I love it when a plan comes together

Apparently this costume was exactly right for the role. I walked onstage and the audience erupted...which was definitely a lot of fun. Somebody told me this morning that I was an "eerily accurate Alice." Sweet.

Barring a few things like microphone problems, the show went quite well last night. The teens did a great job with waiting tables and with their performances, and the audience was rewarding them with lots of justly deserved laughter and applause. I was proud of "my" kids. My main regret is that video can't ever capture the fun of a live performance. But then, I guess that's the beauty of the live performance....

Many people came up to me today to say they had a great time. One of them said she couldn't remember the last time she laughed so hard. She proceeded to tell a friend standing nearby about the evening's final skit (American Idol, featuring myself, two youth group leaders, and three really good sports we called out of the audience to be our contestants, and who all jumped right in to the improvised bit), and then she put her hand on my shoulder and said "Paula did most of the organizing."

And I took that confusion of names as a compliment.

When it comes down to it

The weekend of the banquet arrives.

There have been months of planning, and of telling my friends sorry but I'm busy that night, and of rehearsals that don't happen in the right space, and of staying up late planning or thinking about planning, and of performers who haven't started practicing just yet two weeks before the performance date, and of actors who don't know their lines the night before said date, and of people not understanding what this all means to me....

And then acts start clicking, and I'm laughing out loud and bouncing on my toes, and two people are asked to repeat their thanks because I didn't hear them the first time (always a little awkward), and one says I seem stressed and I reply that most of my seeming stressed at this point is really just shifting into high-intensity performance mode (on the jazz as the plan comes together), and Janessa says "You get more patient with us every year." And I say "That's God."

Sometimes the things I get the craziest about are also the things I love the most.

Fighting a Winning Battle

"When you live alone, you become more and more like yourself," Pastor Dale said, several years ago. My brother was with me, and we exchanged amused glances, as I had only within the past year or two embarked on my solo living experience.

It's not as funny anymore now that I know what it means.

It isn't just becoming more set in little preferences: more sure that the toilet paper should come over the TOP and the toothpaste tube should be squeezed from the BOTTOM and the bath mat should be laid pattern side UP and why aren't all of those things obvious?

It isn't really about becoming more set in my beliefs and opinions. I sometimes feel as though they've become more unsettled in the past few years than anything else, which is probably good because before I probably clung too tightly to too many opinions just because they were the ones I was used to having.

I think the worst part about living alone is that you have a lot of time to notice yourself, and to see yourself as you see you. It's also the best part, because as much as I'd rather not see my own failings, I am confident that the ability to see them comes from the Spirit. And if the Spirit is poking around down there in the dusty darkness of my inner self, it's bound to get cleaner.

Sometimes I feel as though that the Spirit is working on an especially dirty room, one that I've been shoving more and more things into and trying to ignore. A few years ago there was a cleaning out of the room that was chock full of knowing-it-all.

This year, I think the Spirit's working on a few rooms at once. The one getting the most focus tonight seems to be the distrustful control freak room. The one that holds all my long beloved and nurtured beliefs that nobody looks out for me except for me, that nobody wants to help me, that nobody can help me, and that everybody, everytime, everywhere, will always let me down.

This year's broom so far: the Harvest Youth Group Spring Banquet.

You know how sometimes God lets you do things the way you think they should be done as a discipline tool? Letting you try things your way so you can see how your way is wrong? Well, this year I launched into the banquet with my usual preconceived notions that I must do everything myself. I delegated nothing. I said, "Don't worry, I'll do that." I sighed melodramatically to myself when somebody forgot what I had told him or her at least fifteen times already.

Tonight, after telling a large number of teenagers to meet me at church to practice at 8:30, I arrived and found that there was a prayer shower going on in the gym, where I had planned to rehearse. About 20 women were sitting around eating cookies and cooing over four new babies, and I almost cried. And then I almost exploded because that's less embarrassing than crying. And I was rude to several sympathetic women and also to some who sort of laughed off my distress.

