Our landlord unveiled a hot-tub. It has always been there; only now it works. In the space underneath the raised, second-story deck sits our hot-tub centerpiece, flanked by shelves of tools and cob-webbed patio furniture.
Carly and I broke it in last night. Dark; shivering; bare feet on patio cement; lift off the heavy lid; whispered, "Shhh!"; "Can you see?"; "Here it is"; eyes adjusted to darkness; climb; sink into warmth.
The jets hummed.
We talked about past elations, and heart-heaviness, and wondered out loud at how things might be. Carly listened, and prayed for me, and we stayed until we knew we couldn't stay any longer.
Monday was a stressful day. That time in the hot-tub with my dear friend was just what I needed.
Today was even more stressful. Grades for the quarter are due this next Monday, and I feel absolutely buried-- I feel overwhelmed. At one point today, when staring at my to-do list, I felt like I might start crying. I have no idea how it's all going to get done.
The day's one promised respite was a yoga class I planned to take with Deidra. My frantically beating heart would finally begin to calm, I thought, once I stretched out and worked my body.
We got to the studio and found out the class was already full. Thwarted.
So:
after getting home,
I went out to the hot-tub instead.
I sank into warmth; rested my head against the edge of the tub. Underneath the water, a light shone into the stirring and made a tiny rainbow swim beside me. I looked up at the sky, which was partially visible beyond the corrugated metal patio ceiling.
Cold air.
Quiet.
One tree trembled with brown, dried leaves, and I thought, quivering. I looked at the trees opposing it which had nothing left and I thought, threadbare. A tiny spider twirled from one of the rafters, increasingly silhouetted against the sky in the fading light and I wondered at the way things were.
Cold wind buffeted my face and hair. Dry leaves skittered across the patio. The evaporating water left nibbling, cold, chlorine kisses against my face.
I prayed.
The closest thing I know of surrender, I think, is the feeling that comes when sinking into deep water, when every muscle is finally-- finally-- allowed to relax. In the hot tub then, I let my muscles and my mind drift away from me. The cold air, the warm water, the skittering leaves, and the quiet voice somewhere deep in my heart spun together in a hum of rest.
You are safe. Be at peace.
Nov 2, 2010
Oct 27, 2010
Bow chicka bow bow
When I was in Hawaii this summer, I impulsively bought two little hair-clips with fabric bows on them. I wear them all the time:
(When inspired, Carly and I jig.)
I love my little bow clips so much that I've gotten more. I now wear black bows in my hair, and pink bows in my hair, and gray bows in my hair.
Sometimes I wear long ribbons too. I do not apologize for being this girly.
Well guess what? Today at school, I noticed two girls wearing little bow clips in their hair. As far as I know, bow clippies are not being featured in Vogue. Those girls' exposure to bow clippies is coming soley from English class.
Clearly, I am an inspirational teacher and should probably start winning awards.
(When inspired, Carly and I jig.)
I love my little bow clips so much that I've gotten more. I now wear black bows in my hair, and pink bows in my hair, and gray bows in my hair.
Sometimes I wear long ribbons too. I do not apologize for being this girly.
Well guess what? Today at school, I noticed two girls wearing little bow clips in their hair. As far as I know, bow clippies are not being featured in Vogue. Those girls' exposure to bow clippies is coming soley from English class.
Clearly, I am an inspirational teacher and should probably start winning awards.
Oct 25, 2010
Still, Small Voice
Last night I stayed with my cousin at my aunt and uncle's house, who were both out of town. 16-year-old Maggie and I caught up on my aunt and uncle's bed; then she went off to start her homework at 10pm, and I snuggled under the covers for sleeping.
Normally, in my basement apartment, I don't get to hear the sound of rain on the roof. Last night however, that rhythmic hum was what put me to sleep. This morning, likewise, the pounding of the rain was what pulled me out of dreams (incidentally, a very nice one about a hunky South-American man named Eduardo), and into waking.
It is so hard to get up when it is still dark, and the covers are heavy and warm, and you can hear the sound of driving rain against the windows.
Later that morning I got back under the covers, propped up against pillows, with a mug of hot coffee to pray.
As I ran through thanks and requests, I thought of the time. Was I going to be late? How do I get to school from here? What do I still need to do? What about [this person]? What about [this person]? What about my future, God? How long, God?
