God With Us

Many times in the Old Testament, God gave specific promises. Promises so specific that I honestly can't see how guys like Abraham and Moses didn't trust God completely.

I recently studied one of those promises and said to myself, "I wonder if there are any promises like that for me?" So I started searching. I thought that through my search I would come upon biblical promises saying things like, "I promise Tara Elizabeth Wagner that I'm going to use her suffering to do x, y and z (all very specific things like lead a nation or rule over my brothers.) Unfortunately, the only mention of the word "Tara" in the Bible is relating to Abraham's pagan dad who worshiped the stars. Not exactly what I was looking for.

In my obsession with finding all these promises from God, I came upon a lesson that has completely altered how I approach the subject in its entirety. While God's promises are great....they aren't everything.

In fact, they pale in comparison to one thing. It says in Isaiah, that when the Christ was born they were to give him the name that means, "God with us."

He's been on the mountain. He'd been in the temple. Far away from sin. Now, God was coming to us...in the greatest pursuit of all time.

When Christ came to earth, we gained the ability to have God with us. The immensity of that statement is so vast, that I think I will spend the rest of my life trying to gain a glimpse of it's depth.

God is not up in the clouds wrecking havoc with the flick of his blood thirsty finger. He is right here in my midst. Just like the song says, "he walks with me, and he talks with me and he tells me I am his own." The world lay in such a state of desperation, until Christ came. So far from God. Then, with the ripping of the veil, our souls discovered their value. Our value was great enough for God to die so he could remain with us.

The promises of God are immense and encouraging. They quench our thirst when we are parched in the land of suffering. They give us hope that this will not last forever. But God is better than any of his promises. Darkness has been silenced. The head of the serpent has been crushed.

The greatest answer to my longing for a promise, is not a promise. It's God.

May the expectation of your birth cause me to rejoice in the Lord who is now "with me."

Time: Our Good Doctor

One day I was cutting up an avocado for a sandwich. The avocado was more ripe than I expected and when I pressed the knife down it  punctured my palm....badly.

My initial reaction was to grab a towel. I squeezed my hand together, trying to suppress the gush of blood. The first few moments after an injury like that are usually masked with the thumping presence of adrenaline. I remember feeling pain but it didn't register as, "OH MAN THIS HURTS REALLY REALLY BAD" until several minutes later.

When I realized the knife had cut my hand pretty deep, I thought I would need stitches. I also had a final exam a few hours later and freaked out at the thought of taking it with my bloody palm.

Slowly but surely my wound stopped gushing. I borrowed some medical tape from my  neighbors and bandaged myself up the best I could. My hand looked like the parted red sea, but alas, it seemed I was no longer on death's doorstep. (Stitches would have probably been a good idea...but hey...college kids dont got time for dat.)

You know how you forget how much you use something until it's immobile? You forget how great automatic steering is until yours goes out. You forget how great a can opener is until yours breaks and your Campbell's  is whispering sweet nothings in your ear.

The hours following my hand injury were plagued with, "Oh crap. How am I going to do that now? I'm missing a hand." Taking my exam ended up being the worst fifty five minutes of my life. Try bubbling in an answer key with a cut from here to New Zealand on your palm. It was bad. Not to mention, I couldn't focus on anything. All my brainwaves spoke the same message repeatedly. PAIN PAIN PAIN PAIN PAIN PAIN.

Days pass. I go from gauze to a butterfly band aide. Every action no longer requires a complete thought on how I'm going to do it differently. I look back on my *somewhat* dramatic reaction and think, "Maybe I overreacted. It wasn't as bad as it seemed in that moment."  Soon I get a beautiful scab. Unfortunately it gets knocked off by my attempt to squeeze a barbell. Bad decision making. Another scab shows up later and all is well.

Weeks pass. I look down at my hand one day and realize my scab is gone. A jagged little white scar has appeared where my life-altering wound once lay. It's amazing how our body works. Our tissues and blood cells are experts in the art of healing.

Thankfully, our souls work the same way.

When someone hurts you, the initial reaction is sometimes numbing. When reality sets in, distress is overwhelming. Why did this happen? Why did they do that? Is this really happening? I feel horrible. How can I ever get over this? I won't get over this. 

Every day your distress sits upon your spirit like a heavy weight. Everything is affected by it's presence. You want to forget it away, but it's there and going nowhere fast.

Yet, it doesn't last forever. One day you realize you went the entire day without tearing up over absolutely nothing. You realize you enjoyed yourself without thinking about him or her or that. At one point you swore you'd always feel this way inside. Now, hope sparks up. You see a photo that doesn't make you cry, thinking about the good times it represented. A song is played, and you sing along without hearing your emo alter-ego's annoying banter about how they always loved that song. You let things go and take steps forward. It's hard but good.

