Stepping Out In Faith

It's been a year since I've been a student. Between getting married, moving, flying to the moon, switching jobs, rescuing that turtle in the road, and many other events that may or many not have occurred, I was unable to find the funds or the motivation to enroll in classes. With that confession I am ready to put my shame and slothful ways behind me and get back to my education.

Yesterday my husband and I drove to our community college and I registered for three major classes I need for my degree in English/Literature. When I was all done with the waiting and the "advising" and the signing here please, I was handed a hot from the printer slice of reality in the form of my bill. It's going to cost $900 for my three classes. As of today I don't have $900.

I don't know if that money will come in the form of a loan, an accident at the bank in our favor, a lot of overtime at work, a second job or some other way. But I do know without a doubt that I will have $900 by January 4th because God knew at the beginning of time that I would need it and he had a plan in place since before my birth to get it to me. Knowing that gives me peace and joy and excitement so overwhelming I want to shout about it! I want to draw the world's attention to what God is about to do in my life! With humility I declare I am broke but with a grateful heart I thank God for the blessing I'm about to receive.

You may think I'm a fool for such blind faith, but it has been my experience again and again that God provides. Whether I stress about it, cry about it, mope about it, panic or pray, in every crisis the only difference is my reaction. This time I choose to sit quietly and wait upon the Lord. I hope it pleases Him.

The waste of space I was not meant to be.

Outside the inn where we're staying there is a great big yard. The kind of yard a kid can get excited about, daydream about in math class and plan fully involved cowboy and space monkey battles of epic proportions in. But there are no children here. No homes, no families, no schools. In the yard stands a lone giant gazebo with a miniature stage, two picnic tables, 8 benches, and two outdoor grills, the sort you have to chip the rust off of before using. But there are no large jolly gatherings, no neighborhood parties here. Instead of the delicious scent of burgers and beef franks I smell ash and cigarettes because this is the place the inn staff come to smoke and gossip about us messy guests. Across the narrow unlined street is a tennis court, a volleyball net, and four square blocks. There is no equipment, just the tease of opportunity. I've looked for the place where they keep the rackets hoping to go out and fulfill the hopes and dreams of those empty painted squares, but alas it seems they are meant to stay in exile across the street. I can't help but pity this place, in all its wasted glory, hidden away from the children, the families who dream of its existence without knowing its been here all along, dreaming of them. I come sit in the gazebo, a different bench every day, just to give it what it craves, the satisfaction of being used.

This place is exactly who we are, built for a purpose, but lacking the courage or even perhaps the intelligence to be put to use. I can play an instrument, not just any instrument but a rare and beautiful one. I can cook delicious meals. I read very well and aloud, something my Mama taught me. These aren't statements of self importance but of shame. God gave me these incredible gifts but rarely do I use them for his glory. I play music for my pleasure, I cook great big meals for my own taste, and I read every day for my own entertainment. If your father gave you a sparkling candy apple red, top of the line, world class huffy racing bike would you hide it deep in the garage and only sneak it out in the dead of night to polish and ride in little circles in the driveway? No, me either. So why are we so selfish with the gifts our heavenly father gave us?

There is an audience for every talent God has ever created, a need for every skill. There are people in nursing homes, children's homes, our neighbors homes that have needs God has created us to fill.

Hello from "Wit's End"

Here I am God! Driving home from a baby shower wondering why I'm not happier, why chubby rosy cheeks, dimples, and blue frosted cupcakes didn't put me in a sunny mood. I stop at the grocery store to cheer myself up the nutritional way, because chocolate comes in a high fiber variety you know, and even that didn't work. I pick up my phone and dial my sister without really deciding to, but she doesn't answer and that only makes me feel worse.

Here I am God! Frustrated and hurting, I turn on my radio just for the noise, just to distract my ears away from my own thoughts. A song I know well is playing and I sing along:

"I believe always, always, the Savior never fails. Even when all hope is gone, God knows your pain, and His promise remains, He will be with you."

