without ink

having just turned 29 last week, what better time to pen some thoughts. age is a measurement of days lived, yes, but not at all indicative as to what quality they’ve been lived. in fact, the older i get the more i recognize that a lot of people have actually done “age” pretty poorly. as counterintuitive as it may be, age cannot be necessarily correlated with maturity and/or wisdom. i pity a good number of people who are, though much older than me, stunted in personal growth, having a shortsighted view of the world and intoxicated by the vices it offers. it’s a mystery to me, but perhaps, choosing to abide in a sophomoric state provides license to pursue any and all sorts of urges and cravings. or at least silences ones’ conscience enough. whatever the case may be, i digress.

i am by no means saying i’ve done my 29 years perfectly or without regret. what i do feel, however, is that the farther i go, the more i realize the path i’m on is, indeed, narrow. and the more i travel the narrow path, the more i sense the separation from my fellow men. furthermore, loneliness and sorrow have become more frequent companions. i pause for a moment on my course and observe that the distance between two paths, one wide and one narrow, is, in fact, ever widening. It’s not like at any moment i couldn’t drop my gear and join a sea of faces on the path of convention, finding pseudo-security in solidarity. it’s not that i couldn’t, but i can’t. i’ve seen too much.

see, jesus wasn’t joking when he said pick up your cross and follow me. when i decided to follow him at age 13, i hadn’t the slightest idea of what it meant. but the notion of having my sins erased by means of his sacrifice and the unconditional love and life he promised to provide in exchange for my trust in him was an offer i knew i couldn’t resist. the more i’ve come to know him through his word and in prayer and community, the deeper i’ve understood the way of the cross empirically. it is grotesquely characterized by misunderstanding, rejection, trial, suffering, loneliness, mockery, and sacrifice to name a few. oh, and not to mention- an expectation to resist temptation, treat enemies as friends, and to trust God at every step. in my experience, the road has also been characterized by significant doubt: is it true? is it really worth it? am i the only one?

there are few things these days that i can settle on without wrestling over certain tenets that contribute either to supposed opinion or action. what does it look like to love others, regardless of how i am treated by them? am i using my gifts and abilities to their maximum potential? can i better allocate my time to invest in things that don’t perish? what are my motivations? am i living to garner adulation from men? and the list goes on. i find i can diffuse these doubts and struggles amongst some of my favorites who have gone before, Lewis, Bonhoeffer, and Chambers among others. I’m incredibly homesick for my dear friends in Ft. Worth who walked the path faithfully with me for what seems now, such a short time. I’m ever thankful for my husband as we strive towards Christ together, hand in hand. Yet still, the charge to be a disciple is one that demands everything.…and sometimes I’d be lying if i said i long for an easier way out.

so, to sum up the past 29 years, the only conclusion i have is this- emmanuel. God with us. there is absolutely no other way i can move forward (and no other reason I’d want to!) save jesus himself. i have experienced an undercurrent of joy and peace throughout my life, regardless of hardship, that simply cannot be manufactured. i have purpose and know that i have nothing to prove to anyone which is so incredibly freeing. as i pursue Jesus, i am free in him to live how he designed us to live and am less bound by regret and the weight of trying to create my own identity and destiny.

I simply cannot be sidetracked by hardship as there is work to be done. I pray that the Lord of the harvest would make the narrow path ever populated. 

“Remember also your Creator in the days of your youth, before the evil days come and the years draw near of which you will say, ‘I have no pleasure in them’; before the sun and the light and the moon and the stars are darkened and the clouds return after the rain, in the day when the keepers of the house tremble, and the strong men are bent, and the grinders cease because they are few, and those who look through the windows are dimmed, and the doors on the street are shut- when the sound of the grinding is low, and one rises up at the sound of a bird, and all the daughters of song are brought low- they are afraid also of what is high, and terrors are in the way; the almond tree blossoms, the grasshopper drags itself along, and desire fails because man is going to his eternal home, and the mourners go about the streets- before the silver cord is snapped, or the golden bowl is broken, or the pitcher is shattered and the fountain, or the wheel broken at the cistern, and the dust returns to the earth as it was, and the spirit returns to God who gave it.” Ecclesiastes 12:1-7