Months pass. You thought it would be years. You hear the "trigger words" and are OK. Words that upon hearing them, used to bring vicious memories and images of a time long gone. You've been given a clean slate, and these words no longer hold a bitter stigma. The locust years are being replaced, just as He said they would.

The other day I looked down at my palm. Not even a scar remains. Every hint of past pain has been completely erased. Time is always up to something good. You can't rewind it, but you can't stop it either. You think some scars will never heal, but wake up one day and realize everything has changed.

Why I'm Grateful I Can Be Single

Most girls hate being single. Hate it. If you want to know which girls it is killing the most, check out Twitter. All those #foreveralone #foreversingle #singlegirlprobz #teamsingle tweets will usually lead you right to a girl who actually wishes she had a nice boy to bring home to meet her folks. Some of these girls are actually mentally unwell and only want a guy so they can feel emotionally content through false flattery. I digress.

My mom was telling me a story the other day about a lady she heard on the radio who lived in Afghanistan for five years to specifically minister to the women. The lady was describing how one day she asked a group of women to write a story of no particular topic. When describing the details of each woman's story, the similarities were striking. All of the women wrote stories that started off with a woman who falls in love with a man. The progression of the story from there always includes the woman having a relationship with the man. In a Romeo and Juliet type twist, the lady said their stories always ended with the parents being so displeased with the couple that the woman commits suicide. Most of these women are barely literate, so they've probably not read Shakespeare. They live in a third-world country in the middle of nowhere, so they don't know of Western romances seen in movies. They've never witnessed a man pursuing a woman in a loving relationship, because that is unheard of in their culture. The question becomes, where did their stories come from?

Well, because a woman's desire to have a relationship with a man is innate. As Americans, it is easy for us to breeze over the word relationship. We all have this idea in our heads of what a marriage is, and relationship is probably #1 on that list. In our idealistic mind-set, we all say, "What else could it be??" As Americans, why would we not have a relationship with the person we marry? This seems fundamental but for Afghan women, sadly, a relationship never even plays a role in the marriage union. In Western cultures, a girl's wedding day is one of the greatest days of her life. She dreams about it, even as a young girl. For an Afghan girl, her wedding day is usually full of fear as she meets, for the first time, the man who will become her master. A man whom she will know, but not in the way she desires. She will be a piece of property to him, not a person in whom he confides or cherishes.

As my mom is telling me all this, I'm actually in the middle of reading Jane Eyre. One of the greatest love stories of all time, no doubt. As I read this book, (like most women) I know someday I will have a story of my own. Hopefully not as dramatic and .....life threatening...as Jane Eyre's....but a story nevertheless. I am overwhelmed with thankfulness as I realize my assumed future is unique to my culture. All women dream of a loving relationship with a man, but not all assume that dream will be fulfilled.

Even if I have to be single until my hair turns grey, I'm simply thankful I live in a place where my dreams stand a chance. I'm thankful I have the ability to be single as long as I want to, without marriage being forced upon me. My heart aches for women in countries around the world who innately desire something they know they will never have.

The Creator

Can it be the same hand I've felt
Is the hand that built Orion's belt?

The hand that gently squeezes mine
Is the hand that made the stars align?

The voice I hear to calm my seas
Once spoke and formed the galaxies?

Was the dozing babe in his manger's keep
Upholding the earth, in no need of sleep?

Did the creator of math and gravity
Learn a man's trade as a Nazarene?

With a roar he turns the mighty tides
but whispers at his child's side?

The King who fathered time and space
Came down to wallow in disgrace?

And not just that, but so much more
was granted as the veil was torn

He left his throne to writhe for breath
In victory pulled our souls from death.

I'm Not Bringing Sexy Back

Trey Songz says I don't have to pay for his attention.
Travie McCoy says I look like the type to keep his mind off the last one.
Jason DeRulo says I can be his "it" girl....because I'm the sh*t.

So these songs are super romantic and sweet, right? If William Shakespeare was writing in 2012, I'm 99% sure Romeo would take his lines from one of the above songs to woo Juliet in the famous balcony scene.

Even though these men aren't respecting females in any way, the lack of disgust from our culture is evidence that we approve. We, as women, accept being talking to in this way. Our cultural posture speaks louder than words. And we are slouching. Females want to be confident, and think our sexuality is the easiest way to get there.

