Disappointment

          God is in disappointment.
          It seems odd, doesn't it?
          As I said in one of my earlier posts, as soon as 2014 hit things started happening (or not happening) in my life that I didn't expect. In January I auditioned for a part in a play that my homeschool co-op was doing. I have done the drama program in the co-op since 2009 and have never scored a lead. I figured, seeing as I had so much experience under my belt and had been told by the director that she wanted me to try out for this specific role that I basically had it in the bag. I expected to get the part. Looking back I realize how selfish and arrogant that was, but I managed to lead myself to believing that this part was meant for me.
          And then I didn't get the part.
          I was beyond disappointed and angry. Wrongfully angry, but angry (Note: I have talked about this with the girl who did get the part and my director and have asked forgiveness)
          Even though I was so disappointed, I realized (eventually) that this was what was best. I learned how to love someone even though the situation was difficult and how to humbly accept not getting my own way.
          Fast forward four months. It's the Saturday before the week of the show and somehow I managed to hurt my knee. I made it through tech day by sitting down and icing my knee whenever I could. I was in severe pain by the end of the day. Over the next few days I did everything the doctor said to, but my knee was still very sore. I was, once again, disappointed. I had expected to soar through the last play of my high school career easily, capturing the spotlight (again, my arrogance at work). But there I was, barely able to walk, with or without a limp. I had to dance! I had to wear high heels! How was I ever supposed to be the independent, capable actress I wanted to be?
          It was then I realized that I was leaning on my own ability, and not on God or even my fellow actors. I prayed about that for a long time, and though God didn't heal my knee immediately, he gave me peace about it. Ironically, I made it through the play by (literally) leaning on my fellow actors whenever possible. I was dependent on the other actors walking me places or having one of them pull up a chair so I could sit down while I was off stage.
          My disappointment in being invalid was changed. I was ok with not being solidly independent. I appreciated my friends so much more and felt closer to them because of my injury.
         Fast forward another month. My graduation day is tomorrow and my grad party is right after the ceremony. Several of my closest friends (even some of my cousins) can't make it for various reasons. I was/am severely disappointed. It's been hard, changing my idea of what my graduation party would be like. But, if there's one thing I've learned this year, it's that God has a plan and it's good. No matter what happens, I'll have an amazing party. And even in my disappointment and grief, there's a lesson to be learned. There is a reason behind everything. That's not to say that I haven't cried about it, but God is beginning to give me peace with my situation, just as He did when I didn't get cast as Adelaide, and when I hurt my knee.
          Each situation has just showed me that, though my life doesn't follow the plan I have and disappointment abounds, God is strong. That's comforting, isn't it?
         God is still God, even when my world goes awry.


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Jesus song of the day: Joy- Rend Collective

Secular song of the day: Fun, Fun, Fun- Beach Boys

Armor of God

          We've all heard how we are supposed to put on the full Armor of God (Ephesians 6:10-18). We do this so we can "stand against the devil's schemes" (vs. 11). It protects us more than any worldly armor could.
But I've been thinking...

       Take a second to picture armor. You probably pictured something like this.

       Now. If you saw someone wearing that, it would be pretty unusual, wouldn't it?  Imagine a man wearing a suit of armor clunking his way into your local Starbucks. He would look out of place. Why? Because he looks different, unusual, a bit weird maybe.
         That's the first point I want to make. If we are clothed in the Armor of God we should look different. I'm not telling you to go out and buy a historically correct suit of armor and clunk your way through life, but it is a thought provoking point. Think about the way you live -in front of others and alone- and answer me this.
               Do you see the Armor of God?
          Do you? Do you see the belt of truth, breastplate of righteousness, and shield of faith? I sure don't.
          Maybe on a good day I can see evidence of the armor on me, but on most days I look at myself and I see something completely different.
          On the usual day I tend to garb myself with the slippers of laziness, the yoga pants of pride, the hoodie of discontentment and the tiara of anger. ouch. That's quite a different picture from God's armor, isn't it? But unfortunately, it is not so different a picture from the rest of the world. You walk into Starbucks wearing that and you may turn heads, but only because you are wearing a tiara.
        As Christians we are called to look different from the world. This means that we should put on the full armor. Not just the shoes because they are the least conspicuous. Not just the sword because it looks the coolest. The entire thing. The whole kit and kaboodle.          
Ask yourself this this.
          Do you feel ready?
         "Ready for what?" you ask.
           Ready for anything through the power of Jesus Christ. The devil and his minions (not the little yellow ones) are tricksy little suckers. They will do anything to try and stop you. Readiness "comes from the gospel of peace" (vs. 15).
          Is the Sword of the Spirit in your hands?
          In other words, do you spend time with Jesus? Do you read the word of God?
          I'm going to be blatantly honest here. It can be a real struggle for me to "find time" to read the Bible. Things "get in the way" or I just plain old forget, but it is so important. (I'm stopping here on this topic, though, because that is not the main point of this post.)
          Think about the armor again.
          The armor the knight is wearing is not only a visual representation of who he is -a warrior- but it can also be an announcement of where his allegiance lies. This is my second point. The armor of a knight shows, no, announces who he's fighting for. The shields of some knights bore a crest of arms, showing what family the he was from. But what's more is almost every knight fought under the banner of an army or a king. They served this king, even to the death.
          You see, God doesn't call us to be couch potato Christians. He doesn't say "Therefore go and maybe help the people but only if they want help." or "Therefore go and-wait, no. Scratch that. Don't go forth. Stay here in your little Christian bubble and wallow. The Bible doesn't command us to put on the pajamas of God. This isn't a slumber party. This is war. Are you fully protected? Are you wearing the Armor of God?
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Christian song of the day: Lighthouse by Rend Collective
Secular song of the day: L-O-V-E by Nat King Cole

