But before I begin, draw near to me and the Father. I want you to hear what I have to say, and hear Him through my the smallness of my voice. All of my words are shouts into an infinite void if I do not speak what He has shown me. I do not proclaim to be a prophet. I have never thought of myself worthy enough to even be His, yet He has shown me wisdom in His Word and in His people. Jim Elliot has boldly said, "Why do we need a voice when we have a verse?"
I woke early, got dressed in the clothes I wore the day before (creature of habit), and went to pray with my friends before class. We are going overseas together this summer and have been in prayer for the past month. It is one of the most precious times in my week, where we can offer our time to Him and proclaim that He is worthy. He is the Lord of the harvest, and we are the laborers in His vineyard. I ask that You send us out in a flourish! That our comfort of being a milquetoast and weak people would be eradicated for the sake of Your name. I have always had fairly poor hearing in my right ear, and I wouldn't be surprised if I went deaf within the next few years. Do not be alarmed for me--it has been like this since I was a child, so having pretty poor hearing is something I am familiar with. Yet this morning, my hearing impediment hindered me from understanding what was being lifted up in prayer. Even so, my good left ear was inclined to the loud music hopping from the ceiling speakers. I was too distracted by the words I wanted to hear than the words that were being spoken. I charge you, do not listen to the ways of this world. It may be lyrical, poetic, enticing, alluring, but it reeks of snake oil. There is nothing worth value that you or I can find in master charlatans like our world. The world is evil, cunning, and cutting like a fox. May we seek the God that sacrificed a spotless Lamb--a Lamb turned Lion in our hearts, roaring for His voice to be heard above the deceit. Incline your ear to Him. He is found living and active in His Word. He is found in the stillness of the morning, walking to class as you eat a larabar and talk to 2 friends. He is found in the rest and flurry of the day, if you hear and look. He said, “Even more, those who hear the word of God and keep it are blessed!” (Luke 11:28)
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I love the sound of trains and lawnmowers.
I grew up 3 blocks away from the Santa Fe railway line and adored the blaring noise of the horn and the symphonic rhythm of steel against wheel. Reminds me of my Grandma Miriam and the mixed CDs she made for us, including Willie Nelson's City of New Orleans. There is a precious train station in Temple, Texas that I fell in love with 5 years ago, and it always made me nostalgic to think of all the families, businessmen, and workers that passed through those romantic archways. Train travel brings all sorts of humans together and carries them safely along in a cocoon of American progression. There is something inherently patriotic about traveling by train, and hearing the ripple of the horn through the stillness of the morning. Today, I woke up late to class, hastily threw on clothes, and gathered odds and ends into my backpack (including an empty pack of gum). I knew I was going to be at least 10 minutes tardy, so I leisurely drove to class. At the world's longest red light, I watched a Union Pacific train push forward in my rear view mirror. Cars speedily zip across the railroad tracks before the arms go down (and one of them ends up getting pulled over). I have never minded trains that stop up traffic. The train's destination takes much more priority than my own, or it would stop for me instead. This train, in particular, gave me such joy: the conductor's arm hung out the window. We forget that people are in those trains, don't we? And I sit on the fourth floor of the library, typing, listening to someone mow the lawn (eventually I would learn it was an Indian woman with a leaf-blower). Life is so beautiful. Today was one of those dreary spring days where the leaves on our oak trees are sodden with dew and students shuffle to class under a light drizzle. The humidity made me feel very sluggish, and my hair hung limp like al dente spaghetti. I belonged inside like hermit crab, yet I had to be on campus.
