Multiple Choice

Tonight I had a very interesting position on life posed to me.

See, what I haven't talked about much, which could also explain the reason for my long extended absence, would be my failing grades. I have always been good at tests, but for some reason this semester, I can't muster a sound thought process and it seems I am failing my tests. Failing at multiple choice, within those tests, that is.

For the life of me, I can't respond to multiple choice in a well produced, thought out, adult sort of way. When I see a multiple choice question, the inside of me, the deepest part begins to freak out. Four choices? Really? That's all I have? Oh shit. Are you serious? And there is a RIGHT one? Not even a sort of right one, but a RIGHT one? Oh crap. I'm screwed. It's A right? No way, it has to be B. I mean the ones before that were B and D and C... they wouldn't screw with me that much... right? But A could be right and D could be right.... damn. Why can't I just explain my answer?

See, I used to think I was a pressure player. The one you would call in at the least minute to rescue the game. I was wrong. I am not a pressure player. I way to calculated for that. Damn, not so much. Apparently I am the sideliner that comes in when everyone else is injured or sick.

So tonight, amidst a game of Wii bowling, I had a very interesting conversation. See as I was bitching about my inability to estimate multiple choice, someone very pointedly, to my face, said "Life is multiple choice. And since you have been getting 70%'s... good luck."

I tried to argue. I said, "No way!!!!! Life is an essay, responding to what we have learned." He argued back "No, life is about choices, A, B, C, or D. What will I do RIGHT now."

I had a hard to reacting to that. What do you say? It's the truth. Everyday we are met with decisions that define us based on the moment. Whether it is what I want to admit or not, that is exactly the truth. It's the moment, not the explanation that counts.

But I wasn't settled with that. How can you say that we are just a subject of so few a percent points? So 1 out of 4 are our odds; 25%. Those are my odds that I might make the right choice? Seems a little deterministic. A little too reactionary. Maybe in class, but in life? No way!!! I have worked too hard, found too many paths of righteous and unrighteousness and surpassed the heartache of inability to say that all of it comes down to simple odds!!!! Somewhere in there, I know I listened to a voice, to a spirit that was bigger than mine. Still....

I want so much to be a creator. To sit in the seat of one that deems what is possible or not possible, but I don't. So often I try to create a circumstance of perfection. Like reliving a time that was what I wanted. A place that I liked, a reality that fit me... The creator of the known I always want to sit at the helm of a ship on a sea of memories... or at least romantic realism. But as I wake to reality, I realize, instead, I sit in the seat of those that deem enough. Ironically, at this point and time of my life, I am the one that others have the permission to choose an A, or B or C or.... whatever to define ME as. It's not a garden of Eden that I think of when I close my mind in perfection, it is the imperfect adaptation of someone elses multiple choice.

The truth is, somewhere in between multiple choice and essay is where I exist. Where WE exist. Somewhere between chance and essays is are the lessons is life. Somewhere in between what you want and what you deserve (even as a grade) is what is truth.

I can't explain away every circumstance, but I know He is more than chance. He is more than just throwing caution to the wind on a 25% chance of getting it right. I have partnered with Him to determine my life this far, and I know it can't be just chance, or even my version of an essay right. Some of it, if not only a little, is about me learning from what has been, to know Him better and if not just my choices make it a little more clear and real.

See, someday, if we allow, we become more than circumstance, but still less, than chance. Multiple choice be damned.....

The Bermuda Triangle

I have come into realization of another great paradox that occupies more time in my conscious and subconscious than I would like to admit.

As I continue to struggle with the great concept of what it means to be the fullest expression of me and thus Christ in me, that I can be, a picture of a very different version of myself than is exemplified on a day to day basis exists.

It's like looking in a mirror. Do I really look the way I think I look, or do others see something completely different? Am I the image in the mirror, or the image in my head? And to that extent, which is more real?

The great Bermuda Triangle of thought has been circling my head for a few weeks now. At times, I have found myself almost standing outside my own body watching as I partake in conversations, activities and events that seem to be a product of something other than the truth of who and what I thought I had begun to be introduced to by my Great Creator.

Knowing it was happening, feeling the feelings associated with the activity, feeling the criticism residing with each action or inaction, I have been in the continued fight of trying to understand the root, the birth place of the incongruence that creates a breach between me, and... well, me.

