Animal eyes: Angel eyes

I have a friend of mine, John Carl, that is brilliant and never sleeps and this may be the secret to his brilliance. There is a lot of time in life to read and create and be smart if you don’t have to engage in something as time consuming as closing your eyes for 8 hours.

So I have decided to embrace my insomnia. I get out of bed at 2:30 in the morning and feel pretty refreshed. I chat with a friend online in Switzerland and put up status updates to see if anyone wants to hang out at three in the morning. No one does, but I will still refer to this offer the next time someone yells at me for not making time for them. Time was made, people.

At five in the morning I gather my life together, which fits nicely in my huge Mary Poppins purse, and go to the Starbucks on Orange.

Driving there I felt very aware, expectant almost. I was intensely interested in what the people were doing in the cars around me. I felt a kinship with the people I saw standing in line at Einstien bagels. ‘Ah,’ I thought, driving by, ‘you are awake at five in the morning too, we are all in this insanity together.’ It felt like a shared secret, how pretty and still everything looked.

Starbucks is not technically open yet, but my barista gets the door for me with blurry eyes. I take a seat while they unwrap the foods and start up the coffee machines. I decide to wait for my order until they are more awake. I am feeling Different, and I am not sure why.

Within a few minutes my coffee is hand delivered, no charge. This is an excellent reason to come to starbucks first thing in the morning (or last thing in the night).

I take it outside to enjoy the cool weather. Across from me is a fancy 24 hour McDonalds. Two employees stand outside, smoking and talking. Again, I have a strange feeling of kinship. These people seemed to sort of own the night. While everyone was sleeping they kept awake the great giant of French fries and Big Macs for the precious few that would come in.

A rarity; maybe that was what I felt. It felt rare to be awake this early and enjoying it. Sort of what maybe it would feel like to have a crazy terror of a child during the day and a sleeping angel at night. 'A paradox,' I think. Jesus is chock full of them. All of this block seemed like a sleeping angel.

The two McDonalds employees cross the street. The man is tall, gangly. The other is a plump, slow moving woman. They are both African American, both young. My sense of kinship dies a little, in a way. They sit a few tables down from me.

The girl has long, curly hair coming out of her McDonalds hat. She clutches a purse and jacket and stares numbly in front of her. I can only see her profile, but she looks hard, angry. I know I can look this way when I really don’t mean it.

I look at her uniform and wonder what it would be like to wear it everyday. To deal with all things McDonalds.

There are true statements I can say about my life; my routine. I wake up in a beautiful bed, a beautiful house, to interesting and kind room mates. I open a closet filled with thrift store treasures and oddities. I drive my car and listen to NPR and work in a place where people respect and value me.

You can read this, but you can’t see it the way I do: words accompanying a rush of memories and sensations. These are just sentences to you like you read in any blog or book. The words you use to update your status today could be summations of profundity; reactions to incredibly emotional situations or fantastic experiences. But we all will scroll through and Like it, or Comment it and never really think of it again, because we are in our heads and you are in yours. Only the best poets and writers and perhaps lovers can ever show us a different way of experiencing life.

What would it be like if we could write these words and they were true:

I woke up and took the bus to work. I made hamburgers for six hours and joked with the other workers. I told a bum he couldn’t sleep in the restaurant. I watched the news. Then I sat down at starbucks to wait for the bus and some skinny white girl was staring at me.

What would any life other than our own feel like?

The man runs across the street, back to the McDonalds. I see her get up, lumber in his direction. Her purse and jacket are left on the table and for some strange reason I want to call after her that I will watch it for her. But I don’t. Her friends hat had dropped on the side walk and she retrieves it for him, sits back down. She glances over at me, and looks away. I look down, and maybe I am just as self conscious of what I am wearing as she is.

I think of my clothes and it makes me smile. A red sweater I borrowed from Doireanne. A black dress Caroline gave me. Stockings I found lying about that are probably Jaime’s and black heels my aunt gave me. I realize in spirit and in truth that I really am a collection of a hundred other people that have influenced and formed me. Usually thoughts like this depress me. I don’t want to be a reaction, I want to be my own true person. But for some reason, for the first time, this thought pleases me. I guess I usually thought of all the bad things I learned from people. My thoughts turned to all the good.

