" is not an unusual name. I can't count the times I've been Amanda, Amy, Andrea, Samantha, or Heather. At this point I just smile and choke down a laugh.)

It is about making what I have been given count in more ways than monetary. It's about loving sleep a little less and hanging out with a lonely friend instead, or meeting for a Bible study. We're here to interact. We're meant to touch, to see, to hear, to speak to, to sing, to guide, to hold. Not to just revel in a sunset, but to glory in Who painted it. Not just to catch our breath after wrestling with a kid, but stopping to read a Bible story and talk about it before helping them crawl into bed. Not just giving candy to an orphan, but the truth as well.

We may not live expansive, bold lives, but we are meant to live on purpose. Wherever we find ourselves, we are meant to make the most out of it for the glory of God.

I beseech you therefore, brethren, by the mercies of God, that ye present your bodies a living sacrifice, holy, acceptable unto God, which is your reasonable service. - Romans 12:1

It's reasonable, after all God has done for us, for us to surrender our lives to Him. 

So this post isn't all I had hoped for it to be. They never are. But I think I've said what I set out to. And here are some other quotes and verses which contributed to the concept:

"The fear of death follows the fear of life. A man who lives fully is prepared to die at any time." - Mark Twain 

"Just breathing isn't living!" - Eleanor H. Porter, Pollyanna  

"It is never too late to be what you might have been." - George Eliot 

"Worry does not empty tomorrow of its sorrow, it empties today of its strength." - Corrie ten Boom, Clippings From My Notebook 

"You're not here on accident; you shouldn't live on accident." - Hugh Taylor

The Definition of Happiness

Please note: the following post is long, confused, disorganized, and raw from my brain. I do apologize, but it's something I needed to say, and the best way I know how is to spew it straight from brain to screen.

Recently it was brought to my attention that I possess a crippling habit: list making.

I can't really be sure how this came about in my life. I used to abhor lists. Heather was always the one with the to-do list she was checking off. Maybe it was just the fact that I never seemed to accomplish as much as she did. Or perhaps she wasn't ever as detailed as I in list making. Where she put "clean room", I may have listed: "make bed, sort laundry, vacuum, etc". Who knows? I'll have to ask.

Anywho, at one time in the last couple of years I discovered the thrill of checking things off a list. Something about that tangible evidence that you accomplished something (even though you might be staring at the freshly scrubbed dishes or folded laundry, it's not the same unless you put a check mark next to that line). Hunger for that thrill developed into an obsession, and suddenly every aspect of my life went onto a list somewhere so I could proudly mark complete every visit to the bank; trip to the store to get ranch dressing (check), tissues (check), dog treats (check), flower pots (check), notebooks (crossed out because, turns out, I don't need another); and game prep completed for Wednesday classes.

I think it must have really started when I tried out that Day Zero Project back when I was sixteen or seventeen. At least in that case, it was all fun long-term goals I didn't really need to accomplish, but it was downhill from there.

Lately, I found that those lists were nothing more than a burden. They mocked me, especially when I forgot to turn off the notifications on the newly-discovered "Reminders" app of my phone: "walk your dog", "please put away that horrendous pile of laundry hiding your floor", "find time in your hectic schedule to tap out two or three hundred words so you don't fall behind", and on and on. Also, every Tuesday and Friday for the last couple of weeks, I've scribbled "BLOG!" on my daily list of things to do. Clearly I have a clear grasp of priorities. 

I also found I was relying on my notes for everything, particularly at work.

It hurts, guys. It's painful, like some terrible addiction I know I need to quit but can't bring myself to quit because it hurts. In her own subtle (or not-so-subtle) way, Mom intervened. (Love how I'm making this into a mock-drama of a drug addiction? You have no idea.) She casually remarked that, for goodness sake, I needed to quit writing notes for everything and just use my God-given (and God-ordained rather poor) memory like humans are intended to.

That's probably the most terrifying part: I'm so scatter-brained, without some sort of note to rein me in, I'm bound to forget something crucial at some point. But slowly I'm forcing myself to let go of that security blanket.

The lists are being reduced to taking notes from phone calls and to writing reminders for things I absolutely cannot forget at any cost (which turns out to be very little, really).

And now, I'm starting a new kind of list.

The idea started months ago, when one of the girls mentioned a challenge their youth group team leader had put to their group: every day, write something you're thankful for.

I have often found that I tend to focus on the negative side of life and don't stop to appreciate the bright side: I see the puddles and don't smell spring rain, which I love.

On the radio the other day, I heard something to the affect of "Instead of bashing the things you don't like, try promoting the things you do like". Which is something else I'm working on: not voicing rude things that come to mind when I'm in a bad mood, but smiling whenever I come across something that perked me up.

But back to that list: happiness.

When I force myself out of my own mental puddle and take a breath and a good look around, there are plenty of things that bring that smile to my face. My goal is to learn to appreciate those things rather than getting glum over their muddy counterparts.

Happiness is....

Sunshine

Fresh air

Home-cooked meals

When another driver lets me go first (unless, of course, their kindness results in me getting rammed into, but I've moved on)

Years ago, our youth pastor preached a message which has stayed with me. He talked about our personal levels of contentment, and I believe he used Philippians 4:11&12:

11) Not that I speak in respect of want: for I have learned, in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content. 12) I know both how to be abased, and I know how to abound: every where and in all things I am instructed both to be full and to hungry, both to abound and to suffer need.

The idea was that we can choose how much good we require to be content with ourselves and our lives. We define our own level of contentment. If we can agree with ourselves that we can be content with three square meals, a comfortable house, and a car that runs, we will be happy when we have those things. Furthermore, anything about and beyond that measure will be received as a blessing.

On the other hand, if we convince ourselves that we will not be content until we have a car manufactured after the year 2000, a house with an extra bedroom, money to eat out more than once a month, and our favorite store's entire spring clothing line, we will probably never feel content even with the many things we do have.

I have learned to be content with the condition of my life: my poor beater car, our big drafty house, my amazing family, and a talent for making a meal out of practically anything. However, when it comes to the day-to-day circumstances, my personal happiness can flop like a broken pendulum every time someone walks by.

I have a hard time taking every throw in stride, both good and bad. It takes me a while to recover from a hard word, a mistake, or bad news. And yes, I am severely affected by the weather, and possible the lunar phases as well, but I am consciously working on that.

Last year something I dedicated a post to Philippians 4:5 (or at least I tried to, but looking back, that post was all over the place). Very often these days that verse comes to mind:

5) Let your moderation be known unto all men. The Lord is at hand. 6) Be careful for nothing; but in every thing by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known unto God. 7) And the peace of God, which passeth all understanding, shall keep your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus.

