The crescendo

I took my last flight to Chicago yesterday morning. From now on, most of the time at least, I'll be driving back. It's a big deal, and I'm excited to have a car. But there's a certain ease and peace about flying -- putting responsibility in someone else's hands for a change. It's just me on that plane. No cell phone. No internet. Not even anyone I know. Just me, the airplane magazine and the little bag of peanuts. It's a gift.

Today in church, the minister preached about God's timing. 420 years took place between the promise made at the end of the Old Testament and the fulfillment of it in the New Testament. Just before God's about to do something huge, something eart-shattering, something utterly fabulous . . . there's nothing. That pattern is repeated over and over in the Bible. The minister called it the crescendo, the building up and building up and building up, just before the most beautiful part of all. It's the pause, the sheer nothingness, that makes us anticipate and appreciate what is to come, that much more. It's that part before the last syllable in the Hallelujah Chorus, that little pause that stops us in our tracks and fills us with awe.

So what am I waiting for? Many things. We're all waiting for many things. But maybe it's in the waiting that we find the real reward . . .

Plans

"In his heart a man plans his course, but the Lord determines his steps." - Proverbs 16:9

It's comforting that it's all in His hands, and not in mine.

I've been studying Marketing off and on today. One of the questions on our study guide reads, "In the consumer buying process, what is the information source in which consumers normally have the most confidence?" That's an easy one: our friends, our family, people we know. It just makes sense that we put the most faith in the opinions of people who have our best interests in mind. Surely my mom knows what's better for me than the clerk at the grocery store, my roommate better than the sales associate at Express, my teacher better than the boy behind the counter at the bookstore.

So if that's true, why is it that we trust ourselves more than we trust the one who knows us the most, the one who knows us the best, not the one who theoretically would die for us, but the one who did? I can't help but imagine it -- what would happen if I put my life fully in God's hands? Not just the things I want to give Him, but everything, every ounce of it. What would that look like?

"Commit to the Lord whatever you do, and your plans will succeed." - Proverbs 16:3

Big hearts

It has been a long semester, and it's getting longer. I really can't wait to begin again next semester . . . it will be much better. I can already tell. Today is a long day, and it's getting longer. I really can't wait to begin again tomorrow . . . it will be much better. I can already tell.

Two people told me that I have such a big heart today. It made me smile.

Box faith

I was reading my daily blog digest (because I'm technologically awesome and plugged in like that) and the blog of an old friend, who I never talk to anymore, really touched me. She wrote about something huge . . .

She wrote that Christianity is box-like, closed, limited, when Jesus, in actuality, is free. Christianity says what CAN we do, but Jesus says "WHAT CAN'T I DO?" For Christians, there are two things we can't do: drink and have sex until we're married. These two sins are almost put on a pedestal, as the worst sins, as the two sins that will mess up your life the most. But wouldn't it be interesting if we treated gossip just the same as sex before marriage, pride just the same as getting drunk? I wish my selfishness would make my friends look at me with the same distaste they would if they found out I was sleeping around. I wish my lack of love for my enemies would shock people just as much as my drunkenness would.

Something to think about . . . something to think about.

As my friend said, love is big. Love isn't something that fits into a box. I want to do that. I want to love outside the box. So how, then, do I really do that? How do I do more than just think about it?

Addicted

When we think of addiction, we think of drugs, alcohol, smoking. We picture people in rehab hospitals, with those gaunt, drawn-out eyes, with a personality hiding in there, somewhere. We picture syringes and cigarettes and tiny begs of powder and and empty bottles and broken bottles and half empty bottles and half empty souls.

But really, we're all addicted to something. Some of us are addicted to success, and the pursuit of it. Success in school, in your job. We shoot up with extra hours at work, at the library. We get drunk on extra credit, compliments, little advances towards that place we want to get. Some of us are addicted to social lives. Who do we know? Who knows us? Who should we know? What should we do to be known? The drug is face time. Only face time. Some of us are addicted to significant others -- the one we have, or the one we are trying to have. We're only happy when we're with them. We get high from their presence, and we're hung over when we're not. Some of us are addicted to memories, to the past. We chug bottles of yesterdays, with no taste for today or tomorrow.

So how do we cure these addictions? How do we get past the ball and chain that has us tied down? When we get to the end of the day, how do we not reach for that last cigarette, how do we put the cork in the bottle, how do we leave our old selves? Maybe the change begins where it started . . . why we got this way in the first place . . .

Homes

It was a really good Thanksgiving.

I always dread breaks. There's this sinking feeling inside me as I get closer to Chicago and further from Columbia, because I expect the worst. But this time was the best. There was a peace in my house that I have not felt for a long time. And that is something to praise God for.

My praises? Meatloaf. Brooke. American Girl Place. Laura. Oak Brook Mall. The new H&M. Peace. My dad, mom and sister. Happy Feet. Cheesecake. Turkey and everything that goes with it. Christmas shopping. Believing in Santa. Believing in Jesus.

Leaving one home and going back to another has never been this peaceful. I'm looking forward to Christmas, believe it or not.

