resting, resting

I'm back. After another trimester of craziness and late nights and early mornings, of thinking there's no possible way of making it through tests and homework and presentations and somehow doing it anyway. Hitting rock bottom time and time again, crawling into bed exhausted and crying and having to do it all over again tomorrow. But I made it. Exams are over. My last round of finals before I pack off and head to who knows where to do who knows what. And it wasn't nearly as bad as I thought it was. I thought my social life would peter out and die, but there were always lunches with friends and small group and midweek youth group. There was always time for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and when I did fall, there was always someone there to catch me, to set me back on my feet and remind me that I am still his beloved. It's funny. Before this trimester, I had never allowed myself to fail. I have always needed to make up for any bad grades I got, have an organized schedule for when I go where, so somehow, somewhere I'll make up for what I couldn't do. But now---I messed up this trimester. I made mistakes I've never let myself make before. I turned things in late, missed meetings, completely gave up on those leadership meetings for youth group...and this was all in the first two weeks of the trimester. But the world didn't end. I survived, and I'm realizing that my success doesn't define me. I still think it does. I still ask myself---if I fail at this conversation, this test, this homework assignment, who will I be? And it's never a good situation to be in, but sometimes it drives me to do well, and other times it makes me despair of everything I've ever tried to do. On Wednesday at youth group (when I was SUPPOSED to be studying for finals!)  we talked about grace. At the end of the night, we were each given a note card with a string attached. The note card represented God's grace, and the string was whatever 'price tag' we put on ourselves in order to earn God. When we were ready, we were told to get up, tear the string off, and throw it away. I knew instantly what my 'string' was---this drive to do everything right, to never do anything to let my God, myself or my people down. I want to be right, to right, think right, and set the world right, which is exhausting. And impossible. But sometimes I think that's the only way I can be loved by God, which sounds awful when I say it out loud. I have these impossible expectations for myself, and I keep thinking that that's a good thing, the only way I can...not fail. Sometimes that's what keeps me going, but it's also what makes me believe those lies I've been fighting off ever since I can remember. Those expectations are what drive me deeper into myself, away from the Savior and the family and friends who can tell me that I'm wrong. That grace is Jesus giving me what I can't give myself---confidence in Him, peace, a secure, unchanging identity of the one He loves. That no matter what I do or don't do, think or don't think, say or don't say, I am loved by the one who gave himself up for us. I'm learning that I have to chant this truth to myself, the words that I've heard so many times from others, and apply them to myself. That's where rest and confidence comes from--the knowledge that I am His, and that He does his best work through people who are realizing that they can't save themselves. 

Joining in FMF at http://lisajobaker.com/

C'mon over and check it out :)

am I in love with this life?

The snow this morning, waking up to no school when I was sure there would be. The most perfectly timed snow day in the world. The retreat this weekend, and the imperfections of my youth group and His whole family all tied together somehow with the blood of the Lamb. How my sister and I go back and forth with the easiness of fifteen years of sharing the same life. How I see old faces mixed together with new ones and this settling into a routine that feels scary at first, but I know will soon feel like home. These friends, this family, and the God who walked by my side in the halls every morning, from the glee of first hour to the desperation of fifth, of thinking I can't possibly do this, of not knowing quite where I fit in yet. How I'm still alive, still breathing and looking to bed and Bible and tomorrow. How he promises to not let me fall. In the voices of my teachers, how they do care, each of them, in their own way and their own time. How he loves me with every breath, and how he died for me in the dark. And how morning always comes, and I'm reminded that faith is for me. Advent is for me. The cross is for me, Immanuel, God with me. And then, knowing I'm safe with Him, getting to tell others the best I can, and still be safe in His arms. The purpose of living towards the kingdom, but also the quiet hours. My heart beating, this blood pumping through my veins is God telling me that he cares for me. This expectation, this breathlessness that knows the best is yet to come, and is still sort of already here. There's something terribly wrong with this world, but He is here and making all things new, and that's a promise. 

the voice of truth

So I'm slightly out of practice, but I'm going to reenter the world of blogging---for real this time. This is the tradition, the community that got me sitting down stringing words together and throwing them into the wild yonder without worrying how they sound. Linking up to Gypsy Mama 

