Currently Reading Captivating: Unveiling the Mystery of a Woman's Soul By John Eldredge, Stasi Eldredge see related

I judged poetry today for the Polk County writing contest for middle- and high-schoolers.  As I absent-mindedly skimmed through the category "Long free verse," my eyes were drawn to a particularly well-constructed, page-long poem entitled "Razor."  In it, the persona describes a neighborhood friend whom people often mistake as her sister.  They are much more different than people assume.  As the poem continues to weave it's tale, the reader realizes the real difference does not lie in their physical appearance or social groups, but in how they look at a simple shaving razor.  One sees it as a harmless, shiny, silver tool, and the other wields it blood-stained and darkened with despair.  The end of the poem cries out in frustration as the poet agonizes over the peer groups which are laughing and encouraging her friend's self mutilation.

This was the 7th and 8th grade category.

All I could do after reading this poem was blink back hot tears, yet one escaped nevertheless and empathetically burned my cheek like a quick nick from a cold blade.  What am I doing here, judging poems from a cushy swivel chair in an air-conditioned university office?  I should be there, in the midst of their pain, holding and hurting along with broken hearts.  Not all of their hearts are broken... as we discussed in my Medieval and Renaissance Literature class, 7th through 10th graders are often the most vulnerable, sincere, passionate, and creative age group.  I want to speak into their lives, Lord.  I want to tap into that potential and pour the love of Christ into it, so they can live abundantly while they still have a measure of childlike youth and innocence.

And here I still sit, not yet moving, not yet proactive, ever static, unstirred, dare I say stagnant.  How long will I choose to stay?  Time spent writing words that blink across the screen... and for what purpose?  Only to put form and substance to a wildness within...

I think the time has come for that restlessness to take another form besides mere words.  "But be doers of the word, and not hearers only, deceiving yourselves." James 1:22

On a lighter note, I think this age group really does have so much creativity, and judging their limericks made me laugh outloud.  Another reason why I should kick myself into action.  Here are my top three. 

Currently Listening See the Morning By Chris Tomlin see related

Lord, let me abandon all faint traces of practical ache and embrace the impractical and wild joy offered in a love affair with Your Son... it's right there, in the dense fog on a car window and the watery smudge of trickling raindrops.  "For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I have been fully known..." 1 Cor. 13:12.  The sacred in the ordinary.  God's love water-painted on a Pontiac windshield.  Now we look at the world through earthly eyes and can only see God's love dimly, but one day the fog will clear and the smudges will evaporate and we'll experience Him and His radiant, majestic love in a way we've never known before.  The best part?  He already looks at us with that love every single day.

Today I stopped my car at a little gravel run-off and sat on the hood, Chris Tomlin pouring out into the dreary afternoon.  Lifting my shivering face up to the misty drizzle, I smiled softly and my heart trembled a bit.  Maybe I was cold.  Or maybe I was recognizing the King whose throne I was sitting before, the King who created the rain and purposed that it gently dampen my cheeks and closed eyelids.  Or maybe it was a little bit of both.

"Our God You reign forever
Our hope, Our strong deliverer

You are the everlasting God
The everlasting God
You do not faint, You won't grow weary

Strength will rise as we wait upon the Lord,
We will wait upon the Lord
We will wait upon the Lord
Strength will rise as we wait upon the Lord,
We will wait upon the Lord
We will wait upon the Lord"

Currently Reading Telling the Truth: The Gospel as Tragedy, Comedy, and Fairy Tale By Frederick Buechner see related

A Reflection on 17 Pages

Written Thanksgiving Day, 2006.

Tears fell today, gently dampening my cheeks so quietly that I was surprised when the wetness glistened in my eyes.  Must they always fall in this deep poignancy of life?  The tears themselves are poignant, and to reject them is to reject the depths of soul and heart.

I write.  I write and I read and I think and I dream and I cry out in my own silence, which is wordless and devastating and tragic and comic all at once.  I dwell on my own fairy tale, which is both here and now as well as once upon a time long ago and not far off.  A dear friend has given me a slim book, and in this book is underlined in the ink of an old-fashioned pen, “The task of the preacher is to hold up life to us; by whatever gifts he or she has of imagination, eloquence, simple candor, to create images of life through which we can somehow see into the wordless truth of our lives.”  Lord, by Your grace let me have this gift and wield it well, for Your glory…