When I was back in California over the summer, like the settling of a wet blanket, I could feel the old me falling back into practice as though it had never been shed. With deep frustration and sense of powerlessness, I felt overwhelmed by the subjective power of what I was coming into contact with and unable to fight through it to regain the lost ground of my own personhood.

Knowing this was the case, when I came home to DC, the best I could do was exist enough to remind myself I was back in a place of safety and seclusion. Like a child hiding in the dark, the me I had been working so hard with God to rediscover, or even meet for the first time, I began to coax myself out of hiding. And slowly but surely, moment after moment, little bits began to come back out. The problem is, as always, this rediscovery process is never perfect, easy, or smooth. The real me tends to be skittish and easily thrown back into remission. The question has been, what makes me run and hide? What is my nemesis?

As God is always, in His graciousness, He began to open me up to a new revelation. Slowly, not to scare me, but to ease me into realization, He showed me something I had never seen before. Not surprisingly, it came through interaction with my significant other.

All of the sudden there was nothing he could do that was right. There was nothing he could do that was good enough. Every action had a justification of why it wasn't what it should be, in my mind that it. I created a picture in my mind of what it SHOULD look like rather than what it did look like, and nothing was acceptable besides my version of "right." The hardest part? Everything I thought was "right" was right... in a sense. All the things I thought that needed to be, were good, and fair things to want and need. They weren't crazy, or unrealistic. Nothing is more deceptive than a half truth.

What was the other half, the half that wasn't truth? Well, they may have been good things to want, I wasn't wanting them because they were good, I was wanting them because I was afraid. If things stayed the way they were, those circumstances would require a measure of trust, faith, grace and hope I wasn't sure I could handle. They would require me to put to bed the fears based on the past, and the wounds incurred from others mistakes. It meant that I would have to risk losing love, to secure safety. Sounds much like the battle I have faced learning to trust the Lord. Funny how that happens.

If I gave all those fears, and all of those past wounds up, I would have to give up something else as well. Something I didn't know was there until I heard how powerful the voice was. I would have to give up the little voice that whispered the comparisons of my version of "right" to what the reality of the situation really was. It was the voice that told me I was "right" to hold onto what I feared. It was justifications for well... judgement. It was the voice that held the bar of estimation, the person I claimed to love, had to measure up to. I realized how inconsistent that really was. I can't love him, and judge him at the same time. I can't always hope for him and I, and criticize along the way.

As soon as I realized this, as soon as God was gracious enough to reveal my own double standards, my own personal hell I had created by imprisoning him and myself to a rigorous set of rules he had to live up to, to be worthy of my love, freedom was able to enter. The vision I had of him changed. All of the sudden he wasn't my opposition, he was my partner. He was someone I could believe in and trust, not begrudge my love until his actions were good enough, or what they "should" be. Sort of like the battle I have fought with Jesus, oh since, I don't know, FOREVER. He is never the way I think He should be, but always what I need.

The kicker comes as it always does later on. Not soon after, did the paradigm shift filter down to the level of my own self. If I was that critical of him, how critical was I of myself? More so, to be sure. So afraid of my own ability to destroy, to break, to make critical errors, I have constructed a picture of what I ought to look like, and the ironic thing is, it is the one thing that keeps me from being whatever it is that I am.

There is an old saying: "Better the devil you know, than the one you don't." If I can behaviorally modify the devil in me, that I perceive that is, much better than letting go and running amok with the one I don't. I mean, I can make it work, right? I mean I can MAKE my "right" way work. I know I can. I just messed up a few times along the way is all. I can do it now. Not that I know what the "right" thing or life or me is. I just know it when I get there.

So I impose a set of standards, a set of parameters I should live within. And when I don't act in accordance with them, better to withhold grace from myself and try to do it better next time. Don't talk too much this time. Don't say something stupid again. Stop always interjecting your opinion, no one cares. Lose more weight. Don't eat that. Study more, others do. Be a better girlfriend, love your boyfriend more. Call your friends more often. Stop spending so much money. Tithe more, it's a command. Pray more, you need it.

All good things, right? All things I should strive for, right? But what's that I said before, oh yeah, the most dangerous deception is the one that is half true. When these are based on fear, or measurements for a estimation of good, or lovable, they are just ways for me to criticize myself day after day, moment after moment. No wonder I am so damn scared to come out of hiding, I wouldn't want to be around me either. The devil I know is worse than the one I don't, I am already scared of it.

