Where Words Fail

There is this list of maybes. It’s a list of truths, but anything but the truth. It’s the whole mixed with the broken. The old and the new. It’s abiding and it’s current, and it flows like the current inside of you.

Maybe your Friday nights are spent watching wrestling with your grandparents. Maybe you are in love with your boss. You think about him on your way home and so you turn the radio up a little louder so you don’t have to hear your brain go on about it any more. Maybe you’re trying to go to church and it sucks because let’s be real–church sucks. Maybe you need to lose weight but Grandpa keeps buying icecream and why wouldn’t he? You asked him to! Maybe your sad and tired but mostly sad. Because life isn’t fair and men want to have sex with you but they don’t want to talk to you and makeup classes are expensive and algebra is hard even after college and it looms in waiting for you under your bed like the jellyfish you thought you’d killed with a boxcutter.

But I digress.

Maybe we are just as broken as we think we are Maybe you’re just like me and I’m just like you. Okay–probably not. That’s a stretch. But here’s my point, or rather, my point that leads to my point:

The ones who love me–and I mean really love me–with my knee high socks and singing in Spanish when I can’t even speak it, and my driving 60 mph–those are the ones who count. And you won’t know who they are, until you do.

Sometimes you’ve gotta draw the line.


Shiny and New

I had a dream recently. In the dream I saw the faces of people I used to spend time with. A voice told me that these people hated me, and I wanted to know why.

“For you, life is shiny and new. For them, it will never be that way again.”

I’ve been remembering Arizona lately. I feel like it was just an episode of my life that didn’t mean anything. Sometimes I look at my list of friends on Facebook and I’m like wow, I guess I really didn’t impact anyone.

But the truth is we never really know how or whom we are impacting day-to-day. There’s no way to really measure that.

I feel like I kind of hit the ground running a lot–with new jobs and new friends and new places to live. Indeed it is all shiny and new. But more than that, I have this tendency to tell myself to try and make the best of it.

What is it about being a Christian, you feel the need to try?

You know regardless of if we try to make the best of a situation, there is one who makes a way when there is no way. Lately I kind of feel like He has been nudging me,

“You know it’s not your job to try and make the best of it. It’s my job to make the best of it.”

And I know some may look at that and say well, no. That’s not biblical and that’s pessimistic and somebody didn’t drink their milk this morning.

Only one of those things are true.

It’s funny how after I write a blog, I find myself collecting. There’s this folder in my brain that just collects all week long, little files here and there. Phrases like “shiny and new”. I’ll think about writing until I sit down in front of the computer ready to go, realizing I can’t tune out everything going on around me. And then when it’s time for bed I fight it so much, like a little child. That’s when it all comes out.

Good night.


This is Not My Life

From where I stand, it’s like I’m at the perfect angle to be catching stars.

I hate being in transition. I hate being lonely. But this is what it is, this is the cross. Maybe it’s just the cross I carry for summer, or maybe it is the cross I carry forever. In a perfect world I think I’d be married to Matthew Lillard and I’d be a famous make-up blogger for girls everywhere and I’d get free product on a weekly basis (almost daily, in fact) and our children(mine and Matthew’s) would roam happily and they would not be segregated in a church or a school or anywhere that they went and we would raise them to know that weekends are for working and no one would be so happy as to be a mommy as I would be.

This is not my life.

I’ve begun a career that is causing me to access the complete left side of my brain and every day I feel as though I’m taking a little feather duster to all the cobwebs and stuff that have collected there. When I was in college I remember being in my algebra classes and hating math so much but at the same time knowing I could be the best at it if I really tried. I always knew how to get the answers to my questions even if it was the most round-about away. I had a teacher ask me how I got the answer to a question he gave me and I remember I said I didn’t know. And he asked me well, from where he stood, how was he supposed to know I wasn’t cheating? I said I didn’t know. I just knew that I knew that I KNEW the answer.

I’ve been living my life like that.


A Soft Heart

I was reading Mark earlier and it talks about Jesus walking on water and although the disciples are freaking out over this what they’re *really* upset about is what he did with the bread and fish from earlier that day. Their hearts hardened, and they felt frustrated. How could this so-called Jesus take less and make it more? Because that’s essentially what he did. He asked the disciples,

“Well, what do you have to offer?”

And they basically said well, nothing really, Lord. Definitely not enough for hundreds of people.

Their hearts were hardened. God, how can you take less and make it more? How do you do it? Sure, okay, you have authority. But why the spectacle? Why not make more….more?

I think I can identify with the disciples, more than I ought to.

Jesus said–hey, don’t be afraid. It’s just me. Like when you’re watching a new episode of 24 and someone enters the room and touches your shoulder to let you know they’re there. It’s just them. No need for alarm.

It’s just Jesus. Chill out.

“…for they had not understood about the loaves, their hearts were hardened.” (6:52)

And as for me, well, I cannot do this any more. I cannot fall in and out and under and over and backwards and upside down in love, again and again and again.

Yet it is what I do.

Tonight, I am tired.