The other night, our Bible study group was scheduled to go caroling at a local retirement community/nursing home. Although my husband and I were laughing in the car as I “warmed up” with operatic arpeggios, the truth was, neither of us were too enthusiastic about it. As our group was ushered into the space designated for us, we were alarmed to realize that, as we set our eyes on the rows of people seated in anticipation, it was not so much caroling as it was a concert they were prepared to enjoy! We called a quick huddle and decided which carols to “perform” while our audience looked on. Once we were ready, I started in with timidity but quickly concluded that I didn’t care what I did or didn’t sound like, but that this was an opportunity I didn’t want to miss to serve others wholeheartedly.

As I muscled my way through the carols, I found myself trying to read each person’s face while we sang. Some joined in, others smiled weakly, and yet others seemed to sit completely untouched by the music and sacrifice we felt we were bringing before them. There was one particular woman in the front row who I couldn’t stop glancing at. Something about her was oddly familiar, although I’m certain I hadn’t seen her before. With her head tilted slightly, she wore a pleasant expression but did not smile or sing or stir at all during the songs. It was her eyes especially that captured me- the look of a life that had come and gone… an empty shell of what had once been an existence teeming with energy, vitality, and hopes, snuffed out now by time and decay.  It was such a depressing thought that I had to pause for a verse during one of the carols to avoid being overtaken by the sadness I could feel welling up within me. After I regained my composure and following our “encore,” I walked over to the lady to see if she might enter into any sort of dialogue with me, but after uttering only a few words, I quickly understood her mental capacity to be fairly compromised. When I finally left the facility, it wasn’t a feeling of accomplishment or even relief that followed me out the door, but insufficiency and a nagging sense of sorrow.

After a couple days of processing my experience and own reaction to the situation, I’ve come to the conclusion that it wasn’t so much this concept of each person facing their mortality that startled me so. Rather, the experience served as both a bold reminder and warning for me to use my youth well.  Intentionality is something I’m very passionate about because I can’t stand waste, in my life or others- waste of time, waste of energy, waste of resources, waste of talents…it all drives me crazy. What reverberated in my mind that night while i stared out at the blank stares staring back at me was this: profound grief for waste or regret..relationships not mended, time spent foolishly, lives lived carelessly and selfishly. I wouldn’t presume to know anyone’s story, but the reality of the people before me grieved me because, if anything had been left undone, it is nearly too late to change it now when their bodies are frail, their minds are weak, their limitations are profound, and they are waiting for death’s arrival.

I was reminded of many lessons that evening- death is imminent, death and decay are not what God initially designed, Jesus intensely cares for the marginalized, the forgotten,and the weak, and we have so very little control over our lives. Pondering these themes, i feel the charge is mine- to go, while health and time and vitality are on my side, love and serve people without condition, to use all things i’ve been given to serve God and my fellow man well so that when I’m yet wasting away, I will have wasted very little. To recognize at each moment that it is not my own honor at stake, but God’s, and to live in such a way to make following Christ attractive to the people around me. Finally, to hear at the end of my life the words of the Master say, “well done, good and faithful servant.” My hope is for the people we sang to that night to hear those words, but my hope is more for the people around me who still have a chance to see that serving God and serving others is a life worth living and ultimately what Christmas is all about.

legacy. there are few words that haunt me the way this one does. from the moment i’m introduced to a new day until the curtain closes as it races towards its end, there may not be a question i ponder more than this- in a sea of faces, how does my life count?