Brave the old post if you dare. In short, the idea is maintaining a steadfastness about your nature, not tossed back and forth from despair to joy as the wind changes; leaning on God, trusting Him with tomorrow (rather than borrowing its troubles today), and letting His peace reign.

Happiness is only part of the issue. Happiness is a temporal thing, measured and dictated by our current condition or circumstance, even when we struggle to be content with our lot. The real thing is joy. True joy is something only God can bring, and it is not defined by our outward condition. It's defined by our inward state and our identity in Christ.

I go back to Paul whenever this topic comes to mind. If you want to read about a man who took everything in stride, look at Paul. And after everything, when he stood before King Agrippa and was permitted to give an account of himself, this is what he said: "I think myself happy" (Acts 26:2).

He had suffered shipwrecks and stonings, betrayals and rejection, and now at last was brought as a prisoner before the king. Yet he found himself happy, because he was exactly where he wanted to be, with the king's full attention. Read Acts 26 sometime; Paul makes full use of the opportunity and lays out his testimony in full. Festus calls him a mad babbler, but Paul politely disagrees. He was confident in his work, knowing full well that he was right where he belonged and serving God to the best of his ability, and that was enough.

So maybe I don't have some "great calling" like Paul. I don't think I'd do too well with that sort of adventure right now, anyway. It's better that I bide my time, training myself to take every rude customer and bad day in stride and learn a lesson from each of them, the better to serve when the bigger opportunities rise.

Most of all, I'm learning to be content exactly where I am rather than longing for one more thing, dreaming of a bigger adventure, wasting my time wishing I was doing something else. I'm right where God needs me. I just have to be open for Him to use me in the ways I can't yet see. 

The Ocean

My trip to Peru held many new experiences. One of them was the fulfillment of a personal dream of mine: to see the ocean.

Yeah, I've never been to the ocean, at least that I can recall. Plenty of lakes 'round here, sure, but they aren't the same thing.

It was the Monday we went to the other children's home and the holding tank (and also the day Dad and I went mountain climbing). Actually, we'd seen the ocean earlier in the trip when we visited a more ritzy part of Lima to eat lunch, but it wasn't up close. We watched from a distance while a couple people tried to surf, and shivered sympathetically every time they fell. But Monday we got up close and personal.

First we drove through the yards full of shipment containers. The less pleasant ocean-related smells seemed to gather around there. The area where we disembarked was a clean little park, complete with small grassy lawns and a statue involving a cannon. The shore was all rocky and kind of steep at points. My lake tourist-side kicked in and I immediately started watching for sea shells. Some people in the group started skipping stones or trying to catch fish, and others spent most of their time getting too close to the water and having to outrun the waves.

I think one of the coolest parts about that visit was just listening to the water. The view certainly wasn't that great, what with us being near a port and there being so many ships blocking the horizon. There weren't many seagulls like we get at home, so that did help a little. But the sound of the waves in and of itself was amazing, especially when the water receded: the sound of so much water rushing over the rocks, shifting them and pulling them and dragging the smaller ones back down. It wasn't a roaring, like how waves are usually described, but more like a...shushing sound, almost. (Susurrus, anyone?) It was one of those sounds that can be difficult to describe, like the wind in a hemlock* forest (which remains one of my favorite nature sounds). I wish there was some way I could have recorded it well. On that stretch of rock-covered beach, the sound probably was loud, but it didn't have that powerful quality like thunder.
We all wandered the beach for a while. I got a pocketful of shells and a couple neat stones. Many of the shells were stained a greenish color, and where worn smooth by the water. I ended up sharing them with Allenna when we got home, because she likes seashells and I could say I picked it up at the ocean.
I did double-check all my shells to make sure they didn't still have residents. It's not so much bugs that make me squeamish as the slimy, oozy, blobby creatures like slugs and things that live in shells.
There were other people there besides our group, though not many of them. I was kneeling down looking at rocks when a little Peruvian boy stooped next to me and picked up a tiny star fish. Excited by his find, he immediately leaned over to show it to me, exclaiming enthusiastic things I couldn't understand. I nodded and smiled and declared, "Muy bonita," which may not even be correct. Suddenly the boy was more curious about who on earth he was talking to than about his starfish. He took one hard look at me, realized I wasn't Peruvian, and scrambled away.
Our trip to the ocean turned out more profitable that just a collection of shells and fossils. Some in the group had been handing out tracts to the other visitors, and a couple ladies ended up getting saved right there as a result. That occasion served to remind me of the real reason we were there.
Years ago I noticed that I have a habit of staring at the ground when I walk. It's probably in part because I'm so clumsy and I'm trying to avoid anything that might cause me to trip. However, when I noticed this habit, I decided I should probably correct it, or I'd end up walking through life too focused on the dirt and miss everything else. I still have to make a conscious effort some days to lift my head and make eye contact with people and admire the flowers and look at what's ahead of me.
At the beach, I spent most of my time staring at the ground searching for tiny seashells which I could stuff in my pockets and admire as trinkets. I wasn't handing out tracts or even saying "hello" to the other people there. I barely noticed them until that little boy wanted to share in his discovery.
We get the same way in life: so focused on find seashells and watching our footing that we forget or ignore the people around us, and we forget that there's something ahead of us that we should be pressing for.We wander around, lost in our little world and careless to the rest. In the end, all we have to show for that are some shiny, broken, fragile little shells even the sea creatures don't want.
Putting myself in a new environment jolted me enough to wake me up to this reality, but already I'm off that "spiritual high". I'm not worried about losing the somewhat manufactured excitement and enthusiasm, but I am worried about losing or forgetting a true passion for people.

I enjoyed my visit to the ocean, but I'm disappointed that I missed the more important thing that happened there.

Happy Medium

Okay, guys. What do you call a psychic midget on the run? You ready? A short medium at large.

It's a real knee-slapper, I know. And no, it is not an original. I got it from a co-worker. I don't think I've ever actually made my own joke. I prefer to enjoy a cleverly crafted piece of humor. Or point out the daily humor I come across in real life. Like when... Actually, no. I won't share that story.

But I digress! And that joke at the beginning is actually related to today's post. And this post is also inspired by...my shower. *cringe*

Typically, my shower is when my brain activity reaches its high for the day. My concious brain activity, that is. I like hot showers. Well, in colder weather. Come summer, I still like the water to be warm, while everyone else is bathing in Lake Superior temperatures. Though they say* hot showers aren't really good for you. (Don't quote me. It might just be me saying that, though I seem to recall reading an article about it which someone shared on facebook or something.)

