A New Heart

"Where is our tenderness? Where our love to Christ, if we seek not His honor in the salvation of men? O that the Lord would saturate us through and through with an undying zeal for the souls of men." -Charles H. Spurgeon

As the Christmas season is in full-swing, I have been constantly reflecting on the very reason we celebrate with our family members and friends with food, laughter, music, and gifts every year.  Jesus Christ came into the world to save sinners--that is, you and me. It's an old story, but it's never tiresome. We need not think of it as dull, mundane, or commonplace. It is a story of how God so loved the entire world that he left his heavenly place--where he didn't have to experience hunger, pain, thirst, or heartbreak--and came to earth to be born and experience all of that, simply to die.

It is a grim tale if you were to look at it from a literary perspective, but the most vital part of this story is that it is a story of eternal hope. This season is about hope, for those who have lost it, for those who are still looking for it, and for those who even don't believe in hope. Hope has come. 

What do I do with this story of hope? I know it to be true in my heart, so I walk around with a slightly bit more sense of peace than the average person, but is that good enough? No, I say.

When I encounter people all day--obnoxious people at the grocery store, customers who are a pain in the butt, making ridiculous requests in a whiny, childlike voice, co-workers who are grumpy, family members who like to push buttons and get into arguments--I tend to get very self-absorbed and view their behavior as an attack against me. As a result, I find that many days I have a brick-solid heart, closed off to any sort of compassion or understanding and I carry on with the mission to meet my needs that were so harshly compromised in those little encounters.

This Christmas season, I am asking Christ to give me a new heart. 

In Colossians 3:12 Paul tells us, "Put on then, as God’s chosen ones, holy and beloved, compassionate hearts, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience." This sounds all warm and fuzzy, like something you'd see cross-stitched in someone's guest bathroom, but it is a tough request.

Then he says, "bearing with one another and, if one has a complaint against another, forgiving each other; as the Lord has forgiven you, so you also must forgive."

Bearing with one another is really translated as "forbearance," which is, by definition, "accepting pains or hardships calmly or without complaint."

This is the very core of the story of Christmas. Jesus Christ came to this earth in an attitude of complete humility, which was the entire removal of himself. I ought to live like this for others. I understand that is a tough moral code to live by, but he helps me, through his mercy, his forgiveness, grace, and guidance through his Holy Spirit. Even though I am a completely self-seeking, hardened person, he softens, he mends, and he gives knowledge and wisdom when I ask for it.

I want to start seeing people the way he sees people. I want to hear people the way he hears people. I realize I not only need a new heart, but also new eyes, new ears, and even a new mouth, for when I encounter people who need hope, that I may be Christ's voice to them.
 

Joy Comes In The Morning

"The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness." Lamentations 3:22-23

I woke up at 7am this morning and always feel a sense of pride when I can climb out of bed and start my day that early. When I make my coffee and sit down at the kitchen table, I feel as though I have a large, blank canvas of possibilities for my day and I can't wait to start writing down all of the things I want to accomplish.

Mornings make me feel motivated. When the sun tickles the tops of trees as it peeks over rooftops and birds are tweeting in every direction it gives me an overwhelming positive feeling, as if I just got back from a jog (which I probably should be doing right now).

I wake up with this childish, naive sense of enthusiasm but then as my day unfolds, that enthusiasm gets choked and it dwindles down to nothing by evening. I feel like the cares of the world get placed on my shoulders with every hour, one little thing building on top of another: worries of the future, my bank account, my faults, my lack of contentment, etc.

I think the same can be said for my relationship with Christ. He explains our relationship with him as a seed--The Word--that is sown in each person and there are different circumstances that can either nourish the seed into growth or choke it and it dies:

"As for what was sown among thorns, this is the one who hears the word, but the cares of the world and the deceitfulness of riches choke the word, and it proves unfruitful." Matthew 13:22.

I am reminded this morning that I need to begin each day with the attitude of a child. God says that he has rescued me from death for all eternity, that even though I may screw up, that he is faithful to forgive, and that he loves me so much that he "rejoices" over me. So now I need to just believe it.

"I tell you the truth, anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it." Luke 18:17

This is not to say that I will just put on blinders and pretend that everything is peachy-keen because life, most of the time, is not. But I need to be reminded of how children are so quick to believe without seeing and trust without any skepticism.

"Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see." Hebrews 11:1.

That is where I believe true contentment and joy lies: in faith. By having faith that God will carry out his promises and trusting him with every piece of my life, there I find freedom, rest, and peace because the control has been relinquished to someone else, someone who is all-powerful and all-knowing.

Now how can I possibly go throughout my day today with this knowledge and not be joyful?

Psalm 30:5: "For his anger is but for a moment, and his favor is for a lifetime. Weeping may tarry for the night, but joy comes with the morning."

Art lesson

Greetings once again. I need to tell you a story about this painting. I just finished it this morning, Tuesday, June 5th, 2012, around 12:30pm. 

I started it in 2006.

It was commissioned by my uncle, Richard who took a photo of this fishing village in Nova Scotia. He had paid me up front, in 2006, which of course, "burned a hole in my pocket," as it were, and the his hard-earned money quickly dwindled into nothing due to my childish spending habits. I began the painting with great enthusiasm and pride because I finally felt like a true professional artist because I was being paid to create a work of art.

But years had begun to pass without working on the painting at all, partly because I didn't have time during school and work, but mostly it was because I got frustrated with how certain parts had turned out. (I won't disclose which parts of the painting because they are like deep wounds in my artistic soul that have taken the same amount of years to heal as it took me to finish the painting) I thought the colors were off, some areas were too detailed and others wobbly and fuzzy, and I began to resent the painting. Angrily, I tucked it away in the basement, hoping that everyone would just forget about it. 

Well, that didn't happen. My mom continually kept asking me, "When are you going to finish Richard's painting?" (She also reminded me numerous times that I was, indeed, paid to do this, as if I wasn't already aware of it) There were several occasions when my uncle had asked about it, which of course, made me feel completely awful, and I became even more resentful, guilt-ridden, and depressed.

So where did my motivation finally come from this morning, you ask? 

It could be that I was sick and tired of feeling guilty, with all of this free time that I have been graciously given and the money that was given to me to do it. It could be that I have been thinking a lot about how my artistic skills have been in hibernation since I left high school and would like to wake them from their slumber. It could also be that I have grown more aware of how I tend to start things with great passion, enthusiasm, and direction, but then I lose focus, become discouraged, and eventually give up and never finish anything. 

Whichever the reason, I am happy that I have finally finished it. Now here comes the tough part: I must say, it is not at all my best work. It hurts me to say that for multiple reasons: First, I hate the fact that I have created a piece of art that is now in existence of which I am not truly proud. Second, I hate that I am actually allowing it to be viewed by anyone other than myself because I am so embarrassed and disgusted by it, and lastly, I am hurt because I am giving it to someone who has paid me--someone who trusts in my talent and expertise--to paint a beautiful work of art and I feel as though I have failed him.

Right now as I am typing this post, I keep glancing over at it, going over all of the parts that I hate, saying to myself, "Ugh, that part sucks" and I am constantly thinking about other artists' work that I've seen and wishing that I could be just as good. I keep asking questions like "Why can't my water look as good as that artist's?"

But here is what I have gained from this experience, and it is a great lesson:

I have realized that I need to view this painting as though I were viewing myself: as a beautiful work of art.

Now, of course I could say that this painting is not technically painted well--with accurate proportions, consistent brush techniques, and all of that "mumbo-jumbo"--and I'm sure there are many other great works of art out there that do contain these elements of advanced painting skills.

But as I compare this painting to myself, we have a lot in common. 

For years I have admired and looked up to many different people--godly people--in my life. I have witnessed their wisdom, maturity, and boldness and have always wished that I could "be just like them" someday. But instead of being inspired by their lives, I could only focus on those qualities which I didn't possess. I could only see my flaws and the areas in which I always stumbled and never seemed to improve. And I became stuck.

But I have learned that it takes quite a bit of boldness and faith to be able to not view myself so negatively. Sometimes when we are looking so closely at ourselves, only seeing flaws and imperfections, always comparing ourselves to others and the ideal of what we "ought to be," we become discouraged, depressed, and lose focus of what truly matters.

God sees us--and he wants us to see ourselves--as beautiful works of art, because that is truly what we are. We are His handiwork. Not only do we need to embrace that truth, but we also need to recognize when we have become locked in this state of self-mutilation and despair and then know how to conquer it. 