The other ironic part of this? Jesus has been working the last year of my life to convince me of not only His goodness, but His love and ability to redeem. Everyday He shows me another way He has answered a prayer, been gracious, been abounding in blessing in every stage of my life. He has taken painstaking measures to open my eyes and heart to His real, tangible, life shaping, giving, big, expansive, hopeful, redeeming love. Not just in figment of imagination, but in real, money giving, opportunity giving, 20,000 miles of travel in one year sort of ways. More than ever possible, literally answering prayers I prayed years ago sort of ways. And none of it, not one ounce of it, came predictably, through my construction of the "right" way. I am just blessed. No formulas, no measurements, no reasons why, never earned, never good enough sort of way.

See, I think the image I see in the mirror is wrong. I think it only shows half the real me. There is a side of me He knows intimately that I am still discovering, but I will never really have the chance to meet if I continue to pass judgement. The side that knows no judgement, is the side that lives out of trueness. It lives out of His grace. It's the side that loves recklessly, that sits in peace, that worships with abandon, that isn't critical of every word before and after it leaves my mouth. It isn't judging out of fear and guilt. It's the side that doesn't subject me or others to a double standard of wanting to love, but withholding when it doesn't go the way it "should." It's the side that believes in redemption, lives for His breath, and waits for His words. It's the side that trusts Him and the Him inside of me, and rather than standing outside of me and criticizing others and me, it takes up residence in my heart and mind and lives everyday in fullness.

The image in the mirror I have is a creation I have in my mind, and sadly enough, it will never measure up and will always feel inadequate. But then again, I don't even have the right to judge, so I am not sure why I do.

Better for me to wait to pass judgement until He does. But then again, I guess that means I will be waiting.... well until the judgement day. Why judge now, I can just wait until then. Besides, I am pretty sure I already know how He will judge me then... and who am I to tell Him, He's wrong?

Oh Jesus, sweet, sweet, good Jesus; thank you for your patience with me. It's saintly to be sure, and far outmeasures mine for me, You, or anyone else. Thank you for never existing in my "right" way. It's the scarier path, but the path that leads to more of You. Your words are the keys to my soul, Your revelation the breath that keeps my heart beating. Forgive me for judging things that are not mine to judge. Forgive my critical voice. Please replace it in all of Your graciousness. I need Your voice, Your truth to be my guide. This is a battle I can't wage in me, it must be You. I give myself over to Your strength and truth. I will do my best to live in the truth of Your goodness and the trust in Your answering of my prayers. Lord, heal any wounds my critical side has caused to others. Show me how to live a different way. Change my broken heart. You are the only one who can do this. You are my only hope, and the only hope I need. I love You. Thank You for being God.

Trusting, Hoping, Preserving

I think the hardest thing about relationships is being in one. Form the outside, looking in, who doesn't want to be in one? Someone to kiss on the special holidays, movie lines passed back and forth, and more than anything, someone to hold you when it's raining.

What is forgotten is the reality of being in love. The grit of struggling through the ups and downs... and even knowing what the ups and downs are.

Fear has a strange way of convincing risks aren't risks, they are promises. There is always a fifty-fifty chance, but some times we convince ourself it isn't a possibility of failure, it is a forgone conclusion. The time comes, and all signs point toward a turn around. "Don't go this way. Stupidity lies ahead," they all seem to say. Nothing makes sense, and it doesn't look the way you pictured it, and the other person is standing somewhere ahead asking you to cross the bridge of trust. And all the while, fear has conveniently forgotten to tell you, those sings are in Spanish, someone just told you what they said, but you really don't know.

And as you give fear the control, it takes your hand and gives you a pair of glasses you begin to see the world through... and nothing, nothing is secure anymore. The object of your affection is no longer loving you, they are using you. Their promises are now just excuses. Their struggles prophecies into the future.

Then comes the moment of truth. All of the sudden you see the corner of the tableau of lies the fear has woven, and you stop dead in your tracks.

The fork in the road is clear, but the path is not. Head or heart. What will be the deciding factor? And how to satisfy both? Risk on either side, and the knowledge that it will never be perfect... anywhere... with anyone... ever.

Every bad decision mocks you from the sidelines. Two different wisdoms fight for the stage. One raging, dancing the tango with fear calls you to drop your bags and run the opposite direction. Too hard, too much, too likely to fail. After all, you, being the common denominator, in all of the mistakes till now, are making the decision. Better to use a carbon copy of what worked for someone else. At least it is someone's version of perfection. Maybe it will work for you as well. Better than failing again.