it’s easy to buy into the idea that i am my greatest offering to the world. i mean, after all, i’m completely unprecedented! unique! special! selfies reign- allowing people who have never actually seen their own face to have it on display in whatever setting they choose. tattoos differentiate one’s physical body, unconventional names are the new norm, and forget talent- all one needs is some level of aberrancy to have their own cult following. is there actually a question as to whether or not the quest to distinguish oneself from everyone else, possibly who has ever lived, is an epidemic? the quest to be someone who is remembered, who is set apart from the masses, and who has realized their full potential is so typical that the exception is the person without a facebook profile.

the need to find acclaim, status, and affirmation from others is achingly omnipresent, and it’s easy to forget how real life actually plays out. I was reminded when the other day, my husband relayed this question to me: “how often do you think about your great-grandparents?” Then he mentioned that how we respond now is how one day our great grandkids will respond about us. On the same hand, having recently moved into a single occupancy home built in the 60’s, i am so incapable of even beginning to know the treasures, the occasions, the joy, and the tears that filled this house before we were the occupants. to us, “this” room or “that place over there” means no more than just that, but to the family before us, were the exact places “that happened” and “i learned such and such for the first time.” from my own perspective, my life could be of no more importance to me than it is. but, when the sun sets, to the rest of the world, i am, in fact, relatively obscure, unknown, and easily forgotten.

what i can’t shake is my desire to broadcast my life so that others will know me and appreciate me to the degree i feel that i’m worthy of.  and, when i let myself experience moments where i zoom out and see a bigger picture and a world that’s not seen just from my two eyes, i admit that i find myself in occasional despair- who truly knows me? in whose memory will i reside when i’m gone? and for how long will my very existence be recalled?

there is really only one thing that brings me comfort in the midst of the carnage of destroyed egotism and self-aggrandizement.

no one, not my husband, not my sister, not my parents, knows everything about me. my life, my motives, my fears, my failures, my thoughts, my tears. Not a single person. except God. the longing to be completely known, to be completely accepted, to be completely loved, and to be completely remembered can only be found in Him. I don’t want to miss this.

If i spend my entire life trying to make my mark on something that’s passing away anyway, i will most likely be remembered, at best by two or three generations. and probably only by one or two trademarks. I’ve discovered it makes a lot more sense to invest in what continues on, what’s eternal, that is, knowing God and loving people in the way He would desire. then and only then, despite whether my life ever amounts to anything greater than “mundane,” my individuality will be absorbed and redeemed in the legacy of Christ and the story that God is writing. and it is there that i find my best work and my truest self.

I haven’t written in awhile so i thought, what better time than the eve of my first wedding anniversary to do some reflection?

This past year has been an unprecedented one, to say the least. A new union, new name, new state, new jobs, new church, new friends, new weather (still hate the winter), new struggles, new joys, new dishes (among other wedding gifts), and generally, a very new, strange, awkward, beautiful, and difficult season. I don’t think I can sum it up more succinctly than that.

What has transpired over the last year i best relayed to a good friend as likened to perhaps only one other season of my life- puberty. Puberty was a time of adjustment to be sure- from everything ranging from braces to align my smile to shaving legs to align my social standing. It was a time, in retrospect, of some hilarious blunders- nearly burning my bangs off and wearing blue underwear with a white skirt…some I still laugh at when i replay them in my head, and most I have carried very important lessons from! It was a time of being included one day to feeling ostracized and misunderstood the next. A time of blemishes of all sorts. A time of building an identity. A time that was absolutely necessary to go through to arrive at the rest of my life. A time I can smile at from a distance knowing I’d never want to go through it again but knowing that it served a great purpose and while difficult, was crucial for innumerable reasons.

The more things change, the more I realize in some sense that they are merely recycled lessons that God uses to teach me deeper realities, building on the introductory courses I have seemingly already taken. Such has been the case this year. Having passed through the fire of not just a new marriage but so many other variables since last September, I can confidently say I have emerged stronger, thankful, and more sure of who I am and who I’m supposed to be in this new season in which I have found myself. My husband and I have grown in our identity together, the blemishes are fewer, and all the stories of adjustment of the past year are sure to entertain for years to come.

