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 Great Fears: the culture of texting and crashing patients.

the culture of texting and chatting. i'm not quite old enough not to claim it as my generation but as the rebellious continent-confused nostalgic francophone Lebanese, i never quite claimed it or enjoyed it.

to be truthful, texting does appeal to me as a means of conversation, avoiding all the necessary polite tournures de phrases before addressing the issue you just wasted seven minutes of your life introducing. i find it hard to relate, empathize and love over the phone so: straight to the point and saving precious minutes here and there, minutes used to knock down other essential items on the to-do list.

saving time, using time, sparing time, for the sake of…? what am i doing with all this time? worrying about time. do i know that i sound crazy? yes, but this is how most of the great philosophical debates and spiritual revelations probably started in history. at least this is how they start for me.

they sound even crazier when God sits me down to type them, or hand write them for the sake of further time saving 

when i was still using a computer that required ten minutes in its two step start up: turn on. three minutes later: hard disk not found. press hard on turn off button. wait two minutes. turn back on. your system shut down unexpectedly, would u like to proceed. yes. 

it was the system of deliberate un-expectation. 

just like waving the image of the man you like out of your brain to trick the Lord who made your brain into giving you what you're not really asking for. because the dark twisted portion of your brain believes that God is whitholding what you want. but i digress.

in the days of the old metal square that believed itself a computer, the typing the beginnings of my great spiritual debates was done with two thumbs on the instantly gratifying screen of an iphone.

all that to say that i fully enjoy the benefits of introverted conversation through  the veil of technology. never through a computer screen surprisingly, but i haven’t had enough time yet over the past six years that this specific symptom has manifested, to elucidate that non-inclination.

back to the main doleances and the intended topic of this post.

perhaps it is my french-nurtured-endless-sentences-with minimal-punctuation-and-twelve-jumbled-thoughts-literrary leanings.

i do not understand, tolerate or forgive multiple small texts sent in a chat-type fashion, in a systematic morse-like pressing of send, like that poor soul you see in catastrophic movies, pushing on his small beeping button, sweating his brain off, in an attempt to save humanity, through the frantic pressing and beeping.

it must be the stuff torture devices are made of. and it makes me almost cry of frustration as i hear more beeping  drilling into my soul in the five seconds it takes me to reach the phone in my tiny (but extremely well-decorated) apartment.

perhaps it is the most commonly unimportant topics usually addressed in chatting-qui-se-veut-texting, i thought. maybe i should address the selfishness in my heart for wanting to love people on my own terms, in my own time, and only on topics that i deem worthy. maybe it has nothing to do with the beeping.

but really if they.were.just.written.in.one.paragraph.

read in one sitting.

one continuous thought.

one nice large blue rectangle on my screen rather that ever appearing new bubbles, making the screen flicker, my brain startle and my heart sink ever so sligthly

and only.one.beep.

yes, i DO have tried changing the ringtone, thank you very much for the suggestion. maybe the same musical note, if repeated so very often, would have driven even Haendel to eradicate it from his Hallelujah all together.

maybe if changed to a traditional ring, the way God and Alexander Graham Bell intended it. #fail

maybe its an undiagnosed lack of affection for specific people communicating. tried and tested. most are deeply cherished face-to-face. or when they send a appropriately sized cyber-communiqué. so it's not the people, it's the bip.

i pray to be someone who loves people, who is quick to repent and willing to serve.

but i really do.bip.not.bip.believe.bip. that the intellectual trauma and the emotional breakdown caused by.bip.the.bip.incessant.bip.beeping. bip.of.bip.multiple.bip.small.bip.texts. is a heart issue.

en passant on the heart issue: if life-giving communication was meant to mimic the heart beat of life, we would have all been speaking in one.word.sentences.like.the.robots.with.the.nasal.voices.in.eighties.movies.

one of the godly women i look up to whole-hearteldly hates group messages. and she loves Jesus. there you go. justification through the spiritual mentor. Jesus never had to deal with group sms and the incessant exasperating bip. nothing to learn there so i'll take the next best example to follow.