Women are told that being sensual is the only way to feel good about ourselves. When you are sexy, you are the Queen of your own kingdom. I know, ladies. That feeling when you walk into a room and eyes linger. Conversations pause. When a man see you. The temptation to bask in that glory is vast in our hearts.

Should we stop the pursuit of sexy? What are our alternatives? I've done a lot of observation of what kind of girl gets a man. Some of my friends married boys. Others married men. And I would say the majority of the girls who married men, found their confidence outside of sex appeal. Four words come to my mind as I envision the kind of woman who is truly the Feminine Mystique:

Virtuous. 
Chaste.
Moral.
Modest.

Words your great-grandmother would use. Soooo not what Trey Songz is looking for unfortunately. Sooo not what Betty Friedan is promoting either.

My theory is this: confidence must start from a virtuous foundation or it leads to tragedy. I can walk down the street in a bulky sweater and feel more confident than the majority of girls I've seen in bars. Why? Is it because I'm really attractive? No. I can plop myself down in a booth next to a guy and be myself for one reason. My self-worth comes from a denial of cultural femininity. My traditional ideals tell me I don't need to bare it all to be attractive to men. My traditional ideals tell me I don't need to act seductive to feel good about myself. And you know what? It works.

There is freedom in chastity. 

It's true, I usually don't attract boys. They run as soon as they realize I'm not interested in going home with them. Being traditional and old-fashioned is not sexy.

But being sexy isn't all it's cracked up to be.






Inspiration came from this article somewhat:

http://verilymag.com/sending-sexy-back/

The Swords of Mortal Men Wield a Dull Blade

Don't be afraid;
all is well
The shouts they make,
only last a spell
They're loud today,
but wait and see
As moths arrive,
with teeth agleam
Flesh and bone,
the worms will eat
Earthly victory,
a deceiving treat
Chin up son,
through stormy weather
Home is near,
and salvation forever

inspired by Isaiah 51:7-8

Running a Marathon instead of a Sprint

The Olympics are over, and it is a shame. I think I enjoy the Olympics even more than Christmas. No joke. Is that blasphemous? Anyways, one of the most anticipated events is, of course, the men's 100m race. Winning this race gets you the title of World's Fastest Man, now held by the self-assured Usain Bolt. Nothing beats an adrenaline pumping race with a wildly loud crowd in the background. On the other end of the running spectrum are the long distance races. I think we can all agree that the long distance races just don't promote the same level of excitement. It's easy to appreciate the athleticism required to run for three hours (or how about that long distance swimming!) but unlike the sprinters, you probably won't see many long distance runners on the cover of "Sports Illustrated." That's just the nature of the beast. We want a good show.

I recently discovered this article about Jim Elliot's younger brother, Bert. While the story of Jim Elliot's tragic murder is well known, I don't think there are many who have heard Bert Elliot's story. Bert and his wife Colleen served faithfully as missionaries for fifty six years. When asked about the similarities between he and his brother, Bert said, " Jim and I both served Christ, but differently. Jim was a great meteor, streaking through the sky.”

I love what Randy Alcorn had to say in response to Bert's description of his brother. "Unlike his brother Jim, the shooting star, Bert was a faint star that rose night after night, faithfully crossing the same path in the sky, to God’s glory."

While the world, and sometimes the Church, makes fame and drama desirable, God calls most of us to be faithful through anonymity. Some of us, like Jim, get to run a sprint. But most of us, like Bert, are called to run the marathon. Bert Elliot passed away in February of this year and I know he received more heavenly applause than the world could have ever given him. I think Bert would say living without recognition in this life was worth the eternal reward he received in the next.

Lord,  though I'll never have a crowd to cheer me on to victory, let me remain willing to run long distances for the Gospel.

A Short Commentary on Atheism

Excellent questions were brought up in a recent debate I watched between Christopher Hitchens and Alister McGrath. The monologue between the two brilliant men was fascinating. I think apologetics is an absolutely fundamental necessity for anyone who claims to be a Christian. Asking questions isn't just for those who doubt- it's for everyone. We are a naturally questioning species, aren't we? An unanswered question is seen by most humans as false until proven true. Science has been both kind and unhelpful to people trying to prove the existence of God. Today there are still some questions we can't answer. Frankly, I enjoy believing in a God whose existence cannot be wholly proved by science.

I'm always trying to convince people to watch this British series that comes on PBS every Spring called, "Masterpiece Theatre." I am obsessed with it. Every Spring they air various classic stories by famous authors like Charles Dickens, Emily Bronte, Jane Austen, etc. But watching a British show about people in top hats and mutton chops just doesn't interest most people in 2012 unfortunately. From the outside, it looks like a weird show. And let's be honest- not everyone is going to get into it. I can make it sound as exciting as possible, but not until somebody actually sits down one Sunday night and watches it, are they going to believe me.

