tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20971549711028908892011-12-03T01:49:37.568-08:00Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03964906078942541451noreply@blogger.comBlogger291100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2097154971102890889.post-17508862362580984672011-08-26T08:27:00.000-07:002011-08-26T08:34:46.084-07:00<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; border-collapse: collapse; "><div style="text-align: center; "><i>"I have seen their ways, but I will heal them; I will guide them and restore comfort to them, creating praise on the lips of the mourners in Israel. Peace, peace to those far and near, says the Lord. And I will heal them." </i></div><div><div style="text-align: center; "><i>Isaiah 57:18-19</i></div><div style="text-align: center; "><i> <br /></i></div><div style="text-align: left; ">This morning as I read about God's compassion towards Israel and his great patience with their wayward hearts, I was moved to think that he still longed for wholeness for his people. That he wasn't done with them in spite of their habitual rebellion. He not only saves them from their own self destruction, but promises to heal, restore comfort, grant peace, and guide them. Talk about going above and beyond. </div><div style="text-align: left; "> <br /></div><div style="text-align: left; ">And while he was the God of the Israelites thousands of years ago as described by Isaiah, he is also my God, with the same olive branch extended -- ready to heal, eager to restore, providing the way. I texted a portion of these verses to my friend, Kristen, earlier. A young, beautiful, single mom, recently diagnosed with MS. Faced with many overwhelming circumstances at once, this promise in Isaiah is hers. Healing will come as will comfort and guidance from a God tender enough to be involved in her details. </div><div style="text-align: left; "> <br /></div><div style="text-align: left; ">May his guidance, peace, and healing be evident to each of us today -- finding us marked by this backwards, compelling God and ready to restore.</div><div style="text-align: left; "> <br /></div><div style="text-align: center; "><i>O to grace how great a debtor</i></div><div style="text-align: center; "><i>Daily I'm constrained to be!</i></div><div style="text-align: center; "><i>Let thy goodness, like a fetter,</i></div><div style="text-align: center; "><i>Bind my wandering heart to thee.</i></div><div style="text-align: center; "><i>Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it,</i></div><div style="text-align: center; "><i>Prone to leave the God I love;</i></div><div style="text-align: center; "><i>Here's my heart, O take and seal it,</i></div><div style="text-align: center; "><i>Seal it for thy courts above.</i></div><div style="text-align: center; "><i> <br /></i></div><div style="text-align: left;">I mean, what if?</div><div style="text-align: center;"><i> <br /></i></div></div></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2097154971102890889-1750886236258098467?l=imeanwhatif.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03964906078942541451noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2097154971102890889.post-91119298711815743582011-04-10T11:41:00.000-07:002011-04-10T11:44:11.070-07:00<span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:tahoma, times, serif;"><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; display: inline !important; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Last week, I was emailing back and forth with a friend. She was expressing an area in her life causing frustration while simultaneously trying to talk herself, or perhaps more accurately, bible verse herself, out of her hurt feelings.</span></span></div></span></i></div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">As I read her circumstance and also her determination to not be affected by it, I was reminded of myself. How I often convinced myself to not feel the full extent of a situation, but instead rely on my knowledge of spiritual jargon to keep the inner peace -- mistakenly and pridefully believing my knowledge alone should preserve me from injury. I would even rationalize that if I admitted feeling hurt, jealousy, despair, etc., then I probably didn't believe my neat little answers. </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; display: inline !important; "><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; display: inline !important; "><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; display: inline !important; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Leaving me unraveled. Exposed even.</span></span></div></span></i></div></span></i></div></span></i></div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; display: inline !important; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div></span></i></div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; display: inline !important; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">No thank you.</span></span></div></span></i></div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">And as I implemented this defunct, circular line of reasoning, I unknowingly built a prideful fortress of biblical mantras and self sufficiency, and audaciously claimed it as God's protection of my confused heart. </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; display: inline !important; "><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; display: inline !important; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Yet in reality, it was just my own flawed defense that kept me looking like a nice enough girl but in essence, I was a thief bent on robbing </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; display: inline !important; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">myself of real, compelling life. A slow, festering wound I was; unwilling to get past myself to heal.</span></span></div></span></i></div></span></i></div></span></i></div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Laboring towards wholeness has always been the story of redemption. While limping around as a fractured facade of sufficiency is the same old worn out saga of deception. A </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">repressed</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> and continuous beating of sorts.</span></span></div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Thankfully though, somewhere along the line, I decided to stop beating myself. After some years of </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">subconsciously </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">hating my own guts, combined with numerous failed self pep talks, spiraling circumstances, wise professional counsel, and friends and family that have wisdom well beyond mine, I learned to extend grace to even a wretch like me. And since grace tends to evoke feeling, I learned to feel fully, even, if it felt quite horrible.</span></span></div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I decided identifying with Christ mandates feeling. </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; display: inline !important; "><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; display: inline !important; "><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; display: inline !important; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Even the scary, </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">uncontrollable</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> ones I try desperately to avoid. Which, incidentally, are the ones that often make me most </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">relatable</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">, most honest, most real -- most like him. </span></span></div></span></i></div></span></i></div></span></i><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; display: inline !important; "><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; display: inline !important; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">For he felt deeply. Far beyond my own limitations in fact, and experienced the heights of ecstatic joy mingled with the excruciating depths of anguish.</span></span></div></span></i></div></span></i></div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; display: inline !important; "><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; display: inline !important; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div></span></i></div></span></i></div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; display: inline !important; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">And I can't escape his call to be like him.</span></span></div></span></i></div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; display: inline !important; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div></span></i></div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">My email response to my friend that follows was a needed exercise for myself in articulating truth that after years of defensiveness God graciously settled on my own heart and mind:</span></span></div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">"...it is </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">OK</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> to feel though...remember that. You can feel disappointed or mad...God knows...I just always have to remind myself it's what I do with the feelings that matter...so when I get frustrated or fearful or insecure or disappointed...do I let those feelings identify me or do I let Christ identify me? Unfortunately, it is sometimes the former...but in God's steadiness and grace...I am growing more and more to where I know my home is the latter...it's Christ...not insecurity...nor fear...or jealously...or even my sick, sneaky pride...it's just and thankfully him. Praying that for you now too.</span></span></i></div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></i></div><div style="text-align: center; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">...that we might be "rooted and established in love...and have the power to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the </span></span></i><span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1301952778_0" style="color: rgb(54, 99, 136); "><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">love of Christ</span></span></i></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge -- that we may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God."</span></span></i></div><div style="text-align: center; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Ephesians 3:18-19</span></span></i></div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></i></div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Wow. The fullness of God...what a pretty dress that would be. Praying we wear him well."</span></span></i></div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></i></div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Progressive </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">sanctification</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">. Or unraveling, if you will. A painfully, beautiful gift encased in the vitality of feeling.</span></span></div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Let's keep doing the work of feeling with Christ as our identity.</span></span></div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">All the fullness of God awaits</span></span></div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">And I want that more than anything.</span></span></div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">For me and for you.</span></span></div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I mean, what if?</span></span></div></span></i></div></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2097154971102890889-9111929871181574358?l=imeanwhatif.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03964906078942541451noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2097154971102890889.post-86176099970322307152011-02-10T09:50:00.000-08:002011-02-10T10:06:02.155-08:00<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Yesterday I was challenged to be identified by the things I favor. How easy it is to rant against the things that displease me. So exhaustively easy if that makes any sense. </span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Time to accentuate the positive instead of complain about what is lacking or disappointing. And this epiphany is in no way an excuse to abdicate the throne of truth telling. Clearly, truth is vital. Especially in the midst of situations that are disagreeable and compromising. Fixating on the negative, however, may very well be a slippery path towards entrapment.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">And still I fall for it. I find myself wrapped up in frustration over an issue or individual instead of choosing to see God's movement. Repeatedly even rationalizing my feelings by declaring it righteous anger and citing instances of God's frustration with his own creation. When in fact, the sentiment is actually counterproductive cynicism than anything remotely resembling righteousness. A perspective that regularly, if I'm honest, leads to folly. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:arial;">Ouch.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">To be sure, God's patience will reach a limit. But as the sun rose this morning, I am reminded that day has not arrived. How thankful I am he has been slow to anger and abounding in love with this girl -- a silly, prideful wreck. Purposefully refined every moment by a compelling compassion. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Let me look in mercy at the process of growth around me instead of choosing to dwell in the brokenness. Therein lies the chance to love him more, and I'm always a sucker for great love. </span></div></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">I want to be a woman who angers slowly, full of love and mercy, walking in thankfulness. Humbly remembering that God is not finished. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">With me or with you. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Good news indeed.</span></div></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">I mean, what if?</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">"Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things."</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Philippians 4:8 </span></i></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><br /></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2097154971102890889-8617609997032230715?l=imeanwhatif.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03964906078942541451noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2097154971102890889.post-9080428078720292062010-12-17T13:28:00.000-08:002010-12-17T15:24:32.196-08:00<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Three weeks ago, my best friend, Jourdan, married a great friend, Jeff, and it was beautiful. The engagement was fast, not even three months, but we gathered together as a community of friends and family and helped them celebrate the beginning of a marriage ten years in the making. And God was there. </span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">He was there in the laughter, the songs, the creativity, the words, the beauty, the errands, the food, the prayers, the dancing, the tears, and the ten year process of joining a man and a woman in spite of themselves -- for his glory. What I witnessed three weeks ago, God did. He just did. And everyone in attendance could sense it. The presence of God hovered on a cold, November night and reminded us all of his tender sovereignty, and our hearts were warmed.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">When Jourdan walked down the aisle that night, she was indeed radiant. Aglow from the inside out, peaceful, expectant, breathtakingly beautiful, filled with inexpressible joy -- and her community agreed and broke out in spontaneous applause. We clapped and whistled and yelled as she walked with her daddy to finally meet her groom. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">I have never experienced that at a wedding, but our hearts were united in joy as this part of Jourdan and Jeff's journey ended at the altar as the two became one. What a picture of redemption. Of the larger narrative. Perhaps, one day the angels will sit on either side of the aisle and watch the church, washed clean and radiant, walk down that aisle to finally rest in the God who sees her -- who has always seen her. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">And like the guests at Jourdan and Jeff's wedding, the angels will undoubtedly celebrate. For they, like us, have observed the journey -- twisted and heavy at times, yet now sensing the imminence of completion. And they become overjoyed in anticipation of a long awaited conclusion. My mind is limited as to what that will sound like --- perhaps peace, love, hope, perseverance and joy blending into a score that will move us assuredly toward our groom and prompt us to exhale at long last as we gaze transfixed at the one who has chosen us.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Thank you Jeff and Jourdan for letting us do life with you through your journey. Even the twisted and heavy parts. For those parts allowed us to celebrate more fully and glimpse the compassionate grace of the God who saw fit for you to walk towards him together in this life as he patiently awaits his own bride. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">And Jourdan, your John 2:11 prayer offered earlier that day was abundantly answered on your special night. The wedding absolutely uncovered his glory and many of us there believe him a little bit more because of that sacred time together. May it be even more so as you strive together in marriage.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, serif;">Love you both.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">I mean, what if?</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'Charis SIL', charis, Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">"What Jesus did here in Cana of Galilee was the first of the signs through which he revealed his glory; and his disciples believed in him." </span></span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">John 2:11</span></span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" font-style: normal; "></span></span></span></i></p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, charis, Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">For a more detailed description of Jourdan and Jeff's journey, check out their story at </span></span><a href="http://web.mac.com/jeffjohnsonband/iWeb/Burks-JohnsonWedding/About%20Us.html"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">http://web.mac.com/jeffjohnsonband/iWeb/Burks-JohnsonWedding/About%20Us.html</span></span></a></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></span></span></div></i></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, charis, Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"></span></span><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, charis, Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></i></span></p><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2097154971102890889-908042807872029206?l=imeanwhatif.