Heavenly peace

I've been back in Chicago for three days now. It's peaceful. Pleasantly so.

I spent Saturday morning on an airplane, Saturday afternoon around the house and at the grocery store and Saturday night eating dinner that my mom made. Wonderful. Sunday was church, decorating Christmas trees with my sister's Girl Scout troop, then an afternoon with the newspaper and a nap. I ate another dinner my mom made, then watched Desperate Housewives, channel surfed and went to sleep early. Wonderful, yet again. Today, I spent the morning in Chicago when Brooke came to visit, reliving our childhoods at American Girl Place, ogling at every chocolate imaginable at the Ghiradelli and Hershey's stores, book browsing at Borders, and making wish lists at the three-story Gap. Then I went to the hand doctor and got no answers. I'm getting some tests and x-rays done later this week, then starting physical therapy in December. I want some answers, but I guess I'll have to be patient -- uncharacteristically so.

God's bringing me the peace I've wanted for so long . . . it's beautiful.

Craving

I go through the same crisis four times a year . . . mid-November, mid-December, late March, and mid-May. It's when I don't know what is where, and when home is a feeling and not a place, and I can rarely grab that feeling and hold onto it like I desperately want to.

There's an RUF minister at Furman University, and he was in a biking accident last week Wednesday. He suffered major head injuries and had a blood clot removed from his brain the day of the accident. His brain keeps swelling and he's in a medically-induced coma, but the swelling isn't going down. His wife calls his voice mail just to hear his voice. He has three children, and dozens upon dozens upon dozens of children who aren't related to him, but whose lives he has touched through RUF. And that's who we are -- children. He's received an outpouring of support, but he isn't conscious to receive it.

It's a beautiful expression of the love of God's community . . . such a beautiful reaction to a tragedy . . .

But I go into this secluded daze because I can't figure out if my home is Chicago or Columbia. And it isn't even Chicago, it's actually Westmont. And when God's community pours out its love to me, I dismiss it.

I have a friend who has become distant of late because his stepmom has cancer and a former classmate died in Iraq. This friend could go to Iraq too. I have a friend who has never felt the confidence we should all deserve to feel, even though she's beautiful, and who wonders if God will ever bring her a date. I have a friend who is withering away, and I don't think it's an eating disorder, but there's something just not normal. I have a friend whose life is intangibly perfect, but it's often in perfection when the most flaws arise, when we settle for perfect mediocrity. I have a friend who won't share what's on her heart, and I wonder sometimes if she wants to, but there's just so much that she doesn't know where to begin. I have a friend whose boyfriend's mom is dying. It feels like her own mom is dying too. I have a friend who left school last semester because she was sick, and she can barely do some of what she wants because she always needs to rest. I have a friend who switched from Journalism to Hotel and Restaurant Management because she took a cake decorating class. If she can make what she eats look perfect, then maybe that will hide a life that isn't.

These are just some of the amazing friends God has blessed me with. I desperately want them all to know how much I appreciate them . . . they do what they can, and more, to make me happy. I don't gratify them with returning the favor. I'm stuck and I'm here and I want to be happy. I get happiness from God, and I'm craving it like no other . . .

Crash landing

I took the leap of faith.

I landed face first, crashed into a ditch and got a mouth full of dirt.

My anger is gone, and my enthusiasm is back. But if one more person tells me that all this free time is a blessing, I'm going to throw up in that poor person's shoes. I need a group to lead, some people to include, something to make me feel content again. God didn't give me talents for nothing, and I intend to be the best steward I can of what He gave me.

Diving in

I'm taking a huge leap of faith, and I'm asking God to carry me through it. After praying, deliberating, thinking, faltering, changing my mind, and changing it back, I'm realizing what God's been pointing to all along. I'm running for Vice President of my sorority, and tomorrow at this time, I will know if God wants me to do it or not.

I may not be wearing a life vest, but there's still Someone there to catch me.

"YOU know the way to the place where I am going . . ." - John 14:4

Perfect

I'm guilty of never resting. There is a fine line between too little and too much, and I crossed it years ago. Everyone around me knows it, too. All I ever wanted was to be perfect -- and I saw activity as the way to become perfect. The more you do, the better you must be . . . it made sense.

I always want more hours in a day. On the one day of the year when I get it, the day when Daylight Savings Time takes place and the whole world changes the clocks back one hour, I ought to take that hour and run with it. Sixty more minutes. It's a gift.

This year, I'm going to rest. I'm taking that extra hour, that gift, and using it. I'm using it wisely -- not to change the world, but to change myself. And I have to learn that it's perfectly okay.


"Be still and know that I am God . . ." - Psalm 46:10

Clean

After all the chaos of Homecoming is finally over, one of my roommates and I cleaned. It was so therapeutic. I brought down the big vacuum from the third floor, the one that cleans as well as clatters. All the glitter, the ravelled ends of paper, the dust, the thread, the hair . . . vanished, just like that.

Beautiful. Taken for granted. Beautiful.