Belief in God is the same. I can wear myself out with science and history and logic and probability, but unless you go off and do your own research, my efforts are in vain.

That is why "arguments" for what you believe are most often harmful and unnecessary. If you want to argue your opinions through the written word, I highly recommend the comments section of YouTube videos! haha.

When I became a Christian in the fourth grade- I certainly didn't know anything about Christian apologetics. I had child-like faith. I believed because I wanted Jesus. I wanted the gift he was offering. Christians before science lived the same way. They believed because they experienced God. I'm so profoundly convinced there is a God, that even if it turns out he isn't real, I don't think I'd regret living like he was real. While atheists will say my belief in a god that created me and loves me is "wishful thinking," the same must also be said for unbelief.
May those who seek, find.

Bonhoeffer & my Failures

I just finished the brilliant biography of Dietrich Bonhoeffer by Eric Metaxas. I have found this book to be one of few that I could boldly claim has changed my life. Dietrich Bonhoeffer was not a Billy Graham. He wasn't successful by the standards of his time, much less the present. I look back on my own life and am relieved to read about Bonhoeffer because, I too have a negligible level of success under my belt. Bonhoeffer's obedience to God, even under the very apparent umbrella of failure, pushes my own flighty heart forward to do the same.
How refreshing to me are Bonhoeffer's words about success in the eyes of God. He says,

" God's cause is not always the successful one...that we really could be 'unsuccessful,' and yet be on the right road. But this is where we find out whether we have begun in faith or in a burst of enthusiasm." 

It is extremely difficult for me to view this life as it is: momentary and fleeting. My mind can't quite grasp how our lives are so short in the spectrum of eternity. Just because I'm obeying the Lord, doesn't mean I will have success. The Lord will undoubtedly bless me, but not necessarily with my face on a magazine cover or an interview by Barbara Walters. Bonhoeffer had no idea he would be treasured as a prophet and martyr after his death. Most likely he believed his name would shrink into oblivion, because of his cheapened death at a concentration camp. He left, never getting to marry his fiance or have his own children. To me, this looks like a sad loss, but I know Bonhoeffer would disagree. He would say, "everything I count as loss, compared to the surpassing greatness of knowing Christ," and the ability to sit at his feet in the splendor of eternity.


As I continue to fail, which I undoubtedly will continue to do, let me give thanks. These failures are merely a witness to my inability to act in any good way without the gift of grace. Surely I can embrace my biggest failures in life with loving arms, because I still win at the end of the day. Let me obey, though the road of obedience leads me outside the limelight of praise from men.

When Love Wears a Mask Called Anger

I know my dad loves me. But you know, many times my dad acted in anger towards me. He punished me and gave me consequences when I disobeyed him...sometimes with the use of a belt! ha. He set many rules that for most of my life, I believed were absolutely pointless. In the Bible, there are numerous times when God was angry with his own children as well. How could a God who calls himself Love, act in anger or wrath? For many years this puzzled me. The scene of Jesus turning over the tables in the synagogue in Jerusalem always made me uncomfortable. I wanted Jesus to be this peaceful miracle worker, not a candidate for anger management classes.

The realization I've come to though is, love without anger is apathy with good intentions. If God did not act in anger towards sin, that would be evidence he really didn't love us at all. If I were a young child without a solid conscience and tried to steal a candy bar from a store, would my dad sit back and simply watch? No! He would stop me and punish me so that I wouldn't do it again. I'm sure I would be furious and throw the usual temper tantrum, but good parenting goes beyond being liked. Stealing something small like a piece of candy isn't monumental, but a thief is easily bred. Is a thief looked upon as respectable in society? No. My dad punished me when I was unlearned, so I could keep myself from ruin as an adult. God does the same thing. God is Love, and when necessary he wears a mask called Anger.
I'm so grateful my dad loved me in a way that was counter to the culture we live in. Children have a secret desire for discipline and rules. They thrive when they get to grow in a nurturing environment where consequences follow wrong behavior and praise follows the good.  My adult character has been shown utmost mercy by the love of my earthly father, as well as my Father in heaven.


With Love to my dad on Father's Day- 2012

The Flickering Light of Redemption

Bruised and haggard on the road was I

Rest; a lonely memory

My garments heavily stained with blood

my body aches and pleas

Dusk beds itself on the desert plains

It's cover, I must brave

Survive you won't, my body says
Lie down; greet your grave

A flickering light in my eye is caught

A midst much pain, I rise

Was Hope behind this shadow veiled

Or darkness in disguise?

