The meaning of [my] life

I've been doing a lot of self-searching lately, trying to figure out where I want to be in a year.  Where I could, realistically, be in a year.

I just moved into this apartment.  I like its location.  I just started this job, and I [usually] like going into work every day.  So why am I looking ahead; why am I thinking of moving on already?

For many years, I have seen myself leaving town and moving abroad.  It's only been in recent years that the dream has begun to be fleshed out, but I still lack the courage to go.  It's a scary thing, especially when you've lived your whole life in one town.

What if I go to a country where I don't speak the language?  How do I open a bank account in a new country?  Can I even work for wages?  What would it be like to uproot every significant relationship I've ever known?  Everyday things would be new - laundry, cooking, getting from one place to another.  And don't even get me started on the idea of my travelling alone, as a single white female.  The idea of completing ordinary tasks seems exciting and new, giving me a chance to marvel at the simplest of things.  But without warning those same tasks can change to objects of paralyzing fear.

But it seems that everywhere I turn, particularly in church and small group, I keep getting the same message:


Go.  Love.  Be.  Travel.  Orphans.  Fear not.


And yet I fear.  Still I doubt.  Is this really where I am called to go?  Is this really who I am meant to be?

Last week, an interesting idea was presented in our small group.  The quote -

"We were created to glorify God"  [John Piper I think although I can't be positive]

What would it mean to embody this idea, to really live it out every day?  I know that the work I'm doing now is meaningful [actually, it's pretty close to what I would want to do as a career.  I think I only want my location to change].  I also know that one's calling is not necessarily the same thing one does as a vocation.  So why do I still feel so called to go?

That same night, a second question was posted.  This is not the first time I've been presented with this inquiry, but it's not one I find terribly realistic so I've never truly considered it.


"What would you do if you knew you could not fail?"


[Who can imagine a world without failure?  Failure is always a possibility, a scary one.]

What would I do?  I would travel the world, write, create art and not worry about how it's not perfect right away.  I would work with orphans, see and do things, leave a notable mark on the earth and the lives of its inhabitants.

And then tonight, a final thought, related to our small group study of John 6:1-25.  Mission [the work and opportunities we are given by God to accomplish, partnering with Him as His kingdom is realized, whether or not we choose to accept them] precedes faith.  Contrary to our belief, we don't have to have a certain amount of faith before setting out on mission with Jesus.  We don't have to have certain skills perfected; we don't have to have it all together.  Faith is the expectation that God will show up.

Perhaps my calling is not overseas.  Perhaps I am called down the street, to the orphaned of this community.  Perhaps I am called to a community in another state.  I don't know yet [does anyone ever know for sure?], but I'm eager to find out.

Not Who I Used To Be

It's been a long time.

I'm sitting on the couch, indulging in a newly established ritual of a cup of hot tea before bed, researching the possibility of a blog project for my students, and it hits me.

It's been a long time.

I've had the itch to be creative, to reflect.  It's been there for a while but I haven't been quite sure how to satisfy it.

So I thought I'd resurrect this old friend and see what happens.

After all, if I'm going to be leading my students in such a project, perhaps I should have a little success in it first.  Or if not success, at least consistency.  But I suppose if nothing else, the old adage will hold true - "Those who can't do, teach."

Little bliss list

I read on another blog recently (http://artsyville.blogspot.com/ - check her out!) this idea of a little bliss list each week.  So I started doing it, keeping a list on my iPod, because I almost always have that with me, and turning it into art on Sundays.  Here are some highlights from last week's list...

Recycling crayons for our art/science project.

I. Love. Buttons.

So many pretty colors.  Too bad I don't sew (yet).

I wonder how many places these suitcases have seen...

This spot of sun is one of my favorites in the whole apt.  Always warm

Add to that list:

• spending an hour browsing in an antique shop just because
• art inspiration
• dancing
• prepping for the kids art project at 9:30am one morning last week
• reading
• the sound of kid's laughing (or really anyone for that matter)
• making pizzas at home with good friends
• cloudless skies
• beautiful and wise ladies you meet in life at random but who give you exactly what you need right then (and it wasn't something you went into the store to get)
• middle schoolers who share their books with you - and attach little notes to each one

A Company of Angels

Somehow I think I knew. Maybe not outright, but I thought about him more today than I have since we visited. Something simple set me off - the need for sunglasses.