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03964906078942541451noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2097154971102890889.post-74922302038943806542010-10-31T10:02:00.000-07:002010-10-31T10:53:41.939-07:00<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">My sins are before me</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">The looseness of my mouth</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">The lust of my flesh</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">The pride of my heart</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">I am reminded of who you are</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Of your holiness and of my haughty </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">obstinance</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">And so your grace means much today</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Saving a wretch like me</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Make me a woman ready to encourage instead of criticize</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Ready to listen rather than rambling hollow words </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Soaked in insecurity and deceptive pride</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">That I might hear</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Then filter</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Then encourage</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Becoming a glimmer of redemption</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Instead of compounding brokenness</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">And adding to foolishness</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Root my words in silence</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">In wisdom</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">In humble confidence</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:arial, serif;">On earth as it is in heaven</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">I mean, what if?</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><i>"Reckless words </i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><i>pierce</i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><i> like a sword, but the tongue of the wise brings healing."</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><i>Proverbs 12:18</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><i>"She speaks with wisdom, and faithful instruction is on her tongue."</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><i>Proverbs 31:26</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><br /></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2097154971102890889-7492230203894380654?l=imeanwhatif.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03964906078942541451noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2097154971102890889.post-15025691705070077812010-08-04T13:51:00.000-07:002010-08-06T13:29:02.215-07:00<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><div><br /></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">In just a few days, God is shifting my path to Africa again. To the Sudan more specifically. Yep. I will head to DFW airport on Monday afternoon, meet up with my eight team members in the sleek international terminal, and we will travel to the beautiful, but long-suffering continent of Africa.</span></span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">While I have a few ideas of what awaits, I go with little expectation. A fresh canvas in my mind for God to create his story. To be sure, we go ready to impart the hope of Christ to a war weary people, but I have this odd sense, that I am going simply to be present. To look in the eyes of those dark, soulful faces and just remember them. Remember their stories. Remember their hope. Remember how they choose joy over circumstance. Remember we are indeed family. And to remember that there is a life we are called to live that is so far past our often binding comforts. A life that is not necessarily safe or easy, but very good. And immensely purposeful. And worth the risk.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">While flipping through my journal the other day, I came across an entry from December 10, 2009. One of the lines simply said "...send me to another nation in 2010." And He is. To a place and a people I am humbled to see and serve. Theirs is a pain I cannot fully comprehend, which initially made me question my usefulness on this trip. But nearly in the same breath, I remembered the Christ I have come to know. This savior that redeems, heals, and restores -- </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">from anything</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">. And while I do not understand the specific sufferings of the Sudanese, I am familiar with the hope of Christ, and stubbornly but gratefully realized somewhere along my path that He is enough. Not just for a white girl living in Dallas, TX, but also, and perhaps even more so, for the oppressed people of Sudan. He just is.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">If you get this far and are inclined to pray, my team and I would love that. Pray unity, selflessness, and a great love for each other and those we serve. Pray physical health and stamina. Pray joy over and through us. Pray we would be fully present in each moment. Pray we would not forget.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">These final words that follow, I wrote in a blog entry from last year but seem almost hauntingly appropriate again: Let us </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">draw near to Christ in such a way that our ears would hear the groans around us, our eyes would risk looking at people and then loving them, and our lives would become his patient relief. </span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">A beautiful wrecking approaches. </span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I mean, what if?</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px; "><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">"...seek justice, encourage the oppressed. Defend the cause of the fatherless, plead the case of the widow."</span></span></i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px; "><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Isaiah 1:17</span></span></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, serif;font-size:100%;color:#333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 20px;font-size:13px;"><br /></span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-size:13px;"><div class="post-body entry-content" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0.75em; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.6em; "><div style="clear: both; "></div></div><div class="post-footer" style="margin-top: 0.75em; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0.75em; margin-left: 0px; color: rgb(153, 153, 153); text-transform: uppercase; letter-spacing: 0.1em; font: normal normal normal 78%/normal 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 1.4em; "></div></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2097154971102890889-1502569170507007781?l=imeanwhatif.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03964906078942541451noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2097154971102890889.post-58159755826545310312010-07-07T08:42:00.000-07:002010-07-07T10:00:53.885-07:00<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><div><br /></div>So today is my birthday. And I find myself in tears. But these are good tears. In fact, a couple of years ago, I cried on my birthday but they were tears of desperation. Of wondering what in the world was happening with my life. Of succumbing to feelings of total insignificance. Which in hindsight was absolutely untrue, but I couldn't, or possibly wouldn't, see past myself in those moments. </span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Conversely, today, I find myself crying with gratitude. I am overwhelmed by the kind thoughts and words of people on my path, and I cannot believe God would choose me to sprinkle his life on anyone else. But he has. Surely a gift of immeasurable proportion. If it were only one other person that would be incredible, but he has somehow allowed jacked up me to be life to many over the years. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Foolishness of the gospel indeed. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Please know, I type this in as much humility as my sanctification will afford me thus far. Not in arrogance. I just find myself staggered that I get to live a hopelessly flawed life and somehow God makes something lovely with it. Fragrant even. For others. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">And while too many of my moments I surrender to accusation, brutalizing myself with how I failed someone else or was either too much or not enough in a situation -- today, on my birthday, God has been especially tender with me. He has given me eyes to see how he is making all new in me, but even more surreal, through me. An allowance I pray he will bind to my heart and forehead to combat my impending times of forgetfulness.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">If you are reading this, thank you for gracefully allowing the Christ in me to be life, if even for a moment. For in these small moments, I gratefully recognize the measure of this gift. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Thank you, Jesus, for being my life. In both hope and heartbreak, abundance and little. You really are the God who sees me. May this year find me moving in wisdom and grace with open hands, spilled out. Giving, receiving, laughing, and loving in a way that dispels the dark and perhaps even compels others to do the same.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Christ in me, the hope of glory.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">And you too. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Let's be life today.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">I mean, what if?</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">"For we do not preach ourselves, but Jesus Christ as Lord, and ourselves as your servants for Jesus' sake. For God, who said, "Let light shine out of darkness," made his light shine in our hearts to give us the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Christ. But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all surpassing power if from God and not from us."</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">2 Corinthians 4:5-7</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><br /></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2097154971102890889-5815975582654531031?l=imeanwhatif.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03964906078942541451noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2097154971102890889.post-41854972961778137092010-05-18T11:21:00.000-07:002010-05-21T13:02:09.587-07:00<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">For whatever reason, I get the opportunity to do life with some amazing women. I'm not sure how I happened upon this hand, but I am increasingly aware of the unmerited gift that it is to glean from the wisdom of women of all ages, backgrounds, and experiences. Their unique stories continually make me better, while their joy gives me great hope, and their silliness encourages my own -- which I'm convinced is </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">always</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"> a good thing.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">On Tuesday nights, I meet with an assortment of gals for a couple of hours each week. While girls have come and gone from the group over the years, each leaving their special imprint of the Christ in them on all of us, for the past several months, we have come to a place of consistency among those that are attending. There are probably around ten of us that are faithful to come and although we are all around the same age range, give or take five years or so, we are vastly different. Married, single, pregnant, new moms, single moms, heartbroken, frustrated, peaceful, content, satisfied and dissatisfied in current jobs -- we run the spectrum.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">The purpose of our Tuesday night time together has always been to open the Bible together, and allow the words to settle on us and hopefully spark some reflection and transformation. Sometimes this happens just though reading a specific passage aloud, but often it's through each other's perspectives and experiences that we are challenged to become more like the women God perhaps originally intended.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">A few weeks ago we found ourselves at the beginning of 1 Peter, and I had the responsibility of </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">facilitating</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"> that week as we waded through Peter's words in chapter one. My beautifully vibrant friend, Brandy, had challenged us to read 1 Peter by asking ourselves "how do the verses give us direction in our role as Christ following women?" So as I sat down that Tuesday afternoon to prepare for the evening with that question running through my mind, God very kindly met me and directed my thoughts.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">A couple of the verses that would not quit were verses 3 and 4 excerpted below:</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">"...He has given us new birth into a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Christ</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"> from the dead, and into an inheritance that can never perish, spoil or fade..."</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Replaying these verses in my mind as I sat at the table with pen in hand and thinking through what those words meant for me as a woman and also for the amazing girls in my group, my thoughts interestingly began considering fears. Some are fears that are mine personally, while others are more specific to girls in my group. Regardless of who they belong to, if you are a woman especially, perhaps what came out of me through the nudging of God's spirit will resound with you too. What follows is what I scrawled out as fast as my fine point, purple Sharpie would write:</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">If I believe 1 Peter 1:3-4 is truth, then, as a woman, I have everything I need in Christ and I have GREAT hope -- no matter what.</span></i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">No matter if...</span></i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><ul><li><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">my heart is broken</span></i></li><li><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">I never marry</span></i></li><li><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">I marry a deceptive man</span></i></li><li><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">I feel alone</span></i></li><li><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">someone close to me dies</span></i></li><li><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">I never have my own children</span></i></li><li><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">my children suffer</span></i></li><li><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">my husband is unkind</span></i></li><li><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">I feel labeled and branded</span></i></li><li><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">I remain where I am </span></i></li><li><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">I go to the ends of the earth</span></i></li><li><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">I struggle financially</span></i></li><li><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">my family remains in bondage</span></i></li><li><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">I lose my health</span></i></li><li><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">I gain weight</span></i></li><li><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">my beauty is assaulted</span></i></li><li><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">I'm considered ordinary by strangers</span></i></li><li><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">I'm considered ordinary by those close</span></i></li><li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, serif;"><i>I remain a slave to the opinions of others</i></span></li><li><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">no one notices my intelligence</span></i></li><li><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">no one notices my humor</span></i></li><li><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">no one notices my hard work</span></i></li><li><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">I struggle hard the entire time I walk this earth</span></i></li><li><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Christ bids me come and die...</span></i></li></ul><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">No matter what it is we are fearful of </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">occurring</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"> on this side of eternity, as Christ followers, we have GREAT hope. We just do. An inheritance that will never perish, spoil, or fade unlike most of the things we cling to so tightly.</span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Let us be women with open hands causing fear to lose its sneaky grip and walking boldly and securely towards Christ's gracious right hand and his eternal pleasures. And perhaps our new, confident strut will cause some of the women in our lives to take notice, cast off their own fear, and come with us. I really cannot think of a better, more exciting girl road trip...</span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Cling to the great hope, it will not disappoint. It just won't.</span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></i></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">As I read this over my girl posse that Tuesday night, I knew I could not claim any of the above revelation as my own wit or reason. God gave it to me, but the cool thing was, he granted it to me through my relationships with other girls just trying to figure out how to live Christ well and with authenticity. So thank you to Kristin, Brandy, Lauren, Ashley, Andrea, Lindsay, Liz, Kristen, Jessica, and the countless other women who have chosen to walk towards Christ with us on Tuesday nights over the years. Each of you sharpen me in ways that make me laugh, that sometimes mercifully wound, but that make me little by little more like Christ. Your presence in my life reminds me that a beautiful exchange occurs when I take the risk to come and die -- I get to truly live.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Clinging to the GREAT hope that refuses to disappoint and praying for your grip as well...</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">I mean, what if?</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, serif;"><br /></span></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 261px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_k7msAW6Nc70/S_L84KN5KdI/AAAAAAAAAC4/XL6Qjs3NSrk/s320/IMG_3642.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5472714538954074578" /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2097154971102890889-4185497296177813709?l=imeanwhatif.