Just how I need to continually accept the fact that my painting is flawed and there are so many things about it that I would like to change, we need to be aware that we may have parts about us that we don't like or would like to change, but we need to recognize that our loving Father, the painter, sees us as beautiful, no matter what stage of the "painting" we are in. And take comfort in this, beloved:

"I am sure of this, that he who began a good work in you will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ." Philippians 1:6

Mr. Rochester Complex

Last week I watched a very impressive film adaptation of Charlotte Brontë's "Jane Eyre."

After getting over the absurdity of Rochester's character--mainly how unconventionally emotional and moody he is for a grown man--I had actually started to feel as though I possess a certain likeness to Rochester. I am not referring to his somber demeanor or ill-temperedness, but rather how he inadvertently disappears from the world for days or weeks at a time without warning and without consequence. Oh how sometimes I long for that freedom to jump on a horse and ride off into the unknown, not knowing when I will return, and not feeling obligated to alert someone when I will leave again. I am envious of the way Rochester can disappear like that because it is so freeing to be able to just stop doing the ordinary and play hooky for a while.

Some people in my life can attest that I go through periods of time when I remove myself from activities and social gatherings and I become very aloof. I confess that I get a thrill out of this mild form of rebellion because I do not like being caged in by routine and the feeling of duty. I like to do the unexpected and avoid doing the predicted.


What I have discovered, however, is that Rochester is a deeply wounded individual. He is alone, with no one to ask him where he is going or when he will return.

I, on the other hand, have plenty of people who will ask me, "Where were you?" or "Are you coming?" There have been so many instances where I become irritated with this sort of attention. I think, "Can't you all just leave me alone?" But really, I don't believe deep in my heart that is what I truly want.

I know that each of us, no matter how confident we seem to be, are constantly asking ourselves, "Am I loved? Do people really like me?" The answer may be found differently for each person. For some it is how many text messages you have received in a day. It could be found in how many facebook friends you have. Or for a lot of us, I am sure that it can be answered in how often we get invited to weekend events. It is on those Friday and Saturday nights when we are sitting alone in our houses with our cell phone in hand when we begin to question how much we are loved--or if we are loved at all.

What I don't realize when I start to become annoyed with multiple text messages from my mom or only receiving phone calls from the same two people all of the time--is that each of these little attempts at communicating with me are coming from people who love me dearly. These are the people who lovingly await my return and desire my company. I need to recognize that with each text message, every phone call, and every other little commonplace conversation I have with them, each time they are sprinkling me with love. I am thankful that if I do choose to ride off into the sunset, I will have someone waiting for me when I return.

The first evening of summer

Tonight is one of those summery nights that one fantasizes about when it's the middle of February and it's only ten degrees outside. It's that kind of night when I park my car and I can feel the thick air being pushed aside when I shut the door.

As I walk up my driveway, I can hear a junebug buzzing somewhere nearby. Those large, creepy, beetles frighten me so much that my blood freezes inside of me if I know one is close by.

I love evenings like these. It is so warm that I can wear a lightweight dress after the sun has long been gone and I don't get a chill, it just feels like my own skin.

I always feel a sense of adventure on nights like these. The thick, moist air lurking in the dark is so inviting, so mysterious and full of possibilities that it makes me anxious. I feel so inspired and exhilarated. It must be from all of the newness of life springing up everywhere. Each smell, from the fresh grass clippings piled at the end of driveways to the newly awakened lilac blossoms, they are both sweet with the promise of growth and regeneration.

Time feels much slower in the summer. Perhaps it is because of the way we have to push our way through the humid air. We become sort of sluggish. Everything seems more relaxed. There are no time constraints and there aren't any deadlines. There's no such thing as being late for something.

I love summer.

Christian by day, Christian by night

I recently saw someone post an article on their facebook page entitled, "I'm Christian, unless you're gay."

The title made me very curious as I thought it would be an article about denying one's faith in the midst of trials, but as I read on, I realized it was just a typical rant about loving people. But just the title alone got me thinking. When I first read the title I interpreted it as, "I'm a Christian, but only when it's safe to say I'm a Christian."

