my non-Christmas spirit and the obligatory yet unplanned end-of-the-year post.

the obligatory year-end post but not really

this post was not planned and anyway this year i am not doing anything obligatory for Christmas.

no planned Christmas light shows, concerts, eve, gifts or carols.

i have read (or at least saved in my read-later list-which rarely gets read, like all of yours if you're honest) all of the reminiscent introspective melancholic end-of-2014 posts that showed up in my news feed. and even then, the competitive spirit of writing one of my own did not kick in.

partly because of my work schedule, obviously the rookie always gets to work Christmas, which is expected. expected is always less traumatic.
partly because of practical reasons like computers bought as gifts because they were needed two weeks ago, florida trips being planned and payed for before Christmas when the tickets were cheap. come to think of it, i could have wrapped all that and put it under a tree and abided by the spirit of the season.
so as i am writing this, i realize that the truth is maybe i really am not in the spirit of the season. the slumber of the competitive spirit may just be the 8th criterion in the DSM IV of depression.

the spirit of the season. i have done the lights and the gifts and the carols before, simultaneously listening to sermons and podcasts telling me that this is not what the season is about. and i nodded, and agreed and still planned outings and took part in the obligatory fun. not putting it down, i mean it was fun and i felt i belonged to the world around me. and i sure hope to do it again next year or next decade, whatever.

but his year God made me stop. MADE me. and gave me His spirit.

see i believe he talks to each one of us, if we listen. and he talks differently to each. depending on how we are wired. elementary my dear watson, right, he has done the wiring. not so easy to believe though.

i am not good at following rules and making wise decisions and He knows that. i am not good at changing my way of life because i agree with a commandment, even if it convicts me. essentially i am not good at repenting and obeying. He has to make me. He has to speak firmly in my ear and He knows it.
in fact He knew this about me before i realized it. He knew this about me even as i was patting my self proudly on the back for "getting" this whole repentance-obedience-submission deal down. i thought i had nailed it.

until i faintly asked him to speak. half desiring it or maybe even less that half. really i just wanted my plans to work out if possible, but by then i didn't have the stamina to make it happen. and those of you who know me, know it takes a lot to run out the stamina.

i asked Him to speak because of the fog in my eyes and the tumult in my ears and the tears in my head. as my plans were crumbling down and i had no more desires to hide in, no more plans to build on, and no more directions to build a reputation towards.
God waited for me to erect all my castles on the sand, waited until all the rejections were delivered and the disappointments exploded, waited until all the coffee was drunk and my head was pounding, until all my adrenaline had run out and my body was exhausted and my eyes were tearful yet defiant. waited until a child ( that i was babysitting) was screaming at the top of her lungs, inconsolable and terrifying, to break all my pedestals and the fences i didn't know i had built, and made me talk to him.

in arabic no less, because in that state who can think in multiple languages. in arabic because its the language of the scared and disappointed child in me, and the language of the angry rebel. not just talking but singing in arabic because it sounds even more sarcastic and irreverent and insubordinate. and also because He knew it would also calm the screaming baby and put her back to sleep.
hopefully someone is laughing by now because really, it was a pretty ridiculous situation. yet so finely orchestrated.

and there started my week of just throwing myself into His arms and His word and memorizing experiencing His presence and reading and enjoying Him and missing Him and running back. really not trying to sound holy here, all of the above have been on my to-do list but never really got done.
because i and we profess to know that He will be there when everything crumbles and that sounds great, but really we are hoping nothing crumbles and we can just stash Him as a very expensive insurance contract in some dusty drawer.

Jesus was born for our sins, but really, the social calendar of Christmas is not an ideal time to ask for sin to be revealed. not when you have all these cards to address. the immeasurable gift of God is what is to be revered but surely, after i'm done with all my social activities to put me in the spirit of the season. that was me, and i suppose will probably be me again, but even if i will just realize it just this one time, i am thankful for this revelation of destructive and blind irony.

and because He delights in giving gifts, because He knows that there is no gift bigger and more enjoyable than Himself but yet He knows that i still doubt and ask questions, He has pointed my attention to everything else He's doing and letting me be a part of.

like the kids that i took care of at church last year who randomly run to me with love and a smile and a hug when i thought that they had no clue who i was, and that serving these two hours a week at church really didn't matter all that much.
like the letter from a patient who i took care of at 11 pm on a weekend, the memory of whom had drowned beneath my fatigue and sleep deprivation, and complaints of a difficult schedule.
like friends expressing that they felt loved and cared for, when i figured that i had just written another antibiotic prescription, no big deal.

