How Fickle My Heart; How Faithful His

I say I know God's plan. I say I'm ready, ready for my life to begin.
When did I start thinking my life hadn't already begun?
I've been wasting away in this stagnancy, thinking that some event or another will mark the start of it all. How have I been content in that? How can I sit and wait on another person to... to what? Make me feel more complete? Make me feel valued? Secure? What evidence has anyone ever seen of the things of this earth offering true satisfaction, true comfort, true peace? It's funny, really. I get into power struggles with the one who created me--- and I consistently lose. But the more I surrender to God, the more He breaks down the things I try to find security in. And the more He takes my comfort blankets away, the more I realize that He is enough. HE'S ENOUGH. What in the world is the matter with me that I can't just abide in that?
I'm becoming increasingly aware of my own insufficiency; it's SO evident to me. I live for the moments when I realize my weakness is His strength. I just want to soak that up... I really do. I long for the ability to recklessly abandon everything. But again and again, in my idiotic unfaithfulness, I try to take control of my life. Struggles consume me and I finally give them over to God, but I still won't let Him have my future.
He's the Author of the Universe. What's wrong with me?
I found this note stuck in my bible, a prayer I wrote down last summer. It was pretty long, but this particular piece caught me:

I want so badly to know what's in store for me, but I know that if you showed me a glimpse of the future, all I would do is become impatient with your timing: and your timing is perfect. Lord, allow me to be content with waiting, with trusting and not knowing what's around the corner. Give me peace; quiet my heart.

It hasn't lost any truth.

Express Yourself

Im always finding new ways to express myself.

This whole school year ive been journaling and writing, but i started wanting it to have a visual aspect as well, something more than just words on a paper.. and so i started this. This is my newest addition to my journal, tonights expression. Pastels and old music sheets. As i continue on this new idea and aspect of writing, i plan on posting and sharing them here, id love to hear your feedback! 

Thanks for being such dedicated followers!

xoxo,

Anna

Sufficient Is Tomorrow's Worry

Sometimes I get scared by the things that scare me.

The full potential of that sentence to convey what I'm trying to get across could very easily be lost in the illogicality of the English language.
Let's try again:
I get freaked out when I take a closer look at the types of things that worry me.
Did you get it that time?

There are silly things and there are not so silly things. For example: I worry about losing my ability to write when I get busy. With that one I'm like, "Aiiiiiight: WHY am I actually worrying about this? What's wrong with me? I feel like writing is more of a riding-a-bike thing than a using-the-quadratic-formula thing. You don't ever have to re-learn it, it just kind of sticks with you."

But then... I worry about being utterly miserable when I don't get to spend time with those I love and cherish and don't want to replace... Like Adam going off to college. And on this I muse, "There's merit here: this is scratching the surface of a potentially huge problem. I thrive on closeness. I'm passionate about my relationships. Am I setting myself up for a depressed life of pining after those I can't hug every morning?"

I freak myself out, going on these tangents that carry me off until I have sneaky tears sliding down my face, mourning the idea that my friends will forget me; that I'm not a sufficient friend, sister, daughter; that I'm incapable of helping others; that I'm too silly or too stupid or too selfish; that I'm not appropriately stewarding God's gifts; that I don't know where the heck I'm going in life and, thus, am wasting the time I've been given, floating around aimlessly without direction or purpose--

But, alas. I'm reminded that none of it is true.
And that worry is a synonym for not trusting God's plan.
And I'm beating this dead, rotting horse more than I can believe, but allow me to say it once more-- because in my insecure, doubtful state I need to be reminded so often: God does have a plan. And I am safest in His hands. He has purpose and direction for my life that is better than anything I could ever dream up. And when I'm feeling insufficient or worried or anxious and don't trust Him, He will gently guide me back into His loving arms and show me that He is all I need.

Matthew 6:
Do not lay up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy and where thieves break in and steal, but lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust destroys and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also... Therefore I tell you, do not be anxious about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, nor about your body, what you will put on. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing? Look at the birds of the air: they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? And which of you by being anxious can add a single hour to his span of life? And why are you anxious about clothing? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin, yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which today is alive and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will he not much more clothe you, O you of little faith?Therefore do not be anxious, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’ For the Gentiles seek after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them all. But seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be added to you. Therefore do not be anxious about tomorrow, for tomorrow will be anxious for itself. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble.'s

Use It.

This whole blog thing, I think it's good for me.
It's Vick's VapoRub for my soul, or something.