Gah! Stay on target! So I like hot showers. But my body does have a maximum temperature tolerance. And usually, I start the water off too hot, and then knock it to the cold side, and back and forth we go, and the odds aren't good it'll settle happily in the middle. And I grumble about the shower having no happy medium setting. (Same goes with the volume in most cars. You get indistinct or you get too-loud-for-conversation.)

I first picked up on the whole "happy medium" idea from A Wrinkle in Time. I actually saw the movie before I ever read the book. I think it's because I saw the movie that I was disinclined to read the book for quite a while afterward. (It stinks. Admit it. The twins are rude and demeaning, Charles Wallace is spoiled, Meg is angsty, and her dad has little redeeming qualities. And Calvin? Ugh.) Throughout the book, Meg's family is telling her she needs to find her happy medium. And then, of course, they do find the Happy Medium. (And at that time, the true meaning of "medium" in this context eluded me. I had some vague idea that the Happy Medium was some sort of manifestation of Meg's good side. Don't ask. I think that was about the time I was also introduced to Ted Dekker's Three.)

As described in the little chapter synopsis I linked up there, Meg is encouraged to find a happy medium because she tends to swing from one extreme to the other. Maybe that's why I relate to her so well. And then I got glasses and developed the habit of shoving them up my nose absentmindedly, and our similarities grew, and I was happy.

Clearly, I need a little mediocrity in my blogging, because this is all over the place.

Oh! Mediocrity. That was part of my next point.

In a past post, I mentioned a sermon Pastor preached out of Philippians 4:5-7, the key being in verse 5:

 

Let your moderation be known unto all men. The Lord is at hand.

Be careful for nothing; but in every thing by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known unto God.

And the peace of God, which passeth all understanding, shall keep your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus.

Pastor talked about how we needed to be sure we are grounded, especially emotionally, in our lives, not dropping in despair one minute and leaping with abandon the next; not so easily tossed about. Today, the word "mediocrity" has the idea of boring or second-rate, but in fact it's what we need to strive for in our lives. We can be calm and secure because God is always at our side and the troubles we face will pass, even though they seem insurmountable now. Where the world is stumbling back and forth, reeling from disaster and the reveling in their little victories, we are unshaken, because we have our eyes on what will truly last, and what will matter, and the rest doesn't upset us.

Not to say we're supposed to be unfeeling, unresponsive robots. We're still human. The point is that, no matter what happens, we know Who is in control, and we can rest in that knowledge. Other people will mark how we stay strong in the storms of life when they're clinging to their man-made lifelines.**

Yes. I got all of that from issues with water temperature during my shower.

 

 

*One day I'm going to write a book about this "they". Or maybe just a short story. And perhaps I'll title it "You Know What They Say".

** Why am I always referencing ships and the ocean? I don't even really like the ocean.

Peace, be still.

There's a word in the Bible that's been on my mind all week. It's significance was pointed out to me a while ago by my dad. The word is "Selah".

It appears most often in the Psalms, though I spotted it in Habakkuk on Sunday. (That's when I started thinking about it.) Somehow or other, Dad and I got to talking about it, and Dad said that it meant "rest". That's how I've been defining it in my head for a while. However, I looked it up on dictionary.com in preparation for this post, and this is what I found:

 

• an expression occurring requently in the Psalms, thought to be a liturgical or musical direction, probably a direction by the leader to raise the voice or perhaps an indication of a pause.
• a Hebrew word of unknown meaning occuring in the Old Testament psalms, and thought to be a musical direction.
• 1530, Hebrew word occurring frequently at the end of verse in Psalter. Supposed to be a liturgical direction, perhaps meaning "pause," or perhaps a musical direction to raise the voice (cf. Heb. base s-l-l "to raise, life").
•  a word frequently found in the Book of Psalms, and also in Hab. 3:9, 13, about seventy-four times in all in Scripture. Its meaning is doubtful. Some interpret it as meaning "silence" or "pause;" others, "end," "a louder strain," "piano," etc. The LXX. render the word by daplasma i.e., "a division"

 

Not exactly clear or definitive, though it's a decent starting point. So I went to google.

I kind of like how this article explores the various possible definitions, as well as the writer's conclusion. Another suggested meaning is "this being so, give heed to what is now to be said", which is also along the same lines as I've been thinking.

Selah. It has the idea of stopping, of pausing, to reflect; most often, to reflect on God and what He is doing. For Christians, we can be at rest when we stop and consider that God is in control and knows what He is doing.
Lately, I've been feeling weighed down by life. It's so many little things compounded, overwhelming me, so I almost feel suffocated at times. Like a ship lost at see, whose sailor is straining against the darkness and the rain for a glimmer of light from the lighthouse, all while struggling just to keep the ship from capsizing.
In the middle of life's storms, it's against instinct to stop what we're doing and just reflect, or even not think at all. How can we possibly be still, even for a moment? It feels like if we slow down long enough to catch our breath, we'll be overrun.

After Sunday school, which was when I saw "selah" in Habakkuk, the choir sang what I thought of as a "comfort medley". I can't even remember the songs they sang, but each was about finding comfort and peace in God. It was like God was putting it all in my face, drawing up a little theme for the day. I had to smile. Talk about a heart lifter.
I actually started this post days ago, but got distracted when I went in search of some verses. I ended up doing a word study on "selah". I believe there are 72 or 73 instances of the word in the Bible. All but 2 or 3 are in the Psalms; the others are in Habakkuk.

Lord, how are they increased that trouble me! many are they that rise up against me. Many there be which say of my soul, There is no help for him in God. Selah. But thou, O Lord, art a shield for me; my glory, and the lifter up of mine head. I cried unto the Lord with my voice, and he heard me out of his holy hill. Selah. I laid me down and slept; I awaked; for the Lord sustained me. I will not be afraid of ten thousands of people, that have set themselves against me round about. Airse, O Lord; save me, O my God: for thou hast smitten all mine enemies upon the cheek bone; thou hast broken the teeth of the ungodly. Salvation belongeth unto the Lord: thy blessing is upon thy people. Selah.
- Psalm 3

Stand in awe, and sin not: commune with your own heart upon your bed, and be still. Selah.
- Psalm 4:4

Thou art my hiding place; thou shalt preserve me from trouble; thou shalt compass me about with songs of deliverance. Selah.
-Psalm 32:7

Lord, make me to know mine end, and the measure of my days, what it is; that I may know how frail I am. Behold, thou hast made my days as an handbreadth; and mine age is as nothing before thee; verily every man at his best state is altogether vanity. Selah. Surely every man walketh in a vain shew: surely they are disquieted in vain: he heapeth up riches, and knoweth not who shall gather them. And now, Lord, what wait I for? my hope is in thee. Deliver me from all my transgressions: make me not to reproach of the foolish.
- Psalm 39:4-8

Make a joyful noise unto God, all ye lands: sing forth the honour of his name: make his praise glorious. Say unto God, How terrible art thou in thy works! through the greatness of thy power shall thine enemies submit themselves unto thee. All the earth shall worship thee, and shall sing unto thee; they shall sing to thy name. Selah.
-Psalm 66:1-4

Whether it's during a prayer of repentance or a song of praise, "selah" is added like a call to reflect on the goodness and power of God. For His people, we can rejoice in His greatness and His love.
It'll be a longer word study to do the word "rest", which was another part of this little theme.