 (Although we could arguably analogize that the most certain interruptions of his frequently irritating disciples to the dreaded bip. which disciples he didn’t turn off with a mighty smack of his hand. have i ever mentioned how thankful I am for the faithfully recorded irksomeness of the same disciples who were loved and sent to make similar disciples of all nations? but I digress again)

my inner therapist truly believes this is related to The Great Fear.

Of Getting Paged, that is, about a Crashing Patient.

The Great Fear Of Getting Paged about a Crashing Patient while standing in line with other sleep-deprived people-studying-to-help-people, in the cafeteria twelve floors below, for the first meal in 10.5 hours, trying to grab the last stale salad before the grumpy lady at the cashier’s station decrees closing time.

The Great Fear Of Getting Paged about a Crashing Patient while on an excruciating elevator ride with a bored- and confused about disease and death in a fallen world- child pushing every floor button.

The Great Fear Of Getting Paged about a Crashing Patient while returning the last six pages of the last minute and the half.

The Great Fear Of Getting Paged about a Crashing Patient while trying to softly communicate your medical point of view on a landline, all your senses helplessly witnessing the sinister beeping and the flashing arrows of multiplying unreturned calls grow increasingly bright and terrifying on the tiny pager screen.

The Great Fear Of Getting Paged about a Crashing Patient while trying to phonecall a hello to your mother 3000 miles away (preaching to yourself that an eight hour time difference makes being awake at 3:49 am allright), pretending to call her to check on her while truthfully really just needing to hear a friendly loving voice on your seemingly eternal terrifying cold and eerie night.

The Great Fear Of Getting Paged about a Crashing Patient while wrapped in a plastic sterile tent, because the hospital only carries extra-large sterile gowns, trying to focus on sticking a two millimeter wide vein in someone’s father’s neck through your blurry eyes and scratched eyeglasses.

The Great Fear Of Getting Paged about a Crashing Patient while running in a reception-free hallway trying to return a page from ten minutes ago on your cell phone, while the terrifying beeping continues on the machine of death strapped on your waist, its radiations dangerously close to your ovaries-the kind of thoughts that penetrate your exhausted brain at 3:52 in the morning.

and to alleviate the drama and terror of the above descriptions for non-medical personal, The Great Fear Of Getting Paged about a Crashing Patient while trying to empty your twelve-hour-full bladder while simultaneously-and precariously- trying to hydrate for the first time in said hours.

if The Great Fear is the root trauma behind the trauma of the texting bip, la boucle est bouclée and brings us to the explosive knot in the vicious circle.

why don’t i just silence my phone. and stop complaining, and wasting analytical power and people's time. 

because The Great Fear is above all missing a text about someone crashing. in my life that is. because buried in the midst of all the blue bubbles and important-but delayable-topics may be a truly emergent message. unlikely you say, but not in my conditioned brain. not in the volatile middle east. (cf:explosive 3 lines above). not in a hospital's operating room for a last chance to say goodbye.

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 unexpected chronicles of singleness

yes i'll believe the Lord
His every word is true
and when i hear His voice
i will come close
i'll follow Him
and what He says i will do


how i wish my heart was less fickle. more true to my emphatic musical proclamations.
how thankful i am that He made this song stick in my head as i my brain drowns in a swamp of thoughts and doubts.
every season in which i fall in the auto-congratulatory mode over growth, obedience, and maturity, He is faithful to remind me how much i need the shelter of the cross.
He unrolls the scarlet carpet and gently reveals how i am ever running from Him in a weak remake of the same scenario. each clever attempt more hypocritically pathetic than the last. thankfully pathetic. praise be to Him who brings me back. pouty, ungrateful and irreverent child, stomping over her unfulfilled list of demands.

i run and tackle and hide and fall, and fall, and fall, and hurt: knowing that with one breath, He appeases and comforts and re-focuses the whirlwind. when he ever so slightly turns my face to look at Him, i forget the last two sleepless nights and the cyclone of my imagination. the happiness and hope that i have failed to find all afternoon on social media, are but fading shadows when my heart is filled with His gift of grace and joy.