And suddenly, there it was--
Some people call this a storm.
I say, I'm preparing good things.
I paused. But Lord, I thought... Is so MUCH rain necessary? It's supposed to rain all week.
Sometimes that's what it takes.
(And then, after feeling anxious--)
Just listen to the sound of the rain.
So I listened to that darkling music; that rhythmic drumming; the rush of the gusting wind; the taps of branches against the window.
I thought to myself: enjoy THIS moment for what it offers.
Rest in me.
Normally, in my basement apartment, I don't get to hear the sound of rain on the roof. Last night however, that rhythmic hum was what put me to sleep. This morning, likewise, the pounding of the rain was what pulled me out of dreams (incidentally, a very nice one about a hunky South-American man named Eduardo), and into waking.
It is so hard to get up when it is still dark, and the covers are heavy and warm, and you can hear the sound of driving rain against the windows.
Later that morning I got back under the covers, propped up against pillows, with a mug of hot coffee to pray.
As I ran through thanks and requests, I thought of the time. Was I going to be late? How do I get to school from here? What do I still need to do? What about [this person]? What about [this person]? What about my future, God? How long, God?
And suddenly, there it was--
Some people call this a storm.
I say, I'm preparing good things.
I paused. But Lord, I thought... Is so MUCH rain necessary? It's supposed to rain all week.
Sometimes that's what it takes.
(And then, after feeling anxious--)
Just listen to the sound of the rain.
So I listened to that darkling music; that rhythmic drumming; the rush of the gusting wind; the taps of branches against the window.
I thought to myself: enjoy THIS moment for what it offers.
Rest in me.
Oct 22, 2010
Currently
I am at my desk at school. It is a Friday night. It is presently the 58th hour I've worked in what will end up being a 60 hour work week by the time I leave tonight.
But I'm actually not writing to complain. Some of those other extra hours were sucky, but these last couple, and the couple to come are sort of delightful.
I'm currently dressed as a trophy wife, decked out in head-to-toe costume jewelry, with my hair piled about four inches above my forehead, and ready to whip out a pretentious British accent to participate in the kids' murder mystery mentorship activity.
You should see what these mentors-- juniors and seniors who agree to mentor incoming freshmen-- have done with the school. They have TRANSFORMED it! Cobwebs are everywhere; they've made the courtyard into a swamp; they've made Mrs. Tripoli's room into a spooky attic; Mrs. Westford's room into a dungeon; the spanish teachers' room into a dilapidated dining room with a fallen chandelier... It's incredible.
And so the mentors will guide the little froshies around, as all of us murder mystery characters will rant and rave and do our thing, and everyone will bond, and it will be marvelous.
So even though my Friday night is spent working... And even though *officially* that's pretty lame...
I am just still loving my job so much.
Especially because, when the murder happens, I get to be the one to scream bloody murder.
I am VERY excited for that part.
But I'm actually not writing to complain. Some of those other extra hours were sucky, but these last couple, and the couple to come are sort of delightful.
I'm currently dressed as a trophy wife, decked out in head-to-toe costume jewelry, with my hair piled about four inches above my forehead, and ready to whip out a pretentious British accent to participate in the kids' murder mystery mentorship activity.
You should see what these mentors-- juniors and seniors who agree to mentor incoming freshmen-- have done with the school. They have TRANSFORMED it! Cobwebs are everywhere; they've made the courtyard into a swamp; they've made Mrs. Tripoli's room into a spooky attic; Mrs. Westford's room into a dungeon; the spanish teachers' room into a dilapidated dining room with a fallen chandelier... It's incredible.
And so the mentors will guide the little froshies around, as all of us murder mystery characters will rant and rave and do our thing, and everyone will bond, and it will be marvelous.
So even though my Friday night is spent working... And even though *officially* that's pretty lame...
I am just still loving my job so much.
Especially because, when the murder happens, I get to be the one to scream bloody murder.
I am VERY excited for that part.
Oct 19, 2010
Update
Last week I talked about how much I hate running.
But! I went with my running group last night, and I ran all the way around the outer loop of Greenlake, and I didn't need to stop ONCE! I ran down to the lake too, and ran home-- I think it was close to 4 or 5 miles in all. I felt stronger, and I'm pretty sure we were going faster.
I bet you anything it's because I was engrossed in conversation.