"To call this wasteland home," I said,

"What demon would it be?"

A devil I found my host was not

Expectant, in fact, of me!

Love and tenderness; oh the joy!

All my needs, supplied 

Though my eyes shed a foreigner's tears

As a son, they were dried

Peace tucked me in to rest that night

My death now long forgotten

One step from my grave I arrived

With new life, I was begotten 

Hearing my Name

 ^"Now Mary stood outside the tomb crying. As she wept, she bent over to look into the tomb and saw two angels in white, seated where Jesus’ body had been, 

one at the head and the other at the foot.

 They asked her, “Woman, why are you crying?”

“They have taken my Lord away,” she said, “and I don’t know where they have put him.” At this, she turned around and saw Jesus standing there, but she did not realize that it was Jesus. He asked her, “Woman, why are you crying? Who is it you are looking for?”

Thinking he was the gardener, she said, “Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have put him, and I will get him.”

Jesus said to her, “Mary.”

She turned toward him and cried out in Aramaic, “Rabboni!” (which means “Teacher)."

My first instinct is to laugh at Mary for thinking Jesus was the gardener. Was her eyesight that bad? Then I am moved to such compassion as I try to imagine the grief she was going through. I'm sure Jesus looked pretty bad as well. The disciples must have felt complete abandonment the day after Jesus was crucified. All the hope they'd put into believing Jesus was their Messiah....lost.

How beautiful that Mary did not recognize Jesus until he said her name. She spoke with him and looked him straight in the eyes. However, it wasn't until he said, "Mary," that she knew who he was. He must have said it to her countless times,  so she recognized it immediately.  

I have read this passage many, many times but will never read it the same again. I am so moved by our Savior's desire to say our name when we are hurting. No other words are necessary, but to hear his voice and know he cares for us. In his power, he is able to love us as if we are the only person in the world. What other god can do this?

Why Personal Pain is Necessary for Spreading the Gospel

"Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have. But do this with gentleness and respect." 1 Peter 3.15

It's my belief that only by walking closely in friendship with someone will they ever desire change. Most of the people I come in contact with have not only heard of Jesus, but they probably know a handful of Bible stories as well. The "Good News" is always good, but for most Americans, it isn't new. The Great Commission must become coarsely strategic. "Repent or Go to Hell" is literally what happens- but who'd ever embrace a Gospel so harsh? No one.


In 1 Peter it tells us to "always be prepared to give an answer to anyone who asks for the hope that you have."

In my head I'm like, "That's great! I'm prepared. I've got my answer all ready, actually. Just like in Sunday school, the answer is always...... Jesus! Duh." Jesus is the reason I'm full of hope even if I get two parking tickets in one day. Jesus is the reason I keep pursuing my passions even when the world slaps a "NO" in my face.

But what if nobody asks? 

People don't usually ask unless they are surprised. No one is going to question my hope or joy unless I'm displaying it under circumstances where that would not be common. 

In a nutshell, we must go through times of struggle in order to spread the gospel. Being passionate about the Great Commission means embracing pain. Nobody is going to be curious about the hope we have, unless we still have it when things aren't going well. They are going to notice something different in us when we can still proudly claim "the joy of the Lord is my strength" under adversity. So take heart when life is crummy. Be excited that God is still working, even while you feel useless. People are always watching you. When they see you smile though the clouds are dark ahead; then, and only then, will they ask.

Jesus Never Made Me Apologize

     "When they came to the place called the Skull, there they crucified him, along with the criminals- one on his left, the other on his right. Jesus said, 'Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.' And they divided up his clothes by casting lots." Luke 23: 33-34

Jesus' message always encouraged people to repent. There is no doubt about that. The Bible proclaims that if you believe in Jesus and confess your sins to him, you will be saved. "Apologizing" is a crucial step in becoming a follower of Christ- but it wasn't a preliminary requirement for Jesus' death.

Jesus never said, "I'm very willing to die for you, but not until you say you're sorry." He did quite the opposite. He died for us first. There were no bribes or prerequisites.

One of the criminals sneered insults at him, even while they hung in pain. Jesus could have reminded him that later on that day (while he burned in Hell) he probably would want to take back all that "get yourself down" stuff. Instead, Jesus died for him. Then there was the other criminal. We don't know what sins he committed, but most likely it wasn't something like tax evasion. Whatever crimes he had committed were now being felt by Christ. Instead of making him repent first, he promised him eternal life.

Now, here I am.

Why do I consider myself so worthy, that I would want someone to tell me they are sorry before forgiving them? Why would that be of any consequence to me? Because I somehow believe that it will make me feel better. I believe they owe it to me. I think I deserve certain things but in reality, I don't deserve anything.