how long do i have to wait, Lord?
i ask again because the jaded-attitude-of-a-busy-successful-career-woman did not bring the comfort it promised. (surprise!)
i ask out loud, because trusting you means i can forego my pride.
resting in your plan breaks the patterns of despair.
and if i've been silent about struggles to protect my self-confident, self -sufficient reputation and
avoid the aw-s and oh-s and empty words of comfort of the world, i now also ask on behalf of other single women.

if we single women who understand each other's struggles well, if we who just get it, if we don't point each other to Christ, to his sufficiency, to his eternal nature, to his extravagant love, to his finished work, to the example we should be looking for, to the God we are cherished by, and are being made perfect for; to the joy of worshipping Him, to the passion He enflames in our hearts when we look at His glory. to the single God-man who joined our sorrows, the single head of household who toils and weeps with us and is Himself the answer to this particular pain. who else will?


God's plan for you and me, is not about about you or me. i really am not equipped nor created for the weight of all creation to be revolving around me. and when i try to twist an atom of the world to revolve around me or fit the plan that i haven't double-checked with God, i become the twig that snaps.
He may have a man in store who may speak arabic or not know what the mediterranean basin is.
who may have dreads or be bald, drive a harley or an escalade (hopefully not, really. please).
who may love haitian kids or dream of climbing everest ( i wont be going with).

he may this or that: insert all your lists and bulletpoints and dreams and imaginary weddings and ring sizes, career options, musical preferences, physical appearance, geographical boundaries, food restrictions, spiritual gifts, clothing choices, parenting skills, worship styles, and the countless items on THE list we all keep editing, adding to and crossing from, depending on the level of hope placed in the list.


this list does not work. it produces anxiety, endless hours of analysis over maybe's, and shallow relationships defined only by the feeling of accomplishment in laser-ing off the "SINGLE" branded on your forehead.  it is tiring and disappointing and scary.
let's trust the One who made us, who made the world, who made them. let's trust His list.

and let's trust his plan for our lives, man or no man, list or no list. let's work for Him and obsess over Him because that's what we are made for. no wonder other obsessions leave us defeated and empty and exhausted. let's not believe the lie that we are alone or abandoned or forgotten. let's not believe the lie that a created being will love us and understand us better than He will. let us admit that there are things we crave that are missing but that He knows what we need. let us not believe that being single is our biggest problem and that a relationships will fix everything. let us pray to believe He is what we need most. let us not believe that something is wrong with us.
let us laugh together and struggle together and accept together that we don't and won't believe His promises every minute of every day. and let's encourage and point each other towards Him, every time we fall.
let us wish for a wedding waltz but let the ultimate hope always be the wedding waltz in heaven with Jesus.















 

shame and glory

well hello there. 

polite smile, and furtive glance.

re-reading old posts leaves me embarrassed, shocked and a little angry at myself.

what was i thinking, pouring excited, wannabe/think-I-am mature thoughts all over the web. tortured-fleeting-ideas-and-epiphanies. who-am-I-even-talking-to-except-myself. conceited, really.

what were my friends thinking? someone should have called me out on the incomprehensible mumbo-jumbo.

yes yes I know we are harder on ourselves than other people are. but really we're not.

today i am thankful that Jesus died in the muddy pit where i have merely calculated the judgments others may cast, the image, i may have projected and the reassurance i may obtain through the manipulation of re-evaluation.

today i sit looking back amazed at the mighty work He has done while i haven't been online (or onblog, please forgive the pun-ttempt)

a work of silence that i thought i controlled, because of the to-do lists that controlled me. a work of shifting perspectives. how is He going to, how He is using this very moment.

i rarely review the notes i write on fancy little kate spade notebooks.  it is easy to not reassess how misguided, immature and weak one's brain-one's faith : was-is. but i did re-read previous posts out of concern for an image. and He used it to show me that He has been at work.

should a potentially conceited public display of random thoughts continue on the transparent pages of the web, i will likely re-read in a few months-or tomorrow- and realize the immaturity of the now, that i am presently celebrating.

dead flesh wants to despair and lament that i will never be a complete work, an intellectual adult, a successful communicator et j'en passe...
new creation celebrates the Glory. the overwhelming Glory of One who is complete. for me. One who defeated the abyss and meets me in the muddy pit. who loves to refine and change.while i am busy kicking and fighting and neatly tying a blindfold around my head and my heart, the One who opens my eyes to what matters, to Him who matters.

months have passed and things have happened and i haven't kept up and guilt has crept in. where have i been? where have you been? have i arrived yet?can you change that too? i've done so well. when is my turn?