Okay, maybe not the best metaphor. Whatever, I'm trying to mull through a few ideas right now and string them together in the process. Forcing myself to write out my honest thoughts for others to see has been really hard for me. Which is odd, cause I'm incredibly vocal about my opinions 98.3% of the time. But it's these ideas-- and I now realize this is what Stephen King was talking about--- it's these complex issues I'm struggling with that get at the heart of me; the destitute truths buried down deep somewhere I'd rather not have exposed to sunlight... That's the stuff that people need to see, and it's also the stuff that's hardest to let people see.

It's much more comfortable for me to hide behind this facade of carefree lunacy and sarcasm, never taking anything seriously and bursting into laughter when anyone takes me seriously.. I promise that's genuinely a part of who I am, and both my creator and my brother have had profound influences on that part of me developing. But it nags at me sometimes, that some people only see that side of me. And there are weird quirks to my personality that I do need to mold; there are moments, quite frequently, when I, like every other sinful human being (which is all of us by the way), realize that I'm not being an accurate representation of my savior. Not even close. And it breaks my heart, little by little, until I feel that I shouldn't have this gift I didn't deserve in the first place-- Why didn't Jesus pick someone better suited to shed his light on an unbelieving world?

I was sitting in a doctor's office the other day, waiting for my name to be called and waiting to get more blood work run, and I overheard a woman talking with the receptionist about an elderly man they both knew. It was the woman's grandfather, and the receptionist had met him a few days before. And the way they described this man, the way he treated everyone around him... He would see someone looking a little down and, no matter where they were or who it was, he would take their hands and pray for them right there. His gift of kindness and gentle wisdom and a joyful spirit... I could close my eyes and picture his wrinkled, friendly smile just pouring out Jesus' love. They both spoke with such conviction about what an astonishingly godly man he was, the legacy his actions shouted from the rooftops.

I have these gifts, these seemingly random, sometimes frustrating gifts that my gracious Savior has blessed me with, that I occasionally shove to the back corner because I'm afraid to do what He created me for. I seem like the type of person who would love getting up on stage and performing... False.

I cry.

I cry just attempting to type how it makes me feel. Inadequate is the word the tempter is screaming at my subconscious.

When it comes to my gifts, I have an insatiable lust for perfection, recognition from others, satisfaction with myself... And it's crippling. It shouldn't be a hard way to bless others. Music. Art. Written works. It seems basic enough... But I am inherently either petrified of something not being good enough-- me not being good enough-- or, if by some miracle I'm satisfied with whatever it is that I'm doing, I completely soak up the glory and approval of those around me like a glass of ice water on a kansas summer's day, when the heat index is like 117 and it hasn't rained in two weeks. I cannot find balance. I cannot find balance on my own.

Cowardice and pride, two things that, for me, appear to be two conflicting feelings, are my two greatest sins. And it happens when I haven't centered everything I do around Christ.

I'm going to paint a picture today, and I'm going to paint it for my Savior, to bless and uplift those around me. I'm not going to punish and berate myself when it isn't perfect, and I'm going to rebound any praise I get right back at my Lord and Master, the Creator who is ultimately responsible for every single piece of fruit the labor of my tiny, uncoordinated hands that He has graciously given me produce. Thank God for my ability to even hold a paint brush. To even have a voice. To be able to convey my ideas. Nothing I do comes from me. NOTHING I DO COMES FROM ME. I am NOTHING. This life is NOT a story about me. I am a wave in the ocean. I am a speck of dust in the wind. I will be gone in the blink of an eye-- but with a shred of help from my Master, maybe my sinfully proud, feeble self can leave a glimpse of a legacy that glorifies Him, that points straight to the cross and undeniably cries out that Jesus rose; because that is the greatest and most noble thing I, or anyone, could possibly accomplish in this life.

Also, who am I kidding? Vick's VapoRub is SUCH an accurate metaphor.

Hurry Ruins.

“Many poets are not poets for the same reason that many religious men are not saints: they never succeed in being themselves. They never get around to being the particular poet or the particular monk they are intended to be by God. They never become the man or the artist who is called for by all the circumstances of their individual lives. They waste their years in vain efforts to be some other poet, some other saint...They wear out their minds and bodies in a hopeless endeavor to have somebody else's experiences or write somebody else's poems. There can be an intense egoism in following everybody else. People are in a hurry to magnify themselves by imitating what is popular - and too lazy to think of anything better. Hurry ruins saints as well as artists. They want quick success and they are in such haste to get it that they cannot take time to be true to themselves. And when the madness is upon them they argue that their very haste is a species of integrity."

 ~ Thomas Merton