The word of the day? Voice
 So in a couple hours, I'm going to head off in a bus with some pretty fantastic people to rest and recharge and worship for a whole weekend, and I couldn't be more excited. But underneath all that, there's this desire to be heard that sounds almost childlike. Every Sunday right before we leave, we have a time of sharing for whatever God's been doing in our lives, and this year, I really want to have the guts to talk. I've tried before, but I chickened out almost every time, and the one time I did talk, it was just to get attention and feel recognized. That need is still there, but God's been nudging me recently. That maybe this time, I actually have something to say. I really hope so. About special education, what it's like to feel like I'm missing something that everyone else has and to have experiences I never wanted to have, and trying to figure out what he's up to in all of it. It scares me ----how much I actually want to do this,  the enormity of admitting to my friends that I'm struggling with self image and shame and nastiness that don't always show itself in conversation, of being gutlevel honest, even when I don't think I have the right words. This year has included a lot of learning to take leadership and taking care of those around me, which terrifies me. I'm discovering that I'm weak, that the issues in the past are still coloring how I see the world. That I'm not quite wise yet. I was talking to one of my fourth graders yesterday who had been having a rough week, trying to comfort her, speak truth into her life, and definitely not saying all I wanted to say, and I was sent back to that time of not belonging, feeling stupid, wondering if I was the only one who struggled. It felt like God was giving me a look into my own eight year old soul, and on one hand--I could see how far I had come, but it's not over yet. I still struggle to fit in, I'm still slightly socially awkward, I still wonder if I'm missing something that everyone else has. I still need to speak truth into my own life, and I'm kinda/sorta beginning to learn how to do the same to other people. We shall see :)

before the change

In a couple days, school will start. I'll start my last year living at home, being a high school student in this tiny town, being a part of the community that has taught me Jesus for nine years now. Now's the time I see pictures on Facebook of loaded minivans and familiar faces waving goodbye and beginning a new exciting chapter. Now's the time I realize this is it. This is the year I've been imagining for who knows how long. And I'm closer to who I thought I would be ten years ago, but I'm still scared. Maybe more so than before. I'm weeding through years of insecurity and fear of failure and slightly surprised at what falls out of the closet. And I realize I'm a leader now. I can't hide in the crowd any longer. I'm the first thing the freshmen see come Tuesday in all my glory, and hoping they don't see the junk, but also knowing that they need to. They need to know I'm real and no different than them. I wonder how this year will change things. Wondering if my close knit church family will  continue to be as close as ever, if I'll be able to support the underclassmen and still manage my own life as well. Wondering if I can really do all this. Leading FCA, mentoring freshmen, reaching out more than ever. Pouring out my life story and love and my own brand of wisdom to those looking up to me. It's scary stuff, but I couldn't be more excited. I know my God is more powerful, more loving and more tender than I know, and the struggle is to trust. That somehow, all this will make sense someday,  This year I'll finally live life to the full. With all this waiting and wondering and some anxiety and conquering leftover fear, I go into school year 2012-2013 with a victory song on my lips.

Still wondering why I'm here
Still wrestling with my fear, but oh!
He's up to something
And the farther on I go,
I've seen enough to know that
I'm not here for nothing.
He's up to something

Linked up to Gypsy Mama for 5 Minute Friday :) 

Faith

Monday afternoon a sweet sixteen year old girl took her own life. I hate that I never saw it coming. I hate that I spent a whole week with her back in July and didn't see the hurt in her eyes. I hate that I couldn't save her somehow. I hate that she felt her life not worth living and didn't tell anyone.
I hate that life goes on when so many people are left reeling at this lost life. She knows Jesus, as far as I know. She and her family have been at Knox much longer than me. She was never terribly involved, but she was there. But half the time, I didn't talk to her at all. I smiled at her from time to time and said hi, but I never took the time to get to know her. I was wrapped up in my own story, my own life, and I didn't see her hurting. And she must have been hurting something awful. Guys, I worshipped with her, I went on mission trips and prayed and always assumed she would be there. Now, come Sunday, she'll be gone. Her parents will look tired and the kind of sad that only parents can feel, her brothers noticeably older and more subdued and wiser. I think that's the hardest part. Seeing them.  Knowing it happened, having death stare you in the face and being completely lost for words. Her family is definitely not alone in their grief, but if I can't stop thinking about her, what they're feeling is almost unimaginable. My heart hurts just thinking about it. To make matters worse, I just finished reading The Fault In Our Stars by John Green, which is a wonderful book in itself, but just seemed to make me sadder. It had so much hope in it, bur why the heck does Augustus Waters have to die? I know he was sick, and cancer and suicide are hardly the same thing, but the results still have the same sting. Death stinks, you guys. It's unfair that some people live to an old ripe age while others die suddenly or painfully or in a way that leaves everyone reeling. I know we'll see Faith and Sara Frankl and all the rest someday, but it hurts to have them leave, especially when it feels like they could've lived so much longer. Right now, I'm furious at God. We hear so much about suicide survivors and how to seek help for depression and all that, but what happens when they don't survive? We've talked about suicide before---spent a whole month talking about it in youth group last year---but now this is getting personal. I want to know why and how and at the same time I want to protect everyone around me from going off the edge. I'm so scared it's going to happen again. That I've failed Faith, failed everyone else in my life. Becuase I have no control over their lives. I can't force them to see God working, to see hope, to accept that they are loved. That infuriates me. My siblings, my family, my friends---I can't DO anything for them. I can be there. I can try to comfort them and mumble platitudes and pray, but I'm so afraid it doesn't DO anything. It makes me scared for the freshmen I'm about to lead tomorrow. There's so much transition, so much anxiety about what happens. Tomorrow will be a boatload of fun, but high school opens them up to a world of hurt, and I want so much to protect them. I don't want them to have to cry themselves to sleep or watch people they love get hurt somehow or worse to see them get hurt. I want to protect them from bullies and harsh words and the media and fear of rejection and the feeling that God doesn't like them. I wish I had been able to protect Faith.
 