It wasn't a bad day, because I met with Laisha, who is resourceful, clever, a good reader of people and an easy person to converse with. She was definitely the highlight of my day. (Love you!) Yet I did feel like a fat caterpillar today, inching closer and closer to a leaf to hide under, and it reminded me of "Eternity," a poem by William Blake: He who binds to himself a joy Does the wingéd life destroy; He who kisses the joy as it flies Lives in eternity's sunrise. I used to think that joy was bloated and short-lived, like a crest on a wave or a freshly made cookie. William Blake's interpretation of joy is that it is impossible to capture, thus, man must kiss it when it flies. He asserts that joy is ephemeral like a bug's microscopic life. A psalm written by King David paints joy in a different manner than William Blake: You reveal the path of life to me; In Your presence is abundant joy; In Your right hand are eternal pleasures. (Psalm 16:11) I'd like to believe joy isn't something to kiss, it is something to be found in His presence. Even those that struggle finding joy can find it lavishly given through His Son. Maybe William Blake hadn't experience the joy of the Lord. Also, the couch I am sitting on smells like moldy cheese and feet. Not the most delectable smell. I think the dog that lives here dwells on this couch. My nose may be buried under my shirt but my joy isn't! My red truck (proudly named Darcy) zooms down Harvey Mitchell parkway. You'd know it was me by the bumper stickers and the stuffed minion in supine position on the dash. I roll my right window down to the "sweet spot" where the wind rattling ceases and I can finally hear the music. My heart swells in excitement like the puffy white clouds on the horizon.
Ty and Devontae race out to the car before I can even park and clamor in. Their child-like enthusiasm is a hug to my soul. After buying picture frames, a bag of airheads and some Reese's cups at Walmart, we sail down the road like greedy pirates eager for adventure. We park our frigate on the side of the road and gallivant to a picnic table at Oaks Park. We take the glass out of their frames, drizzle alcohol ink on the clear naked canvas, and drench it in rubbing alcohol before setting it on fire. Their eyes light up in enraptured fascination. The fire licks at the colorful ink, and once extinguished, transforms the glass into a multicolored masterpiece. Ty and Dev had decorated each glass rectangle in extreme detail. They drew ornate sea shells, smiling faces with three rows of teeth, and autographed their names in colored ink. Ty was more frugal with the ink, creating thin designs that captured her personality: understated but bold. Devontae was more lavish--his were drenched in color and intensity. He even colored his fingertips so he could finger-paint the picture frames. I wanted to tell them that the design didn't matter, that the rubbing alcohol muddles the design, but then that would ruin half of the fun. Reminds me of our feeble attempts at preparation and planning and how each is extinguished for something more beautiful than imagined. I am thankful for a God that extinguishes my simple-minded plans. After our time spent at the park, the general consensus for dinner was Golden Corral. We had a sumptuous meal: pizza, mashed potatoes, yeast rolls, fried fish and chicken, salad with a plethora of dressings. Each of the food groups had a different banner, like "Lighthouse Bay," or "The Greenhouse," to entice us for seconds. (Don't worry, we all did. We probably cycled through ten of those plastic plates within 30 minutes.) With me and the kids alone, they are both fairly quiet. I think we still need to warm up to each other. But after a full day of playing and painting, they both were content to eat the meal in peace and quiet (with the occasional sibling jab). A people-watcher by nature, I was so pleased to see so many different people. There was a little girl with floral print pants and a white collared shirt enamored with the chocolate fountain. An elderly man wearing suspenders went back for seconds at "The Piazza." A mom and her teenaged son sat next to us, chatting in hushed tones over a slice of apple pie. A family of three spoke in Chinese as they walked by our table, their little boy the center of attention. Our waitress named Coco cleared tables and took Devontae's requests for more Dr. Pepper. Even my little friends with me were fun to watch. While Ty stuck to sugar cookies, Devontae ate pink cotton candy and brownies. Ty ate broccoli with hollandaise sauce (her favorite), while Devontae brought back 2 baked potatoes loaded with cheese. And here I am, soaking it all up with two sweethearts eating marshmallows dripping in chocolate sauce. People-watching is an absolute joy, especially in a restaurant. We are all sojourners at a watering hole, seeking nourishment before setting off for home. I probably would've never set glass on fire in a park or gone into Golden Corral if it weren't for my two friends. And those are gifts from the Father Himself--treasures He has given me to steward. I am so thankful. Quote of the day: "Drink less so you can eat more." - Ty (Also, a big thank-you to Bailey. You helped me gather the supplies and concoct this plan without recompense. You have a servant's heart that reminds me of Dorcas. I am grateful for you.) As I think back on my elementary school days, I have to admit that most of it was quite a blur. Most of my memories have to do with an eraser in the shape of a dollar bill, a spider web playground I failed to climb, and books with really large font. One of these books included my fifth grade history textbook, a bright red tome that smelled like it had been left out in the rain. You know that smell--it's like a mixture between potting soil and wet dog. Damp. Sticky. Musty. This garish textbook, brighter than a metallic Christmas ornament, included the poem "I, too, Sing America," by Langston Hughes.
