Choices

A while back my brother posted about beginning to think that being a Christian and being a hard-working, disciplined person had nothing to do with each other. He was throwing it out as a thought, take what you may. I wondered about his thought. I wondered about it very much. Did I agree with him? Well, eventually I forgot about it. And then today I remembered it.

Today is my birthday. I mention this because one tends to feel particularly special on their birthday, which may affect what one is blogging about. For the record, however, I had a great day yesterday as well.

I was driving home today feeling oh so great, listening to the radio and about to pull into McDonald's, a definite no-no for my health needs and nutrition appeal. What the hell, I really didn't care. To be honest, with all the sun shining and having multiple birthday wishes I felt God's pleasure on me. What a funny thing. Haven't done devotions or read the Bible too much recently. Haven't been to church regularly in like, um, 2 years. Haven't even been exceptionally disciplined in other important areas of my life. But today is one of the few days in my life where I've felt guilt-free. That's right. Often when I feel this way it comes unexpectedly, and I can't attribute it to any spiritual or moral acts. Why should I feel guilt-free in a life of wrongs?

I thought about what Susan said Wednesday evening, about how God loves us and is pleased with our being regardless of discipline. I musn't take this to mean more than it is; neither should I receive it as less. Any response of devotion or moral kindness or whatever is my choice. A choice. This choice does not affect whether God loves me or whether he decides I should experience his pleasure. I am his child. And before we get into right's or wrong's he wants me to know I am loved. Is it not this that leads one to respond positively toward God? Is it not his kindness that leads one to repentance, as the Bible says?

Not only am I saying that I agree with my brother's thought on the issue mentioned in the first paragraph, but I'm saying that it is good. I would not have thought so before. I have wondered many times, as I'm sure you have, why "Christians" can be ignorant, unproductive, and undiscipline while many non-Christians seem to lead very productive and disciplined lives. It's a choice. Every human has great capacity for good and evil and is succeptible to self-esteem and good works (or bad works and poor esteem) through training and influence. Very well. It does not affect his standing with God. Were I to separate this, truly, I may begin to expereince God in a way more freeing than ever before. It may also help reduce my judgement on others.

"Where Is Your God?"

Today I am reading Psalm 42, trying to remember the record of faithfulness God has displayed in our family. Sometimes it's hard to see that God is faithful in our own lives (ahem, I'm not seeing it), but it helps to see that his faithfulness is bigger than ourselves.

In this Psalm, the writer describes God as their salvation. Jesus hadn't yet come nor sacrificed on the cross. So what was God's salvation to them? Where did they look to and what did they remember? The story of God's deliverance and faithfulness to the Israllites had been passed down from generation to generation. God was known as "the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob." God has been faithful to and delivered my family. This record roots and reminds me that he is still here and working. I cannot always see it as a small picture, but looking across the sea I can distinguish the patterns in the waves.

Yoga

On Thursday I attended my first yoga class at my gym. I didn't know much of what to expect, and to be honest I remembered those influences in the past saying, "You have to be careful with that kind of stuff, now. Don't want to open yourself up to bad spiritual influences." But this was just a basic class at your local gym, not a meditation club. And those influences probably didn't know anything about taking yoga anyway. Christians can be so opinionated for not knowing anything, can't they? Don't worry, I fall into the same category more times than I'd like.

I now understand why they say yoga is for the mind, body, and spirit. This is nothing to be fearful of. I've often believed that if something was spiritual yet not Jesus-focused, it was dangerous and not to be tampered with. My first class was actually quite emotional, and I'm sure many who take yoga can agree. I have many fears and other issues that I store physically, causing particular muscles to be regularly tense. We all have this. It's like a hardness or even a numbness we walk around with in a physical manner. In taking this class, my whole body came to relax and release its tension. It was as if I began to feel in parts of my body that hadn't felt tenderness in a very long time. This tenderness released emotions I've stored related to my tensions, and although I don't know what my emotions were related to, I just know that I felt something, an aching, and a good one at that. I'm glad I didn't have to talk to anybody; I was free to simply feel. This is something many of us need without making a big deal about it.

Needless to say, the class was not only a time of strength building and extending flexibility, but also it was very theraputic. I'll be attending next week.