Engrossed is such an unfortunate word, isn't it? It sounds like the exact opposite of what it means. Words like pungent and diaphanous are delicious because they SOUND just how they MEAN... Not so with engrossed. Engrossed sounds gross.
Anyway: I'm going to keep trying with the running thing. I think I would like to say that, for at least a brief period of my life, I could run a few miles without stopping. I keep telling myself the prime of my life isn't going to last much longer, and I really ought to make the most of it while I'm there.
This is Iris, by the way: Zeus's rainbow messenger, as depicted by Howard David Johnson.
Doesn't she look like she could run fast?
But! I went with my running group last night, and I ran all the way around the outer loop of Greenlake, and I didn't need to stop ONCE! I ran down to the lake too, and ran home-- I think it was close to 4 or 5 miles in all. I felt stronger, and I'm pretty sure we were going faster.
I bet you anything it's because I was engrossed in conversation.
Engrossed is such an unfortunate word, isn't it? It sounds like the exact opposite of what it means. Words like pungent and diaphanous are delicious because they SOUND just how they MEAN... Not so with engrossed. Engrossed sounds gross.
Anyway: I'm going to keep trying with the running thing. I think I would like to say that, for at least a brief period of my life, I could run a few miles without stopping. I keep telling myself the prime of my life isn't going to last much longer, and I really ought to make the most of it while I'm there.
This is Iris, by the way: Zeus's rainbow messenger, as depicted by Howard David Johnson.
Doesn't she look like she could run fast?
Oct 18, 2010
Seasons
Went on a photo walk yesterday. Crisp; clear; sun streaming.
I kept my camera on, wandering into various neighbors' yards, zooming in on leaves and trees and dying blooms. Indeed: most of the "beautiful" things I found were in the process of expiring:
When my roommates looked at my pictures after I got home, they noted that the pictures were depressing-- especially that one of the face-planting dahlia.
But, for me, there's some sort of comfort in seeing these seasons play out, the way they so familiarly do. I remember spring break my Junior year of college-- the year I studied abroad-- traveling around Ireland with some of my girlfriends. It was the first time I'd ever had to use a map to navigate alongside a driver. My bad-ass friend Nicole took the wheel, and I directed us through tiny town after teeny tiny town, along narrow Irish roads, picking the next whimsical name to get us through. I always felt so delighted when, sure enough, just like the map said, Castleblaney would arrive, and then Tandragee, and then Seapatrick.
There's a comfort in knowing what to anticipate, and then finding yourself there.
A friend of mine is going through her first tough break-up, and I sent her a message to try to help her along. I wrote that I guessed she was probably in the "missing-stage" now, and described to her what I had learned are the different seasons in managing a broken heart. For better or for worse, I've had my heart broken-- the big, bad, shattering kind of broken-- three times now. But out of that, has come a recognition of seasons.
In spring you begin.
In summer you exult.
In fall you recognize the expiring.
And then comes a long, broken-hearted winter.
And in that winter comes first disbelief, and then whole-hearted MISSING, and then a hollow, abstract sort of loneliness, and then... as the spring begins again... gradual objectivity, a re-awakening of one's self as an independent heart, and sooner or later, a readiness to try again.
Spring DOES come again.
My broken heart-- this most recent one-- began this last spring... the literal one, not the figurative one. And so spring was snow, and sleet, and rain. Summer was watching buds creep out of their storm battered branches. And now, this fall, I'm once more experiencing the beginning of tentative blooms.
So seeing a dying rose doesn't seem tragic; it seems familiar, and comforting-- it's something I can relate to. The rose will encounter summer once again, and because of that, it's alright that it must head into winter. I think part of the letting go, and letting it all move through me is accepting that there's a winter that comes after fall, and rejoicing that spring inevitably comes after winter.
Loving these words today:
Ecclesiastes 3:
1 There is a time for everything,
and a season for every activity under heaven:
2 a time to be born and a time to die,
a time to plant and a time to uproot,
3 a time to kill and a time to heal,
a time to tear down and a time to build,
4 a time to weep and a time to laugh,
a time to mourn and a time to dance,
5 a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,
a time to embrace and a time to refrain,
6 a time to search and a time to give up,
a time to keep and a time to throw away,
7 a time to tear and a time to mend,
a time to be silent and a time to speak,
8 a time to love and a time to hate,
a time for war and a time for peace.