My eyes were glued to a photograph of Langston Hughes, whose image was perched on top of a text box, his jocular smile teasing me to read his words. His words! I read and reread that poem until I had it memorized, and eventually came up with a song to lock it into my long-term memory. I always felt so indulgent that I had that poem memorized. It was like I was given a cookie while everyone else had an apple. I did not understand what his words meant, nor would I for a few more years, but I felt like I had a kinship with him. He was like a visitor, knocking on my front door, waiting to be answered. Of all of my classmates, I was the one who opened the door on page 618. It was liberating. It gave a ten year-old girl the opportunity to view things from a different pair of eyes--the eyes of a black man during the Harlem Renaissance. It was my first introduction to see that I was uniquely different than my peers--that I responded differently than my peers! For a duplicate, that's quite a feat. I wanted to be like Langston Hughes, rallying brave people to fight against injustices across battlefields, encouraging others to view things from different perspectives. What a fine example to emulate. John Steinbeck puts my incoherent thoughts into more eloquent words: "I wonder how many people I've looked at all my life and never seen." Thank you, Langston Hughes! And I thank You, Father, for creating all of us so differently. When we know You, You instill a desire to fight back against the powers of this world and to make Your Name known. Read, reread, and memorize: "I, Too, Sing America," (1945) by Langston Hughes I, too, sing America. I am the darker brother. They send me to eat in the kitchen When company comes, But I laugh, And eat well, And grow strong. Tomorrow, I'll be at the table When company comes. Nobody'll dare Say to me, "Eat in the kitchen," Then. Besides, They'll see how beautiful I am And be ashamed-- I, too, am America. "To reconcile people to God and then to each other is the purpose of the gospel." - J.M. Perkins There is not much to write this morning (*looks at watch set an hour behind*). I woke to my sister brushing her teeth and the faucet running. She had a hair appointment in thirty minutes and was quickly getting ready to be late. I grew up sharing a room with her, so the quiet banging of cabinet doors and the sound of velcro ripping apart is cozily familiar. I gamboled my way into the kitchen, fried some uncured bacon (courtesy of day 26 of Whole30) and opened another chocolate larabar. Never made bacon until this summer, and never made it with frequency until Whole30.
(Bacon always reminds me of Madi and Morgan and the infamous french toast incident of 2016. If you see them, ask them about it. They are quite skilled at eye-balling measurements without a recipe to follow. I was very thankful I was given the task of watching bacon on the stove instead of french-toastery. Love you two very much.) Now I sit typing at my computer with a fat cat lounging at my feet. He is gray and white and purrs as loud as a train. I love his cuddles and am so grateful half of my life has been by his side. I am thankful for being alone, for my beautiful twin sister and her new haircut, and for all of the blessings I've been given. Life is so sweet. May your spring break adventures be filled with fun! And if you are home like me, rejoice that we have a home and family to come home to! Cannot wait to see you back here in College Station. Green peas and blessings today! (Postscript: I am still amazed at how quickly I mastered this website. For a girl who wrote hundreds of pages of stories in 7 three-subject notebooks, computer literacy isn't a skill I'm proficient in.) Hi, thanks for reading.