There's a song that was stuck in my head a while ago. Well, a certain portion of a song. "Hold on my child, joy comes in the morning. Weeping only lasts for the night. Hold on my child, joy comes in the morning. The darkest hour means dawn is just in sight."
Despite the troubles that surround us, we can find refuge in God and the knowledge that He is always in control, always at our side, and will always love us.
I don't know if I wrote about it before (I almost think I did), but a while ago Pastor did a study in Philippians 4. What he said about verses 5-7 often come to mind when I start to feel like that ship tossed about on a stormy sea:

Let your moderation be known unto all men. The Lord is at hand. Be careful for nothing; but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known unto God. And the peace of God, which passeth all understanding, shall keep your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus.

The first part, about our "moderation", refers to how we deal with the ups and downs of life. We need to be steady and consistent, not tossed about by what life throws at us. A thermostat, which adjusts the temperature, and not a thermometer, which adjusts according to outside influences. We aren't overflowing with cheer and laughter one minute and drowning in our sorrows the next, as the mood takes us. We're confident and collected. Yes, we're still human, but we don't get carried away and overwhelmed by life. "The Lord is at hand" reminds us that God is always near. To "be careful for nothing" is to not get worked up and worrisome about life. You know, that sick-to-your-stomach kind of worry that can debilitate you.
To a lot of people, the concept of prayer can be confusing and even ridiculous. What's the point of praying to God and asking Him to deal with your problems, or telling Him about something bad that's going on, when He already knows? What I've come to learn about prayer is that it isn't like a Christmas list, where you write up your every whim and desire and pass it on to people with money enough to satisfy; neither is it like a visit to the shrink, where you spend an hour venting about all your problems and get nothing but affirmation and maybe some gentle instruction. Prayer is bringing your troubles and burdens to God and asking Him for strength to bear the load. Prayer is going to a shelter, a haven, from the troubles of this world, where there is quiet and rest, relief and encouragement. Sure, God, already knows what's on our heart, but He still wants to hear it from us. He is ready and waiting to lift us up and carry us for a while, to soothe our aches and refresh us with His love. It's communion. Prayer isn't a time to mutter a half-hearted "bless this food" or "help him get better" or to throw out a series of "why, God?'s". Like going to church, it's a time to recover and be refreshed. Selah. Stop and consider how good God is. Take comfort in His love, courage in His strength, hope in His wisdom. Forget the world and be still.

 

For I reckon that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us.
- Romans 8:18

And he arose, and rebuked the wind, and said unto the sea, Peace, be still. And the wind ceased, and there was a great calm.
- Mark 4:39

God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore will not we fear, though the earth be removed, and though the mountains be carried into the midst of the sea; though the waters thereof roar and be troubled, though the mountains shake with the swelling thereof. Selah. There is a river, the streams whereof shall make glad the city of God, the holy place of the tabernacles of the most High. God is in the midst of her; she shall not be moved: God shall help her, and that right early. (...) Be still, and know that I am God: I will be exalted among the heathen, I will be exalted in the earth. The Lord of hosts is with us; the God of Jacob is our refuge. Selah.
- Psalm 46:1-5, 10&11

"Whereas I was blind, now I see."

As I mentioned in yesterday's post, there was more than one thing I got out of church last Sunday. However, I didn't want to detract from the main point of yesterday's post, so here's the sequel, if you will.

Part Two isn't directly related to any of the messages I heard on Sunday. Not techinically. It comes from a moment during morning service where my brain got a bit distracted.

I'm counting on the fact that I'm not the only one who has done this before, and hope at least one of you out there knows what I'm talking about: that moment when you're following along in your Bible, and while the preacher moves on to his next point you keep reading, because whatever passage you were in contains something that caught your attention. Anyone else ever done that? By a show of hands?

Pastor was in John 9:1-3, where Jesus and His disciples come upon a man who's been blind from birth. The disciples want to know who sinned, the man or his parents, to make him blind. Jesus replies: "Neither hath this man sinned, nor his parents: but that the works of God should be made manifest in him."

Pastor has been taking us through Mark, and the most recent lesson was in 7:31-37, with the healing of the deaf man. The message was about physical - and, by extension, spiritual - "deformities and disabilities", and how none of those are mistakes or accidents or faults, but the will of God. No one who is blind, or lacking an arm, or unable to speak is any less of a human being than the world's definition a whole and healthy person, and neither are they any less capable of being used by God. (Check out Exodus 4:11, Isaiah 34:4-6, and Psalm 139:13-16 if you want to get an idea of where some of this study took us.)

However, when we came to John 9, I got a bit distracted. Pastor had paused in his reading to expound an a certain point, but my eyes continued down the page. I don't know if I've ever read John 9, at least not in its entirety. I'd definitely suggest reading it, because I'm only going to summarize, and that doesn't begin to do it justice.

What really intrigued me was the whole style of the narrative. The entire chapter is one story, in which a blind man is healed. When the man's neighbors and acquaintances see him walking around, they all marvel and question, some doubting it's even that man, but rather a look-alike. Of course, the Pharisees are summoned, and they have a hissy fit. Their basis for this is that Jesus healed on the Sabbath day. They question the man thoroughly, wondering how had the audacity to heal on the Sabbath day, and how such a sinner could perform such a deed. They question what sort of man Jesus seemed to the former blind man, and that man replies that he was a prophet. 

Then the pharisees all but call him a liar and demand to see his parents, thinking the whole thing is an act. They interrogate the parents, who acknowledge that the man is their son and had been born blind, but that's all they'll say out of fear. 

This is the part I like:

24 Then again called they the man that was blind, and said unto him, Give God the praise: we know that this man (Jesus) is a sinner.

25 He answered and said, Whether he be a sinner or no, I know not: one thing I know, that, whereas I was blind, now I see.

26 Then said they to him again, What did he to thee? how opened he thine eyes?

27 He answered them, I have told you already, and ye did not hear: wherefore would ye hear it again? will ye also be his disciples?

Verse 27 is my favorite. I imagine the former blind man replying with a little mockery, maybe even a smirk. Either that or he's so caught up in the miracle worked in him that he doesn't understand the Pharisees' thick-headedness.