Why did the tears come?  They caught me off guard, as my deep emotions often do.  They were here and gone so quickly, and now they exist only in a faded memory.  I think I may have been overwhelmed anew by the double sided darkness and radiant light of truth… the truth and inevitable paradox of my life and sin, tucked inside the sphere of a greater Truth, a greater Story.  My story here is a marvelous and extravagant journey, but only because of the highway that has been set in my heart since the foundations of the earth.  It is only because of where I’m going that the story holds any magic, awe, and wonder.  Were it not for the destination and the God that moves me from strength to strength, transforming scenes of desolation into autumn pools, I would wander amidst the brambles and briars of life in useless despair, confusion, and brokenness (Psalm 84:5-7).  I would be the girl sitting down at a lavish grand piano in an ornate concert hall, suddenly realizing she is both without sheet music and any knowledge of the strange black and white keyboard before her.  Lord, I weep for the lost.  Let my broken heart for them and my efforts for your Kingdom be not fruitless and vain…

So this is the first entry I’ve written since my adventure in Colorado began.  I wondered if I’d write again, and what I’d write of… did I really want to desperately attempt to keep you informed of all that I’m learning here, both in life and in class?  That would be an arduous task, and what would you have for it besides a sloppily recorded and probably watered down depiction of the FFI experience, which couldn’t possibly do it justice?  So now I sit, on a crisp Thanksgiving evening, wrapped in a fleece blanket and listening to my sisters banter in the next room with goofy voices and goofier facial expressions.  Televised ice skating waits to be watched and a heap of dishes calls my name from the kitchen sink.  Maybe I’ll convince the siblings to let me play some worship music as I sing and dance with soapy bubbles up to my elbows.  This is life for me, right now, and I must live it out with fullness of joy in Christ and His grace, lest I dishonor Him, the gifts He gives, and the calling He sounds.

Yet fullness of joy in His presence does not mean killing dreams and desires…

To thine own self be true, they say, and I cannot lie to my heart.  Lord, please be with me as I continue onward.  Bear me up by Your strength alone, and reveal true contentment.  I love You, Lord, and I beg that this love beats truer and deeper than any other passion or affection.

Written Wednesday, December 6, 2006.

A sloppily scribbled prayer in the middle of class.

Lord, do I not feel You using my life for Your glory right now, provoking a burning passion for a specific task, because You know I have a lazy, undisciplined heart?  I feel as though I simply do not meet the level of integrity necessary to radiate Your glory in any Christ-exalting way which will transform the world, and You see this and seek someone else.  O Lord, this is the character that I long for-- a godly, mature, passionate, humble, pure heart.  I want to possess so much integrity and honor that I am known as a lover of God.  I want You to gaze to and fro across the Earth, find me among 6 billion others, and say, "There.  Her.  Theresa is a woman after My own heart."  Lord, I want to forsake the world and it's pleasures, denying myself and taking up my cross daily, for Your glory!  Where am I struggling with isolation and pride, hungering for the world, natural myopia, persistent lies and sin, apathy, fear?  How do I overcome these to grasp after holiness and purity of desire in heart, mind, body, and soul, so that I may burn yet again with a holy fire and a vision for the kingdom of God here on this earth?  I know what I must do.  I am aware of what stirs my heart: using words well to communicate the Word of God to believers and non believers alike-- and this means passionately knowing the Word.  I now am convinced that the Word of God is my destiny, that which breathes life into my spirit and wakes up any creativity of thought or deed; any ounce of abundant life is only shaken from the sleep of complacency through the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord-- that I may gain Christ and be found in Him, that I may know Him and the power of His resurrection and may share in His sufferings, becoming like Him in His death, that by any means possible I may attain the resurrection from the dead.  Father!  I don't even know what Your deep and divine truths mean-- each word is a precious treasure which deserves to be mined out, respected, honored, treated so carefully... and You are asking me to carry these gems to the world!  Lord, let me handle them with dignity and caution.  Burn up all that is of me and not of You...

Again, my thoughts trickle back to Your plan for my future and how You will use me for Your glory.  What is Your will that You desire to reveal to me?  First and foremost, what is my will which I am clinging to, resisting Your providential hand?  What have I been trying to force, and what have You been gently introducing which I may be ignoring?  Lord, I beg You to persuade me of Your faithfulness.  You are the lamp unto my feet, even if the steps are only known one by one...

Currently Reading Seeing What Is Sacred: Becoming More Spiritually Sensitive to the Everyday Moments of Life By Ken Gire see related

I'm Not Actually Reading This Book, but I Should.

I think I'm about to die of desire... desire to figure out what makes youth tick and how to translate that into Christian-ese and light a fire underneath them for the things of God.  In order to light a fire you have to have a fire in your own heart from which to share and fan the flames.  Lord, please light a deep, burning fire in me.

Like take my youth friends from back home.  One guy is obsessed with working out and cars, and while I used to scoff at this, now I am intrigued by it and want nothing more than to figure out how to share in that with him, bonded in Christ somehow.  Another girl absolutely loves music and can play anything she touches.  Another is intellectual and curious but incredibly lazy and laid-back, the sweet dear.  Another is incredibly social and well-liked at her high school, and another loves sports but is quiet, shy, and kind-hearted.