here i am

Dear readers, 

I think this is it. The real me. I think I'm finally discovering what it's like to walk with Christ. These past few months have been a huge breakthrough, from Haiti to Detroit to hanging out with family and friends and I think for the first time, I'm onto something. I'm finally learning how to trust , and I feel like FMF is so crucial to this. To learning to match words to feelings and knowledge and all the craziness happening around here. It hasn't been easy, and it hasn't been the way I expected. I learned grief is different for everyone, bad things happen when you least expect them, and to people you would least expect to be affected. I learned what it was to be really, truly humbled in front of the very people you were trying to impress. It's amazing how much you can feel in the space of a few months, and I just want to say, I am happy, I know I'm loved, and I'm learning more about myself and God and those in my life, but there's a whole lot going on and sometimes it doesn't come out right. So don't worry too much if my writing sometimes doesn't  sound like my usual sunny self. :) It's all in the name of honesty, and God is definitely still working. 

That being said, Five Minute Friday; Here. 

1. Write for 5 minutes flat – no editing, no over thinking, no backtracking.
2. Link back here and invite others to join in.
3. And then absolutely, no ifs, ands or buts about it, you need to visit the person who linked up before you & encourage them in their comments. Seriously. That is, like, the rule. And the fun. And the heart of this community

Here I am.

In my fear and shame and amid the voices asking me if I know what I'm doing. In my feeling of not good enough, in wanting to roll out sermons and wisdom and truth, and only capable of mere squeaks. In wanting to sound more like him or her, people I love and look up to, but who I am not. In craving wisdom and knowledge, and for your Word to just make sense already. For me  to be able to listen and know and understand and be right. In my unsatisfaction, wanting to be better, more productive, smarter, especially in these lazy summer days. In my trying to figure out how to voice your workings in me this summer and failing, in working through the past and present and future to try to come to some sort of conclusion, and failing. I feel days slipping by and want to do something, want to change this world, but realize I can't, not in the way I think, and definitely not alone. So here I am, Lord, confused, tired, joyful but not always, content in some circumstances. Humbled and finally, finally realizing how helpless and weak I am, how in need I am of you. And how strong and good and here you are. So here I am, Lord. All of me. 

more than enough

Five minute Friday: Enough

1. Write for 5 minutes flat – no editing, no over thinking, no backtracking.
2. Link back here and invite others to join in.
3. And then absolutely, no ifs, ands or buts about it, you need to visit the person who linked up before you & encourage them in their comments. Seriously. That is, like, the rule. And the fun. And the heart of this community..

I have said several times that I am convinced that mission trips are God's version of pesticide. We're only halfway through the summer and already I've reached the end of my rope time and time again. I got back from our annual mission trip to Detroit last night. It was hot and hard and I actually cried myself to sleep one night. Several nights, actually. I'm still struggling to put words to what God's been doing in the past couple months, but I think the heart of it is struggling to be content with how God made me and all the weirdness and worries and questions that brings up. But if I've learned one thing this week, our God actually adores us. Even when we fail to love him and love others the way we should. Even on nights like last night or the night before where I lie in my bed and stare at the ceiling and loathe myself. Even when we hide in a corner expecting people to reach out to us and wondering why we feel so alone. The cool thing is we are SO far from being alone. On the last night we're at Military Ave, our seniors have time to share what God has been teaching them, and for each one, I kept thinking--you feel that way too? Here are these brothers and sisters in Christ that I have looked up to ever since middle school, and it turns out they are just as insecure and selfish and human as I am. This week has been an odd mixture of feeling my own weakness and learning to fall on Jesus and cry at weird times and soak it in , and then learning to reach out to other people both to help and be helped. I've learned the value of being brutally honest with those who ask, so that when I'm hurting, I don't have to explain why...because I already have. I've already entrusted a part of myself to them so when I'm at my weakest, I don't have to try to explain it all right there.
I've learned that God actually loves me. That he delights in who I am and am being made into. That wherever I go, he is there and he knows those strange things that others are still learning about me. That I'm the one pushing others away. That I can trust other people with whatever's on my heart and I'm learning to ask the questions that make people trust me. It's a struggle that hurts, but it's drawing me closer to God and those around me in a whole new way, and I'm relearning how good He is and that I am fearfully and wonderfully and beautifully made. That my God is big enough and strong enough and loving enough to trust and draw strength from and cry out to.