upon a lonesome road

I passed a familiar stranger

upon a lonesome road.

He slipped past my side; his load

was heavy, growing fuller with each step.

His back was bowed down with the weight

of thoughts.

He wore a robe of the grey in a storm-

full of chaos and power

yet broken and worn.

I barely noticed his face as he passed,

he left without a whispered word;

without even a glance cast.

I turned to converse,

wishing to listen to the stories I’ve heard

times and times before.

I wished to see his bundle unfold

revealing memories and stories-

wished to hear my life retold

But as I turned he was gone,

already years behind.

I run towards him,

my feet flying with an inhuman speed,

yet never growing closer.

Never near enough.

His bent figure grows smaller with each step.

I grow farther away as I draw near.

Just once I wish to touch his face

and thank him for the good times

and the bad.

For my legs are stronger now

after climbing the hills in the road.

I run faster.

Come back!

Come back, my heart cries.

But no.

Only an empty echo

returns to my longing self.

My heart pounds and I've had enough.

I’m running after the Past

and I cannot catch up

autumn (a drabble of 100 words)

Mother was never the same after that day. She sat by the window, a distant look echoing in her eyes. Sometimes tears would drift lazily down her cheeks. She watched the seasons pass, stoically.  It was all the same to her.

I would come behind her and gently brush her long auburn hair. She never stirred. Nothing moved her. She simply existed and never lived.

My heart cried, “Mother look at me! See me! Do you know I’m here?”

I laid my cheek against her head, our auburn hair flowing together. Tears moistened her hair.  She didn’t notice.

Mother, please…

Take the world

Something has been repeating itself in my mind recently:

Take the world, but give me Jesus

This was spurred by many things happening in my life that weren't in my plan. Even though I didn't realize it at the time, I had a plan of how my senior year would turn out. Then as soon as 2014 hit, things started happening one after another that were far outside of my plan. It was in one of my tear filled talks with Jesus that I exclaimed "Take the world, Lord. As long as I have you I am safe." 

But what does that mean? What do I really mean when I say take the world?

Take the physical world from beneath my feet. Let the Earth go spiraling out of control. I have safety in my Lord. He will protect me.
Take my shelter and my livelihood.
My God always provides. He provided manna for his people when they were in the desert for forty years. He still provided over and over. My God will always provide what I need.
Take my happiness.
I have a joy that is not based in how 'happy' I am. My joy is not found in this world. My joy is in the Lord. In his plan for me. In His goodness. His mercy. His grace.
Take my achievements.
They mean nothing without God.
Take my pride.
Humiliate me. God is still good.
Take my family.
This one is really hard to say. But take my family. I love them, but if that is the will of my God, so be it. I will see them again in a place that is far better than this.
Let my friends ignore me.
My fulfillment is not found in them.
Take my plans, my dreams, the things I want most.
As long as Jesus is by my side what can go wrong?  His plan for me is beautiful and good.
My life would be so messed up if things went according to my plan.
I am beginning to see that His plans are good; far better than any I could have made.
Besides, my life isn't mine. I was made to serve God.
It's not going to be easy; not even remotely easy. But if there's one thing I've learned and am still learning it's this:

It is worth it. 