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03964906078942541451noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2097154971102890889.post-78597155025214314802010-05-14T11:50:00.000-07:002010-05-14T12:49:11.518-07:00<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">I live in the temporal</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">In a physical reality</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">And yet my soul senses his sovereignty.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">When my actions are quieted</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">And my heart tuned to grace</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">I feel the orchestration of eternity.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Perhaps, I even hear it sometimes.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">So what appears commonplace</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Is in essence a sliver of redemption.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Reconciliation.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Wholeness.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Making all new.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">And so I rejoice in both extraordinary and mundane. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">For rich purpose inhabits both.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">That we might have eyes to see the imminence of a new heaven and new earth in all things.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">I mean, what if?</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">"Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth...He who was seated on the throne said, I am making everything new..."</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Revelation 21:1,5</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><br /></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2097154971102890889-7859715502521431480?l=imeanwhatif.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03964906078942541451noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2097154971102890889.post-5400712020603845082010-01-11T21:33:00.000-08:002010-01-11T21:40:04.454-08:00<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><div>I belong to another.</div></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">To Christ.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">The one my heart loves with limited sight.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Even in depravity and through my idols.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Even when I have no awareness of Him.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">He saves me.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">He saves me.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">He saves me.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">And his love is deep.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Inescapable.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">His right hand holds me fast and I am thankful.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Thankful for his valiant protection.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">For teaching me that in his presence alone resides the fullness of joy.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">And fighting for me to grasp more of his glory with all of my life.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Through intense joy and severe pain, He is worth it.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">He explains why I forget myself in grandeur, </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">And my carnal flesh longs for greatness.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">His presence continually beckons and is alone worthy of all energy.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Of all fame.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Not me.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Not me.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Not me.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">As I walk through life enclosed by skin,</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Remind me of your steadfast hold. Your right hand.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">And why it is there.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Because, while maddening, my heart will forget.</span></div></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Let me be consumed by you.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">More of you.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Grow yourself, dear Christ.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Grow your glory through me. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">And your hope.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Establishing your work of my hands.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">For yours is the kingdom</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">The power.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">And the glory -- </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Forever.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">I mean, what if?</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">"So, my brothers and sisters, you also died to the law through the body of Christ, that you might belong to another, to him who was raised from the dead, in order that we might bear fruit to God."</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, serif; font-style: italic; ">Romans 7:4</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><br /></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2097154971102890889-540071202060384508?l=imeanwhatif.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03964906078942541451noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2097154971102890889.post-27720294038015320982009-10-23T18:04:00.000-07:002009-10-23T23:36:00.420-07:00<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">"Before I formed you...I knew you..."</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Jeremiah 1:5</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">He knows me well.  <br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">He maps out the lines in the palm of my hand and traces them with eternity.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">He instructs my freckles when to appear and hides them again with his seasons.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">He paints my eyes from his infinite pallet and captivates them with creation.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">He dictates the details of each vital breath and blankets me with his rest.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">When my spirit is light and my step has kick -- He sees.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">When my heart is moved by the sound of melodies -- He knows.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">When my mind is numbed by my own selfishness -- He is not finished.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">When my soul grieves deeply and despair encroaches -- He is not without purpose.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">For He knows me well.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">And set me apart.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">And raised me up.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">With much intention.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Be known.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Be really known.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Purpose resides there.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">So does power.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">And a glimpse of a love that never fails.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I mean, what if?</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">"But I have raised you up for this very purpose, that I might show you my power and that my name might be proclaimed in all the earth."</span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Exodus 9:16</span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></span></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2097154971102890889-2772029403801532098?l=imeanwhatif.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03964906078942541451noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2097154971102890889.post-36951728816816253062009-10-11T11:20:00.000-07:002009-10-13T09:41:33.109-07:00<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><div>I love words. I love the challenge of putting them together in a way that inspires reaction. Consequently, those that do this well, often inspire me -- or at least their words do.<br /></div></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Yesterday, Jourdan, my organized roommate, was performing her quarterly note purging ceremony. I'm not exactly sure what elements this ceremony entails but it has something to do with her sifting through old notes and mail, keeping the items that are still meaningful, and tossing those that are no longer relevant. Then I think she performs a ritual trash dance and closes with the <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">Sevenfold Amen</span> while blowing a kiss to Jesus and lighting a candle for each note she sends packing...or something along those lines.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Anyway, at some point during the day, Jourdan emerged with a note I had written her probably about a year and a half ago. It had survived past note purgings and looked like it was going to stay in the "meaningful" stack. She handed it to me and said "Here is a note you left me a while back, it was a good one and I continue to keep it." To which the insecure, affirmation addicted self inside of me replied with something like, "Aren't they all good ones??!" Gaaaaahhhh. I am exhausting and am putting myself in timeout as I type.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">When I took the note from her, I looked at the card, written on some old, personalized stationary, and as I opened it up, I remembered. Inside were words that were not my own, but a quote from Rob Bell that had caught my attention once upon a time.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">It was late one weeknight, about 18-20 months ago. The roomies were already snoozing and I was reading a book and honestly just wanted to go to sleep. But the words I just read were resonating with me and making me think of Jourdan's situation at the time. So I found a card, grabbed one of my millions of beloved, colored, fine-point sharpies and scribbled out the quote in my asianesque print. Here is the card in it's entirety:</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Read the quote below and thought of you:</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">"...life is messy. Gut wrenching. Risky. Things don't always turn out well. Sometimes they don't turn out at all. Sometimes everything falls apart and we wonder if there's any point to any of it. We're tempted to shut ourselves off, fortify the walls around our hearts, and forge ahead, promising ourselves that we will never open ourselves up like that again. But I have to believe that we can recover from anything. I have to believe that God can put anything - anyone - back together. I have to believe that the God Jesus invites us to trust is as good as he says he is. Loving. Forgiving. Merciful. Full of Grace."</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" font-style: italic;font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Rob Bell</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Praying you can believe Him a little more each day. Love you.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">And that was the card. What is significant about this quote is not that I was so thoughtful to think of Jourdan during her pain because I am keenly aware that no goodness in me exists apart from Christ. At best, I am a self absorbed train wreck. What is cool though, is that God would remind me, through words His spirit prompted me to write down for someone else close to two years ago, who He really is. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">When I scratched out that card late in the night, things were going well for me. I was working purposefully, involved in a healthy relationship, and walking confidently. Since then, much has changed. God challenged me with my own pain and doubt by taking away most of the "knowns" in my life. And during this period, I often found myself doubting his goodness. Or at least, his goodness to me. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Thankfully, I learned that His restoration is real. And while I don't know much else, I do know this. He absolutely brings recovery and He does put us back together -- from anything. From the darkest evil occuring to children in brothels worldwide to the numbing apathy induced by self absorption I encounter daily. He can rescue me. He can remind me of his goodness. He can make me ready to risk again. And while it may turn out messy and painful, I know this time around, it will not undo me. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Perhaps what struck me in Rob Bell's quote was the realness of it. The reality that life really is not for us. But God is. That little card reminded me how God planned for Jourdan and I, through our own experiences, to know him for<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"> ourselves</span> a little more each day. Wow. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">And He really is as good as He says He is. Even though my life in no way resembles our culture's formula for success. I know He is good. To you, but to me as well. Which is much of the battle. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Praying you, wherever this finds you, can believe Him for<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"> you</span> a little more each day.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">I mean, what if?</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_k7msAW6Nc70/StO8iDJnd0I/AAAAAAAAACo/gDc4__Lbxf4/s320/IMG_3419.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391860472039831362" /></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2097154971102890889-3695172881681625306?l=imeanwhatif.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03964906078942541451noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2097154971102890889.post-40703286068003344322009-08-31T21:39:00.000-07:002009-08-31T22:21:50.273-07:00<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><div>He does not need me.  <br /></div></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">Yet he chooses to pursue me.  </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">All of me.  </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">My heart.  </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">My mind.  </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">My being. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">He captivates.  </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">He takes hold.  </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">He never lets go.  </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">And a beautiful thing happens.  </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">In him, I begin to live.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">To move.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">To have my being.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">All that I thought was lost, is not.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">I am completely found.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; ">And known.</span><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; ">And he allows me to be like him.</span><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">In his purity.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">His compassion.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">His love.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">His justice.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">His grace.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">His laughter.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">His pain.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">His movement.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">His mission.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">And like the woman caught in adultery, </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">He dusts me off,</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">Looks in my eyes,</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">and says "Now go, and sin no more."</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">And I finally begin to get it.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">His grace crashes into me.  </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">Undeserved but finally accepted.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">And all things are new.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">And I begin to run well,</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">For I am learning the source of my breath.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">Breathe deeply of grace. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">Run purposefully.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">Found in him.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">I mean, what if?</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">"For in Him we live and move and have our being..."</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">Acts 17:28</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2097154971102890889-4070328606800334432?l=imeanwhatif.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03964906078942541451noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2097154971102890889.post-25201495185680086192009-07-26T21:22:00.000-07:002009-07-26T23:56:25.129-07:00<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><div><br /></div>Well hi there.  It certainly has been a while, and that is all my fault. This is a blog.  This is not an essay writing contest, a novel, a magazine, or even a final paper for a class.  Yet, perhaps I have been treating it as such.  While several ideas have gone through my mind to share over the last several months, the pressure I subtly place on myself to make my thoughts perfectly cohesive and/or inspiring made procrastination the most enticing choice.  Dumb.  I know. So to alleviate my self-induced pressure and use this forum as an appropriate form of simple expression, I will tell you a tale of some potentially notorious, Highland Park Clowns.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Earlier this evening, Jourdan, Kristen and I were driving through Highland Park back to our apartment in Dallas.  For those of you not familiar with the Dallas area, Highland Park is what I like to call F</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">ancyland</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">.  The homes are elaborate, the cars are shiny, and high-maintenance personal grooming is expected. Highland Park is about as diverse as Barbie, Ken, and their friends, minus the ethnic dolls. Honestly, it's an area of town I do not fully understand, but is fascinating nonetheless.  </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">As we drove down Lovers Lane, chatting randomly, we somehow got on the topic of clowns and their cars and I can't exactly recall how, but the conversation took a delightfully silly turn and somehow morphed into a scheme. At one point in our clown </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">convo</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">, Kristen asked what we imagined when we thought of a clown car.  The general </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">consensus</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"> was an old model, </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">VW</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"> bug type car, perhaps painted pink with all sorts of bright, flower decals.  Jourdan made the point that the horn would probably honk a tune like the Entertainer or some other </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">circusy</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"> sounding song.  Kristen, said she imagined a red clown nose on the hood.  I asked if we could upgrade our clown car to a clown van, and have an old, pink, flowery </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">VW</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"> bus complete with silly honk noises and a squeaky red nose.  They both agreed.  </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">As we were laughing about clowns and wondering how the stereotypical clown in our minds became, in fact, the stereotypical clown (I mean, who decided huge red, clown shoes were funny, and why is it only socially acceptable for clowns to wear them?), somewhere between those thoughts, Jourdan piped in with a great idea.  She said, "I keep laughing to myself, imagining the three of us dressed in full-on traditional clown gear while driving our </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">VW</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"> clown van around Highland Park, making it our mission to bring some momentary joy through the squeak of our noses, a clever clown skit, or our multi-colored </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">afro</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"> wigs."  She went on to say, "I'm trying to think of ways that we could pull this off in Highland Park where the majority of folks there would most likely perceive "clowning" as disruptive to their orderly neighborhood, but because we were not breaking any laws, could do nothing about it."  </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">So we began to laugh and plan ways to become the Notorious Highland Park Clowns.  Much of this scheme included driving our clown van slowly down the manicured neighborhood streets, looking for someone who needed some "happy", and cheering folks up with the squeak of our noses, the clown songs we would sing from our pink, </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">VW</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">, clown bus with the windows down and our colorful, synthetic, </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">afros</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"> blowing in the breeze, and the way we would get out and run around our bus, chasing each other at stoplights while wearing our bright, polka dotted baggy </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">clown suits</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Although many in "</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Fancyland</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">" may initially complain that we are disruptive and an eyesore and strive to send the clowns packing, we never break any laws, and consequently cannot be touched.  Our days of clowning continue happily in the pink </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">VW</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"> bus as we bring some color to the HP, and eventually the pretty folks there begin to warm to us and perhaps even like us! </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">If this whole plot were a movie however, of course there would have to be one character who is always trying to thwart our clown antics.  A fancy older lady perhaps, who is mortified to hear that her three handsome sons are falling in love with the three refreshingly unusual, clown girls.  But in the end, after the fancy mom tries to throw water on us, but to her frustration, realizes that only makes witches, not clowns, melt, the clown love prevails.  The three handsome sons marry the three delightful clowns in a lovely joint wedding planned by Jourdan. And in true clown fashion, the bridal bouquets were actually decoys for our super-</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">soakers</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"> because everybody knows flowers that squirt water are hilarious :)</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Oh, and the fancy mom finally comes to her senses after a heartfelt moment with the clowns, when we take off our makeup, wigs, and costumes and reveal our true identities.  She realizes that, in the end, she and the clown girls are not so different after all.  And she also, has a plastic nose - just not the red, </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">clowny</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"> kind - but plastic nonetheless.  </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">So if you are ever driving through Highland Park, be on the lookout for a pink, </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">VW</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"> clown bus with three </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">afro</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">ed gals stopping every so often to clown on folks. It just might be those Notorious Highland Park Clowns...</span><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">I mean, what if?</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">"A cheerful look brings joy to the heart..."</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Proverbs 15:30</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2097154971102890889-2520149518568008619?l=imeanwhatif.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03964906078942541451noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2097154971102890889.post-14684823421254929442009-05-09T21:04:00.000-07:002009-05-10T17:27:22.938-07:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_k7msAW6Nc70/SgaQQI5iboI/AAAAAAAAACQ/LkwBI1oLFG0/s1600-h/IMG_0899.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 234px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_k7msAW6Nc70/SgaQQI5iboI/AAAAAAAAACQ/LkwBI1oLFG0/s320/IMG_0899.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334109415608053378" /></a><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:arial;">I thought I would give a little shout out to my mom on this day we pause to honor mothers.  </span><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Her name is Joy and I always tell folks that she wears her name well.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">When I consider my mom, I think of her laugh, which tends to sound more on the cackle side of laughter.  It's a laugh that sets her apart for sure and a laugh that God gave her that has helped her both endure and persevere.  </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">When I was younger and living at home, I could hear my mom's laugh, no matter where I was in the house, from her laundry folding station in my parents room at something silly on TV (most likely Mama's Family re-runs, on TBS).  I also remember very clearly, making my mom laugh when I was in 3rd grade after reading her a ridiculous tale I created when I had to write a story using all of my spelling words.  It felt really good to make her laugh her loud, distinct laugh -- and it still does :).  </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Mom has the type of laugh that is contagious, which sometimes drove me crazy when I wanted to pout and be mad.  As much as I tried to be fussy in those situations, her laugh usually got the best of me and I would eventually crack a smile and my drama would quickly subside. One day, I plan on using this clever trick with my own, most-likely ridiculously, dramatic kids.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">While I unfortunately, do not bear the distinction of the sound of her laugh, I do love to laugh and am thankful my mom instilled her laughter in me and my sisters.  After losing her husband (my father) to cancer when she was still in her twenties with two babies to raise, my strong mama, came away from the depths of that loss with an infectious laugh rooted in an eternal joy -- and she wears it beautifully.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Besides her laughter, when I think of my mom, I can never escape her southern accent.  And if I am telling other people something that she said to me, I typically fall into impersonation mode.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">My mom was born and raised in the panhandle of Florida, and except for a few years in Georgia and Texas, has lived there her entire life. For those of you not familiar with the culture of Northwest Florida, think southern Alabama, </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Mississippi</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">, and Georgia instead of </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">blingin</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">' Miami or West Palm.  It's a place where airbrush is common, mullets are still a viable style at many local barber shops, grits are always a good side choice, and southern accents are just the norm. And my mom has a great one.  It's slow, drawn out, and perfect to imitate.  In fact, I have had several friends over the years who have taken a stab at "</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Miz</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"> Joy's" voice because they have heard voicemail messages that go something like this: "</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Haaay</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Saaaaruh</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">.  This is </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">yooor</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Maaaawmuuuh</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">..." or have witnessed the accent firsthand.  </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">A couple of years ago, my sisters, dad, and brother-in-law were in </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Destin</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"> around lunch time and we were looking for somewhere to eat. My mom said "how about the </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">burritah</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"> place?" Needless to say, we all had a field day with "</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">burrituh</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">" and I think she secretly hopes we forget that one.  I have a pretty good feeling we won't  and I might even use it for a future kid (lil' baby Burritah) -- or at least a dog or fish name :)</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">For those of you who do not know my </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">mawmuh</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">, she is lovely, smart, creative, perceptive and funny. Rest assured, a southern accent does not equal dumbness.  In my mom's case, it just makes her even more charming, memorable, and awesome.  It would be absolutely strange and exceedingly boring if my </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">mawmuh</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"> talked like a news anchor.  </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Hopefully, this post has given you a tiny glimpse of my mom.  While her laughter and accent make her uniquely "Joy",  it has been her deep faith, abiding love, and steadfast joy that have made it an honor and a gift to be her daughter.  In both loss and abundance, she has always known whose she is, and is creating a legacy worth celebrating and repeating.  </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">I love you maw</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">muh</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">.  Thanks for loving me well and for your continual support even though I make decisions that possibly make you antsy and even when I say "</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">burrituh</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">" perhaps one too many times :).</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">And another quick shout out to all of the other "</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">mawmuh</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">" figures in my life with whom God has seen fit to cross our paths either a while ago or more recently. Disclaimer: this does not mean you are old enough to actually be my mom, it just means you have loved me with your wisdom, your generosity, your humor, your home, your food, and the way you continue to believe in the Christ in me, especially during the seasons when I could not.  </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Now imagine I am talking in a pageant, hostess voice: "In no particular order, these are the incredible </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">mawmuh</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"> figures that I love, that make me better, and are all deserving of the "</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Mawmuh</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"> Figure of the Year 2009" award:  Beth </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Tomlinson</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">, Cindy Harris, Julie Ware, Barbara Burks, Melissa Nichols, Lisa Sawyers, Kelly Evans, Jenny </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Pruett</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">, Kimberly </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Coatney</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">, Shelley Lucas, Mindy Beams, Amy Latham, Sheila Everett, Jessica Howard, </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Beyonce</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">, Chris Martin, Jeff the Purple Wiggle, the Manatee at the Dallas Aquarium, Izzy Stevens, Blanche my fish, the cat calling lady in the apartment below us, the Somalian Pirates, and </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Tyra</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"> Banks."  </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Perhaps you can figure out who actually made the top 14 :)</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">To my </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">mawmuh</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"> and my </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">mawmuh</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"> figures on this mother's day: </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">"Mercy, peace, and love be yours in abundance."  </span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Jude 1:2</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Love you!</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2097154971102890889-1468482342125492944?l=imeanwhatif.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03964906078942541451noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2097154971102890889.post-32650017247162561572009-04-10T09:28:00.000-07:002009-04-10T11:22:54.516-07:00<div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">"The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit."</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Psalm 34:18</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Last fall, I worked in a corporate office as a project manager for a brief, three-month stint.  One of the projects I was always eager to manage was making the coffee in the morning.  I enjoyed having a task to focus on which I knew would result in happiness for the staff and also keep me busy with minimal human interaction until I was more fully awake.  One morning as I picked up the glass jar that held the coffee beans, to my surprise and extreme frustration, it slipped right through my hands and shattered into hundreds of tiny shards all over the laminate floor.  Nothing of the old form could be salvaged. Every part of the container was now trash.  And a few days later, the old glass container that had served its bean holding purpose well, was replaced with a sturdier, plastic canister.  The glass jar had been adequate but the plastic canister turned out to be a better option for an office environment.  It was tougher, lighter, handier, and more accessible.  And yet, I never would have realized the greatness of the replacement if it were not for the shock of brokenness.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Frequently, I find myself trying to avoid brokenness, or at the least, the appearance of it.  It leaves me exposed, humiliated, and needy - none of which sound very attractive.  And yet Christ, in his counter-cultural way, has been most apparent during my times of complete brokenness.  While enduring periods of great loss and disappointment, his gospel becomes experienced truth to me and no longer a learned religion.  Jesus draws near, and he so mercifully becomes my own.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Most often, I realize my intense need for Christ in my shattered piles of mess rather than when life is lived in the confines of my control.  A death occurs, a relationship ends, a job is lost, a disease detected - in those times where I can no longer strategically manage my life, I need to know that the God of the universe will see my shards, pick me up, and create something stronger.  His nearness and mercy hover in my brokenness, as he is faithful to fix my eyes on him and rescue me once again from the binds of my limited perspective.  </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">If you currently find yourself in a place of brokenness, or when you do in the future, embrace his nearness and wait for him to lift your head (Psalm 3:3). Wait for him to make you stronger (Isaiah 40:31).  Wait for him to give you the best from what appears to be shattered and only good for refuse (Isaiah 60:17). As you consider drawing near to the Lord as Easter approaches, remember that Christ came to bind up the brokenhearted (Isaiah 61:1).  And the cross was, and still is, the perfect, healing bandage for our broken shards.  Take comfort in knowing that restoration rises from brokenness and that resurrection is imminent.  Sunday <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">is</span> coming, my friends.  It just is.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">"See, I am doing a new thing!  Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?  I am making a way in the desert and streams in the wasteland."