It was suddenly a dramatic ride as I broke down and sobbed and let God speak to me. I sobbed for the addict in my life, the unsaved loved ones I carry around in my heart like stones, for the marriage that's failing, for the people I love but cannot be near, for the things I'm missing out on, and for the mistakes I've made. I sobbed to my God, my Father and I was comforted.

I've heard that song a hundred times, but those words have never meant very much to me until today, until socializing, junk food, and family failed me, and I accidentally turned to God for comfort. Was that planned? Has he been trying to reach me all day? Did He huff and puff and sigh and groan when I ignored Him and reached for method after method to take His place, like I would have? I was brought low by a single verse of a single song, imagine what God could do in my life if I let him in more often.

God is so good to me.
God is so good to me.
God is so good to me.

My life didn't change in the car today. My trials were here waiting for me like a faithful dog when I got home. But today God reached down to hold me when I needed it most, without grumbling about being my last choice, He loved me. He renewed my hope and demonstrated His power over even the smallest details of my life when I will just invite Him in. What a perfect, patient, and loving God we serve. I love Him.

A wise man chooses to live happily with his choices.

Let me toss some numbers at you. At the ages of 20 and 26, my husband and I have been married 11 months, have 2 cats, 1 dog and have decided to move into a 3 bedroom 1 bath house with my 2 parents. How long will we survive? This is a bit like the word problems your 8^th grade math teacher gave you, except in this case I’ve found no answers, not one solution, and no one is applauding me for demonstrating this particular equation. Please put your eyebrows back into place, quit your giggles and let me talk you into this the same way we talked ourselves into it…with a little bit of something my husband likes to call “crazy talk.”

Point 1: This arrangement is perfectly acceptable and I assume successful in many well developed parts of the world such as Asia and South America. There are thousands of brilliant women who have decided to abandon privacy for the possibility of financial freedom. We shall stand united in our struggle to share one bathroom, one stove, one phone line, one thermostat with zero fatalities! This is what I call my “global support.”

Point 2: We do not plan on staying under one roof forever, just as long as it takes my husband and me to save enough money for a down payment on our own home. We plan to be of great service while we are here by splitting the household bills AND taking on a number of projects that need a cool splash of young energy to make it out of the planning stage, where they’ve been stored for a number of years. These are our “good intentions.”

Point 3: We will rid ourselves of all worldly possessions that are not absolutely necessary and organize what is left into closets, onto shelves, and under beds. We will take all the time you require to explain why three game systems and a small personal library are under the “absolutely necessary” column and we will not shout when you do not understand. This is our “plan.”

This is an experiment in sanity, happiness, and faith. Whether or not it proves to be financially beneficial, I’m confident it will make for great writing material!

I want to end with one of my favorite verses. This speaks to me not because I feel inadequate because I am young, but because I am told I am inadequate because I am young. Don't doubt my decision simply because you wouldn't have made it. But pray for me in the hopes that it was the right choice and I have the courage and stamina to see it through.

¹²Let no man despise thy youth; but be thou an example of the believers, in word, in conversation, in charity, in spirit, in faith, in purity. (1 Timothy 4:12)

Today I saw Satan.

I saw you as the elevator opened and the middle aged mother of two was wheeled unconscious past my desk. Perched there over her limp, dirty form, laughing and winking at all the nurses, as if this was a joy ride, her stretcher your limo. How could I miss you? When they handed me the paper work you stuck out like a tarantula on the breakfast table, there to spread filth , terror and confusion. The yellow piece of note paper, torn from a cursed book, bore your handwriting. I saw it! You cannot lie to me Satan because there on the paper were your words, the words you made that poor woman write:

"No more bother for my friends and family

no more tears

no more pain

no more sorrow

no more bother."