A few years ago I came across a verse somewhere in the gospels where the Pharisees are chewing Jesus out about something or other. (Big surprise.) In the midst of their lecture, Jesus kneels down and starts drawing or writing in the dirt. I don't remember much else from that story. I'm not even sure where to look for it, and I don't know a good key word to use for my Strong's Concordance. (Read: my dad's Strong's Concordance which I borrowed a couple years ago and still have in my room.) If anyone has a clue to which verse I'm making reference, I'd love to know.

It's passages like this which make me love the Bible that much more: it's the greatest story ever told, full of the truth and love and wisdom of God, with the message of grace and salvation for all mankind, and right in the middle of parables and sermons and commandments, God throws in a little narrative where the characters are shown as normal human beings. How cool is that?
If you're reading this hoping for some deep revelation, this is all I can offer: some people refuse to see the truth, even when it's staring them in the face and there's isn't any other explination, reasonable or otherwise. They're so stuck in their ideas, their tradtions, that anyone or anything which doesn't adhere to those guidelines isn't worthy of consideration. That's no way to live. Our own mental blindness might keep us from witnessing a miracle. What good is physical sight, physical soundness, if your heart is cold and hard?

(As a side note before I close: I have to wonder if perhaps John Newton took inspiration from verse 25 when he wrote "Amazing Grace"?)

I dare you....

Have you ever had one of those Sundays where it's one amazing message on top of the other, so that at the end of the day all your mind-blown self can think is "Wow!" as you try to process everything? This last Sunday was one of those days. It wasn't just one mind grenade waking me up; I was in a minefield. 

Especially Sunday evening, when our youth pastor preached. Once a month we have Youth Service on Sunday night, where the teen choir sings, one of the young men directs the congregational songs, the boys take up offering, a group of teens performs the special song, perhaps a young man preaches a mini-sermon, and then the youth pastor preaches.

It was kind of like his message came in two parts. He was in I Thessalonians 2:7-13, where Paul is encouraging the Thessalonians on how they should live. Paul sacrificed so much so he "would not be chargeable unto any of you" (verse 9). It was his desire not just to preach the message God had given to him, but to help everyone he came in contact with to live it out to the fullest.

Then the message turned a slight corner, and some things my sisters had told me about their Sunday morning service were repeated.

Key word: dare.

First Paul talked about how he was gentle to the younger and weaker Christians (vs. 7), using the analogy of a nurse. Then, in verse 11, he talks about how he and his companions "exhorted and comforted and charged every one of you, as a father doth his children". The preacher pointed out that the analogy of a father implies giving instruction to more mature children, on whom greater expectations are placed. Infants and young children are treated differently than teens and young adults. 

As usual, my youth pastor threw in a sports analogy. He pointed out how coaches raise their voices a little when they want to challenge their players to do better. Yelling at a baby to eat all their carrot mush only results in tears. Yelling at a 12-year-old boy during a basketball game tends to make him run faster and put some effort into his game. The coach (analogy: God) sees the big picture and our place in it. He can't go out on the floor and play our position for us, but He directs and encourages us. We have to take the outcome of the game into our own hands. If we don't do it, there's a good chance in won't get done, because each of us has a role. One person can't stand around and expect someone else to come along and pick up the slack.

Our youth pastor talked about the competitive spirit normal human beings have, and how that is a driving force that, in moderation, causes us to excel. Then - and here is the point he was going for - that competitive spirit makes some people do crazy things when they are present with the words "I dare you". What guy won't rise to accept any challenge when it's preceded by those three dangerous little words?

As our youth pastor said: "Some people get offended; other people get determined."

It was mostly a challenge to the young men in our youth group to accept the dare of being true men of God, but it could be received in a broader sense by everyone as a challenge to live for God.

He pointed to Romans 12:1 - "I beseech you therefore, brethren, by the mercies of God, that ye present your bodies a living sacrifice". And I Timothy 6:11-14, where Paul "charges" us to "fight the good fight of faith", among other things.

In any good sermon, our own minds tend to latch onto certain aspects which resonate with us and add to them our own observations and experiences. At least, that's what I do. I could miss the main point of a message yet still get something truly important out of it because of one little passage or phrase that God stirred my heart about. While it was a key point of the message, it was also the one part that really stuck with me: the dare.

I thought about the oft-used analogy of the sports game, and the challenge to be participators and not spectators. 

A portion of a song I've heard on the radio kept running through my mind: "I dare you to move." I've only heard the song a few times, but the way I translate it is as a challenge to leave everything else behind and just live for God. To stop lying around and dare to live well.

Back when I was still searching for a title, I found this quote from Mother Teresa, and it also came to mind:

“Life is an opportunity, benefit from it.

Life is beauty, admire it.

Life is a dream, realize it.

Life is a challenge, meet it.

Life is a duty, complete it.

Life is a game, play it.

Life is a promise, fulfill it.

Life is sorrow, overcome it.

Life is a song, sing it.

Life is a struggle, accept it.

Life is a tragedy, confront it.

Life is an adventure, dare it.

Life is luck, make it.

Life is too precious, do not destroy it.

Life is life, fight for it.” 

And, of course, while I was searching my Goodreads quotes for the above, I came across this one from Theodore Roosevelt:

“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.” 

Dare, verb:

1. To have the courage to try; venture; hazard.

2. To meet defiantly; face courageously.

3. To challenge or provoke (a person) into a demonstration of courage; defy.

Challenge, n:

1. A call or summons to engage in any contest, as of skill, strength, etc.

2. Something that by its nature or character serves as a call to battle, contest, special effort, etc.

3. A call to fight, as a battle, a duel, etc.

4. Difficulty in a job or undertaking that is stimulating to one engaged in it.

   v.:

5. To make or issue a challenge.

Charge, v. tr.:

1. To command; place a burden upon or assign responsibility to

   n:

2. A duty or responsibility.

3. A command, injunction, or order.

Exhort, v:

1. To urge, advise, or caution earnestly; admonish urgently.

Beseech, v:

1. To implore urgently; entreat.

Like any good challenge, there's risk involved; otherwise, it wouldn't be a challenge. But when someone emerges victorious from a challenge, it's empowering to them (and often those around them) and it shows them what they're capable of if they just try. When someone looks us in the eye and whispers with a smirk, "I dare you", we're willing to put forth a little extra effort - 110% - to prove to them that we aren't wimps. We'll risk more, try harder and longer, go to greater lengths to achieve our goal than if someone simply said, "Could you, please?"

God, through Paul, is daring us to see what we can accomplish for Him. He's challenging us to look beyond this temporal world and live with eternity in mind. He's charge us to not waste one precious second of our existence on things that don't count to anything or anybody. He's calling us to press toward the mark, to fight the good fight, to run well in our race, to live to the fullest. Challenge accepted?