Through all the “newness” I have found a faithful friend who is neither new nor unchanging….who walked with me through adolescence and who continues to help me work out the kinks of this new thing at hand- jesus. I have realized once again that though marriage is beautiful, it is incomplete and unsatisfying in so many moments. This year has brought me continually back to the Lord as I have plead for forgiveness, help, and direction to make it through alive (and without strangling the man I love). If an increased awareness of my need for God has resulted from the turmoil of the year, then I can confidently say it has been well worth it.

So, I’ll raise my glass and toast to puberty, thanking the God of it all.

I haven’t written in awhile so i thought, what better time than the eve of my first wedding anniversary to do some reflection?

This past year has been an unprecedented one, to say the least. A new union, new name, new state, new jobs, new church, new friends, new weather (still hate the winter), new struggles, new joys, new dishes (among other wedding gifts), and generally, a very new, strange, awkward, beautiful, and difficult season. I don’t think I can sum it up more succinctly than that.

What has transpired over the last year i best relayed to a good friend as likened to perhaps only one other season of my life- puberty. Puberty was a time of adjustment to be sure- from everything ranging from braces to align my smile to shaving legs to align my social standing. It was a time, in retrospect, of some hilarious blunders- nearly burning my bangs off and wearing blue underwear with a white skirt…some I still laugh at when i replay them in my head, and most I have carried very important lessons from! It was a time of being included one day to feeling ostracized and misunderstood the next. A time of blemishes of all sorts. A time of building an identity. A time that was absolutely necessary to go through to arrive at the rest of my life. A time I can smile at from a distance knowing I’d never want to go through it again but knowing that it served a great purpose and while difficult, was crucial for innumerable reasons.

The more things change, the more I realize in some sense that they are merely recycled lessons that God uses to teach me deeper realities, building on the introductory courses I have seemingly already taken. Such has been the case this year. Having passed through the fire of not just a new marriage but so many other variables since last September, I can confidently say I have emerged stronger, thankful, and more sure of who I am and who I’m supposed to be in this new season in which I have found myself. My husband and I have grown in our identity together, the blemishes are fewer, and all the stories of adjustment of the past year are sure to entertain for years to come.

Through all the “newness” I have found a faithful friend who is neither new nor unchanging….who walked with me through adolescence and who continues to help me work out the kinks of this new thing at hand- jesus. I have realized once again that though marriage is beautiful, it is incomplete and unsatisfying in so many moments. This year has brought me continually back to the Lord as I have plead for forgiveness, help, and direction to make it through alive (and without strangling the man I love). If an increased awareness of my need for God has resulted from the turmoil of the year, then I can confidently say it has been well worth it.

So, I’ll raise my glass and toast to puberty, thanking the God of it all.

It’s a winter day. This statement is less than an evaluation of the chill that has set in to north Texas and more like a reference to what is perceived by the little girl peering out into the world. Today, I am fighting the cold, bleak, weary, uninviting, discouraging, winter. And I want to stay right next to my heater instead of going outside because it’s way scarier when security and comfort are unaccounted for. And are unable to be guaranteed.

Some things I miss about the Midwest are the distinct seasons. But a week or so at home during the months of December to February remind me that I’m in no hurry to relocate from the sunny south. The seasons provide, in many ways, a great illustration of life. They are restless, always progressing from one to another much like we ourselves rarely stand in one place for too long…perhaps hoping to settle into an ideal set of circumstances but never quite finding our expectations entirely realized. There is certainly beauty in winter, but it is much harder to observe for the person who, in a spirit of vulnerability, endures the frigid elements, the pain of frostbite, and the cold that penetrates all the way to one’s heart. But, the beauty of growth can only have its full effect when one puts himself in a position to identify with the winter landscape- stripped bear, weighed down, and reliant on a different substance of life for sustenance throughout the arduous season, however long it may be. Then, the life that truly carries along the windblown, tattered, and tired scenery shows itself in a mighty way when signs of spring emerge.

