Walking in Faith

Walking in faith. I never understood it fully until a youth pastor gave an analogy I remember to this day. "You see this chair?" he said while gesturing to an old metal folding chair. "Belief is saying that this chair will hold you if you sit on it. You can know and say with confidence that if you put your weight on it, it won't buckle and send you crashing to the floor. Faith is belief in action. Faith happens when you sit in the chair." There are several passages about faith, with the mustard seed, mountains moving, and all that goodness... but what comes of it when the rubber meets the road? I have been called to sit in my own proverbial chair. I prayed about the chair, consulted my beloved brothers and sisters about the chair. I thought back to previous times when I was called to sit and didn't, followed by intense regret. Would the chair hurt? Would it feel peaceful? Would it lead to some sort of spiritual enlightenment? No answers; only "sit." I have told the Lord I would do what He asked because He knows the plans He has for me. They are plans to prosper me, to give me a hope and a future. Yet doubt rages. I would much prefer for Him to deliver the reasons, and let me in on the big picture. Then, I would gladly sit. I would gladly obey. But that's not faith. Faith is acting when we don't know why, walking when we can't see, and traversing straight down a path where the only visible step is the one we are currently standing on. Proverbs 20:24 says, "The Lord directs our steps, so why try to understand everything along the way." Touché. James 1:3 reminds me that the test of faith grows perseverance and it does feel like just that: a test. I will admit, it doesn't feel good. It feels awful, actually. But I have to believe that the purpose of my act of obedience is for the furthering of His plan. So without further ado, I think I'll pull up a chair and make myself a little uncomfortable. Hebrews 11:1 "Now Faith is being sure of what we hope for, and certain of what we do not see."

The best kinds of problems

Everyone has problems. Lately I've been blessed with the very best kinds of problems, which are those that result from the deepening of friendships and relationships in my community. After a very long and lonely season (one I am grateful for, mind you) I was blessed with some very specific bonds I'd been praying for. I've had acquaintances and fellowship but very few deep, few super substantial that challenged me at my core. (I will exclude a few, you glorious dears know who you are) But now I find myself in challenging situations. I am subject to new pressures to increase my committment to church via volunteering and community group involvement. I now have friends who have graciously allowed me to see into their imperfections, and speak both love and guidance into them. And I allow my vulnerabilities, previously guarded like a national treasure, to poke their heads out and sniff the hands of those in my inner circle. It's scary and extremely sanctifying, and it is oh, so good. I find myself frustrated, tested, and burdened at times. It is uncomfortable to be known, for fear of being known and unaccepted. But it is right and it is good. For the first time, my most sincere prayer is for wisdom. Not for my own benefit, but for theirs. When do I offer grace, tough love, consolation, or honesty? What offenses do I address, and which do I ignore? When should I hold tighter than ever, and when do I walk away for the good of myself and the other? Like Solomon, I cling tightly to the knowledge that godly wisdom is the source of all riches. And I find myself filthy rich with the best kinds of problems.

Toddlers and tiaras

The hardest and most confusing part of young adulthood for me is the progression of developmental milestones. Childhood is so predictable that there are textbooks delineating each step and it's cause for concern if each milestone isn't met in the expected time frame. But when first words and potty training are behind us, where are we left? When should I expect to be mature enough to master coping mechanisms when I am handed disappointments and frustrations of life? When should I be prepared emotionally and financially to start a life with someone in the bonds of marriage? I never realized these milestones existed until I noticed a pattern among my acquaintances. The posts about smart financing and photos from weddings and baby announcements from people I consider peers came pouring in. Am I developmentally delayed? I feel this ache echoed in various people around me lately. My female friends who share my single status lament their bare left ring fingers. My childless married friends feel inadequate and self-conscious. The pressure to equate value of self with a husband, child, 401K, etc is overwhelming for us "delayed" 20-somethings. It's whispered by every ad and hinted by family members and friends. "This is where you should be in life and if you are not, there is likely something wrong with you." But I exhort myself and those like me, I implore... we are no less beloved, valuable, cherished by the Most High because we are the last of our friends to marry or the least financially stable. Our worth is not tied up in these things, and our story does not always match that of our peers. The Psalms tell us "Take delight in the Lord and He will give you the desires of your heart." In Jeremiah I find a comforting reminder, "'For I know the plans I have for you,' declares the LORD, 'plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.'" His timing is perfect, and His plan will be sanctifying. Perhaps the sanctification includes a few years of growing pains and some unanswered questions. But I have trusted Him thus far with much grace, and I try to remind myself that as long as I dedicate my steps to His plan He will not steer me wrong. Even if I feel I may have taken a few wrong turns... It's all about the journey.

Bow to the almighty god of busyness

I am an idolater. I have always been aware that our modern idols take the form of hobbies and jobs, as the days of stone figures and the golden calf have gone by the wayside. But I always saw modern idols as something that consumes your life, like a professional athlete or musician... With their lives wholly dedicated to perfecting their craft. But as I've been trouble-shooting some lackluster behavior in my walk with God, I see my own adulterous, idolizing patterns. It's the little things that count. This cliche sums it all up. Each time I practice music for an extra hour or hit the gym in lieu of devotional time, another brick is laid separating me emotionally from Him. No wonder I feel far from him these days. It's no different than if I consistently neglected one-on-one time with any one of my friends: the relationship would suffer. There's no dialogue, no bonding. Each time I choose one of my little idols over him, I communicate my priorities. I am busy. I am busy, and I am dying. To be healthy, I need a constant refueling. My idols drain, adding nothing and taking everything. In this new year, I hope to readjust my priorities. Where my treasures and my time lie, there lies my heart also.

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.