Make me aware.

I've been stripped of all distractions.
I am rooted in The Now.
Now I am knowingly and willingly compelled to pour myself into the needs and opportunities and people whom God has carefully and uniquely grafted into my life.
This week, I want to be aware of the beauty, joy, brokenness, wretchedness, opportunities, needs, wonder, deficiencies, abundance around me.
I want to sing and shout the Gospel at everything life throws my way.
Luke 19:40 has been screaming at me all week: "I tell you, if these were silent, the very stones would cry out."
Seriously, with all the talent and blessings and personality and opportunities that God has spontaneously handed me these past 18 years (and these past 6 months especially), when it comes to worshipping God I am not about to be outdone by rocks.

So be louder than the rocks.
Tell the Gospel with your life.

Storms, storms, & being still.

I've been thinking about my fight-or-flight tendency.

Something about me has been really missing thunderstorms. One of my favorite things to do--ever--is run outside in the middle of a really fierce, windy, relentless thunderstorm. I love the wildness of it all. It's untamed and brutal and all it's own. Thunderstorms don't care about you; they rush on in a fit of self-expression. My thunderstorm crush spills out into my everyday life too. I love the struggle. I like solving problems and manning up in the face of challenges. I feel alive when there's a battle to be won, a person to be won over, a problem to be fixed, brokenness to address. But in my prayer life I've noticed how fiercely God's teaching me how to be, not just to do. There's a time and place for fighting, but it's not at the foot of the Cross. God's teaching my heart peace. And I'm learning. Not gracefully, of course. I never learn gracefully. Peace isn't settling in slowly; it's ripping apart huge parts of my life and attitude and rebuilding it into something I've never seen before, at least not up close. I think I've seen this joy in other people's life--this joy dependent on Christ alone and not my own particular brand of happiness--but have never seen it in my own heart. It's there. Tiny, but growing. God's teaching me how to stay, and to fight the battles he gives me without feeling the need to go out and look for new ones, and also a little something about which way I'm running.

Here it is: I want to run toward things, not away from things. I don't want to run from commitment. I don't want to run from the easy path. I don't want to run from security. I don't want to run from consistency. I don't want to run from stability. I tend to, I think. And, yes, God will continue to call me away from those things. But if He's not, it's not my place to reject it. It's not my decision to run away from everything that looks remotely like it could last.

Even at my most unsure, I want to always be running toward the arms of Christ. Toward grace. I want to run into a deeper understanding of the Gospel.

Clementines, finger-painting, inside jokes & baloney sandwiches.

That sums up my entire Wednesday afternoon. :)

Lead me to the rock that is higher than I.

Every time someone else's life falls apart, I go straight to Psalm 61. I've been praying through it a lot, thinking about last semester and this summer and all the challenges that it will hold for my trust and my ego:
"Hear my cry, O God, listen to my prayer; from the end of the earth I call to you when my heart is faint. Lead me to the rock that is higher than I, for you have been my refuge, a strong tower against the enemy. Let me dwell in your tent forever! Let me take refuge under the shelter of your wings! For you, O God, have heard my vows; you have given me the heritage of those who fear your name. Prolong the life of the king; may his years endure to all generations! May he be enthroned forever before God; appoint steadfast love and faithfulness to watch over him! So will I ever sing praises to your name, as I perform my vows day after day."

This is going to sound childish: For a long time it frustrated me that we, as Christians, are only called to love God and obey His commands. Actually, it still frustrates me. Every time my dad goes on a business trip he says the same thing: "Goodbye. Be good. Use your time well." Once after I read through the Epistles I threw my Bible across the room and yelled "THAT'S IT? BE GOOD AND USE MY TIME WELL? THAT'S CHRISTIANITY?"

I wanted something flashier. Something dangerous. Something adventurous. Saving the world. Martyrdom. Something challenging. Something that suited my personality and fed my ego and made me strong and showcased my tenacity and didn't challenge my pride in any way.

Waiting on God is the hardest thing that my little, gritty, embittered self will ever do. Yes, I still want to get my hands dirty and minister to the people up Capitol Hill and in the backalleys of Chicago. I still want to lead. I still want to fight. I still want to take big personal risks for the sake of something bigger and more exciting than me. But ultimately, my life is not about how much I can handle. In fact, the Gospel itself is about the sin and brokenness that I could not, cannot, and will never be able to handle without the grace and sacrifice of Jesus Christ.

Every time I hear about more grief, more brokenness, more disillusionment, more despair, I think: "I want to fix this. Yet I'm helpless." And Psalm 61 reminds me: "Duh. That's the point."

Behold, I am of small account.

So often it catches me off guard to learn, once again, that I'm not in control. I'm not in control of the brokenness in the lives around me. I'm not even in control of my own heart. There is a distinction between not being a slave to my emotions and being completely in control of them. I am certainly not the latter. No one is. Yet every single day, I react as though I should be. With me it's always a textbook case of lack of trust in God: I react like a normal person, overreact to the fact that I just reacted ("holy CRAP, I'm human!"), and then slap myself in the face for the reaction and the overreaction. But the real deal is, beneath the insanity of how that just sounded, I need to trust my heart to God. Not just my future. Not just my faith. Not just my education. Not just my relationships. My emotions too. I really get Job in chapter 40: "Behold, I am of small account; what shall I answer you? I lay my hand on my mouth. I have spoken once, and I will not answer; twice, but I will proceed no further."

God, I'm all Yours. Including my painfully dumb way of reacting to things on a daily basis.

I'm being taught the art of promise-making.

(should you be blown back /
know that I will always run to greet you /
still surprised to catch you /
every time.)

When you get out of bed at 6AM after a night of insomnia thinking "Oh well, I'm too cool for sleep" you know you have a pride issue.

Last night I looked through my journal from highschool and found a 7-page list entitled "Why Insomnia Is A Blessing." It helped calm my heart. Here are some the best ones.
- Have you ever heard silence so deep?
- Ample time to create playlists.
- God is keeping you awake for a reason.
- Time enough to pray for every single person in your life. By name: first AND last. Probably time enough to pray for their moms too.
- Most people live their lives without any appreciation for the art of common things. They rush, rush, rush until the last moments. Only at that final hour do they pause to look at their life and replay conversations and embed faces and memories in their minds. Right now you get 6 extra hours of remembrance that no one else gets.
- After the days most steeped in pride, God's giving you this humbling thought: sleeping is one thing I can't do.
- Your restlessness speaks of dependence.
- In this infinite sleeplessness I am finite.
- O weary head, lean on Christ.


.count it all joy.