Jesus never made me apologize for the future sins I'd commit. He died for me first. Some people will never apologize for their sins. They will die never appreciating the suffering of Christ. They will go to their graves mocking him. He died for the people who will always ignore him, as well as those who love him. Only after failing in relationships with other people, can I finally see how beautiful that is. He gave us the gift of free sacrifice without any preconceived notions of equality. There was no equal trade between Christ and I. He died even while the scale tipped completely in my favor. Let me forgive as you have, Lord.

"But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: while we were still sinners, Christ died for us."

My Backpack

(This is a response to reading The Parable of the Unmerciful Servant in Matthew 18.)


I didn't think it would be this heavy. The lop-sided backpack I've got strapped to me, that is. I had everything I thought I would need to help me reach the top. I ignored the warning from my friends, who said there were many things in my backpack I didn't need. They kept saying not to bring anything that wasn't essential. "Well of course everything in here is essential," I told myself. How could I possibly scale such a height without all the items I might need? I wasn't about to leave anything behind.

The beginning of the hike is nothing.You have relatively no problems. Feeling proud, you laugh and think about your friend's warnings. "They thought I couldn't handle such a load. They obviously don't know how strong I am. Glad I didn't listen to them." But soon, little by little, the terrain starts getting steeper. Your heart starts speeding up to keep up with the strain. On a particularly steep area, when your backpack becomes increasingly cumbersome, one part of you will say, "OK- maybe some of this stuff needs to go." With a quick response, though, your other half will say, "Never! I need everything in here!"

So you will keep climbing. Your back becomes distorted as you attempt to manage all the weight, and the straps start rubbing your skin raw. You try not to notice, but it's apparent you haven't used the majority of the items in your backpack. By the time you reach the peak, your body is throbbing and every movement racks you with pain. You've "made it" but you can't enjoy the view because of how tired you are. You finally take off the backpack, and toss it to the ground. Immediately you loathe it. You loathe that you brought it. You loathe that most of the items inside didn't even bring you any help.You loathe that you didn't enjoy the challenging hike you just made, because the entire journey was focused on carrying that stupid backpack.

Trust me. You don't want to miss out on the reward of a challenging hike because you were too absorbed in how heavy your load was. A load you didn't even need to begin with. Lighten your load before it is too late.

We All Long For The Same Thing

There are countless stories of people aching to get home. Frodo wants to get back to the Shire. Dorothy wants to get back to Kansas. Scarlett wants to get back to Tara.

The image of home stirs warm and pleasant thoughts in many of us. There are also many of us that, when thinking or remembering home, have nothing but bitterness or sorrow to ponder upon. The idea of having a home to return to after a hard day is, in all of us, inadvertently innate.

I am such a homebody. Home is where I can lay around in my sweats all day and don't think twice about if I look OK. I can slurp spaghetti noodles without a care if some of them don't make it all the way in my mouth. I am more myself at home than anywhere else. I love how everyone's home has a distinct smell and when you come back after a long time, you recognize it.


The desire for home is the direct response to the true longing of our hearts. Eternity. The only thing we were created to yearn for is eternity. There is no rest for the soul that is not filled with the desire for Heaven.

As a child, I would lay awake at night in fear thinking of eternity. I would find myself crying trying to process how God had always existed, how the universe went on forever, and how someday I would live in Heaven for all eternity. I was quite a deep thinker when I was a kid. haha.

I always felt guilty about not really wanting to go to heaven. The thought of being somewhere forever sounded horrible and boring. The whole scene of harps and choirs and clouds was not appealing when earth had Limited Too and the Backstreet Boys.When you think about what heaven actually it- it is ridiculous not to want to go there. I mean- heaven is supposed to be the epitome of existence! Why would I not want to be sinless with God in the most amazing place ever created??

Well it actually makes perfect sense. I didn't need heaven at that time in my life because... well....earth was pretty dang awesome.

Now, for the first time, things are quite different. Life isn't as carefree and protective as it used to be.

While running late last night, I was really upset and worried about some events that had taken place. They were such a burden on my heart. In that moment, where I found myself so hopeless, I realized the pain I was feeling was not about to be over. Individual struggles end, but not in general. Struggles in life will never end while I am on this earth. In realization of this, I told God I was really tired of being down here.

Finally, he seemed to say. After all these years, you finally yearn for what you were created for.

It's also good to keep in mind that someday, when I'm exactly where I want to be, it is still only pretty awesome. Even when I'm not in the middle of a rough patch in the road, life is still.....life.