Someday, my prince will come?

My cousin is getting married tomorrow.

She's the first grandchild on Mom's side of the family to get married. It's a tinny bit bittersweet, since Grandpa died this May. That's where Mom and Wes are. They took a train! Of course, it was in the middle of the night, but still. A train! I'd take that over a plane any day.

Meanwhile, I'm home alone. Again.

Well, not entirely. Dad's here, just at work. By now, I'm pretty used to this routine. Possibly too used to it. I had Hershey pick the movie last night. And then I cried through the movie. ("Ms. Potter", if you were wondering.) And then I watched "Push", about superheroes. Well, superhumans. And ate macaroni pies. Which I made while listening to Christmas music.

I was going somewhere with this, I know it. I think it was going to be deep and thoughtful. Somehow.

Oh. Right. Weddings.

And, no, I'm not going to talk about my wedding dreams. (Oh, goodness! Last week I had another. Well, it wasn't the wedding exactly. And the guy had a face! But I digress.)

Years ago, when I was, like, twelve, I fantasized about being married by the time I was 18. Probably in part because that's when Mom got married. I've always been in favor of marrying young. (Not absurdly young, mind you.) As I got older, I waited and waited for "the ONE" to magically appear and sweep me off my feet.

Is it because I read too many fairytales? The only romances I like are the old classics, like Pride and Prejudice, where there's more to the plot than just the romance.

Anyway. Obviously, I'm even in a relationship yet. And whenever I consider the fact, I feel begrudingly grateful. I doubt I would have been ready emotionally for a relationship even 6 months ago.

Mind you, I don't agree with the whole attitude of "waiting till we're ready", because my experiences with life have proven that things never line up the way we imagine. That's life for you.

As time went on, I found more and more people and books talking about having contentment in singleness. For a while, I agreed with my mouth but not with my heart. Somehow I figured God would agree with me and toss a shiny knight into my path just because my heart said I was ready.I built all my dreams around it. I spent my time staring off into the distance, waiting for Mr. Right to crest the horizon, wondering if maybe his horse threw a shoe on the way over, and generally pining away for something I'd read and fantasized about and about which I still have no clue.

Finally, I got jogged on the head hard enough that it clicked: singleness is a stage of life, not a transition. Life doesn't run childhood-transition-marriage-happily ever after. After the big mental/emotional growth spurt, when we start realizing what life is about, is a new stage. Where I'd been spending all my time waiting for the next stage to arrive, thinking of it as being what my life was all about, I was wasting valuable time.

Singleness is an opportunity, just like every other stage. It has its own challenges, its own chances to grown and learn and do important things. It's to be embraced, not endured.

Some of you might be rolling your eyes. "Yeah, duh. Is that what you've been thinking all this time?" Give me a break. I take a while to catch on. I'd actually welcome a helpful slap every once in a while.

Here we go again. Another thought I can't quite put into words. Bother it all.

Okay, fairytales. Most of those ditzy princesses and scullery maids had one goal in mind: find the prince (or otherwise exceedingly dashing, witty, chivalrous, well-built, man) and fall in love-at-first-sight. Subconciously, I'd made my role model more like Ariel the dreamer (sorry, Jessi) and Snow White, the whistful maid singing into wells and listening to her own voice echoing obnoxiously. In fact, it's supposed to be more like Rapunzel (the Disney one): reading, painting, learning to cook and play guitar and make candles, and carrying on lengthy conversations with a sarcastic amphibian. You know, not wasting her time gazing out of windows thirty stories in the air. She wasn't even thinking about being resuced by a dashing rouge with what, frankly, I think is a ridiculous smolder.

Okay, so maybe not quite like Rapunzel, but I hope you get my meaning.

Yes, I really just wanted to try to make a comparison to Disney princesses. Then there's Belle, who sees the true man behind the hideous face.... Ah, I give up.

My point goes back to my ever-present theme of making the most of every moment; something I still fail at quite regularly. I spend my days waiting for the perfect man to come along, and all the while I'm not working to grow into the strong, spiritual, helpful, smart woman he deserves and is looking for. I have at my fingertips everything I need to grow into that person. Or - deep breath - I may never get married. (I hate considering that alternative, but this is reality.) Either way, God has a plan for my life, and He's shown me the kind of person I need to be in order to be the most effective, with a man at my side or all by my brave, adventurous self. I'm the same person either way. I know what I need to do, and instead of wasting time waiting for God to take my advice and just give me the guy and expect it all to work out beautifully despite my lack of efforts to prepare, I should be doing something. Anything, really.

It's an attitude I have to force myself to adopt every day. It's painful and itchy and two sizes too small for my silly day-dreaming heart, but it's the goal. I've been laying out all my dreams like the plot to a fairytale. Have you noticed they don't usually get far beyond "I do" and the happily-ever-after spiel?

Fact is, it's still life. It will still have its challenges, and I still have to be ready to meet them. A kiss doesn't magically solve everything.

So here I am, 18 and...more than a half, and learning to make the most of it. Or trying. And I'm starting to realize that, unfortunately, we never stop growing. Maybe growing up, yes, but not growing. Again, that's life. Why does it have to be so confusing?

What's in a Name?

Recently - I don't remember why - Jessi was talking about googling herself and people she knows, and telling me about the funny (or weird) results. I think I've tried it once or twice for myself. Out of curiosity, I googled myself yesterday. Just my first and last name.

I didn't find myself until the second page.

I did find a photographer, a couple restaurant employees, an ancestry.com page to a lady b. 1908 d. 2000, and a character for a Percy Jackson fanfiction. I enjoyed that last one.

Strange how googling myself and finding many people with the same name who are not me can make me feel so insignificant. I guess that's what middle names are for. Although one search result informed me there were only five people in the U.S. with my name. I find that hard to believe.

We were watching a TV show on Netflix the other night - one of those apocalyptic/world collapses kind of shows everyone seems so interested in - and one of the characters mentioned how she couldn't remember her dead husband's face.

Dad jumped in with a comment about how that has a scientific explination: We have a hard time remembering what the people we know most and love look like because there are so many images of them in our brains that they all jumble together, whereas we recognize people we've only seen a few times because there are only those couple images to link to them.

And here I was worrying that it was just my weak memory that made me incapable of recalling the features of a friend's or relative's face.

I did get to pondering something like this a while ago, while I was feeling especially poetic. It seems to me that for the people we love, it's less what they look like and more who they are that comes to mind when we think of them. Less physical features and more of their...essence, if you will (though I don't mean to sound creepy). I've often heard pastors talk about our bodies as just being the shell for who we actually are. When I think of my family, I think of what they mean to me, what I know and love about them, not the color of their eyes or how tall they are.