Sanctuary

Josey has informed me that my blog needs updating. I guess I figured updating wasn't exceptionally important since I'm back home. But maybe you still check this thing from time to time even if you live close. I suppose, however, that a few of you are still a good distance from Columbus.

I stopped in the chapel at Grant Hospital yesterday after an exremely long shift at work. (For those of you who don't know, I now work at a newly opened cafe inside Grant.) I was just approaching the exit door when I notice a sign reading CHAPEL and a brief sight of church-looking chairs within the door. I hadn't anywhere to immediately be, so I stepped in and had a seat in the 3rd row.

Maybe it's becase I grew up in a somewhat traditional-looking church. Maybe it's something anyone would feel upon entering any quiet sanctuary with a stained glass window and symbolic placings. Maybe I was especially attuned in reply to a hectic and Bible-less week. Nevertheless, there's something I feel upon entering a still sanctuary, one that has been dedicated to the Lord. THE Lord. There is one.

In growing older and evaluating the world around me, and the world inside myself, I figured things should be the same all the time. By this I mean that I felt, for example, I should not treat Sunday any different from another day of the week. They were all the Lord's, true? Along with this, I believe I felt that inside the church should not be different from outside the church, in the ways people acted, in the ways we conducted business, in its decorations, and so on. Not that we should bring the world in but that what was inside should spread outward. I'm not completely recanting my thoughts on this, but somewhere along the way I think I lost the value of the sacredness of making a place special, a time special, dedicating them with extra heart. There is something special about having a day set aside to rest and worship and a special place in which to do that. Were I to live in the sanctuary, I would become quite dull of it. It would have no partial significance to me. It would become routine.

Sitting on the aisle seet in that sanctuary, I beheld all the emotion and awareness I'd felt since being a little girl. And I cherished it. I felt the Lord's presence in extra portion. It smelled the same and looked the same, even with an old beat-up piano in the corner. I didn't need to question why I couldn't feel just that same thing at work or walking to my car. This was a special place and time. The feeble light from the sun shone through blinds. I breathed. I prayed. I thanked God.

We Put Up The Tree

Yes, it happened. We put up our Christmas tree last Thursday night. It's so beautiful! Thanks to Mom's recommendation and a return trip to Wal-Mart, we used white lights instead of our traditional colored lights scheme. Can I just say that I love homemade decorations?

Well, being back home has still been a wonderful thing. I can't express just how truly I have appreciated my family.

What an enormous support they are. Fortunately we're getting leads on where to go with the sickness thing, but I am still often in much pain. Please pray if you will. I can't figure out why, but it's every morning for at least two wake-able hours (in my stomache/abdomen).

Rene comes in a week and a half! I'm so excited to see him. Orginally he was supposed to be here for the family cookie
exchange and then everyone would get to meet him. Unfortunately, though, he is coming less than a day later and will miss meeting all of you who will be here for that. Sniffle, sniffle.

I love you all!

I Hope To Fall Asleep Soon

It's 12:00 a.m. My wake up hour is 5:00 a.m., but I couldn't get to sleep tonight. After a restless searching for a position that might settle me into sleep, I got up and did some laundry. I organized a few bills. I drank some chamomile.

Today was Thanksgiving, and I did nothing much. This was the preferrable scene. This evening, however, was comforted and enthused by Austin's company. We went out for a movie. It was so good to see him. I then returned home to say goodnight to my mom, whom I scared, then kissed, then talked about how on earth we're supposed to have child-like, hopeful hearts after being so circumstantially jaded. I think it brought up bad memories for her. I was just wondering how to hope for healing and a future after years of unfruitful searching. I was wondering why my body should matter when it seems obvious nothing is changing. But something inside of me says it's not over. In spite of this, I really don't feel like fighting. My friend Rhema said on the phone today, "There is no victory without a battle." So now I just feel like a fool. I'm also wondering what exactly it is I'm fighting for.

Recent Pictures

Megan and I packing. She looks happier than she really is.

















I have been labeled "Meticulous." Starbucks has the mug to prove it.

















My song-writing friend Nigel looks way cool with coffee.

















My more than friend, less than fully-engaged-in-a-realionship amigo, Rene.



FOR ADDITIONAL RECENT PICTURES, CLICK ON THE LINK TO YOUR RIGHT.