I want nothing more than to pour out my heart and stir theirs.  I will give them my energy and love, and they don't need to give me a thing back.  Just please Lord, let me do this with my life.  I don't know how and I don't know if it is what You want, but it is certainly not what I wanted or ever imagined I would want towards the end of the school year last spring.

I also miss and cherish my sisters and family tremendously-- in all honesty, more than I ever have before-- and want to do the same for them... translate politics and environmental issues and philosophy and jazz and piano and British pop music and pop culture and a mundane job at Dierbergs grocery and carpentry into deep, mysterious, lovely things from above, because His grace is woven throughout all this stuff, too.  And it is beautiful.

I will probably delete this entry since it was written so rashly, and it certainly doesn't reflect my writing style.  Psh.  Who cares.  This my beating heart right now, folks... enjoy.

Currently Reading Let Me Be a Woman By Elizabeth Elliot see related

[After watching Nacho Libre with David and his parents]

Mrs. Kellogg (compassionately): "Did you cry?"

Me: "No."

Mrs. Kellogg (persistent and understanding): "Did you almost cry?"

Me: "No." (pause) "Did you?"

Mrs. Kellogg: (awkward silence) "I don't want to talk about it."

I didn't cry, but it did make me want to be a missionary to orphans in Mexico.  It is a very dumb and silly movie done in the vein of Napoleon Dynamite, which I loathed.  God uses the strangest tools...

Maybe I will spend next summer in a Mexican slum, teaching children who know how to speak broken English about Jesus.  That's the greatest thing about being single; you can dream big and are completely free to explore God's call without any ties to a single thing or person in this life.

Neh, I still want to be an intern with my youth.  Looks like I am tied to a few different persons in this life.  Maybe I'll take them on a mission trip to Mexico.

***

A creative writing exercise (thank you for skimming/reading if you choose to do so):

I like... honey peanut butter from the jar on a cool, dreary day with my windows open wide to the salty rain smell and a tattered Bible in my lap.

The happiest time... is itself unreliable if ill-founded.

I want to know... greater and greater intimacy with Christ.

Back home... my mother is frantically moving furniture in an almost-daughterless home.

I regret... giving myself away too easily.

At bedtime... I fall into an exhausted slumber sometimes filled with restless dreams, unless otherwise persuaded to discover what the night has to offer.

Men... are not women. According to Elisabeth Elliot in Let Me Be a Woman.

The best... star-lit night skies are thick with depth and silence.

What annoys me... is often quite obvious.  I have a difficult time hiding how I feel about anything.  "You're not subtle, Theresa... subtly requires a measure of tact." --Johnna Martin

People... just want to know and be known.

A mother... has the incredible opportunity to raise up men and women to serve God with the entirity of their minds, hearts, bodies, and souls. 

I feel... drained and contemplative.

My greatest fear... is growing cold and complacent.

In school... I must respect the teacher and value the coursework before I pull myself out of daydreams.

I can't... remain stable and realistically grounded for the life of me.  It's much too boring.

Sports... ugh. 

When I was a child... I disappeared into my imagination and books to escape reality.

My nerves... used to be frayed but now feel silky smooth.

Other people... intrigue me.

I suffer... very little.  Maybe that's not a good thing.

I failed... at trying to make it on my own.

Reading... is a very attractive quality and an even more appealing past-time.

My mind... needs to be stretched and challenged.

The future... is filled with the mysterious unknown... how captivating...

I need... to be in transparent fellowship with kindred spirits.

Marriage... excites the heck out of me.  Oh man, I can't wait to fall passionately in love and serve my husband like none other.  Okay, moving on.

I am best... at sticking my foot in my mouth.

Sometimes... I laugh outloud for no reason at a fantastic memory.

What pains me... usually teaches me a lesson.

I hate... harsh, flourescent lighting.

This place... is nourishment for my soul on the calvary road.

I am very... blunt.  And sometimes short-tempered if I'm irritable.

The only trouble... with dorm laundry rooms is getting caught red-handed taking out someone else's laundry.

I wish... I wasn't so impatient with the Lord and His timing.

My father... has hurt me a lot, but now I see he loves me the best way he knows how.

I secretly... yearn for adventure and romance, but it is not so secret, is it?

I... am not but I know I AM (okay... eprops to Louie)

Dancing... is one of the best-kept secrets to abundant "kingdom life"... but must be at times an intentional choice.

My greatest worry is... that the man I fall head over heels in love with won't love me with the same passion.

Most women... sell themselves short.

Well, that was refreshing... here's one more smile, just for you...