I kept my camera on, wandering into various neighbors' yards, zooming in on leaves and trees and dying blooms. Indeed: most of the "beautiful" things I found were in the process of expiring:
When my roommates looked at my pictures after I got home, they noted that the pictures were depressing-- especially that one of the face-planting dahlia.
But, for me, there's some sort of comfort in seeing these seasons play out, the way they so familiarly do. I remember spring break my Junior year of college-- the year I studied abroad-- traveling around Ireland with some of my girlfriends. It was the first time I'd ever had to use a map to navigate alongside a driver. My bad-ass friend Nicole took the wheel, and I directed us through tiny town after teeny tiny town, along narrow Irish roads, picking the next whimsical name to get us through. I always felt so delighted when, sure enough, just like the map said, Castleblaney would arrive, and then Tandragee, and then Seapatrick.
There's a comfort in knowing what to anticipate, and then finding yourself there.
A friend of mine is going through her first tough break-up, and I sent her a message to try to help her along. I wrote that I guessed she was probably in the "missing-stage" now, and described to her what I had learned are the different seasons in managing a broken heart. For better or for worse, I've had my heart broken-- the big, bad, shattering kind of broken-- three times now. But out of that, has come a recognition of seasons.
In spring you begin.
In summer you exult.
In fall you recognize the expiring.
And then comes a long, broken-hearted winter.
And in that winter comes first disbelief, and then whole-hearted MISSING, and then a hollow, abstract sort of loneliness, and then... as the spring begins again... gradual objectivity, a re-awakening of one's self as an independent heart, and sooner or later, a readiness to try again.
Spring DOES come again.
My broken heart-- this most recent one-- began this last spring... the literal one, not the figurative one. And so spring was snow, and sleet, and rain. Summer was watching buds creep out of their storm battered branches. And now, this fall, I'm once more experiencing the beginning of tentative blooms.
So seeing a dying rose doesn't seem tragic; it seems familiar, and comforting-- it's something I can relate to. The rose will encounter summer once again, and because of that, it's alright that it must head into winter. I think part of the letting go, and letting it all move through me is accepting that there's a winter that comes after fall, and rejoicing that spring inevitably comes after winter.
Loving these words today:
Ecclesiastes 3:
1 There is a time for everything,
and a season for every activity under heaven:
2 a time to be born and a time to die,
a time to plant and a time to uproot,
3 a time to kill and a time to heal,
a time to tear down and a time to build,
4 a time to weep and a time to laugh,
a time to mourn and a time to dance,
5 a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,
a time to embrace and a time to refrain,
6 a time to search and a time to give up,
a time to keep and a time to throw away,
7 a time to tear and a time to mend,
a time to be silent and a time to speak,
8 a time to love and a time to hate,
a time for war and a time for peace.
Oct 15, 2010
Commuting
My school is about a half-hour away from my home, and now that the summer's expired, I tend to drive in as the sun rises, and often drive home after dark.
What a pain, right? A long commute. Who wants a long commute?
And yet...
Last night, as the rain began to pour down after days of sunshine, the freeways clogged, and what should have been a 30 minute drive stretched into almost an hour. See this photo banner, at the top of my blog? That's the view from the Alaskan Way viaduct, where I was stuck last night for about twenty minutes.
Something about being STUCK somewhere though, with no way of getting unstuck anytime soon, is almost peaceful.
I sat in my dark car, listened to the rain fall and the rhythmic thump of the windshield wipers, and took in the lights of the Seattle skyline. I put my Ipod on a slow song, and let my mind wander. I thought about some of my students, and wondered how they would fare outside of high-school, and thought about moments from class.
It was so restful.
This morning, I drove in before the sun rose, and let myself be serenaded in the dark by KEXP. John played a Devotchka song, and its violins and gentle, driving rhythm made the concrete curves a wish; made the oncoming lights a hum; made the braking cars a sigh; made my heart gentle.
Often, when driving in, I'm kissed by one of the most incredible views of Mt. Rainier you can get. She looms as I come around a bend-- sometimes austere, sometimes coy, sometimes majestic, sometimes pensive. I always pick an adjective to describe how she seems to be feeling that morning. "Lonely." "Proud." "Quiet." On those clear mornings when she's out, I'll inevitably see the dawn rip through the sky in oranges and reds and purples, and I'll WONDER again, feel awed again.