I learned kindness from Jenna, fashion too. Going far back, I got a love of knowledge from Tony Bowick. I learned how to argue from Giena. I fell in love with philosophy because of Matt. I saw how to make people feel important and loved by watching Tom. I received forgiveness from a wife I wronged; parents I disappointed; friends I hurt. Chopin from reading Megan White’s update about loving him and then punching it into my Pandora. Today I see my spirit is made of soft clay, and I think it’s beautiful for the first time. Because even bad impressions and the result of poor artisans can be redeemed through Him. From Christ I have a heart and know redemption is offered at every turn.

Sometimes I would prefer to be an Island, prefer to be a Robot. I hate being negatively affected by people. But me hating that is like hating that I have to drink liquids. It’s pointless, because I cannot change that fact. I will always be influenced by the people and situations around me. I will be constantly molded; so perhaps I had better chase the best relationships possible, rather than hiding from all of them.

Even though it is still dark outside, it is like I am experiencing an unexpected dawn. Words and ideas and sensations are flowing through me slowly and surely, like golden sunlight sliding over a meadow.

‘Where is all of this coming from? This hyper sensitivity and…sense of beauty?’ I wrote in my journal. And then it kinda clicked.

Last night I went to a time of prayer and worship in my friend Coles house. I usually don’t enjoy those things; it feels odd and forced. But it just wasn’t. I can’t tell you why, or be sure it won’t be terrible the next time; but it was amazing. It wasn’t cool, we weren’t edgy or hip. Nobody was posing or trying to throw out sound-bite intelligence as so often heard in conversations these days. Everyone seemed slightly uncomfortable at first, but also expectant. And I understand why some people keep going to prayer meetings, and some do not. For some, the hope that they leave changed, that they experience the presence and fullness of God with other people outweighs the fear of it being …well, weird. And during the course of the night I thought of the Plato (or Aristotle? I always get this one confused) analogy of earthly and spiritual bodies. That we are shadows on a wall, and someone who always looked at the wall only would think shadows were the primary existence. But if they turned around then saw people, they would understand what shadows are and how they are made. So I guess I felt like I was in a room of shadows and as the night continued everyone turned around and I saw people in color and form.

But that means that most of the time I am a shadow as well. And this morning in starbucks I felt like a real person, looking at the real world.

Sean read scripture over us last night (and for reasons close to my heart it is one of the most beautiful memories I have, a moment I studied intensely as to never forget it). The scripture he chose was from 1 Corinthians 12:25 “The way God designed our bodies is a model for understanding our lives together as a church: every part dependant on every other part, the parts we mention and the parts we don’t. If one part hurts, every other part is involved in the hurt, and in the healing. If one part flourishes, ever other part enters into the exuberance!"

I have left community in the past year because it has hurt, I have been hurt and have hurt others. So it seemed wise to leave. And maybe it was, for awhile. But even beyond my hurts, this spiritual body has given me so much happiness and character. I witnessed first hand how sickness can infect a church. But I have also witnessed first hand how Bradford has infected me with joy. How being in a room with other believers made me healthier when I left.

Along the same lines as this is when Paul talks about how body parts should not despise each other, a hand should not sulk because it is not the neck. Every part of our body is important (except our pinky toe or something, right?). Now, for contextual sake, Paul is using this analogy for people to not compare themselves or think some positions in a church to be better or worse. I looked at it more personally, as me literally despising parts of my body, and how ridiculous that is.

I ignore my emotions because I prefer logic. But both are mystical gifts, and both are given to experience the world through. Who am I to say which should have a greater preeminence? I can’t go through life covering my nose because I prefer to see.

The world has been destroyed by mans cold logic just as much as his passion. Emotion and logic are swords made of silk and metal. People logically thought the world was flat; logically believed witches wouldn’t float; twenty years ago people logically believed the Miller-Urey study, which proved that life started through electricity charging an earth atmosphere of methane and ammonia. Adding lightening to the mix gave you amino acids- building blocks of life. This logically proved evolution, until NASA logically told us that the earths early atmosphere was carbon dioxide and nitrogen. Inert gasses with no reaction to electricity.

Does this prove God? No. Does it disprove evolution? No. It just proves that knowledge changes. That logic must be balanced with emotions. And for those of us that are more emotional by nature, logic must be considered.