He has made me rely.
He has made me follow
He has used the wilderness and answered prayers and not answered others.
He has given gifts.
He has met me where i have questioned the number and quality of gifts, even the design of the wrapping paper.
He is meeting me where i know i need to grow, He is pulling me where i didn't know that i needed to grow.
He has molded, changed priorities, landscapes and foundations.

He uses my embarrassment for His glory.





 

what Haiti and moving away from KC have in common

you know how it is when you look forward to something? you know how sitting on that plane to Haiti, instead of being anxious you're comfortable and excited at the same time because you know what to expect? and it gets even better because you have a measure to compare your happiness to, the paralyzing anxiety from last time. you are not feeling the sleep depravation from a 3am awakening, that you despised and obsessed on the unfairness of last time.

you know how there is a small part of you that is worried that the first amazing time was a fluke and you might get disappointed this time?

you know how you tell yourself in the midst of it that it was a mistake to come back, that this time is not working, not at all, that you miss your friends from last time. you know how you get tangled in tired and angry-and hungry!- details five minutes before dinner...
you know how you come back and you tell yourself that this was amazing, and suddenly it hits you that it was so different from last time, so different from what you had imagined, so far removed from anything you are able to imagine.

you want to say it was better but you know better, you know it was incomparable.

we trust our memory, our plans, the friends-or just the people we know, even our imagination, but fail to believe that God can do different and do it well. we fail to trust that it could be good. We fail to trust that He is good.
 God changes your heart. for a long time, even after I realized Jesus was Lord over my life, i didn't know where to start. i knew that i needed to start. i wanted him to be lord but i didn't know how to change how I felt and what i wanted. I still didn't want Him. i didn't know how to love God and and how to obey Him.

it (or He) clicked one day in an warm, humid, loud and non-ventilated hotel room in Haiti. a woman i barely knew was speaking of her story and her life. and the joy and trust with which she opened her heart to women she barely knew was God talking into my heart. that evening, my over-educated, over-analyzing mind learnt the simple concept of "asking God to change my heart"

He had changed my heart already and i didn't know it, but He was also empowering me.  He taught me that i did not need to carry the burden of change alone. the strength of the how-to how comes from Him.
its not about knowing how-to, it's about trusting He does.  ok I had a really lame pun instead of this one but i will spare you. reallyyy? you want to hear it? how niiiiice. and brave. it went something like trusting how-He; or Who-He I hadn't decided. sorry. i've only had one coffee so far so bear with me. 

God can change my heart without me asking Him. He can change the world without my help but the offer of participation he extends to me is an invitation to witness and be a part of His glory.

when i want something, i still stand on the ledge, but His Spirit empowers me to not block off the images that the Spirit reveals.

images of fleeting joys followed by pain, images of my wants satisfied by letting go of Jesus' hand, images of death waiting in the precipice. it is terrifying to let go of Jesus’ hand. and i do it every single day to reach for a stupid shiny thing. sometimes i imagine the sarcastic look on his face when He extends His hand again to take mine, like my dad did. but it's probably not theologically accurate. i mean Jesus is funny don't get me wrong, and in my world funny=sarcastic. but i don't think that would be His time for sarcasm. i think He takes our hands over and over and over and over again with a beaming smile because we came back. i think the sarcastic smile is the one of shame i give myself. but his forgiving embrace stomps over my sarcastic smile of shame.

