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 

It's somewhat surreal

...that I'm sitting by a roaring campfire, looking at a sky full of stars, and I'm posting a blog by using my phone. I can't be the only one who thinks... Wow. That's crazy. I think we continue to take for granted the technological advances. Just like we take for granted the star-filled sky overhead. To say this sky is beautiful is an understatement. To say it is awe-inspiring is not enough. To say it is mesmerizing is true but not close to accurate. 

Your love, O Lord, reaches to the heavens. Your faithfulness to the skies. (Psalm 36:5)

For as amazing and big and vast and awe-inspiring and mesmerizing and beautiful this sky is... God's love is bigger. And just when I think I can focus on how big it is, God's love is bigger still. And then you think of 1 Corinthians 13 that says Love is patient. Love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast. It is not proud. It is not rude or self-seeking. It is not easily angered. It keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices in the truth. It always trusts, always protects, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails. 

Then... I think about it again but every time I say the word Love or It, I put in God's name... Or Jesus' Name... And then I stare up at this big ol' sky and go ... Wow! Thanks God for loving me this much. Thanks for loving me regardless, in spite of my faults, through good times and bad...and so on.
Maybe you can go take a peak outside tonight or tomorrow night and catch a glimpse of how big the sky is...and how big His love for you is... It's a lil surreal...

I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings

"The free bird leaps
on the back of the win
and floats downstream
till the current ends
and dips his wings
in the orange sun rays
and dares to claim the sky.

But a bird that stalks
down his narrow cage
can seldom see through
his bars of rage
his wings are clipped and
his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings
with fearful trill
of the things unknown
but longed for still
and is tune is heard
on the distant hillfor the caged bird
sings of freedom

The free bird thinks of another breeze
an the trade winds soft through the sighing trees
and the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright lawn
and he names the sky his own.

But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams
his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing

The caged bird sings
with a fearful trill
of things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom."

Let him love you as you are

A raw, genuine prayer from a prostitute who is simply herself before Jesus, swearwords and all, ministers more to the heart of the Father than all of the rote, religious lip-service coming forth from the mouth of many Christians today.
Your Dad doesn’t want you to pretend or try to be someone else when you talk to Him.
Let Him love you as you are, with all your fears, your insecurities, your worries, and personal shortcomings.
It is not your job to clean yourself up.
The Father’s desire is to lovingly remind you how clean His sacrifice has already made you and help you walk in that reality more and more every day.

Just Like That.

Let me tell you a story about this girl i know.
She had friends. Tons of them.
Everyone knew her name, they knew her interests they knew her stories,
and her jokes, and some of them even knew her secrets.
She was known for her smile.
She was a mediator, a dreamer, and known for her sweet attitude.
She was loved, but no one saw what was underneath. None of them saw that that smile was often faked, that that pain was often masked, that underneath that armor of new clothes and laughter was an insecure, jealous, needy, emotional monster.
She went through her days trying not to hurt anyone--physically or verbally--but she also went through her days carrying her heavy armor around, covering herself up from the world, trying not to reveal anything that would make her appear weak or wrong or that anyone could use against her.
That armor wore her down. Carrying twice her weight, she grew slower and weaker.
She wasnt acheiving anything anymore.
She wasnt motivated, she didnt even have a goal anymore.
She had lost all sense of direction and she didnt even have the energy to think about where she was going.
She'd rather just wander aimlessly through the woods, through the thorns, tripping over treestumps and rocks and branches, simply breaking herself down more. Wandering with lack of food and water, she quickly grew thirsty. She searched and searched for water to quench that thirst. She grew so thirsty that she would settle for anything to drink, even a dirty, mossy pond full of unclear water that would simply make her sick.

This girl? Me.