I do this with my spirit as well, this picking and choosing. I am not just an animal that hungers and thirsts. I am also a spirit, an artist and dreamer. But most of the time I focus on the real world, on my shadow only.

Last night I was a spirit, and this morning I have real eyes and spiritual eyes and even using the word ‘real’ doesn’t make sense to me. Physical eyes, animal eyes, I have. But they are both real in us- the angel and the animal.

We are all familiar with the idea of starvation in the physical world. I know that eating brings vitality and health; but sometimes I do not want to do it. Starvation seems preferable. I think I do this spiritually, too.

And last night my spirit had a banquet. Christ, when the devil tempted him to turn rocks to bread-

‘It takes more than bread to really live.’

We can starve ourselves physically and die. We can starve ourselves spiritually and not really live.

I have a feeling that my eyes will fade. That not everyday will feel like today. But I do know that I am committed to doing everything I can to continue to see people in this way. And that means not only reading and praying on my own; I have done that immensely this past year. But it also means really meeting with believers.

I don’t feel very comfortable in big churches anymore. It is difficult for me to worship at Status. And I have to confess that it is easier for me to tell people that- than to actually find or start a small group where I can interact and be spiritually uplifted. A true human temperament-it is always easier to tear down someone elses passion than to build your own.

I can’t ignore the rest of my body. I can’t keep praising my brain while shaming my heart. I can’t ignore my right arm while adoring my nose. I need all these things; whether I like them or not. I need healthy community, so that I’m shaped the healthiest way possible, and to not die of shock when it gets sick. I don’t kill myself when I get a cold, and so I can’t keep walking away from churches either. I need to experience horror to experience joy; I need to know loneliness to fully appreciate companionship; I need to feel the world as much as I think it, to pray and read in my closet and to gather with others.

When I left starbucks the sun was just thinking about rising. The sky was still inky dark, with a slightly lighter blue halo on the horizon. And it looked very familiar. I had been at starbucks many times when the sun was just setting. It made everything look exactly the same, and if we were dropped somewhere with no sense of time or direction, we wouldn’t know if the sun was setting or rising. We would just have to wait and see. And so another paradox that made sense to me, and comforted immensely: endings really are beginnings, and beginnings always mark the end of something else. And this is Good.

Poetry Arc of 25

i come up
out of dark waters
gasping in comfort
throwing up fear
dragging Christ into my lungs
and for a moment
i believe i've learned to swim
and i can stay here
with him
and then
down, down, down
God escapes in bubbles
i push him out and away
my fingers claw an inch of air
but my feet are heavy, so heavy
immersed in alone and lead
and i'm gone-
the surface and spirit above
unseen and unknown below
and i know, i know, i know
soon i'll have to come up
or learn to breathe dark waters instead

November 25th, 2008

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

hey you
hey heart
you have no right to hurt
so just beat your blood
and shut the fuck up
i don’t care what you’ve heard
you’re a bloody fist, valves and tissue
not a romantic flower
a sighing lover
so stay out of my business
and try not to seize, palpitate, murmur or fail.
Just try not to kill me thanks
Unless I tell you too
Because I hate being the bitch
Of a mythological shape in my chest
That doesn’t exist