It is not until I am in His presence, laying at His feet, will my spirit be quenched. Thank you for this yearning, God.

Day by Day Forgiveness

My family enjoys skiing. I laugh when I think about how we consider skiing our "vacation" when, for the most part, skiing is the farthest thing from vacation. Poor Texas lungs huffing and puffing as they try to breathe while you carry 500 lb ski boots,  awkwardly long skis and poles. Of course this is all while wearing 65 layers of clothing. Going down the mountain is relatively painless if you know what you are doing. The part that everyone hates though, is poling. You get to a flat part of the run and your momentum eventually slows down, so you have to use your poles to push til you get to steeper ground. It's amazing how in sub freezing temperatures and under your 65 layers, your body still sweats. Ugh.

If you don't consistently pole on the flat parts, you won't move. Many times, one push won't cut it either.

Now let's talk about forgiveness. 

When you are a kid, forgiveness takes one time and you're over it. Your sibling, while being prodded by your mom, says they're sorry for hitting you in the face with a Tonka truck. Immediately you say, "I forgive you," and you move on. As as adult, it's a whole new ballgame. Your head says, "I forgive them. I need to get over this," but your heart says, "Not so fast. They really hurt me. I can't just forget about this." 

In my current situation, forgiveness has to be daily. I have to choose to forgive the person who wronged me, for that day and that day only. 

I don't have the secret to forgiveness. I do know that on days that I don't have the weight of bitterness on my back, I have joy. Hopefully in the future, I'll get the point where I won't have to re-forgive every day. Until then I'm just going to keep poling until the terrain becomes easier.

An Ode to Days Past

Our story, though short
was a fun one to begin

I was skeptical at first
but soon head first, jumped in

We were honest and true
our faces freely exposed

Though the past is now clear
I was real, you were posed

Your voice how is shone
the true essence of man

I wasted not a minute
when you offered me your hand

My palace walls, they were high
Man had yet to scale their height

When I saw you from afar
My heart sang with such delight

I was so thrilled to see you coming
I didn't want to hinder your commission

Instead of asking you to climb
I gave you painless admission

My company and my humor
You enjoyed for quite a bit

In observance of your affection
I was sure you would commit

Soon our friendship became a battlefield
I swore I'd win at any cost

But the day your eyes grew dim
I knew for me, this war was lost

You took my hand that day you came
Your laugh erased my impeding doubt

Now with pain I sit and wonder
what your motive was all about

Should I go back and start anew
A new requirement for your commission

Would be to climb my palace walls
Without pain there is no admission

Easily Spooked

There is a large group of blackbirds that frequently inhabits my neighborhood and yard. This isn't a small group of birds I speak of; there have to be between 50-70 of them that move around together. I've recently noticed and laughed at their easily spooked behavior to any human closeness. One day they were all encamped in my front yard. I walked from my room to the kitchen (all the while inside of course) and immediately as I walked by a window, they fled for their lives. You would've thought I had just pulled out my shotgun! They are so unfamiliar and skeptical of movement that they don't waste time in relocating. Even if the worms and other tasty insects taste the best in my yard, they'll still drop everything and move if they see a glimpse of movement.

As I laugh at these stupid birds, I can't help but think how much I am like them. I am afraid of unfamiliar movement from God. I am so easily scared of the calling of God in my life that as soon as I feel uncomfortable, I run for my life (or try to.) Like these birds, I would rather leave what could prove to be an excellent habitat for my spiritual strengths for somewhere where I'm not afraid. These birds don't let me get close enough to see that I don't intend to hurt them. They see my shadow and flee before I can prove that I have absolutely no wish to turn into a bird killer. When God prompts me to let him move in my life and take a grip on my plans I struggle. I wrestle and whine and gripe and cry and plead with him to not do it.

Let me be comfortable! Let me stay in this grassy field without Your hand upon me! Let me rest here awhile!

I've become so weary in waiting for God that I've begun to show my desperation. In the Psalms David cries out for God to rescue him, vindicate him and restore him. I can relate. It is in these times that while I am broken and in pain, I must still say, "I will stay here until you call me elsewhere."

In a book I'm reading the author says, "Weakness is the new strong." Like Paul, I must delight in my weaknesses, for when I am weak, then I am strong.

The Story of Joy & Sorrow

Sorrow's eyes are dark and cold. Her skin is toughened by the cold wind that stirs all things dwelling in The Valley. Sorrow lifts her head from time to time to look up the mountain. Her eyes catch something colorful growing on the mountain peak, but she buries her head with a fierce bitterness before she gazes too long. 