Driving to church this morning, the sun was shining in my window just right. Squinting, I tried to drive without them - I don't like the way they change the color of the world. I want to see it the way it is, unchanged, unaltered, unshaded. But it didn't take long before I realized I needed help.

It reminded me of a conversation with him in February, talking about hospice, about pain. He said that when he was first admitted into the facility to help manage his pain, he was told to push the red button for medicine. Push the red button for no pain. But he'd wait. He'd wait as long as he could, letting the pain mount, before he pushed that button. Then one day it dawned on him - push the button, no pain! Something simple, something he'd already been told, but it just hadn't clicked right. A little pain, a lot of pain, it didn't matter. Push the button and the pain went away. He realized it wasn't about seeing how long you could deal with it, how long you could go before asking for help. It was about receiving help, about the quality of life you could have with no pain.

Then in church today, a song. An email forwarded from my mom updating his condition. It didn't sound good but it didn't sound immediate either. An email of love sent to him and his wife. A comment made with a group of middle schoolers. A mention of our February trip during a phone conversation. A recounting of the day's events to my roommate. A text from my mom, saying tonight or tomorrow most likely he would leave us.

I think I somehow already knew that very soon a great man would part from this world. UE, please know that Fred is thinking of you, loving you from where I am, missing you already. Go magnify the Lord. Do not be afraid. I love you.

Running after You

I know that there is a God shaped hole in me. In my life, in my soul, forever present until I fill it with the only One who can fill it. And it's funny, until Sam and I started doing whatever it is we're doing, I didn't know how to fill it. I didn't know what it meant to be pursued, to accept pursuit, although I knew my God had been pursuing me for sometime now (and continues to do so). But part of me still feels like something is missing. I am taking active steps, pursuing Him in return, and I suppose I shouldn't expect an overnight transformation. Nothing worth having happens overnight (except maybe a baby, haha). I still look to other things to make me feel like a whole person, to make me feel validated - my work, maybe a new degree, this boy I'm dating, see how well I balance all these things?

For the longest time I had stopped looking for someone to share my life with, partly because of disappointment and discontent with the "dating" scene, partly because I already have enough on my plate I couldn't possibly make time for something else. (Also, I recognize that saying I stopped looking "for the longest time" at age 25 really isn't all that long. But, in my defense, the last boy I seriously dated was 5 years ago - that's a long time, right?) Then Sam was seemingly dropped in my life. And while our relationship thus far has been, at times, very far from fairy tale, it has also shown me a lot about what it means to trust another person and God. Embarking in a long distance courtship means I have to take what he says at face value; I have to trust him and his word. And he has to do the same with me.

It works the same with God. I have to take him at His word and trust Him, not just in the areas that are comfortable for me, but in all areas. And it's hard. And it's a choice - every day - to deny the things the world tries tells me about who I should be and how life should be. And slowly, very slowly, I'm working on this long distance courtship with my Savior.

Timshel

Have you ever had a moment where a totally normal and regular event suddenly leaves you flooded with memories and emotions?

I was emptying the dishwasher.  I knew they were clean because the air that hit my face as I opened the door was warm - it had probably been run this morning.  The cups on top had water on them.  I got in the drawer for a clean dish towel, as I was uncertain when our current one had taken up residence on the stove handle.  I pulled one from the bottom of the stack, knowing they didn't often get used.  I smelled it to make sure it didn't smell stale, like the inside of the drawer.

The majority of our dishes and kitchen supplies had come from my grandmother's house after she passed in 2009.  This particular dish towel smelt exactly like her house - a smell I never thought I would be privy to again.  There were no specific memories, just an overwhelming sense of utter sadness and despair. 

I'd managed to collect myself before Em got home, but as I recollected my day, it seemed too important a thing to leave out.  Of course, that brought everything around again, and I confessed something to her that I've never told anyone.  Something that I am more ashamed of than anything in my life.  And she accepted my confession with grace, love, and understanding. 