It is truly an honor to have your set of eyes scan my sentences and look for errors. Not only have you braved blog after blog with a plastered smile on your face, you are willing to do the same for me. Thanks! Feigned excitement is better than no excitement at all in my opinion! Like reactivating my old Facebook account, creating a blog was just as impulsive (albeit a little more personal). I am a fairly transparent person, but most of my hopes, dreams, and unpublished works are scribbled away in notebooks tucked away from prying eyes. (This was for Hannah's safety, as she had read my diary ten years back and scarred me for life.) A blog calls for transparency, and I will be brave in sharing just as you will be compassionate in reading! To my precious friends, you are worth more than any treasure I could store up! Since I think so fondly of you all, and share my life with you, it would be nearly impossible for me to write without mentioning you. Essentially, I am writing a kind note and sticking it in your lunchbox. Know that I love you and care about you much more than I can convey. I only have one goal in writing this blog, and that is to magnify Christ. Without Him, I would be in the lowest of the lows, stuck in a pit of my own making. I was like this, acutely aware that all of my climbing and scratching to the surface caused me to slip further. Deeper and deeper I fell: depressed, anxious, lethargic, abrasive. And the deeper I fell, the quicker I turned to defense mechanisms and my own selfishness. Yet deep down, I felt like a man lost at sea, coming up to gasp for air only for a heavy wave to come crashing over my head. It's that feeling of being lost in the supermarket and you can't find your mom. Or of when you open your computer to check a score for an exam you didn't study for. It's a sickening feeling--even conjuring it now creates a pool of dread in my stomach. Even more disheartening, there was nothing I could do to change it. A sick person can't heal themselves. Even if we try to beautify it, it makes us even more worse for the wear. I would know--I had pink eye two months ago and shamefully put on mascara. Beautifying sin only blinds us to true life. Thus, I was enslaved to my sin, chained like a prisoner with Stockholm syndrome. I delighted in my sin just as much as I hated it. The fortunate news is that Jesus Christ, God in human form, was sent for the purpose of liberation, restoration, and salvation. He was without sin, yet dwelt among people like you and me: sinners to the very fiber of our existence. A man like you and me, yet completely God. The perfect example of who I was not. Yet Christ did not justly scorn me (as I would have), but had compassion. It isn't that type of compassion that wells in your chest when you watch an ASPCA commercial. It's a powerful compassion that, for the joy set before Him, nailed Him to the cross. He died a death that I deserved! It was in God's great love that I was saved. God had provided Himself as my healer. His Son, Jesus Christ, died for me and you and the ends of the earth, and then rose again on the third day. The evil one's dominion over this earth was overcome! Jesus brought victory! Conquering death with holes in his arms, He tore the chains that Satan gripped, setting the captive and the enslaved free! His death and resurrection gives us true life, a life found only in God's Son. And it is for all people who seek Him. God is not stingy with His love--it is matchless in power! (Use all the exclamation marks!) Knowing this, seeing that I had nothing to lose and everything to gain, believed in Christ. Our response to this wonderful news is to believe that Jesus Christ is God's Son, that He died and rose again for the sins of the world, to turn away from our sin and turn to Christ in faith. It is a simple gospel created before the beginning of time by a complex God. This is His story of redemption of His people. He is the only one capable of transforming us. Even after His death and resurrection, He gives us a Helper in the form of His Spirit to help us. Jesus said, "But the Helper, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in My name, He will teach you all things, and bring to your remembrance all that I said to you." (John 14:26) Wow! Given the gifts of eternal life, the Holy Spirit, a relationship with God, and real truth? We are so undeserving! The Trinity of God so highly exalted. So magnificently honored. So lavish with love. I would be a fool not to share His story. I would be a fool to write anything that wasn't glorifying Him. If you are curious about this new life, come and ask me! I am the least of all His people, yet made new in Christ. |
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