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 . . .