so this year has been a roller coaster of jobs and graduations and travel and athletic feats and deepening friendships and mended relationships. mountains that seemed insurmountable until He got me through and the landscape looked beautiful from the other side. trust that wavered when the next hill was in sight. sour relationships and disappointed hopes and wasted time in my book.

what if another lesson for me was to measure time not by the achievement of the end result that i had planned, but by what God has shown me about Him on the way. what if the whole point of failed relationships was to strengthen mine to Him.

i have heard him whisper in my ear and i even wondered why he doesn't try to sound clearer. elementary again, but God has been screaming in the world and in my heart for years. i am thankful that the sound fog lifts a little year after year. i am thankful that i am looking forward to hearing him clearly, His voice and not the echo that my sinful heart blocks and deforms.

this has been so far the most real Christmas season, spirit, joy and peace that i have experienced. i will look forward to the plaza lights and a wrapped gifts next year but this year, i feel i've caught a glimpse of real.joy. which still feels funny considering the actual practical debacle of some circumstances.

and this post that i was not planning to write just had to be written, as a testimony to the immeasurable love, the faithfulness, the strength, the delicate planning, the power, the kindness, the tenderness, the presence of God this year, that just exploded this Christmas in the firework of an intricately weaved plan. that is but a mere glimpse of the glimpse of the glimpse of His plan, from everlasting to everlasting. 

the unexpected chronicles of singleness part two: the statistical significance

are you tired of running inside the house at the last minute to put mascara on because you might run into him at the grocery store?

are you tired of the frustration of not running into him at the coffee shop after you just spent two hours pretending to read while glancing at both doors every time they squeaked? sitting on your judiciously positioned seat, stolen after the near-tackling of an old lady, with your bible sitting on the table but partially covered by a french essay on neo-impressionism, to broadcast how godly-with-a-hint-of-cultured you are?

are you tired of probing through every tainted car window, every restaurant patio, are you tired of probing through every piece of information and building a crumbling tower of certainties?

are you tired of running through the list of why this time, this one, it fits right, this has to be it.
the pieces fit. the pieces you know of fit. the pieces you may have made up fit. the pieces you are not choosing to ignore fit. the pieces minus the red flags fit.
this has to be it right? i mean you have overshot the quota of not-the-one a while ago. you are holding on to the statistical light at the end of the tunnel. your turn. your reward for being patient.


if there is a #guynumber(?) for you, God doesn't need to find him, God has already made him. If there is a #guynumber(?) for you, God can direct his steps to that café, or that art fair, or through that church pew. if there is a #guynumber(?) for you, God will place the desire to pursue you in his heart. if there is a #guynumber(?) for you, you don't need to manipulate his way into knowing you, God will make him learn you

God can choose from a trillion scenarios that you cannot even imagine, in perspectives that exist beyond your awareness, in colors you cannot fathom and words as clear and soft as a stream in the sunshine of a middle eastern summer day.

so stop. rest. exhale. turn off the turbines. recover your 15% of brain power from unlikely imaginary scenes, where your identity wobbles between a variety of women who are not you.

you know how they tell you to look-up-from-your-phone-facebook-stalking of  #guynumber1 because you may be missing your true love right around the corner?

as it seems i have committed to pursue this terrible and manipulative advice into the realm of truth, I would tell you. brutally. truthfully. lovingly.

#guynumber(?) may never happen

#guynumber(?) will not be your true love
your true love is not around the corner.

your true love is right here beside you
your true love is sitting across from you on that lonely manipulative table at the coffee shop.
he whispers poetry that pierces your soul and sings words of comfort that delight your heart and only in the embrace of his arms-stronger and softer than any embrace you've ever imagined- will you finally sigh in relief and safety and joy.
your true love loved you first, before you ever acknowledged his existence, before every disdainful look you threw at him as you were getting ready for your dates.
your true love has pursued you through valleys of death and darkness and has slain every dragon.

your true love has his jealous eyes on you, and he wants you.
you, all of you, without your makeup, without your flirty act and your personality adjustments.
your true love is zealous for your good.
you are loved, you are wanted, you are cherished, you are deeply known. you belong.