I miss my road trip sometimes.
I find it again sometimes.
What a pain, right? A long commute. Who wants a long commute?
And yet...
Last night, as the rain began to pour down after days of sunshine, the freeways clogged, and what should have been a 30 minute drive stretched into almost an hour. See this photo banner, at the top of my blog? That's the view from the Alaskan Way viaduct, where I was stuck last night for about twenty minutes.
Something about being STUCK somewhere though, with no way of getting unstuck anytime soon, is almost peaceful.
I sat in my dark car, listened to the rain fall and the rhythmic thump of the windshield wipers, and took in the lights of the Seattle skyline. I put my Ipod on a slow song, and let my mind wander. I thought about some of my students, and wondered how they would fare outside of high-school, and thought about moments from class.
It was so restful.
This morning, I drove in before the sun rose, and let myself be serenaded in the dark by KEXP. John played a Devotchka song, and its violins and gentle, driving rhythm made the concrete curves a wish; made the oncoming lights a hum; made the braking cars a sigh; made my heart gentle.
Often, when driving in, I'm kissed by one of the most incredible views of Mt. Rainier you can get. She looms as I come around a bend-- sometimes austere, sometimes coy, sometimes majestic, sometimes pensive. I always pick an adjective to describe how she seems to be feeling that morning. "Lonely." "Proud." "Quiet." On those clear mornings when she's out, I'll inevitably see the dawn rip through the sky in oranges and reds and purples, and I'll WONDER again, feel awed again.
I miss my road trip sometimes.
I find it again sometimes.
Oct 14, 2010
On Running
I hate running. This is a well known fact. I tell everyone.
I LOVE walks however. I love going on walks with my camera and taking little pictures of things I find which are wonderful, like this:
Or like this:
But I hate running.
HOWEVER: in an effort to be more intentional about being active (because I know, ultimately, my body and my psyche love me more when I am active), AND, in an effort to plug into my church community, I joined a running group through my church. It is called, "Fit and Faithful."
I think that's sort of funny.
I forgot to go to the first Fit and Faithful. My sub-conscious continues to rebel against physical strain. I remembered to go to the second one though and, surprise surprise! I LOVED it!
I ran with this fantastic older woman named Anna. The first thing I found out about her is that she's taking a course to learn how to be a black-jack dealer. The second thing I found out about her was that she rides a "Ninja" motorcycle. The third thing, fourth thing, and fifth thing I found out about her respectively, was that she's a glass artist, married her husband two years ago after just five dates, and that she was in the navy.
She's FASCINATING! Also, so nice.
We ran all the way around the outer loop at Greenlake, and I was so delightfully distracted by my running buddy's life story, I only needed to stop once to walk, and it was just for a tiny, titchy bit.
I was so proud of myself.
SO proud, in fact, that I tried going for a second run yesterday, all by myself. I decided that if I was going to keep up with my group, I needed to get myself into relatively decent running shape.
Also, it was a gorgeous fall day. (I am, admittedly, a fair-weather worker-outer. I am a wussy wussy wimp when weather turns AVERSE.)
Despite the gorgeous weather though, my solo run....
Was abysmal.
I ran the inner loop. The short loop. The easy loop. I stopped many times. I felt sore. I felt tired. I had music on, and I hated my I-pod. Hated the music. Hated the whole ordeal.
Even when I pretended I was Iris, Zeus's rainbow messenger, and imagined a rainbow streaming out behind me, I hated running. (I am teaching mythology to my sophomores right now. I like pretending to be Iris.) I was all by myself, and I was tired, and I haaaaaated running.
Then I thought to myself, "No wonder I've never become a runner-- I've always tried to run on my own. I need a RUNNING BUDDY."
I am an extrovert folks. You want an extrovert to do something, give them people to do it with. On my own, when I have the freedom to quit, I give up. But when I'm with people, I suck it up and keep going until I'm finally at the blissful rubbery legs phase where it stops sucking so bad. (Just ask Annie. She's helped me get to the rubbery legs stage before.)
Finally, after huffing and puffing and giving up, I just started walking.