The other wisdom holds the hand of chance of a lifetime... maybe. The oxymoron of a love so deep and safe, so real and strong, so full of promise, yet so hard, so difficult, so requiring of everything you think you don't have to give... most of all trust. Faith. Hope in someone else. Someone that may not deserve your trust, faith, and hope, yet is asking it all the same. Strikingly familiar is the story of a Good Hope, that loved when it was not yet loved in return. Unmovable, this love does not allow you to manipulate it, to fit it to you, no, you have to fit yourself to it. You must mold to the shape it requires, and for once, you can't make it work. All the struggles, all the questions, all the pushes and pulls refuse to adjust its form to your liking, your comfort, your security.

So instead, you sit at the fork, the relationship requiring from you for the first time, rather than you requiring from it. A strange juncture of power sits in your lap. You can't control the outcome, but you can control whether it has a chance. The problem is, what it requires... you don't know how to give.

I Corinthians, though over quoted, makes more sense than you would like to admit. "Love always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always preserves."

No promises before it of "When it is right," or "If it looks like this..." or even "If they have a good record trustworthiness..." No. Nothing like that. And I guess it makes sense, since no one will ever be loved if we only choose to love those worthy, but still, it comforts your heart none to hear these things as you stare down the fork in the road.

This is what they forget to tell you when you fall in love. One day, it gets hard. And one day, it will ask you for the one thing you don't want to give. And one day you will have to have the faith to keep going, when everything tells you to run. And no, it's not stupidity; actually that is love. That is precisely what it is. Believing the absolute best about the person you love, even when you don't.

See, the best in that person isn't determined by whether or not you believe in it. It just is. And sometimes the hardest part is trusting them when they say they love you. Trusting them that it means more than words, Hallmark cards or flowers on your birthday, but that to them, when their time comes, and they have to risk what is required of them... that they will as well.

I guess you could say that loving them is risking that they will love you back. So as you roll the dice and step out onto the path that requires of you, you stare into the heavens and ask for the heart you don't have. The heart that protects, trusts... hopes.... preserves.

Old Dogs

Adjusting and readjusting is never an easy task.

As I sit at home, in the quiet of my apartment, my cat curled up next to me breathing softly, I take a glance around and feel a juxtaposition I wasn't expecting.

For some reason, this home no longer has the same sense of deep safety and comfort it once did. Not sure why, I gloomily take in my surroundings. Pictures hang on the wall of memories from what seem like a lifetime ago. A person I don't recognize inhabits the frames with friends and family that only know the 2 dimensional version and are still struggling with the nondimensional version that now exists.

Apparently, so am I.

The precipice I walked off of recently has landed me on what feels like a hard surface. Not dead, and not hurting too much, but enough of a bump on my ass from the fall to wonder why I stepped off in the first place.

It had appeared all signs this way, all arrows pointing this direction, and all lights green. So why the sudden halt when I hit what feels like a big fat smack of reality?

I wish I knew.

All I know is this season has not been a fun one. Over and over again it has seemed that it is a strange time of reconciliation and redemption mixed with potent loss and confrontation. And let's me honest, I would rather be passive aggressive than confrontational any day. That takes much less courage.

What I don't get is, why the sharp contrasts, why the all signs go then what feels like slamming into a brick wall at supersonic speeds?

As I sit here and ponder, the only real answer I get is... none. Which usually means the same thing it has always meant. Wait. Rely. Trust. Think on all things lovely about Him.

This sucks.

Not that I don't trust, but it always seems as I have to wait, rely and trust, I move restlessly and whimper the way a dog does when you tell him to sit as you are holding a treat and he can see it. I keep shape shifting and grumbling and throwing myself around freaking out trying to figure out what I should do, wrestling with the pain of the situations and create a good outcome of what seems to be destitution.

After everything I have been through, I still think I am better at creating resolutions than the most creative Person I know.

I guess old dogs have a hard time learning new tricks.

The Responsibility of blessings

There is a little known fact about blessings.... they always come with responsibility.

I have spent a long time asking for blessings. Asking for things I thought I wanted. Be it financial, relational, spiritual, I always wanted blessing. Good things to ask for and not always with a totally selfish heart, they are things God wants to give. They are the things that make life more abundant, deeper, more real. People to love, money to handle, opportunities to take, less than mundane, they are part of the journey of a good God.

What I didn't know was how much they would require of me.