He makes me listen to His will. just as a faint whisper in the midst of the beating of the drum of my desires. but He makes me listen. i yearn for the day where no sinful desires are exhausting my heart. i crave and dread the refining fire He will carry me through because i know i will emerge on the other side of the embers closer to Him.

even as i wrote these words, i am praying to get the job i want and the boy i like, and the money to buy all the purses that i think i need, to fit the bohemian style that i let myself believe defines me.
i' scared to move and loose the friends i made in KC and never go to Haiti again and loose sight of God. I am failing to believe that He is in every city, on every plane and in the heart of new friends that i have not met yet. .

i am letting go of his hand and failing to believe that if His plans are different than mine, if this second time moving does not look like the first time ( for the sake of honesty insert here: the first time when i was paralyzed with anxiety-and anger-because i was moving to KC and then it turned out to be-well a gift from Him), if the other city doesn't look like this one, God can do different and do it well.  and He will do different because He is fighting for me and providing for me.  also you think i came up with this Haiti to moving parallel on my own? hey i was just typing blue fleeting thoughts and minding my own business and He showed up and showed me.

but the minuscule and yet so encouraging change is that He has tuned my heart to listen to His voice, listen to the shout telling me to slow down, to talk to Him about the things and the stuff and the cities and the boy and to sit down and trust Him. sit down and trust Him to go get what i need. He will bring what will be a gift of sustenance and not destruction. Sustenance in Him.

what Haiti and moving from KC have in common? God led me to both and God is in control of all the next times.

the Gospel on shuffle, stop, repeat.

i've been struggling with anxiety. i've been struggling with anger. i've been struggling with fear. i've been struggling with worry. i've been struggling with greed. i've been struggling with idols. i've been struggling with pride. i've been struggling with memories. i've been struggling with the uncertain future. i've been struggling with God.

so many mental and handwritten posts-born out of ire and despair- have gone unpublished, yet have led to more clarity, as muddy as clarity is.

a painful chiseling of my future, a determination of longitudes and latitudes, of dollars and friendships, of big cities or small towns, of shores or plains. He has made me in a way that i want to discover it all, He has made me in a way that i dread change. He has given me friends, He has made them become close enough to reach that point where ungrateful humans become annoyed with their friends. He has given me community when i only really needed Him.

He has carried me through nights and nights of blood and death and dread. He has carried me through miles and miles of trans-atlantic travels. He has carried my brain when paralyzed with fear, He has carried my hardened heart through grief. He has sent angels to protect me from myself, when i wouldn't listened to Him. He has healed the angel's wings, that i had torn apart.

He pursues, oh! how He pursues.  

the Cross that He planned, the Cross that he ordained, the Cross where He loved, the Cross where He forgave, the Cross where blood and justice rolled. the Cross that gave me life.

and despite the Cross, and despite the Word, i keep requesting proof, and signatures and assurances and promises. i keep requesting my way. i keep requesting answers. i keep requesting my crown and my scepter and my dues. i keep requesting my reward.
and i argue about my thoughts, and i argue about my motives, and my heart changes every five minutes, like a child who has cried for a red balloon and dis-interestingly lets go of it for a blue ice cream cone. i exhaust myself with my own thoughts.

thankful that He doesn't change like my inconsistent heart does. thankful He changes my heart although i still doubt it. thankful He has it under control even when i try to grab the wheel. thankful He loves, thankful He pursues, thankful He sanctifies the brat that i am. thankful He talks to me when i wouldn't want to talk to me. thankful He hasn't given up when i'm about to, thankful He nudges and thankful He makes me listen. thankful He reminds me to believe, as i doubt over and over and over again, as i doubt and believe, as i believe but what-if, like a never ending tune on a broken piano. thankful for His endless patience and grace.