I don't know why I find this so comforting. Maybe it's the knowledge that, though I'm bound to forget the face, I won't forget the person.

At one point that was going to tie in a little better with the name thing. Something along the lines of "it's not the name, but the person", and how a name is just what someone is called by. (And that, in turn, was going to link to my dog.) Maybe I'll give it a try.

First off, my dog. Don't y'all love hearing about her? In those brief moments when I find the will to train her, I realize that one key component to her training is the fact that she doesn't answer to her name. In the training guides I found through google, they tell you to say your dog's name, and every time she (most dog training manuals always refer to the dog in question as "she") responds, "click and treat". Dogs don't answer to their name because it's their name, but because it's the word they know to  mean we want them. If that makes any sense.

In a lot of the fantasy books I read, especially Tolkien's, the characters have multiple names. They have their given name, and then sort-of-nicknames based on their characteristics, or terms of endearment, like the Elvish word for "laughter". Names are used to identify, but often the name used identifies with the true person, and it's not the name they were born with.

It's a concept I can't quite put into words, and I almost feel funny trying. I don't want to sound bizzare or anything. This isn't supposed to be deep and un-Biblically spiritual, just a thought.

That whole thing about our body just being a shell makes me think of Jesus. He was God incarnate, God in a body prepared for Him. Even His name wasn't unique. It had significance, of course, and then He was also called "Emmanuel, which being interpreted is, God with us". All this junk about how Jesus looked makes me roll my eyes. (Especially when He's depicted as Caucasian. It's not racist to be firm in the fact that Jesus was a Jew.)

Do you understand what I'm trying to say? Because I'm having a really hard time trying to explain, and it's frustrating.

Names do have significance. They can define you, especially last names. People associate names with things. A child with a good, upright family will have more expectations put on them to be like the others who carried that last name. Names can connect people. But names and faces aren't all we are. They aren't the impression we'll leave on people. It'll be the attitude, the spirit of joy or of depression, the laughter or the temper, the hope or the sorrow, friendliness or pride, love or hate. They might never remember our name - they might not even know it at all - but there's a chance that, even for a couple hours, they'll remember who we were because of how we lived in front of them.

The Dark Side of Dreamland (AKA my subconscious)

How does one distinguish between dreams and nightmares? While many of the dreams I have can get pretty dark in content (Doomsday is a popular topic in my subconscious, apparently) upon waking I realize they're more ridiculous than anything.

I've talked about my dreams before, but just the purely stupid ones. The wedding dreams. Yeah, I had another of those a month or so ago, I think. Still no face for Mr. Groom. Stink. But I'll not go into that. 

The last time I had a dream that haunted me for weeks afterward seems silly now: weasel-like rodents racing around an apocalyptic world, gnawing through 2-foot thick metal and taking down whole buildings; sick and injured people stumbling around in the streets and taking refuge in makeshift hospitals in libraries and such; and the only way to stay safe was to carry some sort of talisman that surrounded you in a circle of light that acted as a shield. (I felt certain it was a Bible. Hmmm.) Yeah. But man, those creatures were creepy. They had teeth like rats, and they were big, and I don't really have an aversion to rodents but I hated these.

For a while I was plagued by bad dreams. Just a couple years ago, a while after we moved into this house. I don't remember what they were about; probably some of them involved people I loved dying. (In one, people tried to console my grieving self by tempting me with a trip to an amusement park. Right. Like that would ever make me feel better in any circumstance!) I once had a dream were both Wes and Dad had died (and possibly Hershey), and I woke up in the middle of the night and was desperate to be a little kid and stumble into Mom and Dad's room for a hug. I felt fine after a late night shower and some time in my Bible, but Mom was at a loss as to how to console me. It wasn't even a realistic dream.

That's the worst part about some of my dreams. In the dream, I'm struggling to figure out what's reality and what isn't, and when I wake up I'm overwhelmed with sorrow and spend the next few minutes trying to figure out if the bad parts of the dream were memories or pure fiction. (Like when I was little and dreamt about having telekinesis. I spent the better part of the morning trying to bring various objects to my side with a wave of my finger before I was finally resigned to the fact that I couldn't do it.)

And then there are the dreams where we're running from something. When I was little and Wes's obsession with Bionicles filled my subconscious, it was some creatures in an underground land filled with lava, and my favorite Bionicle heroes came to the rescue and got me out. Last night, it was a tornado.

Of course. Always a tornado. I can't count how many times we've had to run from tornadoes. I guess I'm glad now that most of the characters in my dreams lately are human and stay that way. (Have you ever had a dream where someone keeps shifting from human to animal, all the while the same "person"? Hate that. Can never keep up a good conversation.)

I can usually trace parts of my dream to things I was doing before I went to sleep: that stupid zombie show I watched, the book I read, on occasion the food I ate, though no lumps of mustard or undercooked potatoes. I'll venture to guess that the end of last night's dream - where some guy who'd been following us in our escape from the massive tornado proposed to me - can be traced to the fairy tale book I was reading before bed. I was only half-way through when I put it down and already anticipating a proposal.

And yes. Dream guy had a face. Hurrah!

No. I didn't recognize him. No, I won't tell you what he looked like, either.

And to think that my subconscious begged me to stay asleep long enough for the bumbling idiot to just get on with it. Of course, I woke up before that.

And then there's the moment when you're between sleeping and waking and your conscious starts fabricating a quick ending to tie everything up satisfactorily: give me the ring, open the door, kill the beast, stop crying and get out. 

Some people say they don't dream, which I refuse to believe. I think they just dream like me and not like the "normal" style of dreaming where it's harmless and dumb and boring, and they're afraid to admit they're haunted by rabid rodents or getting proposed to when there's a cyclone on the horizon. That, or they do dream normally and it's too insignificant to remember. Poor people; even in their sleep, their lives are so boring.

How I sometimes wish I were they! But, as far as dreams go, it's probably my own fault, considering the wild and adventurous stuff I read, most of it fantasy.

And then there are the recurring dreams, where I'll have a dream and be certain I had practically the same one a few years before. Or the series dreams, where I'll have one dream and then a while later another one that seems to pick up right where the first left off.

The annoying ones are where I'm wandering through some creepy place and keep coming upon things from horror stories. Although, Heather gets those more than I do. In those dreams, I berate my subconscious self for being so stupid hanging around those dark, creepy places instead of running while dream-me has the chance. I really hate horror-style movies and dreams alike.

But then, what can be described as a "normal" dream? They all have those stupid twists and dark moments, at least in my experience. And in answer to the question I posed at the beginning, about the difference between nightmares and other dreams: I really don't know. 