Like a child, I asked Dad for things all of the time, and like the Good Father He is, He waited to deliver. Knowing me better than I know myself, He said no most of the time, that is until now.

Now I am faced with blessings that show me the generosity of His heart. They come like gifts in pretty bows and I am so overjoyed to have them, but like any gift, most things require something in return... like time, or energy, or more money for maintenance. And then along with those requirements, since nothing is ever void with the Lord, those responsibilities seem to wrap themselves right back around into lessons and struggle.

Nothing... is ever... simple.

Just like my walk with God, I want my blessings boxed. I want them the way I want them. The way I envision them when I am praying. Easy, fun, and all about me. But life wouldn't be any fun if that were the case, so no, they end up rather than being about me, about Him and me, and those around me and me.

Opportunities require a choice, and once you get past the choice, you have to handle the outcome. The responsibility of the possibility is the hardest part. Do you give half of yourself and protect what little pride you have left, or do you throw all of yourself into the opportunity and on a wing and a prayer hope it was the right choice.

Money breeds the need to be wise. Knowing that the more there is, the more responsibility you have with it, sometimes I wish I were bill-less, money-less and lived on a barter system. My track record is not good. Really though I have stopped asking for money, now I ask for anything but money.

Relationships need heart. They don't just require choice and wisdom, they require the one thing I fear risking the most... my heart. And the damndest things about relationships, you think you have given your heart once, only to realize it is totally a daily act... and it only gets worse and deeper the more time and the more the relationship grows. Bits of fears I don't share until I have to, bits of my heart I hold onto for safe keeping until I know it is safe... here's the kicker though, you never know you are safe, and fears don't go away, even when you talk about them.

Blessings also have a sneaky way of turning into curses. It's a fine line, but every once in a while it will fall to the side of curse, and the hardest part is turning back around, looking at Jesus in the face and saying "Okay, this so didn't turn out how I thought it was going to. What now?" And if He looks you right back in the face and says, follow through... the responsibility to handle it with grace and dignity is a responsibility based on a backwards blessing.

I guess I now understand why David never asked for blessings. He just asked to be remembered. Fair enough.

Damn impetuous youth.

Lord remember Your servant. I ask not for blessing, but instead You stretch out Your hand in Your will. May I have the grace to see the blessing in Your will and in the responsibility. Give me what I can handle, not what I ask for.

Living the Resurrection

The older I have gotten and the more I have allowed myself to struggle through this thing we call salvation... the more I have found a world of grey rather than the expected distinction of black and white and part of me can't help but wonder if that was the purpose all along.

The other night, out of a deep love of my boyfriend and against my deep hate of the super sci-fi, I succumb to his puppy dog eyes and watched the newest Harry Potter. As we sat watching, there was a scene where one of the characters used his "magic" to clean a room that had been destroyed and dirtied. With a sweep of his wand and a few moments of whirlwind, wordlessly everything was put back in place, lamps were fixed and lit, tears were mended and right was restored. The room was returned to peace and comfort easily as the inhabitants did nothing but watch and wait.

The scene intrigued me. Not out of cheap entertainment for a few laughs and childish moments of wishing we could all clean our rooms the same way, but for a different reason; one I hadn't quiet put together yet.

Then the other day I was thinking about our decisions, our choices and their consequences. I was thinking about the "I wishes" and "If only's" of life and all the regrets that come with trauma's brought on by a world in hurt and suffering. But as I thought about them, I also thought about all that I was thankful for and all that God had brought to my doorstep. The blessings I now know because of all those regrets and all of those memories I sometimes wish I didn't have to fight.

I thought about how all the good in my life I have now would not have been possible without those bad choices, those mistakes, those so called wrong paths. I thought about how the last three years of my life have been much like the scene in the movie as my life has been restored. Without even knowing it, slowly but surely everything has been righted, turned back and in most cases been better than they could have been otherwise. As if I wrecked a Toyota to be given an Acura. At times I wonder at the wisdom of entrusting the blessings to me, but then I realize those blessing reveal more about the character of the Giver rather than my character, or it's deficiencies.

Suddenly I have lifted my head and I see more beauty than I ever have. I see Him newly, I see life newly and I see hope as a source of comfort rather than the thorn it once felt like. All of the times I have been forgotten, used, abused... all of the times I have reached to the wrong hand for support, the times I have been irresponsible with time, love, affection or just naive and stupid for the sake of youth and ignorance... those have all been stepping stones to something better, something more than I ever thought was possible.