I started to reflect on all of the times that I've talked with or hung out with a person who has a different set of beliefs than I do and how I tend to cowardly remain silent in a conversation or situation where I might face opposition or discomfort.

One evening while working at Caribou, a co-worker and I thought about making the trivia question for the next day, "What is the meaning of life?" as a fun way to interact with customers and see what they might say. My co-worker flat-out asked me, "So, what's your answer?" I couldn't believe it, but I struggled to find the words. All that flashed through my mind was, "Jesus." But due to my extreme insecurity and out of fear of making my co-worker feel uncomfortable, I just said, "I don't really know what to say. I'd have to think about it more."

I was so disappointed in myself.

I can also recall times where I've been in a conversation with a family member or friend when I had the opportunity to tell him or her what I truly believed about a certain subject, but I ended up passively leaving the room or changing the subject for fear out of how he or she might have reacted.

What is the most disheartening is that in each of these situations, I realize that I am not actually concerned with the other person's discomfort--it is my own discomfort that I am the most concerned with. If someone reacts awkwardly, I will feel uncomfortable. If someone reacts angrily, I will feel hurt.

So where does this leave me? I remember what Jesus said about following him:

“If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me." (Luke 9:23) 

When you deny yourself and take up your cross, it is not a pleasant experience. Jesus is saying that you will experience discomfort. You may even feel pain, loneliness, alienation, and loss. But this is what he promises to us:

"Blessed are you when people insult you, persecute you and falsely say all kinds of evil against you because of me." (Matthew 5:11)

Remember, you will be blessed when you choose to bring glory to Christ over your desire to remain comfortable. Also, remember that Peter, although he was told of it beforehand, still denied Jesus three times. Did Jesus forsake Peter? No. He forgave him. Peter, in fact, went on to do great things for the kingdom of God.

I will end with this:

"Rejoice and be glad, because great is your reward in heaven, for in the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before you." (Matthew 5:12)

Do what you love

I love this phrase: Do what you love. Love what you do.

Lately my parents keep pressuring me about "getting ahead" in life. They tell me that I should be looking for better options other than my current Caribou job. My dad makes a good point that if I "still haven't done anything" by the time I'm in my late twenties, everyone else my age will have master's degrees, working at much higher-paying jobs, and overall will have a better-looking resumé than I.

But there's a war going on inside of my heart. I want to be able to pay for rent, insurance, my car, living expenses--the usual things--but at what cost?

I feel like there are so many jobs out there that I could get, but I would be sitting at a desk all day, either answering phones or entering data into a computer. Why even bother living if that's what I do with 40 percent of my life?

I don't mean to criticize those who do have jobs that fit that description, it's just that I am much different. I have never been able to sit still. I've never been able to fit the mold of most working Americans because I've always made my own mold.

When I was an infant, my mom put me in one of those baby carriers and I somehow found a way to wiggle my way out of it. She also tried putting me in one of those automatic swinging chairs, but I held out my arm and grabbed the stand so it would stop.

I believe I am and will always be the same way for the rest of my life. I cannot "do what everyone else does." It's like a code that my body cannot read.

I love pouring lattes. I love moving around all day. I like having short-term tasks. I like to be really nit-picky and detail-oriented. I don't like doing the same thing every day. I simply cannot do it.

Someone once told me, "Your job shouldn't define who you are. It's just a way to pay the bills." But that's not good enough for me. Even if I were marginally satisfied at a job, I still wouldn't be pleased with myself.

As my parents have lived much longer than I and have a lot of wisdom, in their efforts to prevent me from loss, they have cloaked me with a veil of comfort and security. They tell me to do this and don't do that, but what they don't realize is that beyond their covering is a vibrant, unique individual who simply cannot be "protected" from the world with rules and instructions.

I would say that one of my main goals in life is to follow the phrase I mentioned above. I do not want to live my life according to the standards set by typical American society, or even the standards of the people whom I love. I simply want to do what I love and love what I do.

Love songs

I had somewhat of a epiphany while I was at worship practice the other night.

I have always heard people pray before worship by thanking God that we live in a country where we can "freely worship him." I've always felt sort of guilty and uncomfortable when they say this, because frankly, I've never shared the same intense gratitude as some have. I know that I should be thankful that I do not live in communist China, where many Christians have been persecuted for their faith. The problem is that I just don't feel that heavy burden that others may feel.