God is so worth it. His plan is good. When life is hard, God is strong. He may not always feel present, but He is there. 

I want this to be my legacy: 

Take the world, but give me Jesus

The Mailbox Days

     Daisy impatiently rocked up on her toes then back on her heels.
     "Mama, please let me go. I'm big enough now."
     "I don't know, sweetheart." Mama thoughtfully stroked her chin. "This is a really big job. And the driveway is really long. I need someone who is very brave and very quick."
     "I am very brave and quick. Just yesterday I beat Seth in a race down the driveway."
     Mama over-dramatically stroked her chin and squinted her eyes, looking at her eager daughter.
     "Well... I suppose you are big enough, and brave enough, and if you beat Seth in a race you certainly are fast enough. Yes, you may go."
     A wide, gap-toothed grin illuminated Daisy's face. She turned around quickly, blonde pigtails swinging wildly, and bolted out of the kitchen. Mama chuckled and thoughtfully rested her hand on her growing baby belly. She knew Daisy would not always be eager to run down the long driveway to get the mail. Soon the novelty and privilege of the quarter mile walk to the mailbox would wear off, and Daisy would complain about having to get the mail again. But for now, it was a source of innocent joy. As was beating her little brother in a footrace. Mama chuckled again.
------
     Daisy ran down the gravel driveway, her Wellies causing her stride to be an awkward waddle instead of a  graceful run. Her small feet were moving quickly, intent on proving to Mama that she was quick enough for the task.
     In a few minutes she reached the rusted mailbox. It seemed so tall to her small self.
     She stretched up onto her tippy toes, Wellies squeaking. Determination oozed from her tiny being. Her hand reached the top of the mailbox door and she pulled it open.
    Envelopes rained down on Daisy, scattering on the ground around her. She bent down and picked up the envelopes one by one.
    One, two. She tucked them under her arm.
    Three, four. She tucked them under her arm.
    Five and six would not fit under her arm, so she held them in her hand.
    The seventh envelope had a small dirt footprint on it, but she brushed if off and held it in her arms with the rest.
     The little girl carefully made her way back the house, being sure to only use walking feet so she didn't drop the mail again. Daisy stepped right foot first onto the porch step. She paused on this first step, very briefly, to collect herself. Then she proceeded to climb up the remaining steps right foot first, then meeting it with her left foot. Right foot first, then meeting it with her left foot.
     She nudged the screen door open with her back and walked into the kitchen.
     "Mama," she huffed. "I am back." Daisy dumped the mail onto the table.
     "Well done, Daisy!" Mama replied, taking stock of the muddy and creased mail. "Would you like to go play with Seth now?"
     Daisy gave a quick nod, then hurried past her mother to the living room.
-----
     The old pickup truck roared into the driveway, and Daddy got out of the front seat with a tried groan. He walked up the porch steps and pushed open the screen door.
     "Hi there, Meg," he greeted his wife, with a hug and quick kiss.
     "Howdy, stranger," Mama smiled, returning the kiss.
     Daddy threw the truck keys on the table, and leaned against the counter sifting through the mail.
     "Did Daisy get the mail today?" he asked.
     "Why yes she did. And she was awful proud," chuckled Mama. "How did you know?"
     "I just had a hunch," Daddy paused for a second. "And the open mailbox, still half full of mail was a good hint." Daddy smiled.
     "Daddy, Daddy! Guess what I did today!" Daisy barreled into the kitchen.
      Daddy caught her momentum and swung her up into his arms.
     "I don't know, Daisy, what did you do?" Daddy looked over Daisy's head to Mama and gave a quick wink.
     "Mama let me get the mail all by myself!"
     "You got the mail all by yourself! I'm so proud of you, Daisy." Daddy gently tipped her head towards him and kissed her forehead. "I'm so proud."

second attempt

Hello blog,
no, that's too formal.
Hi,
no, that's too informal.
Lets try this again.

Hey blog,
I missed you.
And by I missed you, I mean I had completely forgotten you existed.
But I have started writing again. And so maybe, just maybe we can pick up where we left off? I know it can't be exactly like old times. Because I've change. I've hopefully become a bit better at weaving words in a somewhat artsy way. You've changed too...well, no. That's not true. You haven't changed. At all.
So maybe, just maybe I'll actually post my doodles. What have I to lose?
Thank you, blog.
Ever yours,
Rachel

Thus begins my second attempt at blogging. Or as I like to call it: doodling.