And as this was being done, as all of this was being righted and blessed and resurrected, it happened not as I asked for it, but instead as I was struggling, pressing, arguing, doubting and cursing the heavens in frustration, pain and confusion. I knew timing was everything, but to hope, to desire, to want Him and His heart hurt too much after what felt like years of rejection. Those years helping lead me to those supposed mistakes and bad choices. As I was pounding on the doors of heaven and was hearing nothing but a quiet "Not yet. Soon, but not yet," my back was turned to the perfection He was creating.

Then, one day, the door opened. But instead of showing me what He had done, He just sat in the doorway with me. Not speaking often, but just waiting as I stopped thrashing around. As the peace came and the trust followed and I quit asking questions because He was near, I began to see His face and heart. Amazed by what I found there I no longer cared about anything else. And then, when the time was really right, He turned me around... and I saw it. I saw what He had done and the reality came crashing in. His heart has always been good, His hand has always been there, but the journey... the journey is the goal, not the result.

His death and resurrection had a purpose far larger than I had been taught. It had been a release of more than death, it had been the release of hope into a broken world. It was the restoring effect that swept the room clean, turning everything back to right.

Living in the resurrection has more consequences than the defeat of sin... that's just mercy. The grace... the grace has much, much more in store. The grace is the key to heavens gate. Mercy would keep us in purgatory, somewhere in between heaven and hell balancing sin against good deeds. Mercy takes us from the depths to the terrestrial. It says "careful with those bad decisions, they have consequences." The grace that comes with the resurrection, that is what opens the gates of heaven and crosses the great divide to exist on earth before we ultimately go home. Grace is what speaks the language of abundance. Its the gift of righting what has been destroyed without lifting a finger. The grace is His chance to show off how great and good and grand and big and creative He really is. What good is mercy without grace? What good is a magician without an audience and can God be God without someone or some people to perform His goodness on? Where's the fun in that?

So what does this mean for me? Well, it sure does blur the lines between God's will and my mistakes. There is no purpose for redemption without something to redeem. If this is true what mistake, what sin, what death, what wrong decision has any power other than to allow God a chance to be just what He is... God?

Maybe it isn't about watching every step and worrying about every sin, but what if... what if it is about being so focused on knowing His heart and knowing Him, that nothing else matters? What if it was more about banking every decision on the goodness of His heart instead of the goodness hand. What if it was more about trusting Him to direct the journey rather than being worried about missing a step, or making a wrong one, or messing it up with sin or a bad decision? What if those bad decisions, missteps, mistakes or wrong choices are the death that comes before the resurrection? What if those are not closed doors, but open doors that lead to a path of miracles based on a Jesus that is more concerned with teaching through blessing than punishment? Could it be so good, so wonderful as that? After everything I have been through, after the rescue I have seen, after the blessings I know, after the hope I have encountered when I was on the brink of death of heart... I say yes. I KNOW it's a yes.

Freedom has come. Slowly but surely. Not in the known, but in the unknown. Freedom has come in the journey and adventure of not knowing what He has up His sleeve, but knowing it is going to be one hell of a journey watching and waiting. The freedom is in knowing He is more creative than I am. Freedom is knowing He is smarter and always more right than I am. Freedom is knowing I can trust His heart for me and it isn't dependent on my actions. Freedom is knowing His will is more powerful than my screw-ups. Freedom is knowing I can surrender to Him and it and be swept over by the power of it. It's living without fear because no matter what, He is in control. It's believing Him when He says "I love you more than I hate sin and I won't ever, ever let anything separate me from you. I am on your side, always and forever." It's knowing we aren't adversaries, but we are teammates, partners.

When I don't know what to do, I do everything, then wait and see what He does. When I don't hear, I do nothing. I wait for the tugs on my heart and trust the mind He gave me and the Spirit inside me to hear Him.

Living the resurrection is not trying to be righteous and worrying about whether or not I am doing things "right." Living the resurrection is laughing when He does something so outrageous you know it was meant just to put a smile on your face. It's living today and letting tomorrow be resurrected tomorrow. It's waiting with patience and hope while He mischievously redeems that which has not been redeemed yet. It's waiting with expectation to see what miracle He wants to preform next. Living in the resurrection is that beautiful moment of looking at something that seems so dead and impossible, then turning around, looking Him in the face and saying "I can't wait to see how You bring this back to life. I have no idea how you are going to do it, and it might not be today, or in a year and I still may have to grieve until I see the results, but I am still freaking stoked to see what You do with it. Have fun."