Strangely, I haven't been really worried about the banquet this year. I'm still not, deep down. I know it will all come together. And on some ego-crushing level, I don't think anybody really cares how much effort we put into it, anyway. It's a church fundraiser, not Broadway.

But it could have been better if I had gotten over myself and asked for help back in the beginning. That's what's really killing me. Or, hopefully, just the part of me that wants to hang on to control with both fists even if it comes with a semi-annual nervous breakdown.

Every time something goes wrong, I hear a voice saying, "See? This is what you knew would happen. You can't rely on anybody!"

This year, God has given me grace to counter that voice with specifics. Janessa. Andrew, David, and Emily. Chelsea. Matthew. Michele. (That's for starters.) Every friend who has said "It will be okay," or hugged me just a little bit longer, or asked if she could do anything for me. And then there's the grace I've been given in that I've not been angry at the kids this year. For as much as this has been the worst year for rehearsal, and for my organization, I have loved the kids more this year than any other, and that's from God, too, because my frustration with the situation hasn't spilled over onto them as often as it has in previous years.

The Father loves me.

Christ lived, died, and rose for me.

The Spirit is at work in me to make me more and more like Christ, not more and more like myself. And the Spirit (praise God) is far, far stronger than I am.

This kingdom's coming.

And it's okay if I cry while I wait.

Family Time

Tonight I went to the home of my pastor and his family for choir practice. I ended up staying around for at least a half hour afterwards, just sitting with the family and holding one of the infant daughters of my associate pastor and his wife (they're neighbors and the VanDykes babysit a lot).

Usually infants make me a little nervous, but tonight that closeness and warmth was just what I needed. Actually, I was physically close to people all evening (crowding into a living room with the whole choir, squishing on a love seat between Sandra and Bethany, holding Emma) . This might not seem like a big deal to a lot of people, but it was a big deal for me. It's been a confusing life on a lot of levels lately, and I've been aching for family, and for people just to be close to me. It's nice to be tangibly reminded that I'm not alone.

I went to the VanDykes for choir practice, and I got family thrown in.

Thank you, God.

A Very Short Post

One visit down, one banquet to go.
The momentous insanity of March lumbers on.
Someday I will learn how
to ask for the help I want.
For now, to bed (hopefully
to sleep without needing NyQuil).
Longer post to come...
in about 10 days.
It
will be
all
right.

Owww...it's beautiful....

I know I'm not the only person who feels like this, that beauty hurts at the same time as it invites you. It always has to, doesn't it, down here post-Fall? But in my head most people who ache at the beautiful are watching sunsets or spotting rainbows or running across hilly meadows in full song.

It's not that I don't feel the pain of beauty at the sight of nature. It's just that sometimes I wonder how many people would laugh at me for saying I used to spend a fair bit of time wandering my backyard under the full moon (singing to myself) versus the number of people who would laugh because I was so filled with the beautiful aching by someone else's creativity that I felt I had to be creative myself or risk bursting. Or the number of people who would laugh because the specific inspiration was an episode of Lost.

But then, to paraphrase the poet: Is there in laughter no beauty?

I’m so old…unless it’s just that I’m a bit of a snob. Which it probably is.

For a while there after college, I felt young and small and scared. Then I joined Harvest and started hanging out with people in the pre-college age range like Abby and Brittany, partly because the people my age were all married, sometimes even with children, and I was atrocious at relating in a natural manner to people who had significant others, let alone significant family units. (I’m improving on this, which is good because so many important people in my life have gotten married or engaged within the years that I’ve been at Harvest.)

Anyway, when I first started spending time with people about two-thirds of my age, I felt very old, albeit still small and scared. And now I don’t.

Maybe it’s because I’m good friends with Trudy, with whom I can spend a lot of time and never think about the fact that technically she’s old enough to be my mom…that is, until she starts talking about some nice young man or other. ;)

Maybe it’s because my “young” friends are embarking on their post-college careers and it’s sort of leveling us out.

Maybe it’s because one time I said I was too old to be a college student now and Micah said, “You’re not too old, you just feel too superior,” and that suddenly sounded like a more accurate description.