I am a work in progress. Certain days I feel in full bloom and, others, feel like I have nothing to offer the world. However, although winter days are harsh, I can rejoice in them knowing that they are reminders of my brevity, my susceptibility, my humanity. And although these reminders often hit right at my pride and cause me moments of despair as I frantically attempt to restore my bruised self-sufficiency, I turn again to the only true source of Life.

sustain me, jesus. you are my only hope for survival.

The other day I found myself in panera, and as I glanced around mid thought, waiting for inspiration to spring from some place in my mind, I caught sight of a portrait on the wall of a person kneading a loaf of bread. It was a rather catalytic moment as ideas I had been throwing around for awhile finally coalesced.

To anyone who can live at least 3 weeks off the food in their kitchen cabinets- welcome to the land of prosperity.  the days of bread as a precious commodity are gone, replaced with a pledge to avoid carbs altogether.  We are a people characterized by diet, a diet sustained by substantial intake of sugar-free, fat-free, calorie-free cardboard.  Despite nice packaging, ingenious marketing, and an appearance indiscernible from an indulgence of choice, the items are still imposters. Manufactured with substitutes, these chemicals are specifically designed to spare you caloric intake as they are unable to be metabolized.

There are hundreds of diets to choose from, all boasting their uniqueness and success. it’s all about what works for you. Heck, if you can’t find something you like, make up your own regimen…and then sell it! and isn’t the whole premise of a diet really a search for satisfaction, obtained with a pseudo-sense of control? cardboard only satisfies for so long.  the diet is forsaken;  the optimism replaced with a more realistic hopelessness and a bag of doritos.

our diet nation is suffering from a supposed obesity epidemic.

I am more concerned with all the signs of emaciation. We are starving.

As cs lewis said, “we are far too easily pleased.” We gorge ourselves on the blandest things, trying to find satisfaction by staving off inherent needs. you feel unloved, vulnerable, insecure, hopeless. simply put, you are hungry. Eat.

Isaiah 55:1-3a “Come, everyone who thirsts, come to the waters; and he who has no money, come, buy and eat! Come, buy wine and milk without money and without price. Why do you spend your money for that which is not bread, and your labor for that which does not satisfy? Listen diligently to me, and eat what is good, and delight yourselves in rich food. Incline your ear, and come to me; hear, that your soul may live.”

John 6:35 “Jesus said to them, ‘I am the bread of life; whoever comes to me shall not hunger, and whoever believes in me shall never thirst.’”

One of my new favorite hobbies is to lay on the trampoline and stare at the sky. As I lose myself in the hues of splendor, I forget my spatial coordinates and feel weightless. There is something invigorating about falling headlong into something larger until I all but disappear entirely. My pensive nature comes alive and I allow myself the freedom of letting my mind run wild. Captured visions of the wonder of flight, the invisible force rapidly moving the clouds across the sky, and an ever-changing view of the atmosphere above inspire contemplation as external stimuli is channeled and inevitably becomes a conversation. I’m gone.

A unique characteristic of human beings is that the things we experience cause us to consider meaning and purpose. Intrinsically, everyone longs to be a part of something beyond themselves, why else would causes and movements and ideologies be so attractive. To harness the human will and direct it towards a unified purpose is to possess great power. The spark of vitality which is fanned into a flame upon seeing a beautiful sunset, sharing a victory with a sports team, getting goose bumps after hearing a moving piece of music is surely a response of divine engineering.

No matter where I go on this earth, no place compares with the warm rush of familiarity and security that washes over me when I open the door of my parents’ house. I’m home. Similarly, nomadic affections can suffice in the comfort they provide but cannot quite eliminate the ache for what is natural. Joining a movement towards which all of creation is directed is to pursue the inherent drive for homeostasis. This is worship- to unite with angels, rocks, mountains, stars, oceans in praising the maker of all.