The original author of lies, I felt your pride leak out of those scrawled letters. I was shocked and disgusted to see what you had told her. My heart broke and trembled in the same instant, both weeping for your almost victim and terrified at being so near to you, you loathsome devil whose power cannot be denied. Taking my Lord's words, his promises to us, his beloved, and pretending as though you offer the same reward! Only in heaven will there be no more tears and only you Satan would dare to lie about Hell, to advertise it in such a despairingly twisted way. I folded your letter and I hid your words deep inside her medical record. If she survives this night Satan, I want her to know. I want her to know it was YOU who almost killed her, who poisoned and drugged her, who lured her to the side of the highway and left her for dead. Tucked neatly between those pages of masks you love to wear, medical terms and depression symptoms, is the proof that you were there, your ugly face drawn in chilling clarity on a yellow piece of note paper.

While you're here, while I'm staring at you across my desk, lurking there as you are at her bedside, I'd like to tell you something rather important. The dirt on her face and the still bleeding cuts on her hands mean that she has yet to be disinfected for processing. The sprawled and restless way she occupies her shabby hospital bed means that no one has posed her for rigamortis. The anxious nurses surrounding her and the multiple tubes placed in her body mean that she is not beyond repair. Wearing an arm band instead of a toe-tag, your intended victim shows her strength with each feeble breath she takes. The fact that she's here, not wrapped in a tarp in the icy vaults below means that you have lost.

Be gone Satan.

To God be the glory for the wayward sheep that was found tonight.

Calling all cry-babies! It is I! Your leader!

SOMETHING happened! It was terrible! Down right awful! I was at the place doing my thing when you know who walked in and stomped all over my day! WHAT happened is not important, all you need to know is, I didn't like it. Leaving the place I'm feeling blue. In the car blue turns to BLACK and arriving home to an empty house morphs black into ugly despair which all but demands to be let out! Calling my husband at work I release my story on him and wait impatiently for it to draw the response I want. NO! The response I NEED to feel better, to continue my day! The silence is tense, but the "hmmm" that follows is painfully inadequate and only adds to my swelling furry. "You're no help! Why can't you say something useful?" I'm outraged that he won't give up the words of comfort! Why won't he just say what I need to hear? He should KNOW what I need to hear! After all, he is my husband. Giving up on forcing it out of my other half, I speed dial my sister, my beautiful, therapeutic, great listener of a sister! Being 5 years older than myself, she usually knows what it's like to GO through whatever I'm GOING through and gives the best advice on GETTING through. She picks up with a curt "YES?" Oh no. I can hear the kids screaming at one another, I hear her husband asking her who's calling, I hear her neighbor greeting her from the door as she breezes right in. I hear my sister make a defeated groan and whisper "Can we talk later?" right before I hear the *CLICK*. Another dud. I'm pathetic enough that if she were avaliable, I WOULD call my mother just to get this out. But sadly for me, she's out of town and won't be calling me until much later tonight. Boy did she doge a bullit! I need to talk NOW! Sitting on the couch seething about the general state of the world, mine especially, I'm feeling dissapointment on top of anger, saddness on top of the new arrival, lonliness. Even though I know they are human, imperfect and incomplete, I still count on them to fulfill my needs, whatever my needs, whenever I need them. WHY am I so dense? Because I'm the silly brown moth, diving for the light I think I need and only drowning myself in the process. Dosn't God promise me that he will never fail? Did he not say that he will never leave me nor forsake me? Isn't he the great provider? These things are all true but slippery thoughts to hold onto when I'm floundering on Earth's surface with real and urgent needs while God graces his "throne above." The only way I'll ever learn to trust God, to take to him my aches and pains of daily living and truely leave them at his feet, the only way to have my needs fulfilled by the one being capable is to build my releationship with Him. I must learn to pray more and wail less. There is no deeper meaning here, only internal frustration at my own unwillingness to live like one who is SAVED. It is as if I turn my face away from God and say "No thank you Lord. I've got this. I don't need your grace or power. I'm a mighty human!" What a mighty silly human I am. Today I thank God for being REAL, for being present and tangible in my life on the days I have enough sense and awareness to let him.

Why does the male moth get all the colors?