 

A post that was not supposed to be about what it's about

i haven't posted in a while, busy with overthinking, overworking, overworrying, over to-do listing, over-medicining, overachieving.
i was mentally and physically exhausted by the end of two weeks of consults and two weeks of intensive ICU regimen. mixed with my first 5k run, a road trip to the symphony on the prairie, a road trip to southeastern Kansas for a lecture, and writing ever-renewing to do lists, shifting items around as if re-writing them on a new corner of a piece of paper somehow meant part of that job was done.

read between the words performance anxiety regarding the lecture, achievement anxiety regarding the to-do lists, fitness anxiety regarding finding time to run during all that, religious anxiety regarding not exploding in people's faces when I was tired- as my newfound insight had shown me i have been prone to do for the last 33 years.

oh and the women's conference. somehow in my unplanned post, the women's conference portion did not make my mental anxiety list. elyze fitzpatrick was speaking at church, over 2 days. too long, i just want to sleep! and i need to run! but i have to go. (have to is the most frequently used term in my family)
 
i had never heard of fitzpatrick. i thought attending a women's conference would be cool. (i don't know how i've evolved to this "hanging out with women is good" mentality after preferring male friendship all my young adulthood years, and avoiding overemotional, over analytical and overdramatic female friendships as much as possible. if there was to be any overdrama in my life, i'd be the one producing it. in case you're wondering, no that did not turn out well at all in any of my relationships).

i mainly attend all the events at church that i can to build deeper relationships and because i have realized how much i have to learn. speakers and conferences are an amazing teaching experience, but i have to admit that they cater well to my hunger for hearing about Jesus, mixed with a lazy reluctance to just pick up my Bible and read, or just pick up my brain and talk to Him.

back to the conference. i was physically exhausted but spiritually refreshed. a new baptism i felt. there is something to be said about listening to a woman state repeatedly and sing of Jesus' love for her, and her need for Him, a woman who has theoretically "achieved" all that you, in a dark dusty corner of your head, still believe that you need to make everything right.

marriage, kids, a carrier, peer approval. all of the above will make everything right culture tells us. what a horrendous lie.  i realize the devastating impact it has on my friends and coworkers and random girls i meet when i hear their stories and their longings. the prison it keeps them in and it had kept me in all these years. a lie that even after not-believing-it-anymore, even after putting out trust and hope and happiness in much more powerful hands, we still occasionally lean towards,

fitzpatrick is a strong experienced lady, who has the gift of preaching the Gospel in a slightly estrogen-laden sarcastic manner. the gift of guessing crazy convoluted women doubts and reminds you, again and again -because she knows you are a woman and need to hear things twenty different times and in twenty different ways- reminds you of His love for you.

not love "but maybe he didn't like me as much today", not love "because i did good and didn't explode in anyone's face today", not love "but i still remember all these horrible things ive done and it's weighing me down and i dare not look him in the face" UNCONDITIONAL, EVERLASTING, NEVER-ENDING, ALL-ENCOMPASSING, ETERNAL LOVE.

im not trying to sound like the jesus storybook bible. okay fine, maybe i stole a word or two from there. google elyze fitzpatrick and buy her books. youtube her, amazon her or whatever new app is available since my last techno culture check. it will change your life.  and the beauty of the modern age, is that macho-men-types-what-does-a-womans-conference-speaker-have-to-do-with-me-types (don't get me wrong, pretty attractive types they are) can order books or listen to her gender-clandestinely. i'm sure you have crazy convoluted men doubts of your own too.

what is amazingly obvious is that God tells you that He will change your heart when you start following Him. You don't really believe it. maybe you hope for it, but don't believe its possible. i mean yeah yeah sure he created the heavens and the earth blablabla but this is di-ff-rent, God. I tried to change on my own and couldn't now, could i? yes yes i know You created me and all, you can do all things, but let's be realistic. it's hilarious what condescending little creatures we are to the Creator.

just to say not only He changes you, but every time, you think you've got it, the whole creation/fall/redemption/restoration business, BAM- He slams it in your face in a whole new different way that leaves you panting with excitement all over again.
He knows when you need to be reminded of heart truths that you've packed aside, because you're an intellectual and too busy considering deeper theological or to-do listal issues. He is there in your to-do lists, your failed attempts at non-explosions, your missed runs and your lecture performance.

He is also there in a blog post that was supposed to be about "overthinking" and somehow ended up being about Jesus. hmmm. funny.