Entitled to Nothing

I have been watching a lot of my favorite show lately, "How I Met Your Mother." For those not familiar with the show, it follows a man through his journey to become who he needed to be before he could meet his wife. The story is presented as a narrative told from the future, with the recipients of the tale being his two future children. It's absolutely adorable. Anyway, I was sitting in my favorite coffee shop and had a moment of clarity. I've been growing discontent (and maybe a bit resentful) recently waiting for the next step of my life, the start of my own family. I think this discontentment stems from feeding myself the message of this show and innumerable love stories like it: flounder along in life learning lessons from mistakes and once you reach a moment of personal growth, the universe will bestow upon you the perfect partner you so richly deserve for all your trouble. Another complicating factor of this erroneous perception is my mistaken view of God. I've been re-reading the old testament and it has reminded me that my God is not all warm and fuzzy, a teddy bear deity. He does not exist only to pull the cosmic strings and do a rain dance to ensure that all the pieces of my life fall together and equal perfect happiness. He wants me to be holy, He desires my obedience. I haven't held up my end of the bargain. He declares me righteous because of my faith in Jesus but that does not mean he gives me a much-deserved husband; it only means he does NOT give me a much-deserved death. He owes me nothing. I deserve nothing. When I look back at past relationships, I treated my brothers in Christ with such recklessness. I took them for granted, I lead them away from the cross, I mistreated them and acted selfishly. God would be completely just and right to declare me unfit for any one of them given my track record. Just because I've reached a point in my life where God is finally the rock upon which I build my life does not mean the universe owes me my prince charming. If my heavenly Father sees fit to join me with another at any point in my life it is nothing less than an ultimate show of grace. And I would be a fool to treat it with less than humble, dumbfounded gratitude.

Dumb girl

I just want to play music

I just want to make my coffee, intricate like a science project

I want to travel, either past the boundaries of my building or past the boundaries of my continent

I want to immerse myself in art and nature, where places are green and blue and brown

I want to dance and ride my bike fast

I want to praise and worship, and grow in mustard seed faith

I want to stay busy, so I've barely time to think that these would be made infinitely better when shared with you. 

Starbucks windows are the best reality TV around

He had a unique gait, shuffling and yet spritely, carried by heavy boots. Worker's boots, worn bald on the toe and unlaced. Sparse shoots of unkempt hair that may have been auburn at one point wave wildly, made alive by the bursts of autumn wind. Draped in camouflage like a soldier, he contrasted sharply and almost comically against the bland waves of grey and brick and metal of the city scenery. Veering. Drunk? Perhaps not but definitely aimless. Checking trashcans periodically, poking anthills and probing under rocks looking for One Man's Trash.
A few minutes pass and the trashcans and retracing of steps seem to lose appeal as he digs in his pockets and pulls out a candy bar. A car patiently awaits its turn to wander the streets as he stands in the  road fumbling with the wrapper. Success, the candy finds his mouth and the wrapper finds the street as a trashcan watches, disgruntled, from three feet away.
A woman stands next to the trashcan smoking, disinterestedly watching the man. She looks at the wrapper with disdain but does nothing, save furrowing an already furrowed brow. The smoke curves the lines of her face, cupping her brow before dissipating into the increasingly chilled air. Her demeanor  is an imprint; the folds of her visage remember every hard day and lonely night she's had in this city. She stares intently at a space in the air, and I wonder what memory she's inhaling and exhaling into smoke and ash.
I wonder if she pities the man, his low stature and desperation. I wonder if she sneers at the lack of shame and social etiquette.
I wonder if the man pities the woman, her lack of freedom and her dependence. Pity for her misery despite having the world in her possession.
Does his street feel like an exile?
Does her condo feel like a prison?
We all three wonder if there can ever be freedom until our feet feel the clouds.

Fully grown, never aging

It's come to my attention recently that I don't look/dress my age.
I don't wear heels or anything I have to dry clean.
Among my requests for my recent 25th birthday was a onesie with unicorn print.
But I have some concrete evidence that though the childish spirit in me is very much alive and well, I do exhibit some adult-like behaviors. Here are a few to start (mostly to assuage the nudging suspicion that I'm gripping my immaturity like a security blanket).
-I both understand, and utilize, a 403B retirement plan
-I put monthly installments into my investment portfolio and have an iphone app to track stocks and progress of said investments
-I genuinely care about my credit score
-Cleaning day is a cherished part of my weekly schedule
-I both own and regularly use olive oil
-I have regular dentist visits.... voluntarily
-Staying in and playing board games now sounds infinitely more enjoyable then going out
-My parents are now sources of valuable counsel and friendship
-Dinner parties, wine tastings and art exhibits are a consistent part of my social calendar
-I read and enjoy books that have no traces of pictures, wizards, vampires, characters, or fight scenes.
-I organize my receipts, bills, insurance forms and retirement plan information in labeled folders
-And last but not least... I am still currently living and in good health after living completely independently for seven years

That's all I can think of at the moment.
So I guess the point is... I do what I want, compadres.