December 23rd, 2008

~~~~~~~~~~~~

I woke up and
loved the captain of the football team
with a Mohawk and 67 dodge and
he had my heart
but I was too hard, too dark
so I had him
when we were alone and seventeen
and for a few years
that was enough

but then I closed my eyes
I woke up and
loved a boy in a jeep and
he had my heart
with an unpacked room and a worn passport
he would kiss me then say “it’s just not right-“
so I had him
when we were weak and twenty
and for a few years
that was enough

and then-
I shivered without my pride and closed my eyes
and faces flew by
blue eyes and brown
rings and long distance
martini kisses

and it was not enough
because i was lost
and twenty-three

and then I woke up and
there was no love
there was no heart to have
but there was blood
on my boots, a coppery stain on my lips
and I was surrounded by those I’ve destroyed
and those destroying me
when i was dying and twenty-five

and now i wake up
reformed and something more
my bones are still healing
but i love a spirit and community
poets and theorists arising
desiring more than words and wine and intellectual meaning
forming into healers and lovers and their hearts are breaking
so they can have my mine
i choose to love the wiser and better
the fools that Christ loved in all their selfishness and glory
now that i am almost alive and twenty-five.

February 29th 2009

God, please be Good.

(The song I listened to while writing.)




Why do I believe what I believe? Where does this faith come from? Richard Dawkins tells me it comes from a value passed on from my ancestors. Some people are programmed to believe in God, some are not. I won the faith lottery. Maybe. I guess anything is possible.

I look at my friends struggling with the God of the bible and Christ, and I don’t know how to struggle with them. I don’t think my faith is ignorant, but it is strong.

I have been thinking about why I believe, why I love. And the story of the Good Samaritan comes to mind. A man is bloodied on the side of the road and several people pass him. But the Good Samaritan stops and helps him and takes care of him. I wonder if that Good Samaritan was a wife beater or a murderer. I wonder if the beaten man would care, if anyone could ever talk him into believing the Good Samaritan wasn’t that good after all.

God, are you Good? I feel that you are, I think that you are. How do I ever know anything? Why do I believe at all?

I think God is my Good Samaritan. It doesn’t matter what other people tell me of Him/Her. He saved my life and I can feel Her love and so I’m here.

There is one memory that comes to mind when I think of why I love God. I hate going back to it. Those memories feel infectious, oscillating. Like there is something in them - then, that wants to be with me -now. The last time I wrote about it I caught a sickness. But I will go back now.

I am curled up on my bed, in my mothers art studio in New York. It is in the middle of the night, and I am awake, shaking. My stomach hurts and there is a new thing growing in me. The scale in my mothers bathroom tells secrets of hard work. It is the only thing about myself I am proud of. Every pound I lose is the equivalent of a year in jail, or like the slashes on my friends arm. And I want to pay my debt to the broken society I left behind. I will take my punishment and even though I do not have a razor or a jumpsuit, I have my thoughts, or Someone Elses thoughts, I don’t know. My eyes are wide awake in the dark and I am screaming: I am a Fuck Up. I am Going Insane. I am a Bad Friend, a Terrible Christian. I am Guilty. I am Ashamed. I am Disgusting. I Am Just Like My Mother.

My body aches and there is an inexplicable pain in my heart that deafens me, like a screaming mob in a cathedral and I can’t feel anything else. I can’t hear anything else. My breath comes in faster and the room is still dark but it is not empty. Time is suffocating me, it is dragging me along and the present is a murderer. Faces flash through my mind and I try to swallow all of their pain. It is the only thing I want to eat and it settles in my stomach. I put a hand over my mouth so I won’t scream it out. The room is dark but it is not empty.

This can’t be just me. My life stretches before me in minutes and years all the things that Could Happen and it burns and I don’t think I can bear it. I know that I am going somewhere dangerous. I think of my mother and how she felt before she pulled the trigger. Did she think these thoughts, too? My stepmother told me once that she killed herself because she had pain all over her body. The doctors could never find a reason for it and nothing worked and she couldn’t stand it. I didn’t think much of it then but now I wonder whose heart my mother broke. Or who hurt hers. I feel pain all over my body, too.

I sit up and the air feels viscous, it is weighing me down. This room is dangerous but I have nowhere to run. My heart is pounding, terrified. Maybe this was how my aunt felt, when she took a rope and went into the basement. Maybe she was wild with fear and just wanted to be done with it. I realize that it is not just death that connects me to the women in my life, but the very thoughts that bring us all there. But not me, not yet.

I close my eyes and pound my heart so it will shut up, shut up, shut up. And I feel like a child running around in the dark. There must be somewhere I can go, there must be some way to stop this. And so I run and pound on the only door I can think of.