so trust His plan
trust Him who holds all your tomorrows.
even when it feels like it's not the story you would've written

after all, this is not your story.



many thanks to the women who have heard my stories, who have shared their stories and whose wise counsel was adapted above





 

the hypocrisy of privacy

 

it has occurred to me multiple times to block people with "undesirable" opinions (ie not 98.3% identical to mine), mimicking what the now facebook-despising-intellectual-elite is currently practicing.
how convenient would that be in the real world to tune out all those voices that you do not agree with.

i submit to you that :

b. social media should be a 'training ground for the real world" (if we've achieved that with our sins, take cyber-bullying for example), shouldn't we at least practice holiness online as well?

a. most importantly, blocking people only goes to cultivate the twirling and twirling of the vicious circle of refusing to learn from other people. wait rewind the vicious circle of even considering for a split second that an alternate opinion might be viable, carry some worth.
has humility been obliterated so massively, that we refute ideas as they are bouncing off of one cement wall to another in our cranium, not even peeking through the fence into our synapses?

all that is not me is worthless. cant do more blunt than that, building your own kingdom.

being guilty of that, i also confess that the passive benefit that is the fruit of other people's active facebook scrolling, is pretty appealing to lazy souls.



 

 

"My family's Google searching got us a visit from counterter​rorism police" by Michele Catalano is a blog post that I recently read through a link on a friend's wall.

 

side note (at least I give warning about side notes now...) I've actually never really met this friend, but I've been assured of his highly educated, cultured, eclectic and cosmopolitan nature by our mutual acquaintance. i.e my mother. and you always believe your mother,.she is another example of sanctified opinions bouncing off of cement walls, opinions that you do not question. until that painful moment when you do, and you crucify her for being merely human. how can she be wrong?? she's mom!!! another reason to tell your kids about Jesus, folks. let them trust Him, because He, He has already been crucified and has won. don't let them make you their God. the harsh reality of you being a human mother will crush them someday.

 

 

anyway this seemingly really cool guy posts this article

 

well written, with the right amount of details, funny but not too sarcastic. i loved it. read it. also read it because i'm so proud of having discovered how to insert a link there.




i have been the leftist rebellious anti-capitalist, anti-corporate tween, i swore never to change, and i don't think i have. many things still shock me and disgust me. i've learned to swallow my zofran and pick my battles.
as a professional now (not relying on small envelopes filled with cash and blessing notes left by papi on the nightstand), i also understand that small sacrifices make institutions work. that idealist kids look at the nuances at the horizon but someone has to unclog and oil the cogwheels.

this is not cynicism but the poetry of practicality. il faut de tout pour faire un monde... personally,  i am more likely to fall in love now with the hard-working miner with calloused hands than the languishing poet testing his risk for DVTs laying in a field of daisies. (maybe God will have the miner play the violin in his spare time)




back to the post. i understand the concerns for privacy. for personal liberties. for in-a-perfect-world-theories. for whatever amendment that is, i'll memorize them when i get offered a green card.
but the world is not perfect. i travel multiple times a year and get screened. because of the drawing of a cedar tree on my passport (ironic that the cedar is actually mentioned more than 70 times in the bible, so it really shouldn't be linked to terrorist threats) but the reality we live in dictates that i don't mind, because "random" screening might have, unknowing to me, saved my life.

if that ct scanner, that caused so much ink to be spilled and blood pressures to rocket, saves my mom's life on a 24hour-3 plane trip from Lebanon, or allows me to put my teenage kids on a dream flight to Vienna without experiencing cold sweats of dread, then scan away. of note, the drastically anticlimactic yellow snowman version of me that i excitedly peaked at after that infamous scan, was the least invasion of privacy i have witnessed this summer.

as the world is willingly exposing its toned or cellulitic thighs in briefs that like to think of themselves as shorts, when more breasts are exposed at the grocery store than in haroon al rashid's harem, when the world' sexual prowess is being analyzed on every bookshelf at a four-year-old's eye level, can we please stop hypocritically complaining about the loss of privacy that we ourselves have relinquished?

they can look at all my embarrassing google searches, impulsive groupon purchases, and every single French to English translation that i've looked up for the purpose of this blog, if that might potentially avoid more families being torn to pieces and more firemen developing eosinophilic pneumonias because of criminal dust.

they can come search my house if they think the antique coal iron,
or (god forbid) the polyester pants that i bought were suspicious.

does anyone have a better idea or would you put your children on that plane if a crazy-eyed guy with a machete was boarding? just remember that crazy eyes can be hidden with inexpensive concealer and machetes are now an app on your iphone.

all that from a persistent leftist rebel at heart.
God bless America.