And-- once again-- I was loving life! I saw an autumn tree all lit up by the late afternoon sun, and it looked like something out of Eden. I saw a sweet little family taking pictures by the tree. I saw baby roses. I saw flirting dogs. I saw giant, radiant spider webs. I NOTICED things.
And of course, I wished for my camera. I hadn't brought it because I was planning to run. Curses on running! Curses!
This is my query then: should I just accept that it is not my fate to be a runner? Should I just continue doing what I love, and go on picture walks? Or should I push through the suckage so that I can be a happy deer-like frolicker with my running group? Should I force myself to join the rest of Seattle in pounding the pavement around Greenlake, rather than ambling along it?
And if you think I should do the second, do you know of someone who can be my running friend?
I LOVE walks however. I love going on walks with my camera and taking little pictures of things I find which are wonderful, like this:
Or like this:
But I hate running.
HOWEVER: in an effort to be more intentional about being active (because I know, ultimately, my body and my psyche love me more when I am active), AND, in an effort to plug into my church community, I joined a running group through my church. It is called, "Fit and Faithful."
I think that's sort of funny.
I forgot to go to the first Fit and Faithful. My sub-conscious continues to rebel against physical strain. I remembered to go to the second one though and, surprise surprise! I LOVED it!
I ran with this fantastic older woman named Anna. The first thing I found out about her is that she's taking a course to learn how to be a black-jack dealer. The second thing I found out about her was that she rides a "Ninja" motorcycle. The third thing, fourth thing, and fifth thing I found out about her respectively, was that she's a glass artist, married her husband two years ago after just five dates, and that she was in the navy.
She's FASCINATING! Also, so nice.
We ran all the way around the outer loop at Greenlake, and I was so delightfully distracted by my running buddy's life story, I only needed to stop once to walk, and it was just for a tiny, titchy bit.
I was so proud of myself.
SO proud, in fact, that I tried going for a second run yesterday, all by myself. I decided that if I was going to keep up with my group, I needed to get myself into relatively decent running shape.
Also, it was a gorgeous fall day. (I am, admittedly, a fair-weather worker-outer. I am a wussy wussy wimp when weather turns AVERSE.)
Despite the gorgeous weather though, my solo run....
Was abysmal.
I ran the inner loop. The short loop. The easy loop. I stopped many times. I felt sore. I felt tired. I had music on, and I hated my I-pod. Hated the music. Hated the whole ordeal.
Even when I pretended I was Iris, Zeus's rainbow messenger, and imagined a rainbow streaming out behind me, I hated running. (I am teaching mythology to my sophomores right now. I like pretending to be Iris.) I was all by myself, and I was tired, and I haaaaaated running.
Then I thought to myself, "No wonder I've never become a runner-- I've always tried to run on my own. I need a RUNNING BUDDY."
I am an extrovert folks. You want an extrovert to do something, give them people to do it with. On my own, when I have the freedom to quit, I give up. But when I'm with people, I suck it up and keep going until I'm finally at the blissful rubbery legs phase where it stops sucking so bad. (Just ask Annie. She's helped me get to the rubbery legs stage before.)
Finally, after huffing and puffing and giving up, I just started walking.
And-- once again-- I was loving life! I saw an autumn tree all lit up by the late afternoon sun, and it looked like something out of Eden. I saw a sweet little family taking pictures by the tree. I saw baby roses. I saw flirting dogs. I saw giant, radiant spider webs. I NOTICED things.
And of course, I wished for my camera. I hadn't brought it because I was planning to run. Curses on running! Curses!
This is my query then: should I just accept that it is not my fate to be a runner? Should I just continue doing what I love, and go on picture walks? Or should I push through the suckage so that I can be a happy deer-like frolicker with my running group? Should I force myself to join the rest of Seattle in pounding the pavement around Greenlake, rather than ambling along it?
And if you think I should do the second, do you know of someone who can be my running friend?
Oct 4, 2010
Paths and Bricks and Signs
Have been doing a unit on Mere Christianity with my seniors. (Remember: private Christian school.) Predestination vs. freewill has become a hot topic of debate. We've been trying real hard to figure out just how IT (i.e. the universe, salvation, living life, etc.) all works. One day, I drew four cartoon-y squiggles on the board, to represent two cartoon-y paths.