Lord, You are so good, and even as I write these things, still I see places in my life that are yet to be fully redeemed, fully set right, but now... now I can't wait to see what You are going to do. I see the places that seem impossible to make beautiful, the fears not yet broken, the wounds not yet healed, but now, now I trust You so much with them. Your blessings have taught me your outrageous and wonderful heart. Your love is more than I have ever deserved, but all that I have ever wanted and needed. As I search for that, I know, I know You are going to continue this journey with me, redeeming me and my life all the way. You are the most amazing thing I could never imagine. Thank You for being my God.

What Happens...

What happens when you realize home is no longer home?

I have always had this innate inertia pushing me along. As if there was a rope tied around my waist, dragging me along just a step faster than I can move. Tripping and stumbling, I have allowed it to pull me, at times relying on the rope itself for balance and strength, other times wondering who or what was responsible for the tugging and struggling against the forces of my nature. It has been a journey of laughing with the ups and struggling against the downs, knowing all the while I had chosen to be pulled, but fearing what the rope really means.

At times the rope looked like questioning, doubting frustrations and a deep need to understand. Other times it has been hope, promise and adventure. And yet again it has appeared as mistakes, rescue and second chances. As I have been guided and challenged by the rope, that has been such a source of frustration and pleasure, I have found myself in places ranging from deep darkness to standing on bridges of unparalleled beauty. In those dark places cursing the nature of the rope and others hesitantly thankful for the strong tug to never settle.

At this moment, that rope, that incessant need to move, to understand, to fight against... anything and everything, feels a sort of noose and lifeline in one. Having lead me to a precipice, deep cavern in front of me, the rope stretches out into the distance, fading into empty space with no understanding of where it ends. I struggle to see the something familiar in the distance, but my feet keep slipping on the lose rocks threatening to send me hurling over before the rope has begun its pull again. Having not yet decided if I fully trust the rope, I lean back slightly, hesitating under the biggest unknown I have yet seen. "Uhh.... okay.... Not sure about this one."

Looking around restlessly as I wait for, what I am not sure of, reality dawns. This is what happens when home no longer looks like home. Like an old pair of shoes, comfortable and worn in, I loved my home, but out of a curiosity I began talking them off and trading them for other, new shoes. A new pair of Ferregamo's for nights out on the town, a new pair of Nike's for the gym. A pair of Ugg's for the snow, and sandals for the beach.

The more I wore different shoes chosen by the constant tug of the rope, the more I found the old ones didn't travel so well. The shoes I had grown up with didn't seem to travel well. And now, coming home again, I tried on those same pair of shoes, wearing them around for a few days only to find now they gave blisters, hurt my knees, and my feet had changed too much to fit them the same way they had before. I had gotten older, but the shoes had not.

When I first began to step out and follow the rope where it would lead, home was always a thought of safety and comfort. A place where I knew the patterns, the people and life was simple and comfortable. Summer nights and fall days held promise of a predictable life, if all else failed and the rope was too demanding, or I just couldn't accomplish what the rope wanted. Never phrased that way in my thought life, family and friends were as a good a reason as any to return to that which doesn't demand courage.

But as I return now and my shoes and old patterns no longer fit, a California sunset is no longer the best sunset in the world, and suburbia just doesn't hold the same luster it once did. So I find myself barefoot, struggling with the small amount of rope I have been given, slipping on rocks, unable to rely on the comfort of home to soothe my uncourageous heart. I search the horizon even harder for a glimpse of something familiar, something to trust in, something to reach for.

Instead, systematically, the Maker of the rope, has taken away every comfort I have known, every dream I thought I had, and every goal I was reaching for that left me with a sense of security and purpose. Every future I could imagine no longer exists and instead all I have is a list of "don't wants" with no comparative list of "wants."

The same rope that has lead me across continents and oceans, that has found ten's of thousands of dollars in education, lead me away from love, has lead me to love and now leads me to a new a amazing vision of a God I only dreamed existed. The catch is, now that rope is no longer a rope, but a thread that runs along my core in complete conflict with everything I have known. Unable to be satisfied now, having shed everything... I am an empty page with a story yet to be created, and that... that is the greatest fear of all. I have been given the next ten months... after that... no promises. In fact, really, no home.