I beg God to love me, to change me and fix me and to getmethefuckoutofhere. And he does. The accusations fade as the Spirit mumbles scripture. Beautiful moments slide behind my eyes: praying in a tree when I was seventeen; laughing with Jenna; listening to Tina sing…. The cathedral empties and it is just me and this ridiculous God. And all the philosophy in the world could not make me love Him less. He is Good to me and I am so sorry if He is not Good to you.

Are you my imaginary God? Why can’t you comfort my friends?

This story has repeated itself dozens of times in the past few months. In my own bedroom, in cars and at church, coffee shops and downtown lakes and grocery stores.

Am I tricking myself? Is this all just mental self help that I brand with the name of God? If so, I am stronger and stupider than I could ever imagine.

I don’t like hell. I don’t like absolutes or most Christians. I don’t like reading Joshua or 1 Timothy. But there are always things I don’t like about the people I love. I guess the same applies to God. And goddamn, I love this God I only know as a terrible mix of Wrath and Love. A God of just Wrath would approve of my mothers scale and my friends arm. A God of just Love, the one that so many people wax on about; the God of Passivity and Keeping it Cool. Like my friends father who let her smoke weed and have boyfriends sleep over when she was 13 and he was such a Cool Father and she Loved him for it. That is the God most people want, but that God broke my friend and I don’t think I trust him.

So I have a God of wrath and love. A God like Jenna who hurts me with truth because it will heal me later.

I only know this God by a pastor taking my hand at sixteen and telling me to pull away. I could not, and I started to panic and then he told me that this was like God. That He would never let me go and it terrified me and enraptured me. The idea of not being alone anymore was both blade and soft skin.

Maybe I just believe this lie because I don’t want to be alone. I can’t bear to believe I am totally, utterly alone. But that doesn’t make sense, I push Him away so often…

I only know the point of prayer because the friends I fought with I mostly kept, those I never argued and cried with I lost.

I only know intimacy when I am singing before God and it feels like the prelude to a kiss and I am still and breathless.

I only know naivety when I look at the world’s cruelties and really believe that it would be different if more Christians believed the words of Christ. But most days I cannot so I try to give the world a break.

I only know redemption by going into prayer ashamed and terrified of what I may find there. And every time, I find grace and a tender whisper and sometimes that is harder to hear than wrath.

Am I tricking myself? Telling myself words I don’t believe but I know subconsciously will help me? The voice of God is just my tender logic? But my logic is never warm. How can I slash at myself and then heal myself the next second? I guess I could…

But I only know grace through the last words of Christ. Why can’t those be my only words?

I only believe in the cross because I know forgiveness is not free. It is rarely easy, it is never a simple shrug or an effortless thought. Forgiveness is swallowing someone elses sin and it will kill you sometimes, like it killed Him.

I only know wisdom through Jordan telling me not to jump while waiting for the subway. He must have had good reasons.

I only know hope when I look at Jen and Tom and Guilherme and see those who will restore works of art, who will work with Christ to wipe the shit off of saints faces.

The language of Christ when speaking of the Holy Spirit: I leave with you a great counselor. Well, good. Because we are really fucked down here, God.

I only know faith because I woke up this morning and knew nothing could hurt me worse than myself. I kissed the mirror and my mothers picture, told my father I loved him and Christ that He did not die for nothing, in case He needed to hear it today and I know love.

I can’t be making all of this up. I love you, I love you, I love you. Oh God, please be Good.

Cool Water

I have a tattooish on my arm. In a house of writers, it took Bradford fifteen minutes to find a pen (oh technology) and then another few minutes to illegibly scrawl

HI
DRATE
NOW

You know you are close with your flatmates when they ask you about the frequency of your pee (Jenna never did this, and she loves pee. She writes about it all the time on her blog). I am forgetting to drink water, and so Bradford has reminded me.

And the idea of water has led me to a few other thoughts. Christ uses water more than any other analogy to represent himself. I wonder if this is lost on us, as we are not a desert people, and water is so accessible. I rarely remember feeling thirsty for more than a few minutes, because thirst is so easily quenched.

But it wasn't in the time of Christ. I would assume that food would have been slightly more accessible than water. And so I'm thinking about all of this in the context of why I don't pray, or make time for God. Or why I see my friends having a hard time being vulnerable with Christ. I think a bit of it comes down to expectations. I expect God to do things for me, help me, guide me, whatever. And not all of these expectations are wrong, but as Oswald Chambers says, when you want things from God, more than God Himself, you're fucked. Or something along those lines.