I once had an idea for a story where a girl was cursed to wander the land of dreams. It wasn't a happy place, and she was one of the most miserable characters I've ever tried to write. She must have been spending a lot of time in my dreams.

The Purpose of this Blog....

Before I get to the actual point of this blog:

I totally forgot to mention another thing from our trip down south: I decided that I want to learn to play the spoons. Right after I achieve ambidexterity. Then again, all my practice to become ambidextrous may be the only thing that will enable me to have the coordination necessary to play the spoons.

I'm not kidding you. We saw a hillbilly band during our touristy touring. Washtub, banjo, guitar, and spoons. Of course, I'd probably end up with bleeding hands and arms for the first two weeks of practice before the calluses developed, judging by the way the woman played those spoons. 'Twas fascinating, truly. Good thing I don't have nice, dainty hands I want to keep in flawless condition. Wonder what it would do to my fingernails, though....

Onto the real subject: I'm thinking about changing the title of my blog. Indeed. When I titled it "Breathless", I'd set out with the idea that I'd take what I saw and did in my everyday life and write about it, similar to One Magical Moment Per Day. Clearly that plan didn't turn out the way I'd expected. I'm still trying to find my blogger's voice (if you couldn't tell), because rambling on and on and recapping all the time irritates me to bits. The original idea of "Breathless" isn't quite what I'm going for any more.

I'm thinking about maybe "The Definition of Me", though that doesn't really flow. The idea behind it is that, lately, I've started "discovering myself", if you will (I know, I don't like the New Age connotations, or whatever that's related to, either, but I can't pin down the proper term). It's hard to put into words. It's all about this growing up process, and how I'm stepping away from being a child defined by the authority figures around me - my parents, especially - and changing into the person I'll be the rest of my life. I'm trying to capture the idea of that journey from child to adult, I guess. I don't know. That doesn't really make sense, even to me.

Let me try one more time. Much as I dislike the phraseology, the idea is a journey of self-discovery, in the simplest terms. It's what I've been struggling with for the last year or so: trying to figure out where I'm headed, "what I want to be when I grow up", and, deep down, the sort of person I'm becoming. The struggle with a new sort of independence and existence that kids my age face. That transition between child following parents to adult stepping out based on the guidance of those parents. If you get my meaning, and it's okay if you don't, because I hardly do.

"The Definition of Me", or "Defining Me", just sort of came to me a few days ago, along with that whole confusing concept I just failed to put into words. I don't know if it fits, but neither does "Breathless", either. Basically, the goal I have for this blog is to allow people to share in my journey by looking at the little things that define me as a person; like my love of gardening and cooking and writing, my brat dog, hopefully soon the stage of life where I start my first real job, etc. Less of me rambling about nothing in particular like I would in a private journal, talking about what I did in general, and more of a story highlighting the things that are special to me.

That's the dilemma, in a nutshell. Concision is not my strong point in writing! I'll mull over the one, but if anyone has any grand ideas, by all means, do share! "The Definition of Me" doesn't really roll of the tongue all that well, and, really thinking about it, I don't much care for it. Help?

It's not what I wanted to say, but it's better than silence

I've been avoiding this for too long. Believe me, at first I did try to write, but it ended up being a jumble of thoughts that I couldn't and didn't want to sort out, so I gave up. I'm still struggling to find something to say, though there is a lot I need to say.

But I think I'll be a cop out and not say much, because everyone who reads this pretty much knows how my life has gone lately.

I think this is one of those stages of change in life. Transition is definitely how it feels to me. School is done, I had my first job interview (I didn't get the job, though), and I'm trying to figure out just what I'm supposed to be doing.

Mom told me a while ago that this age was the worst. It's like everything is happening and yet nothing is. It's that pause between acts, when the stage goes dim and everyone is changing outfits.

Clearly I'm feeling far more mellow than normal. I can't usually manage that kind of metaphor.

I don't mean to make it sound like life hasn't been busy. We've kept moving from one thing to another. I've had plenty to occupy my mind. But I still feel like the actor who can't remember their lines or their position on the stage. I know I need to be moving, but I'm scared stiff.

At the graduation ceremony at church a couple weeks ago, I said I still didn't know what I wanted to be when I grow up, but for the moment I planned to continue at our church's institute and help Mom and Dad with their missions work. That's all fine and dandy, but Institute doesn't start for what?, three months? And there isn't really very much I can do to help Mom and Dad right now. That's all just in theory at the moment.

Change. A part of me dreads it. The sane part of me likes feeling settled, knowing the routine, knowing what to expect - demanding to know what is to be expected. That illogical, hyperactive, colorful part of me screams for adventure, and adventure requires change. That part of me wants to keep moving, keep trying new things, and has very high expectations. And tends to wrestle control of my brain out of the hands of the sane portion.

I'm supposed to be looking for a job. More than that; I'm supposed to already have a job. But I've come to find out that - lately, at least - I'm the sort of person who isn't very self-motivated. Not that I'm making excuses. It's just another bad habit I need to beat. But how does one who procrastinates and lacks incentive find the willpower to tackle those two faults? That's almost irony.

Now I'm really babbling. Hopefully once I get this mess out of the way I'll be able to blog more clearly.

I suppose the struggle I'm dealing with is finding purpose. I've always had that struggle, but it's become far more evident lately that I seriously need some purpose. I'm dissatisfied with the life I'm building. I need to find something worthwhile. Don't worry; I'm not going to rush off on some sort of self-discovery type of adventure. I'm just trying to get a better perspective of life.

The sane part of me keeps urging me to settle down and get serious, to find something to do and just do it. That part of me is heavily influenced by my wise parents and my well-meaning youth pastor, who may not even realize how deeply their words hit me. However, that uncontrollably wild side of me refuses to accept that I have to choose just one path to take in life; refuses to believe that I might possibly have to accept a job I couldn't like without forcing myself; refuses to accept any responsibility for the choices I'm making. That part of me wants to believe anything is still possible, I can do whatever I want, and I have all the time in the world to do it.

How? asks the sane part. By dreaming? Unfortunately, this world requires at least a little money to fulfill dreams. And, as much as I still plan to get published, that process takes a while and I kind of need something to happen right now.

Wow. This post turned into an inner battle. Lovely. But there: there's my struggle. There's the truth to what I haven't been able to find the words to say. Maybe I'm looking for some outside support, some peer pressure, I don't know. Like I said, I don't really know what I want to say. As well as feeling panicked by this rush, this urge to change, I also feel lost in the bustle. Maybe I wrote this because I needed to, for my own sanity's sake, because I seriously need a reality check. I don't know. I can't believe I'm actually going to post it, too, but I need to so it's all out of the way and I can get back to some semblance of regularity.

So here goes.