</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Isaiah 43:19</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2097154971102890889-3265001724716256157?l=imeanwhatif.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03964906078942541451noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2097154971102890889.post-86894074872499612232009-04-07T22:26:00.000-07:002009-04-08T10:06:09.496-07:00<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">"This is how God showed his love among us:  He sent his one and only Son into the world that we might live through him.  This is love: not that we loved God, but that he loved us and sent his Son as an atoning sacrifice for our sins.  Dear friends, since God so loved us, we also ought to love one another.  No one has ever seen God; but if we love one another, God lives in us and his love is made complete in us."<br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">1 John 4:9-12</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Sometimes it takes a theme ushered in by a circumstance for me to sense the nearness of God. Of all the themes of life out there that persuade me to recognize God coming near, love would have to be at the top of the list.  </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">I heard a musician perform a song he wrote the other day and the chorus said "I'm just better in love."  Those words resonated with me and I thought, "yep, me too."  The times in my life when God gifts me with someone to very specifically love and I actually jump in without worry of the outcome and just love lavishly, I detect without a doubt the nearness of God.  I sense his pleasure because no matter if the object of my love returns it in a reciprocal way, or in any way for that matter, I am identifying with Christ in his character. He <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">is</span> love (1 John 4:16).  No matter what I do or do not do, he <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">remains</span> love.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">For this season of my life I find my heart a little worn from loving in obedience, loving fully, and loving in a way that considered another better only to have it end in seeming disappointment. And yet, to identify with Christ is to take the risk to love even when it is messy. The cross, the most beautifully tragic example of perfect love, was heart-wrenchingly messy.  My imperfect attempts at sacrificial love will always be tattered and unruly, my heart will always run the risk of being worn, but my joy will be complete.  And despite the wounds a heart will most likely incur when loving fully, I can say on this messy, frustrated, and disappointed side of my own circumstance, it was and is worth it.  His nearness hovers in unhindered love and it absolutely hovers in the aftermath.  His love makes the best kind of fool (1 Corinthians 1:18) and I am just better in it.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">As we contemplate the nearness of God, consider his love.  For many of us, it's the love story that draws us to Him.  He found you worth it to go to the cross. To be broken, bruised, and literally tattered for you and his ultimate glory.  If you know this Christ, his love covers you completely. Even now, I sense his love crawling up over my skin and reminding me that love is<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"> </span>worth the risk. Love is worth feeling like a failure, it's worth rejection, and it is <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">always</span> worth someone else seeing a picture of Christ that beckons them to lose their lives so they might really find it.  </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Draw near to God in his love.  When Paul said in 1 Corinthians 13 that "love never fails", even when earthly relationships seem contrary to that line of reason, I absolutely know Paul was right. Love never does fail.  The circumstance may look differently than anticipated but his love through us does not fail.  </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Take the scary risk to be fully known in His love and to love unhindered.  His nearness is found there, it pushes us forward, and it absolutely sustains.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Consider the depth of Christ's love and let if find you.  While foolish to our self-preserving nature, within it lies transformation and nearness to the God of the universe -- and I am convinced, we are <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">all</span> just better in it.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">"Love never fails..."</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">1 Corinthians 13:8</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2097154971102890889-8689407487249961223?l=imeanwhatif.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03964906078942541451noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2097154971102890889.post-30169209115399198012009-04-07T12:56:00.000-07:002009-04-07T13:23:46.823-07:00<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" font-style: italic;font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">"Draw near to God and he will draw near to you."</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">James 4:8</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">I wish I could say I wake up every morning longing to draw near to God.  Too often I am consumed with myself.  My life.  My agenda. My desires.  My confusion.  And I miss the beauty found in drawing near. Of being fully engaged with the God of the universe.  </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">As Easter approaches, the time on the cultural calendar that we are more inclined to consider our faith, it would be fitting, and hopefully even altering, to step closer to Christ and allow our eyes to be re-awakened to his movement, his heart, and his intention for all people as we realize his proximity to us.  To allow our lives to regain a footing with purpose.  And then, to walk with bold confidence in his nearness, like the beloved bride that we are.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Over the upcoming days, I plan on sharing a few instances/themes that help, and sometimes force, me to consider the presence of a vast God that is yet, so very near.  Some are practices, some are experiences, and some are choices. Each one however, have put me in a place to absolutely know God </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">is</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"> love, he </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">is </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">active, and he invites us to engage in his reconciliation movement as the earth and everything around us increasingly groans for redemption (Romans 8:22).  </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">My prayer is that these next few days of reflection would set your heart on the God that came near to redeem you.  And that you would know with fresh confidence how his blood really did set you free (Galatians 5:1).  May Easter Sunday be a new day of joy for you that has nothing to do with a large, imaginary bunny and his colorful eggs, but everything to do with the knowledge of the depth of our reconciliation.  </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Let us draw near in such a way that our ears would hear the groans around us, our eyes would risk looking at people and then loving them, and our lives would become his patient relief.          </span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2097154971102890889-3016920911539919801?l=imeanwhatif.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03964906078942541451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2097154971102890889.post-88457365173381444372009-01-26T01:19:00.000-08:002009-04-07T13:59:39.738-07:00<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">As I read over the following post, I realized the words are motivation for my present place and truth for my somewhat tattered heart.  If I seem a little passionate, it's because I am.  Hopefully the words in this entry will remind you of what is true no matter what hardship is at hand, and serve to push you forward with fixed eyes on the God who saves.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Last week was one of much reflection, much perception, and much pressing in for me.  The week started with the commemoration of Martin Luther King, Jr. on Monday.  If you do not already know, I was a history major in college and my nerdiness struts around like a peacock on such days as this.  My two roommates can both adamantly attest to this truth.  </span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">On Sunday evening, I was nerdily excited to flip to the History Channel and see a documentary covering the life of MLK.  I wish you could hear my nerd laugh impression because that was exactly what I was doing as I lucked upon the show.  Kristen began watching the beginning with me until she was falling asleep and then the following day, when Jourdan arrived home, it was, to my delight, on again, and I coerced her into watching the second half with me.  Both were good sports about my excitement but I'm sure they were wondering where my head gear and graphing calculator were to complete the totally nerdalicious scene.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">In my defense, it's not so much that I'm some History Channel junkie and have to know every random nerdy fact about really boring stuff like the electoral college or the Monroe Doctrine. It's just that since I was young, I have always been captivated by the stories of people who incited movement, both positive and negative, and how they were able to influence others to move with them towards their goal. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"> </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Martin Luther King, Jr. fits this bill.  God gave him a vision and he dedicated his life to that end. While far from perfect, his life was about bringing relief to others and I have always been intrigued by the power of his words and how God used them to bring so much hope, unity, passion, and change.  There is something about words saturated in wisdom and truth that rivet the soul.  King knew what it meant to let God use his voice.  He knew what it meant to cast his eyes on God's heart for justice and His vision for </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">all</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"> people, making the Civil Rights leader walk fearlessly towards God, even when his life was at stake. One of my favorite speeches that King gave was in Memphis the night prior to his assassination. Below are his closing remarks:</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">"Like anybody, I would like to live a long life.  Longevity has its place.  But I'm not concerned about that now.  I just want to do God's will.  And He's allowed me to go up to the mountain.  And I've looked over.  And I've seen the Promised Land.  I may not get there with you.  But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people, will get to the promised land!  And so I'm happy tonight.  I'm not worried about anything.  I'm not fearing any man!  Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord!!"</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Words from the lips of a man who knew God's purpose for him, and understood that His life had to be about relentlessly moving towards that goal, and as a result, a peace that passed all understanding settled well on him.  King knew the cost yet trusted God's plan, for his eyes had seen the glory of what was to come.  It was almost as if he sensed his life would soon be taken from him, yet remained calmly unafraid.  </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">As I was reminded of the dream, vision, and action of this man, I couldn't help but be moved and ask God for similar vision and movement in my own life.  I think too often, our God given dreams get squelched by the fear in our minds. Sometimes we are afraid of how ludicrous it may seem, or how unconventional it could look if we really lose our lives for the sake of Christ. Other times, we don't want to sacrifice our comfort and convenience for His immeasurably more because we are fearful of taking that unknown step of faith and trusting God with the end result.  </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">I am at a place where I must refuse to live my life cowering to fear and expectations.  I cannot waste my time second guessing myself as a result of another's unbelief.  King knew his call, and walked towards it unswervingly, to the point of death.  And as ironic as it seems in our insulated world of health insurance, retirement funds, and vacation days, the sacrifice was and continues to be worth it.  When we hold unswervingly to the hope we profess, He who promised is </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">always</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"> faithful (Hebrews 10:23).  A truth that empowers us to move fearlessly toward hardship and death knowing that we are living our lives purposefully, far surpassing our limits.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:arial;">Let's be those people.  Our world is aching for those of us willing to speak the dreams God places in our hearts and then be faithful to follow them.  Relief and hope are found in this obedience.  Inspiration to others is found in this obedience.  Life is found in this obedience. Even, oddly enough, in death.  </span><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">After reflecting on King and then on Tuesday experiencing history with the inauguration of Obama, my historical tank was getting full and I began to consider my part in being faithful to God's dreams for me. And without fail, just as I began the process of really pressing into the Lord, I learned some disappointing news and my heart shattered a little bit more. While my mind and heart were a complete mess for the next 24 hours, I knew in the back of my head that I would rise.  Even from literally crying on my knees in the shower, <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">I would rise</span>.  That what the enemy intended for harm, God would use for his good (Genesis 50:20). </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">And even now, only a few days later,  I am rising.  I refuse to be conquered by circumstances, rejection, deception, or fear.  I refuse to miss out on the God of the universe using a broken, messed up girl like me.  Honestly, that is just too good of a story to not get in on, not to mention some definite instances of random hilarity.  God using the utterly foolish, </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Sarah Mullins</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"> (insert your name here), to be His fragrant aroma.  Isn't that just like our crazy God?  Taking our glaring flaws, the things that we think make us "unmarketable" and using </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">every</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"> part of us, to be part of the relief story He is creatively writing across the earth.  </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">In the words of Jourdan's timely song, <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">Mend</span> (<a href="http://www.jourdanburks.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">www.jourdanburks.com</span></span></a>), "mend </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">my</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"> heart, and pull the thread..." so that I might chase His dreams down in a way that brings light to darkness, freedom for captives, and tenderly binds the brokenhearted  (Isaiah 61:1).  </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">May he give you boldness to fearlessly move.  May you not be conquered by the flaming arrows of the enemy. Like King, may </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">your</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"> eyes see the glory of the coming of the Lord.  I mean, what if? </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Who knows, a black man in a country scarred by slavery and inequality could become President. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">That</span> is what-freaking-if.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Speak your dreams.  Wait expectantly.  Inspire others.  Get out of the way.  He </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">will</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"> move the mountains.  He just will.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" font-style: italic;font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"> </span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><br /></div></div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2097154971102890889-8845736517338144437?l=imeanwhatif.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03964906078942541451noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2097154971102890889.post-63497569582582350442009-01-15T01:00:00.000-08:002009-01-15T12:08:58.032-08:00<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">So last week I found myself back in Dallas after two weeks of holiday travel. Some planned and some spontaneous yet both ushering in much needed perspective to my current life, and honestly the perspective had little to do with my circumstances. </span><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">The Tuesday before Christmas, Jourdan and I packed her car up and headed to Florida to spend some days with our families.  Typically we spend about 11 hours in the car together and always come away from our trip with some interesting stories from our stops in Louisiana or Mississippi. For instance, at one gas station in </span><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Louisiana</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">, not only did t<span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">hey sell your typical fare of Slim J</span><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">ims</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">, dill pickles, and </span><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Twinkies</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">, but you could also purchase slightly outdated </span><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Nike's</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"> and Pumas if you needed some shoes.  Really.</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"> </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Once we hit the Florida state line, I started collecting my things, we exited and pulled into the Firestone store to meet my mom, and I wiped my greasy, travel bangs across my forehead. Soon after, my mom arrived, I put my stuff in her car, hugged Jourdan, and drove away for the holiday stay as Jourdan headed on to her own homestead.    </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Sometimes when you grow up in a place that has access to views of creation that can take your breath away like Pensacola Beach does, you tend to take it for granted.  Yet, I knew in the back of my mind, that I had to get out to the beach at some point during my time home, if only for a few minutes.  My heart, mind, and vision were begging for the restoration that often meets me in creation.  </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">After spending the night at my big sister's house and helping Livvy give her little four month old chub-fest, Jonah, a slippery bath in the kitchen sink that morning, I realized I was returning to Texas soon and somehow in the activity of the holidays, had yet to go to the beach.  I surveyed the day's activities and realized if I didn't take the opportunity now, I probably wouldn't make it out there.  Only having about an 1.5 hours to spend, I told Livvy my beach plans, grabbed my backpack and a towel and made the 20 minute drive over the two bridges to Pensacola Beach. Remembering the more secluded spot where my friend Susan and I spent many summer days in high school with our route 44 sonic drinks, I parked the car, took off my flip flops, squished through the sand, walked onto a boardwalk, down some stairs and then saw the expanse of the gulf.  And it took my breath away.  </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Late December or not, it was a perfect beach day.  The sun was bright and making the water sparkle, the sand was cool and glistening white from the sun's attention, the waves were excited and making the best crashing sounds ever -- God was showing off, and his show was exactly what my heart needed.  </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">I quickly found a spot, knowing my time was limited, sat down on the towel and just took it all in. Not </span><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">surprisingly</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">, tears began to travel down my face and God's presence was thick.  This was a moment I wanted to remember.  I sensed it was a time of marking and hope in the middle of so many unknowns in my life and a daily struggle to confidently walk in the truth that I will see God's goodness in the land of the living (Psalm 27:13).  Reaching into my </span><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">backpack</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"> (random </span><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">side note</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">: whenever I see the word backpack, for some reason I always imagine Dora the explorer saying "backpack" really loudly and then getting her viewing audience to repeat her, which undoubtedly stems from living with a family with a three year old for awhile), I grabbed my journal and began to write.  The words written were from a place of authenticity and desperation that God purposed and brought to the surface through his creation in those moments.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">As I sat there and pondered how God thought to create the beach, I laughed to myself as I considered the sound of the waves crashing.  That sound alone inspires so much creativity --- songs are written, art is painted, love is inspired, and minds are sharpened from hearing the crash and roar of the water.  If God had given me the task of coming up with a sound for waves, cool crashing would have never even crossed my mind.  It probably would have been some annoying sound like a dinky car horn or the dial-up </span><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Internet</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"> noise making people never ever want to come to the beach.  The beach would be more like the dentist office to folks if I had been in charge so thankfully, God, in his wisdom, created and it was good.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">As I inhaled the smell of the salty air, stuck my feet in the cold water, reluctantly packed my stuff and headed back to the car, I couldn't help but be inspired by God's glory and his love for me.  He created the beach and met and calmed me there and showed me himself.  My focus was shifted to his redemption through creativity and his continuing invitation for me to be a part of that. And he never had to do that, he never had to be that intentional with me -- ever.  So while creation screams the vastness and power of God, he meets me in it in such a way that reminds me he is very much involved in the details, in </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">my details</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">, and he has not forgotten me.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">So I returned to Texas the next day with a pocketful of God's glory from my brief time at the beach which made the expanse of concrete I noticed as the plane descended on </span><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">DFW</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"> a little more bearable. What I did not know as I made it back to my apartment in Dallas is that God was not finished with the </span><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">creation-fest</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"> he had planned for me.  The following day, my </span><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">roommate</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">, Kristen, along with our friend Jen, decided to take a road trip to Breckenridge, Colorado.  We made the decision at 2pm and were on the road headed toward the Rockies by 8pm that evening.  As unexpected as the trip was for each of us, I am confident that God purposed our eyes to see Him that week in the ways that we did very intentionally.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Kristen had never been to Colorado so it was cool to see the awesomeness of the mountains through fresh eyes.  My heart was convicted that I may have grown slightly calloused to God's creative glory because of my more frequent exposure to the grandness that is much of Colorado as I heard Kristen's exclamations of awe as we spent time in the picturesque peaks.  I remembered thinking to myself, "God, let me not be dulled to your creation or ever grow bored with your work.  Let your work, and your expanses make me long for your redemption and serve to inspire my own creativity."  So over the next few days, my eyes saw the mountains in ways I had not seen them previously and my heart rested.  There is something about seeing mountains that reminds me that God is indeed in control and my worry really is pointless.  And that reminder was a much needed gift.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">On our final full day in Colorado, we made the decision to drive over to Vail. The views along the way were unbelievable.  Kristen was freaking out over all we were seeing and similar to to my beach experience, I found myself wondering how God even thought to make a mountain. He created where no precedent previously existed, making me realize his authorship of all human creativity. No matter how edgy, original, or creative we may think we are, it is inspired by what already is.  Yet when God created, he took nothing and fashioned it into something that with one glance can cause us to gasp in awe or even weep.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Over the last couple of weeks, I experienced both reactions and realized that to become more like Christ means to take the risk to create.  I cannot allow fear in my mind to numb the  ideas he has inspired. Whether or not anything becomes of our creations, we get to identify with the creator in the process and I have to believe that makes the risk worth it.  </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">From the crashing of the waves to the rugged crags of the mountains, my eyes saw my God and I am without excuse.  Like his works, I intensely desire my life to scream His redemption, restoration and glory until my work here is complete. Risking foolishness, I want to create and become in ways that inspire others to do the same.  And as a result, be a part of building a community of creators that still gasp in awe at the mountain tops or shed tears at the sound of the waves because we are continually moved that the God of the universe would choose to come near to us.  That he loves us that much.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">May his creation make it hard for you to breathe.  May his creation cause a tear to slide down your cheek.  May his creation remind you that the God who created the vividness, vastness and intricacies of the Earth out of nothing has not forgotten you. May His creation cease your anxieties and bring your mind rest.  May his creation inspire you to risk.  May his creation bring you to a place to create in a way that others can't help but sense Him.  May his creation deliver you from your fears and selfishness.  May his creation bring joy to your heart, light to your eyes, and a new song to your mouth.  May his creation set you free to create -- immeasurably more than you could ever ask or imagine.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">I mean, what if?</span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 276px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_k7msAW6Nc70/SW70u4shQUI/AAAAAAAAABI/9sJ-4aVOYsM/s320/IMG_2809.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291435698537185602" /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 186px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_k7msAW6Nc70/SW70uj250qI/AAAAAAAAABA/CnirJs2EYAE/s320/IMG_2767.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291435692943594146" /><div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" font-style: italic;font-family:arial;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 222px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_k7msAW6Nc70/SW7zQWqpEqI/AAAAAAAAAA4/1p1oJH166ZI/s320/IMG_2765.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291434074494800546" /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" font-style: italic;font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" font-style: italic;font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" font-style: italic;font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" font-style: italic;font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" font-style: italic;font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><br /></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2097154971102890889-6349756958258235044?l=imeanwhatif.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03964906078942541451noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2097154971102890889.post-43512859864936130442008-12-19T17:06:00.000-08:002008-12-21T23:27:19.164-08:00<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">A few days ago, as I was leaving the doctor's office, I was so proud of myself for being responsible and using my insurance that will be gone soon, and getting that dreaded "exam." I left the office with a little kick in my step, wishing I had a sticker that said "you did it!!" so people could be excited about my accomplishment with me.  Well, apparently gynecologists don't give out stickers as readily as pediatricians so I decided to call my friend, Linde, who gave me the doctor recommendation and tell her how it went.  While we were talking and I was explaining some of the silly things I thought and did while waiting for the doctor to see me, (and I really wish I could blog about them but I just don't think they are appropriate for a mixed audience, so I'm going to take advantage of my grown up filter which I don't always think to implement, and just not.  Jourdan is so proud of me right now!) Linde suggested I come over to her house the next morning for breakfast, and then we could use the rest of the morning to make ourselves work.I thought that was a brilliant idea, since I love hanging with Linde, breakfast is always a good choice (unless you are nauseous, fasting, about to get some blood work done, or are mad at breakfast for that one time you made the choice to eat Indian food  first thing in the morning causing the dreaded breakfast tummy haunts), and it would be good to have some accountability to get work accomplished, especially since I have no idea what my job will be come January.  </span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">So Tuesday morning came around and I rolled out of bed and put my trusty yoga pants on and awesome new hoodie that my sweet friend Jen gave me. I crumpled my hair up into what I like to call my "PE hair", threw on my coat since it was -3 degrees outside, grabbed my backpack, went down to my truck, spent about 10 minutes de-icing her, and then finally, headed to Linde's for some breakfast and work.  </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">As I walked up the sidewalk to Linde's little love nest (she just got married in August), I noticed she had it all decked out for Christmas.  A Santa was hanging on the doorknob, blue Christmas lights covered she and Jeff"s (her husband) side of the duplex, and a large plastic Santa knelt down in front of a life-size manger scene in the yard.  I think the Santa may have actually been washing Mary's feet as a symbol of his acknowledgement of the importance of keeping Christ in Christmas.  Ok, fine, I made most of that up, except for the tasteful Santa on the doorknob, but <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">I</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"> mean, what if?</span>  </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">With backpack in tow, I made it though the front door at Linde's, only to be greeted by the smell of pancakes, yummy candles, and Judy, the Giddens first official Christmas tree.  A side note, while Judy, the cute tree, likes to drink water from her tree stand, according to Linde, she also likes an occasional ham and cheese hot pocket.  Apparently, the Giddens have found that the preservatives in the hot pocket enhance Judy's Christmasy smell, and although the ham and cheese makes her burp on occasion, the overwhelming scent of pine and Christmas make her gassiness well worth it.  Obviously it has been a while since my last post because as I glance over at my ridiculous meter, it's already dangerously high.  Hang in there readers, a point ensues!</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">After taking off my winter layers and putting down my backpack, Linde and I sat down at the table and dug into her awesome pancakes.  As we were eating, we spent some time catching up and listening to each other.  Linde told me about their Christmas plans, asked me about some Christmas events we both were planning on attending this weekend, and then she asked me about my counseling session I had on Monday. Which by the way, if you ever are shopping for a counselor, many of my friends and I are blessed to sit under this guy's listening ears and wise counsel making him helpful for sure and someone I would highly recommend.  I told Linde about the session and how the heaviness of the time surprised me because it was not what I anticipated. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">As I explained to her some of my realizations from counseling, the tears just started sliding down my cheeks, right in the middle of breakfast.  While I was not baby-style sobbing or so emotional Linde had to get me a paper bag to breathe in, tears were visible and I was again surprised at the closeness of my pain.  </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Although crying in front of people can tend to be awkward, Linde was such a safe place for me in those moments and it caused me to be so thankful for the authenticity of our friendship. In fact, she told me a couple of months ago that she wanted to be present with me in the pain and in the excitement because those are real places and God meets us in our vulnerability and our realness. So if God is present there, no matter how much it doesn't feel good, that is where she wants to find herself.  In those moments at the breakfast table, although certainly not the first time, sweet Linde made good on her words.  A steadfast friend for sure.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Finishing up breakfast, Linde and I found ourselves in a place of either choosing to get out our computers and make ourselves work, or go get toasty in her fancy, soft, marital bed and continue our conversation.  We chose the non-work option reminding us both of all the conversations on the bed or couch when Linde lived with Jourdan and I before Jeff abducted her:).  As I got underneath the covers and Linde curled up with a blanket like the called kitty from the apartment below us (see previous posts for clarification), she shared with me some difficult points she herself had been experiencing.  </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">It was such a real time, not easy, but real, and just good.  At the end of our talk, we spent some time praying for each other and I have no doubt, Jesus was there.  In my mind he was sitting on the floor against the wall, legs bent, arms propped on his knees, taking it all in and even laughing when we talked about Beth or Seth Bookles (our names for our scary Christmas elf ornament things that resemble the Lady Elaine puppet from </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Mr. Rogers Neighborhood of Make Believe</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"> and somehow people buy and think "now yes, </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">this</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"> is a </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">perfect</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"> gift"), or how Judy the tree eats ham and cheese hot pockets or how Rudy, the tree at my apartment, prefers hot dogs with a touch of Tabasco sauce.  Jesus heard it all, he was there, and I believe, he was pleased.  </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">My time with Linde on Tuesday, made me very aware of the gift I have in the friendships in my life.  Authenticity in relationships is often rare, yet during this season of life, my real, authentic, friends cup is overflowing.  There is just something about being known and being loved even when I mess up repeatedly and at times am frustrating to no end (periodically I ask Jourdan if she has her invisible revolver out pressed against her temple due to one of my antics). There is also something about shared laughter, no matter how silly, and holding each other up to the light in a way that brings freedom, wholeness, and just makes us better.  </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">After unsnuggling myself from Linde's marital bed, I realized it was almost lunch time and we had yet to "work."  But as I left her house, I knew our time had accomplished much.  Maybe our careers are not exactly in order, but I have no doubt we pushed each other forward.  Check out my friend Linde's web page at </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><a href="http://www.lindebrowningdesign.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">www.lindebrowningdesign.com</span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">.  Not only is she an amazing friend, but she is an awesome artist and decorator as well and I can't wait for our next "working" breakfast.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Hope this finds you enjoying the Christmas season, recognizing the gift of your friends and the limitless God who became limited flesh to save us from the bondage of ourselves. And if you need a giggle, name your tree and just imagine feeding he/she a hot pocket or rolle<span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">d up bologna or spinach dip or fried rice.  </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">I mean what if?</span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Below are two pics.  The first one is of all of the girls from apartment 2002 past and present: Kristen, Linde, me, and Jourdan.  The second is of our tree,Trudy, from last year, she got a pink jogging suit for Christmas and preferred diet coke and hot dogs :)</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Love you guys!</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 290px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_k7msAW6Nc70/SU3ry2H4ZYI/AAAAAAAAAAw/RfkVbyeAG5E/s320/IMG_2564.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5282137196730017154" /><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 227px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_k7msAW6Nc70/SUwbSD-qmqI/AAAAAAAAAAo/2X72kYgL48U/s320/IMG_1777.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5281626460118489762" /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><br /></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2097154971102890889-4351285986493613044?l=imeanwhatif.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03964906078942541451noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2097154971102890889.post-82559938094214526592008-11-27T21:00:00.000-08:002008-11-27T21:50:20.364-08:00<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">I realize that the title of this blog are two words not typically seen together.  But it is a true statement.  On Tuesday night Jourdan and I went Thanksgiving shopping for our 2nd annual non-traditional Thanksgiving feast.  The trip had two purposes: to gather the proper ingredients for our meal and to purchase t-shirts to bedazzle for our Florida vs. Florida State game day activities.  </span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">When we left our apartment we decided we would head up to Walmart hoping to encounter some yellow smiley faced rolled back prices on our ingredients, t-shirts, and maybe even a tire or two. Arriving at the Walmart we were familiar with, we were disheartened because it was closed.  And I don't mean just for the night but closed forever.  You know the economy is in distress when a Walmart closes its doors.  </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">In order to remedy our situation, Jourdan googled Walmart, called them and asked for the closest one to us.  Upon instruction, I turned my truck around, headed down the highway, exited, drove a few miles, and then what met our gaze was pretty unbelievable.  It was a brand new Super Walmart, complete with new logo, fonts, and looking almost massive home-like with fake windows and storm shutters.  I think the building may actually have been sparkling.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">I parked my truck far away because of course it was packed and Jourdan and I scampered like hyper squirrels towards the doors excited about what might await us inside.  As we walked in, I think I heard angels singing "ta dah" as we gazed at the well spaced displays and noticed the remarkable cleanliness of the store.  Beginning our walk through the store, we also were surprised at the fake hardwood floors (also known as fardwood) that separated each section.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">The atmosphere of this Walmart was one that inspired you to shop around and buy, unlike most of my Walmart experiences where I just want to find what I need and leave quickly but usually can't because only 2 of the 50 registers are actually open.  I mean, we almost left with a Texas flag shower curtain and some pineapple cream cheese.  Two things I would never ever want unless under the influence of illegal substances or due to the effects of fancy Walmart hypnosis. So if you struggle with debt, stay far away from the sparkly, beckoning Walmart on Forrest Lane.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">After oohing and ahhing at the shoe section that actually looks like a shoe store, finding the Thanksgiving ingredients, and selecting our t-shirts and iron-on letters, we purchased our items from the happy checker and made our way to my truck parked in Oklahoma.  Peering inside of my truck, I saw a life-size teddy bear that my friends had found in their neighbors trash can a couple of months ago and strapped him in my passenger side with a note taped to him to cheer me up after running out of gas one unfortunate morning.  I had been needing to set him free for a while so I decided if he was going to be happy anywhere, it would probably be at the dazzling Supercenter where people are friendly and love, joy, hope, and smiley faces abound.  </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">As we emptied the contents of our cart, I got Mr. Teds out of my truck, placed him in the child seat of the cart and rolled him into the cart farm.  He looked funny sitting in the cart and I tried to imagine who he would get to cheer up next.  While we were driving off, I do have to admit, it made me a little sad to see him in my rear view mirror sitting stiffly in the cart all by himself as Jourdan asked me how it felt to abandon the stuffed friend.  In response to her question, I halted the brakes, threw my truck into reverse, navigated back to the cart farm, got out, ran around to the passenger side, opened the door, unbuckled Jourdan, scooped her up, placed her in the child seat of a cart next to Mr. Teds, jumped back into my truck and screeched off -- all without saying a single word. Ok, so not really, but I mean, what if :)</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">And by the way, our Thanksgiving friend feast was a huge success.  Jourdan cooked  her first delicious roast and made the comment "I think this is my proudest day as a woman" (her proudest day as a man was when she shot that twelve point buck that one time -- not really again, but I mean, what if?).  While we are on the subject of Jo-Jo (that's Jourdan), we were watching bits and pieces of the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade this morning and saw the Sesame Street float with all the Muppets from the show.  Jourdan asked me what animal Snuffalufagus is and I told her he is an elephant.  I then asked her what she thought he was. Her response was "I thought he was a Snuffalufagus." I mean, what if?</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Tomorrow we head to Austin for the rest of the weekend.  Game day shirts and necklaces are ready for the FSU and UF grads to prance in down the streets in the heart of the Big 12 South. No one there will really get it and that's half of the fun.  Can't wait to see what God has in store in ATX for Jo-Jo and Danger Kitten.  Stories await so in the words of Urkel "Don't fret my pet!"</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Happy Thanksgiving!  </span><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><img src="webkit-fake-url://CC3C3ABE-87F4-4A41-B324-A5DAEBA16D70/urkel.jpg" alt="urkel.jpg" /></p></div><div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2097154971102890889-8255993809421452659?l=imeanwhatif.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03964906078942541451noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2097154971102890889.post-90427941533221535022008-11-20T21:03:00.000-08:002008-11-21T08:52:30.984-08:00<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">Yesterday was a weird day for me.  Work was quiet and slow giving me ample time to be alone in my mind.  Sometimes that is a good thing and sometimes it can be a little frightening because my thoughts take off and go to places they were never intended to go.  Some of my thoughts packed their bags and camped out in the imaginary land of worst case scenarios and conclusion jumping, causing me to be anxious, squirmy, and panicked.  And then every once in a while, valiant Truth raced in on his caramel colored horse (yeah, I know it's not white, I dig a </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">caramely</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"> horsey, I mean, what if?), searched for the loose thoughts and beckoned them back to safety with his words </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">"Do not be anxious about anything"</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">, and </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">"My peace I give to you, do not let your heart be troubled,"</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"> and </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">"do not worry about tomorrow..."</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"> bringing rest and right perspective to my rebellious, little mind.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">Since I had so much alone time at work, when I got home I knew I needed my roommate. Jourdan was out of town and Kristen was not home yet, so I called her to find out her plans. Much to my relief, she was headed home so we decided to make some chicken and spend some time together.  As we were waiting for Kristen's special chicken to cook, we opened up the guacamole and ate the entire container except for the part that I dumped on the rug in the middle of the kitchen floor.   A typical, graceful, Sarah moment for sure :)</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">As we were getting dinner ready, we had some time to catch up and share our experiences over the last couple of days.  It was interesting to listen to Kristen and hear about the tough place God has her in currently and then for me to share my own unexplainable course of events. Even though our situations are different, we both find ourselves in a place of questioning what God is doing and while we know in our minds that He is faithful and good, we were both questioning that in our hearts.  </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">As we shared our stories, I not surprisingly got emotional and the tears came down my face a-freaking-gain. (Who knew the body could produce so much salt water? These days I feel like I have an IV connected to the Pacific Ocean or something.)  Kristen was experiencing her own place of processing and emotion and it was sweet to be able to sort through our questions together.  One of the coolest things about our living situation in humble little apartment 2002, amidst the randomness and silliness, is the transparency that is found here.   A cool, connecting gift for sure.  </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">After eating our dinner, Kristen went to her room and began playing her keyboard.  I came in a few minutes later and we spent some time talking about music and worship and God.   At some point we began discussing old </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">hymns</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"> and Kristen told me her favorites and I asked her if she knew "Pass me Not". I'm not sure why God brought that song to mind since it is relatively obscure, but as I sang the words to her and as she figured it out on the keyboard, I realized it was the exact plea of my heart and mind during this time of wondering what in the world God is doing.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">Here are the words to a couple of the verses:</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">Pass me not, O gentle Savior</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">Hear my humble cry;</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">While on others thou art calling,</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">Do not pass me by.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">Let me at thy throne of mercy</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">Find a sweet relief;</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">Kneeling there in deep contrition,</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">Help my unbelief</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">So as cheesy as it sounds, Kristen and I played and sang some music to God and He was there among us.  I was reminded that it is </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">ok</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"> to ask God to help me in my unbelief--to give my questions and frustrations to him, because He </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">can</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"> handle it.  I also realized that my heart is at a place of wanting to be nothing if not purposeful in bringing his relief and transformation to others--</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">whatever it takes</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">--and although I am fearful of him "passing me by"  I know He will not and honestly, that He </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">is</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"> not.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">When I got in bed last night, I still had the same unanswered questions.  But through my time with Kristen, valiant Truth faithfully rode in again on his caramel colored horse and set my mind on things above and His rest tenderly followed.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">Currently, I find myself in a place where trust, belief, and pursuit have never been so real to me as they are now and it is hard work.  And yet the cool part about my situation is that when the pieces begin coming together, I will </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">only</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"> be able to say "God absolutely did that" -- not me but Him, and </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">I can't wait</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">.  He will come through for me, He will come through for Kristen, He will come through for you.  </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">God, help us in our unbelief and please, pass us not.</span></span></span><br /></div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2097154971102890889-9042794153322153502?l=imeanwhatif.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03964906078942541451noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2097154971102890889.post-12358032606481623052008-11-16T12:54:00.000-08:002008-11-17T21:45:38.259-08:00<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">A couple of days ago,  I found myself laying on a table, face down, naked bod covered by a blanket (oooh, cover your eyes!), table warmers on, and hot river stones on my back. I was blessed to be at a spa getting my first ever hot stone massage. While I have had a massage before, this is never a frequent occurrence in my random life so when the opportunity presents itself, I fully enjoy it.<br /></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Feeling the warmth from the table combined with the heat of the rocks on my skin and the pressure of the the therapist's hands working through my muscles, should have been enough to put me to sleep or at least get me close, but while my body felt relaxed, my mind and heart were not. A sadness sneakily crept over me and as my head was face down in the little cushiony breathing hole, my eyes welled up with tears and I could feel them gliding down my cheeks and plopping to the floor beneath me. It was a quiet cry that was not noticeable to the therapist, but a cry nonetheless. My nose even began to run, and not having access to my arms at the moment, and feeling very much like a veggie tale,  I could either let my nose drip or inhale the drippage back into my head. Choosing the seemingly subtle option, I inhaled still hoping the massage therapist was blind to my sad little state.  Just then, however, she instructed me to turn over. Busted. While keeping my eyes closed I obeyed hoping she thought it was normal to have wet eyelashes and damp cheeks, and then hurriedly wiped my nose first grade style against the back of my hand and tried to regain composure. Thankfully, the tears dried up and the massage continued without any huge emotional hiccups.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">As I sit here a couple of days later and process my experience, I realize that the grief that showed up very much unannounced is part of God's healing process for me. A wise man in my life told me that when grief grips, go ahead and do the work of experiencing it. Don't try to ignore it or run away from it, feel it and know that God is still purposeful in the pain and in the loss. So yesterday when I was on that table and the pangs of loss jumped on my back along with the hot stones, as untimely as it was, I knew I had to be in it.</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Many times I want my grief to hurry up and run it's course.  I want to feel happy and my eyes to dance with lightness more often than naught, but then I am reminded of the realness of pain. It is typically not an overnight fix and in the earlier stages, I found it to be sometimes a moment by moment process. Yet I am convinced pain brings our insides to light and the reality of it connects us and moves us in ways that sometimes all of our successes never could.  </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Thankfully, I know this pain will not be forever.  I also know it has served to connect me in beautiful ways to others and to God himself. The twinge of my grief reminds me that this world is not intended to be traveled alone, and that I am in desperate need of a  God who restores and redeems. Pain pushes me forward to do the things I was created to do because I am reminded of life's brevity and how I want my days to be spilled out purposefully.</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">During the massage, the therapist would take a stone and push it down the lengths of my muscles, working through the tension with both pressure and heat which formed a picture in my mind of my own grief. Like the hot stone treatment, God is using His realness wrapped in pain to apply pressure, heat, and sometimes unexpected grief to call out very clearly the dreams in my heart and mind that had become muddled and even confusing in my own strength. It sounds odd, but in many ways, God is bringing relief through my pain and putting me in a place to more effectively be His relief.  Such beautiful, twisted, foolishness...</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">If you ever have the chance, try out a hot stone massage. You probably won't cry but it's ok if you do. Realness connects and his hot stones are often necessary for us to ultimately become. If I am to be a sucker for the ridiculousness of Christ, pain, in a weird way, is both a compassionate and beautiful part of the deal.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Oh, and the kitty caller did not do a good job of beckoning her cat back to her homestead last night (although Jourdan reported that close to midnight she certainly tried very loudly for a good while).  I woke up to meowing over and over again at about 2:30 am which leads to this official statement: </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Kitty and kitty caller beware. If we wanted you for an alarm we would have set our phones to the odd neighbor ring.  But we don't and we didn't.  Now go and sin no more.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"> I mean, what if?</span></div><div><br /></div><br /><div><br /></div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2097154971102890889-1235803260648162305?l=imeanwhatif.