the reality in front of me

As we drive down the highway, scattered raindrops begin to hit the windshield. Yet we are lost in conversation, completely unaware.

The words that fill the air hold more weight than all of the details around us. The sound of rushing cars, the city street lights reflecting off every surface, the subtle hum of music in the background. All beautiful details and yet, right now they are unnoticed.

A weak smile forces itself into the reality that is in front of me. You would think by now I would be used to this; accustom to how it all goes. But the reality is that change is inconvenient. It is unwelcome because we are afraid of the unknown.

We are creatures of habit. We find comfort in regularity and routine, simply because we know what to expect.

It’s the small amount of comfort that our morning cup of coffee can bring, its the regular drive to and from our daily destinations, and in the faces and people that we are surrounded with everyday. Somewhere within it all there is is meaning. While me might even despise the monotony of it all, there still lies comfort in knowing that it is all constant and assured. 

In a world of constant change, we tend to reach out in hope to grasp anything that is definite and unfaltering. Therefore we tend to find comfort in routine and regularity, because as far as we can tell, it is one of the few things around us that is unvarying. 

Yet, when something out of the ordinary comes along and forces us to dig deep, it all suddenly becomes jarring. In a moment, all comfort and familiarity are gone and we are not quite sure what to do next.

The veracity of change, unfortunately, is that it is unavoidable.

The curious thing, however, is that in our everyday lives we experience change all the time. Yet  these small instances never seem to be quite as jarring or unsettling.

Perhaps it is not so much the change that we fear, but the fact that through it we loose our grip on familiarity and comfort.

Perhaps this is it more than anything . . .

tell your story, love

The music is pounding in my headphones, which makes me feel  like I am a world away. Yet as I look around, every part of me feels like I am here, relaxed deep in this chair, sitting amidst strangers, soaking up every detail, every ounce of warmth the building has to offer.

The noise in my ears fades and another song rises, this with a different mood than the last. It makes me think, makes me wonder about those who surround me. Sometimes I can see strangers and only see strangers. I miss seeing their stories, their lives, and when I take a moment to notice, its there.

Oh it’s there.

It’s all there.

Sometimes it’s just laced so deep that many don’t notice. And I know deep in my heart, that many has too often been me.

I don’t know what the words are but I see their mouths moving and I imagine. It’s a group of friends, laughing and enjoying simple time together. Amidst the group there’s two particular beings whose story was easy to catch a glimpse of. There he is, sitting across the group from her; a young lady, quiet, yet just as alive as the rest. He begins to talk and his hands dance wildly in the air, he’s happy to see her, I can tell. Finally, after finishing, his shoulders lowered and his fingers wrapped around the warm cup of coffee that was brought to the table. But through it all his eyes continually raced back to meet hers. He’s in love, you don’t need sound or words to know that. Soon the conversation between the group died down as they sipped their steaming cups of delight.

I smile and drift my attention to all of the others scattered across the room.

My music still beating in my ears. It feels like I am in a dream, like everyone around me is moving to the music. Moved by every beat and cue, all flowing together in time.

There’s a elderly couple sitting at a table near the window, and my heart melts when I see the gentleman make his wife laugh. She closed her eyes and when she opened her mouth you could see the laughter surround them. Then after she caught her breath she looked back at her husband and touched his hand. Oh how precious to have a love that makes you laugh, even after all that time. They carried on in conversation, relaxed and completely oblivious to the world outside. 

I bring the cup in my hands up to my mouth and sip slowly, determining whether my coffee has finally reached the perfect drinking temperature, and to my fine surprise it has. Then all of a sudden my attention is beckoned towards the door as a little bells dings and announces the arrive of another guest. Through the door a young lady walks in. As she closed the door behind her she stood still for a moment and seemed to breathe it all in. A wave of settlement seemed to quickly replace the look of the haste on her face. She looked relieved, as if she had returned to a familiar place. She ordered her drink and then settled into an available chair. From her bag she pulled out a worn book and opened it to a particular page, seeming to continue right where she left off. Within seconds she blended into the rest of us, content and settled in this beautiful place.

As I continue to sip my coffee, I feel something stirring inside of me. Then, it starts to show up. Slowly, but its there. And when it does, I see it clearly and I take a deep breath. I feel the weight of it deeply, yet it soothes my soul, and I let it move me the way it wants to.

Even without words, these people don’t seem so much like strangers anymore.