Floating with my husband in the community pool at midnight, I'm captivated by a large brown moth carving measured patterns in the air above us. Closer and closer she dances towards us, trying to sneak past our mysterious forms to the beautiful warm glow that is the underwater pool lighting. I can almost envision the grin on her tiny triumphant face as she finally comes close enough to dive towards her goal. "What a clever moth I am!" I mock aloud as we bear witness to her almost victory. WHAM! The impact our ears cannot hear rocks her small body and now I can see the panic, the terror as she flaps and splutters in the deadly monsoon sized ripples our bodies have made. Not willing to watch her drown I grab my rescue apparatus, an abandoned pair of goggles, and compassionately fish her out. What a joy, what a sweet and simple relief to see her gradually dry her wings and take flight again above us! I love watching her in these slow hypnotic patterns, in WHAM! She's in the pool again! Struggling now not only against the waters heavy soaking weight, but also exhausted from her recent brawl with this same enemy. A bit amused, I lift her to safety once again, this time much further away from the irresistibly wet grave she so obviously craves. An hour later, as I'm dragging my endearingly "child-at-heart" husband from the pool, I spot my moth. "This is how you thank me!?" Huffy and annoyed I walk away from the doomed creature who apparently will not learn self preservation skills even in the face of certain death. My husband laughs at my pouting and cannot understand my frustration. "Over a moth? Why is it such a tragedy to lose one when there are a million others just alike?" Much later, as I collapse gratefully into bed, into my loving husband's waiting arms, it occurs to me that I'm the insignificant moth who might never learn. I'm the silly moth Lord, and you're my patient savior. There are trillions others just like me, many who could do my job, who could rent my apartment, who could walk my dog. There are even a few who could love my husband and a few more who could complete my family. Although I'm one of many, a grain of sand on the beach, you love me enough to know why I'm worth saving again and again and again. How grateful am I that the one God sent to rescue me from sin and death is not as easily thwarted as me, but forever powerful, forever merciful, forever in love with me. Today I praise God for his patience, without which I would be a thing marked for death, a woman awaiting my turn to drown.

When there's too much to say, draw a picture!

*This is a PICTURE Blog*

This is to make you feel cozy. Chiquita knows how to do cozy really well.

This is to remind you that a little attitude isn't always a bad thing. Mango wears it rather well.

This is to prove that true love exists.

I'm quite sleepy and life is too serious to discuss in blog form. Even as an adult, with all of this knowlege of what is good and what is bad, even knowing the difference between right and wrong, I cannot decern the right choice. Praise God there is a God. Life's complexities would be unmanagable without this relationship, this love, with someone bigger than me.

A great day for a nap

How wonderful! My beloved called out of work to spend the day with me, the highlight being the long nap taken with the alarm clock OFF. How often does that happen?
This evening we went to *dinner&@movie* to celebrate our youth and childless existence.

DINNER: Long Horn Steak House - Terrific! We have repeatedly been impressed by this unsuspecting cowboy barn. For example have you ever tasted "chicken tenders" you could honestly call DELICIOUS??? I have. Though tonight I went beyond the children's menu and braved one of their own original recipes and I was not disappointed. MMM, you wait here, I'm going to warm my left overs.

{I'm back. My darling husband ate my leftovers COLD, annnnnnd my ice cream. Let's not talk about it.}

MOVIE: Angels and Demons - In order to make this genius novel into a cinematic masterpiece, Ron Howard cut out half the main characters, switched personalities of the remaining ones, removed all relationships, important details, historical fact, and plot in general. So obviously the man either did not read this book or his movie is simply his own terrible, inaccurate, tasteless interpretation. Shame on you Ron Howard.

We have discussed the choices, and made much progress. I love having a plan, but I do NOT like waiting for it to happen. But alas, if it is the right choice, is that not what I asked for?

Harry Potter goes to Vegas! or maybe not.

So we're *Bloggers* now. Everyone with thoughts of their own should make this switch. Here are mine:

• My sister's an angry chicken.
• My husband's not giving enough input to help make the decision.
• Even when I am "skinny as a rat" I'll always be a chub-chub.
• Today on the playground, my monster sought justice over revenge, and he is but 5 years old.

As the world waits for their next portion of delicious Potter Pie, I think on this: what is the right choice?