Codes and Keys, Dogs and Fleas

Am I my sin?

As a flea is to a dog, but not to be confused with the dog itself. 

Do we condemn those trapped in sin habits?

Only if we aim to attack the hostage rather than the captor. 

I borrowed this topic from a favorite author of mine whose words echo what I've been working through as of late. The greatest lie told by the enemy (and one I believed for longer than I'm proud of) is that we and our sin are one. "Look at what you've done. It is who you are. You do because you are." The feeling this attitude produces is both freeing and utterly binding. It binds us to our wrong actions but frees us from all accountability. I can't tell you how many nights were spent pounding my pillow when my white-knuckle righteousness had failed to withhold against the purr of concupiscence and the leanings of my flesh. I, a dog returning to my vomit, cried out for what seemed like the millionth time; "Why do I keep falling?" In my ear, "This is who you are... it is what you crave and what you deserve." The enemy is so crafty, making his voice so much like my own that at times the two are indistinguishable.
Romans 6:5-14 speaks of the beautiful release that Christ's death afforded me, declaring me free from the power of sin. But then, why don't I feel free? I feel as trapped as I ever did. It all comes full circle in verse 15, "Don't you realize that you become a slave of whatever you choose to obey?" My sin is the flea to my dog, yes, but I fed it and kept it alive. Romans 7:14-25 describes the paradox perfectly. I can not do good, be good, by my own bootstrap theology. The Tenth Avenue North song resonates with me: "Hallelujah, we are free to struggle... we're not struggling to be free."

This post may seem a bit disheveled and undercooked... mainly because I am still processing through the tragic circumstance of being a broken human loved by a perfect God. I think Martin Luther had it just about right in his latin phrase describing the condition of the Disciple: Simul justus et peccator. Righteous, and at the same time, a sinner. 

Intentionally Alone

I like to think I am intentionally alone. Does this mean I am single by a conscious choice? Well, yes and no... but that's not what I am referring to by this title. In my mind, my intentional solitude is more describing how the state of being is utilized and appreciated and less about the circumstances that created it.
I have come to fully believe that single years really are a gift. This statement was previously a trite and infuriating statement given by parents to assuage a lovelorn teen inquiring why all the other girls had boyfriends and she didn't. A lemon to a paper cut. But now I see the wisdom and the peace in having all the time and opportunity to truly focus on pleasing the greatest man in my life, who just happens to be the loveliest and worthiest man I have ever had the pleasure of knowing. But like the gracious and selfless dear that He is, He is using all this time we share to work on my heart rather than just bask in my adoration. In this, I find the intentionality plays a role. As I intentionally grow close to my Savior, He intentionally readies me for the day He will give my hand and certain parts of my heart away to another. It's the funniest thing... when I seek earthly affection, He grows jealous and finds ways (usually painful ones) to remind me why He is the one I long for. But when I seek Him first He eagerly gifts me with earthly joys to echo and complement His glory. "Seek ye first the kingdom of God, and all else will be added unto you."
Though I couldn't be further from marriage, my Lord and I are already making preparations. He is teaching me to recognize Himself in men, and seek it out. He is teaching me to be wise and use discretion. He is teaching me self-control and the beauty of purity. He is ridding me of selfishness and revealing the joy and fulfillment in the pouring out of self into another.
Please don't think me an anti-single love addict. Being married is not the ultimate goal for all people but I feel myself being gradually led down that path. The beauty of it all is the closer I come to being ready for marriage, the less and less I really care about when or if it happens. What a funny and wonderful God I serve.

Tea with Lemon

Maybe it's the mood of the moment framed perfectly by the quietness of the hour, soft tones of Blind Pilot playing, and a good cup of tea... but I sure am feeling nostalgic. I've been looking back at my time here, all the ups and downs and I feel gratitude in a whelming tide. To be so rescued from myself, to watch dumbfounded as my Lord worked tirelessly while I sat in the ashes and scratched at my sores with broken pieces of pottery. Like Job, I had to have the excess stripped before I could really receive all the good things prepared for me. I believe that sometimes God will let us feel His absence (not to be confused with Him actually being absent) to encourage us to rely less on feelings and more on faith. I was guilty of chasing the feelings, the spiritual highs, making the emotions an idol. For the past several months, a spiritual numbness was my constant companion. Yet every time I prayed, asking God to draw near and return the passion for Him to me to ease my doubts, the answer was always the same. "Choose me. Choose faith." So I prayed, feeling I was having a one-sided conversation. I read my bible with no fire or desire. I struggled, blind, deaf, and dumb.
Lately though, He has returned full-force and it's a sweet homecoming. I feel His presence and His peace and I appreciate it so much more. The contrast is overwhelming. It's so profound I find myself sneaking away during the day to be alone with Him. It is just such a joy to practice the presence of God and enjoying full and absolute acceptance that comes, and to be fully understood, fully known, and fully loved.