We are, every one of us, just like them.

We wait, we dream, we chase the right words. We sip slowly, wanting to taste every moment, clinging to the way it warms us and in a way touches our souls. And so we sip slower, in an effort to hold the moments like these just a little longer.  

Amidst all the others, there is another girl, her own story being told. She hides amidst the peaceful chaos, content in the moment she’s found. Her keyboard is her confidante, and she’s absorbed in a world of words.

She spends her days watching, writing, waiting…

Years ago, she heard a voice when there was only darkness. It was, to her, a promise that she would never be alone again.

Eyes heavenward, she drank it deep, savored it fully, and let it bring her the life-breath she was gasping for.

And even now, she remembers. 

And above all else, she chooses to believe it.

“Tell your story, love. And when you do, they will certainly hear theirs…”

an uncomfortable voice

Challenged: that’s the word that pounds in my chest and shouts in my head. I mean really challenged.

Sometimes it seems like too often we use this word and it never gets us anywhere. We can say that we are “challenged” but we are never really moved, we can be “challenged” but never really shaken, at least not to the point of response. Yet how can we be challenged in and by faith without responding?

Faith cannot have a non-response.

Either we accept the challenge, the invitation to be used by God, or we push it aside. Ultimately, its a choice between what's comfortable and what's uncomfortable.

This morning I received an email that shared the newest post from one of the blogs that I follow. Often times I dismiss them because the posts are so long to read. Yet this morning, unintentionally, I happened to click on the email, and when it opened I was immediately immersed; completely captured by the words . . . this is what she wrote. . . 
 

I am not going to lie.
When your kin comes knocking on your own back door — come to ask how that trip to Haiti went — how can you look them in the eye and lie?
How can you lie still when babies are drowning in a sea of poverty?
How can you not scream?
I tell Mama that I think I’m angry.
Mama sits down.
And I pace, this hunting for words for the indescribable. And it comes out haltingly, that I think if I open my mouth, it will come right out, this roar. This inhumane, howling moan that only the Spirit can make any sense of…
Angry? She says.
And there’s no holding this tattered roar back.

I’m angry at sin that smothers children and selfishness that steals human dignity and apathy that infects the hearts of the comfortable. And I pound my own chest.
I’m angry at me.
Angry at how much I want comfortable more than I want Christ.
Angry at how much I want to forget that grimy boy leaned over a garbage heap, wiping his fingers along the inside of food tray, looking for anything left. I’m wildly angry that I want to forget the struggle of the poor so I can pin the next pretty idea on Pinterest.
I’m angry that I’ve seen and I’m ashamed that I am angry and I’m angry that I’ve seen and now I am responsible. More than response-able – we’re response-bound. Once we have seen the poor, we are responsible — we will make a response. As long as your heart is beating, there’s no such thing as unresponsive. We all look into the face of the poor and it’s either Yes, I will help. Or no, I won’t.
There’s no getting off the hook.
Faith cannot have a non-response.
We’re either responding with indifference or with intercession, either with apathy or aid.
You can’t look into the face of the poor and just plead the fifth amendment. Your life is always your answer.
I feel sick that I feel so angry.
Sick that I want to Pin with abandon, that I don’t want to be a witness, that I want someone else be an uncomfortable voice for the poor. Sick that six weeks from now I can grow cold and forget. I have.

Why do Christians make their lives tell all these half-truths?

How long can you walk around feeling like you have whiplash? Is heart whiplash what you need to wake your heart up?

Why would we rather turn a blind eye to the needy than turn to the needy and be like Christ? Do we like our own wants and comfort more than we want to be like Christ?

-   -   -

 

If the grace of my life is mostly where I am born, and I am born again into the family of Christ, than how can my life birth anything other than a grace that gives?
It’s what I found right here in Haiti: it’s all in the end a gift and a gift never stops being a gift, it’s always meant to be given, and it’s all by His grace alone and I bend my stiff neck and I’m wrecked and everything gives way.
Why do good things happen to people who happen to take all that good for granted?

I am so angry and so much at me.
When you are born again into the Kingdom of God, how can you ever again forget your kin? Part of the solution to poverty is doing whatever it takes to get your heart to stay with the poor.
There may be miles between the rich and the poor, but how can there be distance in the family of God. 
 

Challenged.

Challenged to respond.

Challenged to live in the uncomfortable.

Challenged to want Christ more than I want comfortable.