As I close my eyes, mediate on your majesty, and click together the ruby red slippers of my heart, you, jesus, never fail to bring me back to where I belong, dwelling in your goodness forever.

I embrace gracious uncertainty.  I wait with breathless anticipation to see what you have for me today.  Gathering the necessities and dressing myself appropriately, I embark on the greatest adventure of my life.  The only expectation I have is gaining hold of what you have promised, namely, yourself.  I find great freedom in this for as I expect only you, I am never disappointed.  You graciously bring opportunities into my path, not haphazardly but each for a purpose and reason, some never to be discovered, but I trust that you do not act flippantly.  You delight me with surprises you know will make my heart flutter, and smiling, I press into you further, my faithful companion, to see where you will lead me next.  You are my only guide as I traverse what would seem to some to be a treacherous wilderness, uncertainty and danger lurking in the shadows at every bend.  However, you have earned my trust thus far as you have not yet let me down.  I pack lightly knowing that at any moment you might ask me to change course, and although my flesh sometimes resists change and desires a map of where we are going next, I recall the offerings of plans, agendas, and my own will that you required I sacrificed to you before we departed.  I turn and see that all that is left from the altar marking the beginning of the journey is the smoke that remains from these offerings.

Wide eyed and amazed, I am continually experiencing firsthand the things I have only heard about you.  Restlessness sighs before vanishing, unsteady steps are strengthened and transform into unwavering strides, and timidity diminishes as boldness increases.  I close my eyes thinking it is a dream, but when I open them and find myself locked in your gaze, I know that this is reality and all else is imitation.  I no longer have concern for others’ opinions of this wild, untamed, rugged existence I have chosen but yearn instead to hear your praise.  I fall in line with you, Master, trekking into the unknown on the heels of the one I know and adore.

Tonight I saw a homeless lady struggling into a gas station where I watched, peeping behind my pump, somehow believing that hiding myself would be excuse enough for doing something.  I got in my car with my vest pocket padded with a wad of cash, turned on the heat and some music, made myself comfortable and drove off. It didn’t take long before I was haunted by the image of that poor woman struggling to walk, and I felt terrible. I sat in my car in the parking lot of my apartment and regretted my missed opportunity, wishing I could go back and extend a hand of compassion. Instead, not knowing exactly what I could do for the woman held me back from doing anything.

What it would be like to be homeless? Dependent on everyone for everything. No place to go home to at night. No escape from reality with a vacation. No recollection of the last movie enjoyed. Yet, what must be worst is the emotional desolation.  A wasted personality because no one hears your jokes.  Repressed memories because no one cares.  No one to listen to fears, hopes, and regrets.  No hugs. No words of encouragement. Nothing but survival…and even that seems numb and hopeless.

My heart breaks, but not so much for the lady as it does for myself and others who refuse to ascribe worth to the person who is clothed in filthy rags and instead see only the condition: homeless, good for nothing, a nuisance to society.   Even as I sit here writing, I think to myself, does that lady even know that she is loved?

I don’t understand a lot of things. And I probably will never find the perfect rhyme to most of them.  One thing in particular that is hard to wrap my mind around is why I am as privileged as I am. Not intending to sound boastful, I consider all that my life entails and conclude: it is so unfair. Why me, God? Why do I have opportunities at my finger tips? Why do I have more than enough?

Silence.  But the silence inspires me.

Lord, I don’t know what you have for my life. But you have given me vision, and I resolve to pursuit what I do know. I know this much- that after I am gone, I will be remembered for a generation…two at the most. People will no longer be able to get to know me…all that will be left are pictures and stories, and even then, those will eventually disappear.  My pride stings a little bit when I think that as the world was functioning before I got here, it will continue on after I leave.  Surely, purpose must be found in something else.  Something that can be discovered and known from generation to generation. Something that will never expire, accumulate dust, or depreciate in value.  Something else. Someone else.

I yearn to love others and introduce them to the one who has so richly blessed me.  May my legacy, Jesus, be found in yours, for that is a legacy that lasts forever.