And so we have a lot of hunger pains. For love, for money, for security, adventure, excitement, fame, power. These are deep gnawing pains that keep us up at night. And so we hope that prayer will either give us those things or take the desire for them away completely. And I think we have all realized that it will not (most of the time). And so we slink our thoughts out of prayer and into fantasy or worry.

But here is the great thing I've discovered: Christ is like water when you are starving.

It doesn't satisfy exactly, it's not what you think you want. But it takes the edge of your pain away, it refreshes you for the time being. And, you can not eat for a month and survive. You are dead after a few days without water. I am spiritually dead after a few days of not praying, or being open with God. His water has run out of me, and I'm living out of a vague idea of what he maybe might want me to do, or doing whatever I please. And I'm missing a lot along the way. I am missing a lot of opportunities to encourage and be encouraged, I am missing God's warnings and his leadings, I am living a half-life.

I am consistently amazed at how I can go into prayer one person, and come out another. And I come out better. I am still hungry for things (although sometimes my hunger is taken away completely) but I am filled with the peace and love of Christ. I believe when he says "seek first the kingdom of God and all else will fall behind".

I wrote awhile ago about how anxiety should be considered hunger pains for God. I am coming back to that realization more and more. That just being in the presence of God, being reminded how the creator of the freaking universe wants to talk to me, is some beautiful stuff.

So, drink Christ. And breathe him in. And know that we both think your ass looks fabulous today.

Phil. 4:12

I read something today that made my heart stop:

I've learned by now to be quite content whatever my circumstances. I'm just as happy with little as with much, with much as with little. I've found the recipe for being happy whether full or hungry, full hands or empty. Whatever I have, wherever I am, I can make it through anything in the One who makes me who I am.

How beautiful. I really am enjoying The Message translation.

I looked up some of the greek definitions for this scripture- what the message translates as "makes me who I am" is the word 'endunamoo' which is a present tense verb meaning to strengthen and become.

I love that it is present tense, that finding ourselves in Christ is not something we do once, or that is done for us, but a thing that Christ is continually doing in us.

I have always taken this verse to be encouragement when going through hard times- that times maybe shouldn't be as hard as we allow them to be. It is easy for myself, or Christians, to say that God is the most important thing in my/our lives. But that is pretty quickly disproved. It is easy, natural even, to find our identity in transient things like jobs, friends, lovers, self image, etc. And when we bottom out, it is a realization that our identity is not at all in God. If it were, those things would not affect us nearly as much.

It's kind of like the idea of faith. We've all heard the phrase "such and such is really making me question my faith" or "my faith is being shaken right now". Very interesting phrases. Because, really, if your faith is being shaken, it just means that you are learning that you don't actually have any. That instead of having faith in God, we have had faith in the things he's given us. Faith is something that you only feel when it shouldn't be there. The greek word for faith is 'pistis' which means to believe in the inherent goodness of a thing. If you believe in God after rape, or death, or the loss of something extremely important to you- then you know you have faith. If you only have faith in God when things are great, that's not faith at all, it's just acknowledgement. So when your 'faith is shaken' it's actually an incredible opportunity to ask God for a real faith.

When reading this in the Message- I realized that it's not just for hard times, but for good as well. I think I have clutched onto times of joy, or joyous things- but maybe those should not have had as great an affect on me. I love this idea of going through life perfectly calm and level, because God is something dependable, his Spirit something to trust in always. So we can have hard things but we aren't ruined by them, we have great things, but we aren't distracted by them, either.

I think it can be easy for me to read this verse and feel guilty for how untrue it is in my life- but there is a lot of hope in growth. God is fully aware how absolutely contrary this verse is to actual life. Even more, I think he's proud of us in the process of it becoming true. So many things come natural to us- talent, bitterness, love, depression. We allow a lot of things to just sort of overcome us. And these are the things that make us who we are. We get dumped and bitterness pervades our soul. We lose a job, and anxiety follows us around every other work place. The names people called us become constant companions. We are always being shaped by the world around us. It makes me think of Peter being tossed around by the waves. I am realizing more and more how physical the teachings of Christ are. We literally have to force and fight and pound against ourselves and things in our life. We have to forcibly move worry from our minds, idols from our hearts, gossip and slander from our mouths. In Hebrews it talks about Christ being an anchor for the soul. I have felt this! There have been moments recently where I've been rocked by pure emotion. And out of that emotion I have wanted to change, or hide, or become something that wouldn't be rocked again. But when I've gone to Christ in prayer, I've literally felt calmed and centered. That I only want Christ to make me who I am, and I have to fight to give him that power.