 

“To this you were called, because Christ suffered for you, leaving you an example, that you should follow in His steps.” 1 Peter 2:21

into the mess

Before I began blogging, I was clueless as to how many blogs were actually written by young adults. There is inspiration to be found in many of them, especially when you find other bloggers that have the same perspectives and beliefs as you.

But, while it may be encouraging and even inspiring to read their stories, sometimes I walk away feeling like there is an expectation to meet. After seeing what seems like, consistently splendid daily lives, it can feel like I too must meet this expectation for my own blog; or more prevailing . . . I then feel like I must meet this expectation in my own life.

And I choke, because my every day life begins to feel too small compared to the expectation.

Recently I read a blog post from a friend, and she include a quote from another blogger that said,

This has been on my mind lately. In the blogging world, we all have a tendency to make life look glamorous and easy and beautiful. And, at times, it is. But, at other times, life is not. Life, quite a lot of the time, is embarrassing, awkward, hard and just...well, not pretty.

Life, quite a lot of the time is not a reel of splendid scenes. Its hard and challenging, its raw emotion and its troublesome at times, it gets confusing and awkward, it can be embarrassing and uncomfortable, but its real, and its okay.

The expectation that life has to be prefect is far from reality. Life is a beautiful mess and we are learning through it all. God knows that we aren’t perfect. . . He doesn’t expect us to be. He does, however, expect us to strive to be more like Him and to be transformed into His likeness. He knows that things can get messy and  He loves us so much that he enters right into the mess with us. He doesn’t wait until things are tidy and perfect, because He knows that we are human, and perfection is simply unattainable.

The call to Christianity is not the call to be perfect. It’s a call to follow the One who is perfect and aim to be more like Him each and every day.

Life is not always picture perfect or ideal, and hardly do we live at a place of constant, blissful contentment. Life is often mundane and routine. Some days are just plain boring and others can be so tiresome. Yet the miracle of it all, is that our God remains the same. He is in the midst of the wearisome and ordinary. He is constant.

In an attempt to end all of these thoughts, I remember a post that another blogger shared. This part of the post seems to sum up my rambling thoughts: 

To adore the one who created the Heavens and the Earth, to give thanks for who He is and all He has given, to worship and commune with Holy God, whispering in the quite, clinging to the noise, believing in all circumstances – this is what makes a life large.  

Finding joy in Him, in a day that goes all wrong, this is the miracle.

every moment

Today I look around and my breath catches in my throat. Blessed. Beyond blessed. Some days seem mundane and others magnificent, but through it all I have the chance to say yes to all He gives. To say thank you for the good and the bad, the mundane and magnificent, because I've learned that a heart turned toward Him is the only way to live full of joy.

But life gets busy, it gets so fast and so full, that at the end of the day it can just feel empty. Some days, I forget to remember that every moment I can live here on my knees with hands raised. . .  if I would just choose to see it.

We wait, expectant, for all He is doing and then it hits me, this is it, this is life to the fullest. He is in the smallest of moments, the moments that pass too soon. I see Him in the smiles of those around me, in the silent mornings and in the late nights, in the laughter and in the friendships that are growing. There isn't a moment that doesn't overflow with His love. Right now I breathe deep and bend knees and raise hands high, choosing not to miss these moments.

Seeing them has not always been easy; but it's because of the hard seasons and deep lessons before, that today is a little easier.

“I know deep in my spirit that the hard seasons don't minimize Him but in fact magnify His goodness. Here is where I learn to know Him more.”

I want to see Him more. I don't want to miss the moments He gives, they are far too precious to miss.

There is a new season ahead of me, a season of growing in God and learning what it fully means to follow after my Father. The anticipation towards it is stirring inside of me; ready for whatever God has in store. 

Again I thank Him for how blessed I am. 

That’s what we are standing under here; His blessings. The grace moments each day and the God-ordained opportunities, He sends them in His perfect timing.  Yet tomorrow, or next week, or even ten minutes from now I could forget to count each moment as holy. I will forget to count the struggles and the heartache as grace moments, and just the same I might even forget to count them in the midst of joyful laughter and contentment. Yet with each day, the more I thank Him for the gifts that He gives, the easier it becomes to see them, even despite the ever shifting circumstances around me.

Every morning, before the daily life begins . . . before I set my feet on the ground beneath, I know I have to pray. . . I have to choose to remember to see the grace moments that He gives.