I wear this armor. All the time i wear this armor that covers up all my flaws, but the armor is getting heavier and heavier and i just cant carry it anymore.
I grew so thirsty. So thirsty for love and attention and acceptance that id settle for just about anything to quench that thirst. Now dont get me wrong, i have love and attention and acceptance. I know that and im so thankful for that. I have loving family and friends in my life and i couldnt ask for anything more from them. But this need was bigger than that. This need was crushing me from the insides out.
I felt my heart caving in and then all the rest of me crumbling to pieces.
The thirst could not be filled no matter how much love and acceptance and attention i received. That thirst might have been partially quenched for a short period of time, but it wasnt fulfillment that lasted.
Each time the search to fulfill that thirst grew stronger and bigger and little sips werent enough to quench it anymore, so i walked out deeper and deeper into the pond by day, but suprisingly enough that quenched me less and less than the simple sips. So i did what any other logical person would have done; I lied to myself. 
I told myself i was happy, that i wasnt thirsty, and figured that if i said it long enough i just might start to believe it, But that didnt work either.
I started going deeper; but that didnt work either, that just broke me more inside. I lied to myself and i lied to everyone who loved me.
Anyways, that thirst came back again, so i plunged into that pond, head first, armor and all, But this time something different happened; I started to sink.
This time i couldnt hold myself up. I couldnt hold myself above water.
That armor pulled me down and pulled me under, I gasped for air. I couldnt keep my breath.
As i was about to give up i opened my eyes and saw a hand reaching for mine.
I grasped on and now theres no way i could ever let go.
He saved me.
Jesus saved me.

Im still unsure, on occasion i still fake smiles, i still mask pain.. thats just who i am. I dont trust myself, but i almost feel thats more of a blessing, because if i did i wouldnt ever rely on God, would i? I have enough of a problem with that as it is.

I was drowning in my own lies.
Drowning in my own insecurites.
Drowning in my own pain and fears.

Until one day when i finally acknowledged him reaching out his hand for me. I just decided that day that i didnt want to live that way anymore, and so i changed... Just like that.

Jesus saved me.

Awe is why i grab the pen and beauty is why i scratch it down and all his lighting glory is why i muzzle the voices that say i cant or shouldnt or mustnt because he is my blaze and he is my burn and i cannot be muzzled because what can keep me from telling once the eyes have seen?

Recurrent, but tangible.

I've talked about this deep, burning desire within me to create...
to love people and enjoy fellowship and just take in creation's echo of majesty.
But I'm bogged down. By school and sickness and work and the ever-present feeling of having to catch up with myself. It's suffocating; it's killing me, slowly; every day I don't touch my bible, sing, go on a bike ride, bake brownies, take a picture, feel the sun on my face or consider the enormity of my creator, a piece of me wastes away.
So tonight, at about 6:53, I was limping home thinking about what I should eat for supper and all the homework I had yet to do.... and it was as though someone whispered in my ear,
"This isn't what you need right now."
I thought the appropriate response would be: 'Yes; thank you, small voice in my head.. That's very astute of you.'
But the more I lingered on the idea, the more it grew in complexity-- and specificity-- until I arrived at,
"This isn't what you were created for. You're choosing to break yourself apart for no tangible reason. Who is it helping? What are your motives? THIS ISN'T WHAT YOU WERE CREATED FOR."
My God is a jealous god... I love that about Him. He wants me--- all of me. Not on sunday mornings; not when I find a spare moment.... Undivided attention. And it's easy to tell when God wants something. I try to walk the wrong direction and everything blows up in my face..
I'm falling behind on my mass of homework.
I'm tired all the time.
I'm sick.
And today I realized how selfish my motivations are for keeping pointless things first.
.........sakdjfhilawerkjbgklasfd.

Technology ruins lives.

I'm sitting in the library,
trying to work on an essay

but getting distracted by the guy sitting next to me. 

I'm pretty sure he's a pedophile. 

I'm sitting in a cushy armchair, 

munching on dry cereal and wishing I had headphones so I could listen to music. 

I'm sitting by a window, watching and contemplating God's sovereignty. 

I'm sitting near a guy and a girl who are in a relationship, 

a couple that has been there for an hour 

and barely spoken 10 words to each other.

They walked in together.
They found a pair of chairs.
They each pulled out their fancy shmancy smart phones 

and never looked back.
Do you s'pose they're in love? 

Do you s'pose they think they are?
I mean, I know I don't know them...
But...
That can't be what it's s'posed to look like.