 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

the conviction of brilliance

i'm not stupid. let's just start by stating that simple, accurate baseline truth, agree and move forward. as a corollary, we can also agree that i'm not very humble either. and as we're agreeing on character traits, i'm an incessant arguer. but i will not argue about not being humble.

its important to establish a baseline in the conversation.

now regarding my general absence of stupidity. (wait, excluding fits of anger at inopportune moments, some relationships i decided would be fruitful, and the inability to season food---salty only, i manage beautifully with sweets, coming from a long line of sweet-toothed stubborn diabetics).....
humm i wonder if i can call all of these something else and still claim intelligence, here i go again..


renaming the above: anger issues, discernment issues, extreme spontaneity, a conviction of being able to change, or better yet save people, and reluctance to put in the time to learn to cook.

but intellectually, I've had historical fits of brilliance.
of which i never actually understood the springing mechanism
acute and delicate insights one day, clueless the next
mastered my high school literature and philosophy class, unable to grasp the symbolism of a cult movie the next decade

so when i never understood the Bible, all of it, the writing style (not even noticing that "style" needed to be plural), the good news, the symbolism or lack thereof, the awe-inspiring Spirit, the punctuation, the what-i-thought-were-really-bad-bedtime-stories, the what-i-thought-was-a-lame-attempt-at-poetry, and the i-cant-tell-anyone-that-i-don't-understand-what-the-big-deal-is-all-about.

times of shame and arrogance.

in my mind, if i am brilliant, and by own doing, who else's?, and don't get this, it must be its fault

i mean, come on, look at me! i was reading great authors, had memorized exquisite poetry, was an avid cinephile of independent alternative movie-making.
i was slowly but surely on a path on intellectual and cultural eliteness.
slowly and painfully and exhaustingly and terrified of missing out on the next creative movement and be kicked out of the club.

a club where a pervasive sense of discomfort, lack-of-fulfillment, fear instead of satisfaction, were feelings that i had numbed down. and i had no time to decipher the Word of God.
i knew that was the right thing to call it, i knew the right answers because that is what an intellectual does. i was waiting for a feeling to kick in and make me magically understand this book BEFORE i open it. because i had no time to waste.

not that i was praying to understand it.
prayer was another right answer, a didactic accompanying an empathetic facial expression at funerals, or sessions of comforting friends breaking up, or neighbors experiencing health issues, etc, you get the picture...
prayer wasn't for me or by me. it was a word, a good sentence closure, a visit-ender, i'm praying for u, good luck with everything, bye! and a lie i recognized uttering every time i promised it to someone.

the shock that followed understanding the Good News still lingers.lingers in my head. my heart is at peace and at joy and at awe, and the journey keeps springing amazement at who God is. i dont know how He managed to pierce my hard stubborn, arrogant know-it-all heart, but that's what He does. He is amazing.

the shock lingers in my head still. the fact that with all my brilliance, intellect, years of church going, i had not comprehended a tiny, plain, simple sentence. Jesus died for your sins. what does that even mean?

that was a while back, and we've had a bumpy journey. where i was still kicking and screaming, and pouting in a corner and crossing my arms in refusal when He would hand me my Bible to read, and laughing at him when He would say the word discipline, and pressing play on a cult movie on Netflix when He would call me to talk to Him.

but i have learned discipline and i'm still learning. when i don't run away and actually sit and read my Bible, i am in awe and in beautiful shock and in adoration at what i'm learning.


see, working for an intellectual eliteness reputation is the biggest obstacle of all for asking questions.  because you cannot afford to look stupid when you are building your own kingdom. what does this crazy story have to do with jesus? you only ask the questions that will confuse others, and to which you have invented the answers to assert your intellectual superiority. and soon you will stop asking even yourself these questions, wait, why did jesus come to die again? because if you don't believe in your kingdom, then who else will?


The great lethal irony of misdirecting the occasional fits of greatness that He gave, and using them to judge His world, His word, and Him, building up from there to where you don't understand anything at all. what kind of Love digs into that, uninvited, to make all things new?