"Maybe the way it works, is that when God creates us, He has this BEST story in mind for us. Right? If everything went according to His plan, *this* would be THE best story for our lives. That's this path. BUT: we have the bricks in our hands, and we get to choose where we lay the bricks down. We can choose to seek Him, and pray for guidance, and lay the bricks down on His path... OR: we can lay the bricks down on our OWN path. It's our choice. We've got the bricks. But our own path is never going to measure up to the one He's envisioned. It could just never be as good of a story."
Someone else pointed out that, maybe God wants us to get to certain key landmarks, but that we can determine how we get there. That's a good idea too, I think. I also think, if we're the praying sort and are asking for God to play a part in our lives, then we sometimes allow Him to pull rank on where we lay the bricks down. Sometimes, it seems like we HAVE to lay them down a certain way, even when we'd prefer to lay them down differently. That's probably Him interfering. (We asked Him to.)
In any case, this evening, I am having these thoughts:
1.) We pray for God's will, and sometimes we ask for things.
2.) Sometimes we ask for things that are not on the "best-story" path. It's like, we see a sign pointing down a path that says, "THIS LOOKS GOOD" and-- of course-- we want to go down that one.
3.) Sometimes God doesn't give us those things, because He knows if we got them, we would run after them so fast, we'd lose the good path. In those cases, it's like God doesn't even let us find the THIS LOOKS GOOD sign.
4.) Sometimes God DOES give us those things, because He knows when we get them, we'll realize, "Oh. Hey. This actually isn't the way I want my life to go after all." It's sort of like, He shows us the THIS LOOKS GOOD path, and lets us look down it, because He knows-- this time-- we'll realize that that path isn't the best story. And so, we'll make our way very comfortably back to the good one.
I think I'm experiencing a bit of "4" lately. Which is always surprising.
I'm watching some of my favorite people experience what I suspect is a bit of #3. That's tougher stuff.
So.
These are my thoughts this Monday evening.
"Maybe the way it works, is that when God creates us, He has this BEST story in mind for us. Right? If everything went according to His plan, *this* would be THE best story for our lives. That's this path. BUT: we have the bricks in our hands, and we get to choose where we lay the bricks down. We can choose to seek Him, and pray for guidance, and lay the bricks down on His path... OR: we can lay the bricks down on our OWN path. It's our choice. We've got the bricks. But our own path is never going to measure up to the one He's envisioned. It could just never be as good of a story."
Someone else pointed out that, maybe God wants us to get to certain key landmarks, but that we can determine how we get there. That's a good idea too, I think. I also think, if we're the praying sort and are asking for God to play a part in our lives, then we sometimes allow Him to pull rank on where we lay the bricks down. Sometimes, it seems like we HAVE to lay them down a certain way, even when we'd prefer to lay them down differently. That's probably Him interfering. (We asked Him to.)
In any case, this evening, I am having these thoughts:
1.) We pray for God's will, and sometimes we ask for things.
2.) Sometimes we ask for things that are not on the "best-story" path. It's like, we see a sign pointing down a path that says, "THIS LOOKS GOOD" and-- of course-- we want to go down that one.
3.) Sometimes God doesn't give us those things, because He knows if we got them, we would run after them so fast, we'd lose the good path. In those cases, it's like God doesn't even let us find the THIS LOOKS GOOD sign.
4.) Sometimes God DOES give us those things, because He knows when we get them, we'll realize, "Oh. Hey. This actually isn't the way I want my life to go after all." It's sort of like, He shows us the THIS LOOKS GOOD path, and lets us look down it, because He knows-- this time-- we'll realize that that path isn't the best story. And so, we'll make our way very comfortably back to the good one.
I think I'm experiencing a bit of "4" lately. Which is always surprising.
I'm watching some of my favorite people experience what I suspect is a bit of #3. That's tougher stuff.
So.
These are my thoughts this Monday evening.
Oct 3, 2010
Ebb and Flow
I had a great weekend.
@ Shannon's art opening, currently on display at Cafe Lulu.
@ Stacy and Blake's wedding
But this is sort of how I feel right now.
en route to Grants Pass in southern OR, along the 101.
And that's life, right?
So praise the Lord.
@ Shannon's art opening, currently on display at Cafe Lulu.
@ Stacy and Blake's wedding
But this is sort of how I feel right now.
en route to Grants Pass in southern OR, along the 101.
And that's life, right?
So praise the Lord.
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