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03964906078942541451noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2097154971102890889.post-37537662324647935542008-11-11T21:14:00.000-08:002008-11-11T21:54:31.314-08:00<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">Tonight, silliness prevailed in apartment 2002. All of the </span><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">roomies</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"> got home around the same time and piled on Kristen's bed.  While Jourdan was stealing programs from K-</span><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">Nast's</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"> computer and K-</span><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">Nast</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"> was trying to make her tummy feel better with a hot sock filled with rice (I think it's a </span><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">Chinese</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"> medicinal treatment she picked up while serving in Mexico or maybe China...you pick), I was reading aloud funny excerpts from "A Bunny Tale", the birthday book compilation Jourdan and the contributing friends put together for my birthday earlier this year.  </span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">A little while later, Jourdan and I left to go to a Kathleen Edwards concert (girlfriend can play the guitar and also has a sparkly, flesh colored electric mandolin that my eyes had never before beheld).  After she had played our favorite clever song "come back to me" and finished her set, Jourdan and I got in the car and headed back to our apartment.  On the way home a new language was born.  It's called the language of </span><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">Ruh</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">.  So if I was writing in </span><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">ruh</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"> it would be like this: "</span><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">Ruh</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">-the </span><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">Ruh</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">-concert </span><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">ruh</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">-was </span><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">ruh</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">-fun."  If you are not yet able to catch on, don't you </span><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">ruh</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">-worry, I will periodically give tutorials throughout this blog and you will be fluent before you ruh-know ruh-it! </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">Other than language creating, the most brilliant part of our evening had to be when we drove up and parked outside of our apartment and Jourdan suggested we go outside of Kristen's window and mimic the kitty call to see if she noticed.  Jourdan let out the first "HERE KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY," to which I responded with an identical second one.  After a few of those rounds, I told Jourdan to start and then I came in at the same time with a kitty harmony.  Sure enough, we saw the shadow of Kristen come up to her window and peek out of the blinds. Jourdan and I were laughing so hard that my HERE KITTY KITTY KITTIES became slow and interrupted.  We finally saw Kristen's shadow collapse in giggles so we ran around the corner, back into our gate, and up to our apartment with squeals of success.  As we entered into our homestead, K-</span><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">Nast</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"> was still laughing and we had a good time </span><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">ruh</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">-rehashing the evenings events.  </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">Well, my brain is pretty tired from language creating and doing puppet shows with our bare hands out of the sun roof to Justin Timberlake while driving through downtown Dallas (forgot to mention that part, just know that it happened and it was awesome -- weird but awesome nontheless) and Kitty calling so my work is done here for now.  Hope this entry today made at least one giggle surface :) </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">Ruh</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">-I </span><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">ruh</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">-mean, </span><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">ruh</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">-what </span><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">ruh</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">-if?</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">Love!</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><br /></div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2097154971102890889-3753766232464793554?l=imeanwhatif.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03964906078942541451noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2097154971102890889.post-47513513467256815222008-11-10T18:19:00.000-08:002008-11-10T19:26:55.775-08:00<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">I just finished hanging out with my friend Chelsie.  I listened to her, she listened to me all while sitting at a small four person table in a sweet little coffee shop. And although there were only two seats occupied (by hineys at least, my green bag occupied another one), I absolutely know that in the vacant chair sat Jesus himself.  Paul says in Acts that it is "...in Him we live and move and have our being..." and I know that while Chelsie and I were sharing our lives -- the heart wrenching parts, the exciting parts, and the scary parts as well -- He was "living, moving, and being" through us and hanging there right with us. </span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"> </span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">I loved listening to Chelsie tonight and the things God is calling and sometimes wrestling out of her.  My heart completely identified with how He is not allowing her to compromise or settle for good at the expense of His vision for her -- even when practicality is against her.  How encouraged I am when Jesus drops others in my path that are striving to live purposefully despite how foolish it appears to the rest of the world.  </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">I am convinced that freedom comes when God aligns our heart to His in such a way that moves us to forsake even the potentially good for His distinct call on our lives.  While not the easy path, it is a life of impact and one where we see God, we see his movement.  And then, as if seeing him is not enough, we </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">become</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"> his movement.  </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">A God that uses us to be His movement, His relief.  </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">When He never even needed me.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">  In these moments, Jesus looks up over his coffee mug at the table where I am currently sitting (I'm imagining him in worn jeans and a cool tee, maybe with a skateboard propped against the side of the chair or a guitar somewhere close) and He knowingly looks into my eyes and I am gracefully reminded that despite the unknowns, frustrations, and heartaches, it's worth it.  Life with my cool, skateboarding, guitar playing, relief bringing, relentlessly loving Jesus is so worth it. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">As Chelsie was about to leave a little while ago, she looked at me and said, "Sarah, the idea I keep hearing for you as I listen to you is get ready for the rain, just get ready for the rain.  I think He wants your field to be prepared for the harvest."  And although neither one of us knows all God intends with that truth, my heart bent in agreement.  I then watched Chelsie walk out the door of the coffee shop and within five minutes, the sky opened and it literally began to pour.  So I think I'm going to get ready for His rain :)</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">Let Him make you ready to be His movement.  It's the life of a fool but to me, it makes the best sense.  I just want to be an absolute sucker for the ridiculousness of Christ.  Praying that for you as well.  I mean, what if?  </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">Oh yeah, and this blog thing was an abrupt start for me (thanks Jourdan), so I obviously need some design help.  Advice welcome, especially the silly type.  Duh</span>.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2097154971102890889-4751351346725681522?l=imeanwhatif.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03964906078942541451noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2097154971102890889.post-40341850788455908312008-11-09T21:12:00.000-08:002008-11-10T11:00:47.302-08:00<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">The other night, I was sitting on Jourdan's bed with she and our third <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">roommate</span>, Kristen, and I heard a noise from outside. It went like this "HERE KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY! HERE KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY!" and so on and so forth. It sounded like the lady was right next to Jourdan's window wooing her feline to her house...it was loud, it was high, and it was weird. I started laughing and said "what is that?!" as the lady kept crying out to her kitty kitty kitty. Jourdan started laughing and said that she hears that lady call her kitty kitty kitty every single night to which Kristen agreed. Both of their rooms are on the other side of the apartment so I never had the pleasure of hearing the cat whisperer try to charm her kitty back into her cat coven. About an hour later, we were back in Jourdan's room actually praying for the upcoming <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">cd</span> release project, and in the middle of my prayer, the kitty siren occurred again. We all started laughing, regained a little composure and finished the prayer. The next morning, Jourdan reported that right before she drifted off to sleep around 1:30 am, the Kitty caller began beckoning her kitty kitty kitty again. Talk about untimely cat calls...if she keeps it up, I think our neighbor could make a great construction worker...I mean, what if?</span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2097154971102890889-4034185078845590831?l=imeanwhatif.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03964906078942541451noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2097154971102890889.post-31444408258327794832008-11-07T11:29:00.000-08:002008-11-07T12:14:46.570-08:00<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">For the last year, I have shared a bathroom with my roommate, Jourdan.  Many times we have found ourselves in that little space simultaneously, most often in the morning when we are getting ready for the day.  Since neither one of us could be categorized as "morning people" our meetings in </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">front</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"> of the mirror are sometimes quiet except for the clatter and clank of our makeup/hair drying/teeth brushing rituals.  Luckily, we know each other well enough to not be offended by the other's silence and can just be our "trying to wake-up selves" while sipping some coffee on the really </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">special</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"> days that one of us actually made it up in time to make it.  </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">Because</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"> we do know each other well, we can perceive when the other's silence is not due to morning grogginess but maybe because of a restless heart or anxious mind.  There have been many occasions where one of us would look at the other one (or more often the reflection of the other one in the mirror while in mid-mascara application or bang drying stance) and ask "are you ok</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">?", and typically the anxiousness or restlessness or fear or weird circumstance was revealed.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">I remember last year right around this time, I could sense a heaviness covering Jourdan, a fun-loving, typically vibrant girl with a laugh that is contagious.  Yet because of circumstances, her mind was anxious and her heart wounded.  I looked at her that morning and said, "Jourdan, what happened?" and as she leaned on the wall next to the door on "her side" of the bathroom, she proceeded to tell me the story of a relationship with her boyfriend that came to an end when only a couple months earlier she had sensed so much promise and affirmation for their future together.  While the tears came down, the story relayed, and her questions of confusion laced with deep pain asked, I could only stand there and listen and offer her glimpses of truth that God would periodically give me.  Nothing was magically fixed that morning and there were several more mornings where the same questions were asked and the same frustrations expressed.  But somehow, when all seemed dark and hope was fleeting, God pushed Jourdan forward -- and the new place where she resides today is immeasurably more than all she could ever ask or imagine, especially considering her situation exactly a year ago.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">Tonight, Jourdan's friends and family will gather with her to </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">celebrate</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"> her first </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">CD</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"> at her release event for her </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">EP</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"> "Mend."  Songs on this record were given to her through the heartache and frustration she experienced over this last year.  Out of the ashes, God faithfully created beauty and gave Jourdan stories to tell to push others </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">forward</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">.  This I know very personally, for not long ago, I leaned on the wall of "my side" of the bathroom and cried my own tears of an ended relationship, asking my own very confused questions, and experiencing a pain that does not make any sense -- and God has been faithful to lift my own head through Jourdan's similar experience last year.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">This morning as Jourdan was getting ready in the bathroom, I was </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">sitting</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"> on my bed and came across a scripture that I had written on a card and left for her to find tucked into her makeup brushes a year ago during the height of her heartache:</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">"...we were under great pressure, far beyond our ability to endure, so that we despaired of life itself.  Indeed we felt we had received the sentence of death.  But this happened that we might not rely on ourselves but on God, who raises the dead.  He has delivered us from such a deadly peril, and He will deliver us again.  On Him we have set our hope that </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">He will continue to deliver us</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">, as you help us by your prayers.  Then </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">many</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"> will give thanks on our behalf for the gracious favor granted us in answer to the prayers of many."</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">2 Corinthians 1:8-11</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">I said, "Jourdan, I need to read you something."  I proceeded to read the scripture and we both had a "that Jesus" moment and she said, "I remember that card with that verse well from last year."  I responded with " how cool is it that tonight many will give thanks on your behalf for the gracious favor granted you in answer to the prayers of many?"  </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">This evening as Jourdan shares her songs and her heart, those there will undoubtedly experience Christ in her, the hope of glory.  From the sentence of death to a mended heart filled with hope, I am so excited to celebrate with her tonight something only God could have done -- as I push forward expectantly into my own deliverance.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">Now back to the bathroom part of the story -- while transparency does seem to happen during our preparation rituals, silliness probably happens more.  It is not out of the question for a new pimple to talk, or a huge, silver, fake nail to be strategically placed in the other person's </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">deodorant</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"> stick or hairbrush only to be found surprisingly upon use, or a little happy meal toy to find different resting places throughout the room, or often just ridiculous "what if" scenarios that make us laugh so hard we have to pee...making the bathroom even more functional.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">For Jourdan and I, we would both agree that it is so cool to see God's purpose and molding even in the every day getting ready in front of the mirror routines.  Bathroom conversations have made us both better and perhaps, even a little more like Jesus.  You should probably try it sometime :) And maybe, world leaders should come together in a bathroom to get ready one morning and just see what happens...I mean, what if?</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">Check out Jourdan's music at www.jourdanburks.com and be reminded of the hope to which God has called </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">you</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"> specifically.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">Gotta go to the bathroom now :)</span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2097154971102890889-3144440825832779483?l=imeanwhatif.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03964906078942541451noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2097154971102890889.post-11992104351764405972008-11-06T20:14:00.000-08:002008-11-06T20:38:05.061-08:00Woohoo!  Welcome to my bloggy blog.  Realness mixed with truth mixed with ridiculousness mixed with laughter mixed with friends mixed with Jesus mixed with 1 egg will be found here :)<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2097154971102890889-1199210435176440597?l=imeanwhatif.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03964906078942541451noreply@blogger.com0