Friends, say a prayer for me, please. I have a huuuuuuuge test for work on Wed that I am studying like mad for, and then I am speaking at the element, and have very limited time to prepare for it. But I'm really excited to be talking about God and science. I'll post some thoughts on it here later on.

Love you guys.

oh, also. The thing that made me laugh a lot today- I was sitting in class with my friend Tam, discussing Westgate (my work) romance and intrigue.

Me: I like indie/hippy boys. None of them work at Westgate.
Tam: *not looking up from his iphone* None of them work, period.

Hahahahahahaha.

Oh, Mr. Webb

Derek Webb is one of my heroes. His lyrics are so good I want to youtube myself rapping to them. Because it would obviously be a youtube phenomenon spread from laptop to cubicle to sean dey showing it to everyone- thereby embrassing myself and giving Derek Webb free publicity.

I will do none of that, but I do want to post this for you. Derek Webb is one of the few artists I know that consistently refers to and sings to God as he would a lover.





This song is such a gem.




I also would like to talk about the clear difference in my personality before and after reading scripture and speaking to Christ.

I woke up this morning at 6 a.m. I had decided to go to starbucks in the morning to read and pray before braving the new/old job at Westgate. Jenn had, in her lovely acts of service way, volunteered to come with me. My alarm went off and it was dark and freezing and I was very sad to be awake. I heard Jenns alarm alarming her and when I was finished getting ready I stuck my head in her room.

She was tugging on a sweatshirt. "I'm awake, I'm awake."
"You should go back to bed." I advised.
"Why?"
"Because it's freezing and way too early and why should we both be miserable?" My logic was clearly impeccable because Jenn crawled back into bed.

I drove to starbucks in my businessy clothes, shivering. I do not have a businessy jacket, but I do have an awesome fake (I hope to God) fur jacket. So I put it on and stumbled toward Starbucks. Sitting outside was a new, young, male employee. I could tell by the look on his face that I amused him.

"Having a good morning?" He chirped. I glared at him.

"It is freakishly early. Freakishly." I growled, going inside.

Immediately the Jenna on my shoulder told me that my facial expression was horrendous and I was rude. But then she smelled the coffee and all offenses were covered.

It is always kind of alarming at how difficult basic niceties can be for me. I just don't have it in me to small talk strangers or smile a lot or appear interested in someone I am not. But when I think of the fragrance of Christ, I think of a woman walking to a room, smiling at everyone and making everyone feel better for it. Or how Tom Gustafson always makes you feel like you're loved with the smallest of conversation. I would like to look like a Christian. Not by purity of speech or not smoking or something like that. But to just look like I am filled with joy. When my friends spend time with God, sometimes I think their face shines like Moses did when he came down from the mountain. Sometimes I secretly hope that I shine after spending time with Christ. I know there is such a tangible difference. I can go into prayer furious or desperate or apathetic- but seeing the world through Christs eyes- as broken and needy and beautiful, it changes me. Knowing that the people I am upset at have been attacked by the same being attacking me- It puts everything into perspective.

"Don't fret or worry. Instead of worrying, pray. Let petitions and praises shape your worries into prayers, letting God know your concerns.
Before you know it, a sense of Gods wholeness, everything coming together for good, will come and settle you down.
It's wonderful what happens when Christ displaces worry at the center of your life."
--Phillipians, da message.

That verse sums up perfectly what I have experienced with prayer. Especially about God's wholeness and things coming together for good. Oswald Chambers said that mans greatest fear is that Jesus Christ will be worsted, and the things he stood for -kindness, compassion, justice, mercy- will all fly in the wind. That is a big fear of mine. That my hands bring more bad than good into the world. But Christs hands are perfect, and I want to use his instead of mine. And that means not worrying or doubting but allowing the Holy Spirit to breathe through me. To be kind and tender and forgiving and all the things that seem trite but take a lot of work. I am praying to smile more and often. I can be very honest and say that I would rather come off strong and intelligent than kind and gentle. But I would love to be gentle. So that's my prayer for a bit. Feel free to ask God to give it in abundance to me.

An hour later as I was leaving I smiled at him. Progress!