I am so undeserving.

Silent Spectators

The Word became flesh and

made his dwelling among us.

-John 1:14

But you are not alone in this

And you are not alone in this

As brothers we will stand and we’ll hold your hand

Hold your hand

--“Timshel,”  Mumford and Sons

Two are red.  These tall patent leather ladies take me to networking events and nights on the town and often accompany a black-and-white striped dress for an added touch of color.  I have two that are orange and they might be my favorite even though they are a little too small.  In a style that never goes out, they compliment my dark jeans and carry me through lots of days at work.  I even have two that I’ve had since high school – old white ones that have tasted the dirt of four countries and countless miles of treadmill.  While I have lived in all these moments myself, the perspective my shoes have to offer would surely be different than my own.  After all, they can look around, see and smell and be aware of things that escape me while I’m engaging in whatever activity I’ve chosen.

Have you ever thought about where your shoes have been?  Coffee shops, kitchens, vacations, cars, bathrooms, bars, sidewalks, festivals, work, dates, the gym, restaurants (and that’s just a few!).  Almost everywhere you go, your shoes go also.  Think of all the things they’ve seen, smelled, heard and touched – the good and the bad. 

Before my trip to Ethiopia, we were prepared for some of the hard things we would see.  I looked at pictures and read as many personal accounts of others’ visits as I was able.  I had a pretty good idea what the streets were going to look like – rocky, with dirt packed down from the weight of the people that walked them daily, littered with the contents of life.  I knew I would need sturdy shoes for the journey, ones that wouldn’t be afraid to face the elements but would also maintain their integrity when faced with some difficult challenges. 

I chose a sturdy pair of New Balance sneakers.  I’ve had these shoes since high school and they still are one of my favorites.  White with some pink accents, I haven’t seen these shoes on the market since I bought them.  They have travelled with me domestically and internationally and have gotten down and dirty in three other countries.  They have wandered through cow pastures in Ireland and explored an abandoned castle, spent time tapping along to music at a Nicaraguan elementary school, and walked every inch of a rubber floor at a medical mission’s clinic set up inside a small church in Ethiopia.  I am proud of these shoes, of all they have seen and experienced.  I hope to take them on many more adventures.

But I was thinking, before and during my time in Ethiopia, about the significance of these shoes in my life.  While planning my 10 day wardrobe, I was conscious of the ability to leave things behind, clothing and toiletries, to be washed and used by missionaries and locals in the area.  Many things I packed I did so with the intention of leaving them behind.  Shoes are bulky and hard to pack and many times I thought about leaving these beloved world travelers behind to make someone else burden a little lighter.  They are good sturdy shoes, comfortable, and would certainly be a blessing to anyone lacking any sort of protection from the elements.

I even thought about what it would mean to bring them home.  These shoes would have trudged through dirt and mud, trash and other things I’d rather not think about.  Would it be sanitary to bring them home?  I suppose I could always wash them, but would any contaminants linger?

In the end, those white sneakers came home with me.  I have not washed them.  I can’t bring myself to do it, too much of that country remains with me.  Come to think of it, I don’t think I washed them upon my return from any international visit.  I’m not worried about any lingering impurities, knowing that it’s not only microscopic pieces of this adventure that remain with these shoes but the memories of those I touched while wearing them. 

Today’s message in church came from Romans 10, verses 8 to 15.  Here are just the last few verses:

¹⁴ How, then, can they call on the one they have not believed in? And how can they believe in the one of whom they have not heard? And how can they hear without someone preaching to them? ¹⁵ And how can anyone preach unless they are sent? As it is written: “How beautiful are the feet of those who bring good news!”

Those shoes have brought some good news; news I’m probably not even aware of, presented in a way I never would have expected.  So today, I’m thinking about shoes.  Not just the money it takes to get them and how I am blessed to have different shoes to accompany me to different occasions, but also the impact going somewhere can make.  Think of all the places we go every day, all the impact we could be making in those places.  And the impact we are making, whether we realize it or not. 

So go. 

Let your shoes take you somewhere today, foreign or familiar, and make an impact.