Putting guilt aside, I asked myself, "Well, in what other ways can you be thankful in terms of musical worship?"

Then I started to think about the Current. In the past week I've been really enjoying turning my dial to 89.3 and hearing some really talented musicians. As I've been listening to some awesome songs, I am hearing lyrics, I am hearing notes, and I am hearing passion. But I keep wondering, who are they singing to? Who are they singing for? Why are they singing? Where is this passion coming from, and where is it being channeled?

Whenever I hear songs that are written for any other purpose than to give glory to God or to point people towards God, I feel such an emptiness whenever I listen to them. I wonder, what does this musician feel after they've created and performed such a great work of art? When they are singing lyrics about a woman, things in nature, war, peace, their life--Do they experience hope? After the crowds cheer and their adrenaline is pumping, do they feel as though they have done something that surpasses all joy? Do they feel whole?

As I was singing the other night, my voice had begun to get very sore by the end of the practice. But as I was singing lyrics like, "You are my supply, my breath of life," I thought, for who else other than the Lord God Almighty--the Creator of heaven and earth--should my voice be sore from singing?

Then I realized that I did have something to be thankful for:

I am thankful I don't have to sing songs about whether war will ever cease, because He has already brought peace. I am thankful I don't have to sing songs about brokenness because He is the one who can heal pain. I am thankful that I don't have to sing songs about whether there's a man out there who can love me and take care of me because He is strength of my heart and my portion forever.

I am thankful that I can have the satisfaction of singing to someone with all of my heart and all of my strength who deserves to be sung to. There is no questioning about what this "life" is for or who this life is for--the answer is Jesus.

I am thankful--sometimes even overjoyed--when my voice is tired and my fingers are numb because it is all in the pursuit of giving glory and honor to my brilliant Creator, my Father in heaven, my Redeemer and Friend, Jesus.

Ordinary

I have been hesitant to ever write a blog for fear that it will be a big waste of time. Who cares what I have to say? Who wants to read about how I like to see fresh vacuum lines in the carpet or long for a husband to laugh with?

I find that dozens of thoughts, feelings, and ideas that fly past my head in a day get tossed out like garbage because the "better" part of me believes to know which ones to keep--the ones that will be relevant, useful, and valuable in my day-to-day experiences. There is no need for all of those excess "silly" thoughts. No one cares about those.


The conclusion that I have come to is that all of those little, "ordinary" thoughts, feelings, and ideas that I carelessly label as unimportant, unoriginal, and just plain silly--are on the contrary, very extraordinary. The collection of all of those ordinary things is what distinguishes me from just being a living, walking mass of organs and flesh. I have realized that silly or not, my thoughts deserve to be kept.

So I am making a commitment to myself to stop throwing away those thoughts and bringing them out into the light. No more pressing the delete button out of fear of what may or may not be important. From now on, I am pretending that there is no such thing as an unimportant thought.

I look forward to seeing what silly things I will come up with to post on here and I hope you will too.

Leggings and blogging

I've never been one to hop on bandwagons or follow trends. On the contrary, it is in my nature to resist them with brute force. But in recent years I have realized that I have this habit of resisting trends for so long that I eventually lose all self-control, I deny myself, and succumb to trends just as they are retiring--when they have become irrelevant, unpopular, and even in some cases--dated.

Over the years, for example, I have resisted purchasing leggings because so many girls abuse the original purpose for which they were created and wear them in place of--dare I say--pants. I did not want to ever be categorized with such fashion miscreants, so I resisted the spandex altogether.

But recently I have made the profound discovery that wearing leggings--not as a replacement for pants and worn in public, mind you--is actually quite practical. When I wear them to bed, they stay put, unlike regular pants that creepily sneak up my legs as I sleep. When I am doing chores around the house, such as sweeping or mopping, they stay snugly attached to my legs and do not get in the way like regular pants, which sweep dirt around and get wet in the random puddles of water around my kitchen.

I have also succumbed to the not-so-recent-trend of writing a blog. Maybe I am imagining things, but I recall blog-writing becoming really popular around four or five years ago and its novelty has been slowly declining ever since.

So now, here I am, feeling hip and groovy in my leggings and writing a blog. I feel as though I have somehow been defeated by our culture, but I don't care.