Joy bounds from one sun kissed rock to another, laughing without recant. Her hair is free and billows around her. She rolls on the soft grass and inhales the sweet scent of wildflowers. Her voice sails as she sings the songs of her youth. For a moment she gazes down the mountain, to The Valley, but quickly lifts her head and runs back to the sunlight. 

Every day Sorrow and Joy look to where the other dwells but never a moment longer. Each feels a strange bond to the other but a change from what they know is never considered. Sorrow longs for the carefree and happy existence of Joy. Joy longs for the deep and dependent life of Sorrow. Each knows their purpose yet wishes to have a part of the other. 

One day the Lord approaches the mountain where Joy and Sorrow live. He says, "My children, why the discontent with where you are?" Joy says, "I am so happy where I am, but my life has no depth! It has been so long since I've felt your presence, O Lord!"

Sorrow lifts her tired head and says, "O Lord, you know I long to be where Joy is on top of the mountain. I've been in The Valley for so long and I'll admit I am getting weary." 

The Lord sighs and pulls Joy and Sorrow into His arms. "You know there is not a reason why both of you can't be One." Joy and Sorrow give the Lord puzzled looks and so He explains. "I made you to exist together as One. I made you so that you could be 'sorrowful yet always rejoicing.' I made you so that while in The Valley, you could have hope, and while on The Mountain- you would still need me at every hour. I am both the King of Joy and the King of Sorrow." 

From that day on, through storms and still waters, Joy and Sorrow walked together. As One, the struggles of life became conquerable. 

I Just Loaf Peeta, Doughn't You?

Every single time everyone in the world is reading a series and tells me to read it, I give in. I read the Twilight books in less than 36 hours.That's embarrassing, I know.

Now it is The Hunger Games.

Sheesh.

I haven't finished Mockingjay yet, but the way Suzanne Collins designed the character of Peeta was obviously genius. The reader can't help but have a death grip on Peeta. We are immediately drawn to him. We love him. Why would a female writer design a character like Peeta?

We love Peeta because he loves without being loved in return.

The entire series is him sacrificing himself for a girl who still can't decide if she loves him. Yes, she needs him, but still can't allow herself to see Peeta like the rest of us do. He has weaknesses, but I think that's what makes him more realistic to us. He isn't the steroid stuffed, buff bodybuilder our culture promotes quite often. He is sensitive. He's not stone cold like Katniss is. His words are full of emotion and sincerity.  He acts out of love for Katniss, even though in the beginning, he knows she believes him to be a traitor.

Suzanne Collins knows what we want as humans when it comes to love. We want to be loved amidst our weaknesses and faults. We want to be loved by someone we don't deserve. Our ultimate desire is to find someone who sees us as we are, and somehow embraces us, even while we hurt them.

This innate desire was formed in us before creation. We desire this as people, because our Maker loved us in that way first. God loved us before we knew who He was. He loved us even though we did nothing to deserve it. We want that kind of love. We crave it. That is why accepting and rejoicing in the love of God has no comparison. Nothing feels better than being loved when you realize it's not from anything you did.

Peeta's love for Katniss did not start when she saved his life. Peeta loved Katniss before she was aware he knew her name. He kept loving her even while she planned to kill him. Peeta doesn't allow his hurt and pain to stop him from loving Katniss. He never withdraws or accepts defeat until Katniss finally frees herself to love him back. (Except for that whole "The capitol made me crazy so now I wanna kill Katniss" Peeta which I don't like to think about.)


This is how we should love others.

I apologize for being mushy (I guess I'm apologizing to myself since no one reads this haha.) I just know every girl that reads these books is immediately in love with Peeta, and I wanted to know why. At least in other popular romances like the Twilight books- Bella loves Edward the entire time he's loving her. The same can't be said for Peeta and Katniss.

Speaking of Twilight, it is a blessing that I have grown up a lot since reading those books. I feel like I can read The Hunger Games with a totally different perspective than I read Twilight. I loved Edward Cullen as a freshman in college, because he was perfect. Without flaw. Strong. Unselfish. He had no weaknesses. I read those books and was surprised enough to realize no guy is like that. (I can't believe I just admitted I liked Edward Cullen at one point.) A guy like Edward Cullen would be annoying as all get out. Like seriously.....stop watching me sleep. Gross. Glad I'm out of that stage.

I'm glad Peeta is at least a little more realistic. While I love Peeta's character, I can easily remove myself enough to know he is still fiction. I am content in my view of how men are that I can read books about romance and love and still know most guys are jerks, they hate talking about feelings, their frontal lobes don't develop until it's too late, and most of them don't bake.