And/or maybe it’s because I’m finally owning my age. Next year I’ll be thirty. It seems as though I’ve been old enough to be thirty for some time now, and I’m ready for it. I’ve already started thinking of my age as twenty-nine, and when people ask my age lately I’ve had to stop and remind myself that my twenty-ninth birthday isn’t until June.

I’m not as mature as I’m going to be, and I’m younger than a lot of people. But, yeah. I’m older than a lot of people, too.

I have a feeling that being the crazy adult is going to be a lot of fun.

Conversations with Myself

Because I live alone, and because I am my father and my mother combined and beyond, and because I have had bad experiences with talking to other people and I have pulled an illegitimate "lesson" from them, and because of (doubtless) an array of other reasons, I talk to myself.

Who else is there? Besides God, and sometimes He doesn't seem so quick to answer.

This is a good illustration of what I mean. Because as I typed that last sentence, this popped into my head: "What if you really already know what His answer is?"

Recently I've been talking to myself more frequently. I talk out loud, because, as a friend said tonight, something that sounds great in your head can sound suddenly stupid when you say it out loud. I know I've had a lot of stupid thoughts turn into even stupider thoughts and spiral down into self-destructive patterns before too long, and if I can stop them by verbalizing them, I would like to try that for a change. (Also, I'd rather sound suddenly stupid when only I'm around to hear it.)

The whiny or confused voice usually leads off these conversations, to be fended off by the decisive and rational voice that reminds me of who I am, and Whose I am, and how common these fears and failings are, and how faithful my Father is. I hope the latter voice keeps gaining ground. I like it better, and I think it is more dangerous on an ultimate level. Sometimes, it even sounds like a quick answer from God.

Funny how often it tells me I can't really live this life effectively inside a series of self-referential conversations.

"I was born for this."

I hear a lot of people are upset about the weather in Michigan these days. They say it's cold and snowy and gloomy.

Yes, it's cold. That is what happens in the winter. Snow happens, too. And although if given a choice between snowy and dry roads I would choose dry roads, I don't find driving in the snow all that challenging, at least not since the time I drove across the state in the Thanksgiving blizzard...I just can't see any future winter driving experience topping that. So I'm not afraid of snowy roads. I don't like the delays, since I don't like driving all that much and would rather just be at my destination. But it's only weather.

As for gloomy...well, gloomy is a state of mind, not a weather forecast. I expect it to be cloudy all winter long. It's Michigan. I've lived here my whole life. Cloudiness is to be expected as much as snow and cold. And since my eyes tend to be quite light-sensitive sometimes, I actually don't mind not living in direct sunlight. Cloudy days don't make me sneeze.

It's not that I don't like the sun, or blue sky, or warm weather. In fact, part of what I like about winter in Michigan is that it makes the arrival of spring such a euphoria-inducing event. It's forty degrees out! Take off your coats!

Someday, we won't have times when we prefer the darkness. Someday, the winter of this often discontented life will be over and the spring of heaven will be upon us, all the more glorious and beautiful because we've been cold and gloomy and snowed-in so often in the past.

"Weeping may last for the night,
But a shout of joy comes in the morning."
~~ Psalm 30:5b

Weeping may last for the winter...but joy is certain, certain, certain as if it has already come.

Hasn't He?

Are all African-Americans famous, or just Jessica Simpson?

Every available Tuesday during the school year, I go to an elementary school near my office and read with a young child. I've been doing this for five years and have worked with four girls: Jephri, who was all attitude and closeness and too sassy for her own good; Daijah, who spelled my name "Suqanne" and who hugged me after the last of two years' worth of mentoring sessions; Marshelle, who was a little bit shy but smiled a lot; and Consuelo, with whom I'm working this year, and who is the first girl I've worked with under third grade (she's in second).

It's amazing to me how much children learn in short spaces of time. It's also a good exercise to remember that I didn't always know everything I know now.

Concepts, for example.

Last Tuesday, the kids had a little project to work on in the room to celebrate Black History Month. I told Consuelo that she was supposed to write down the name of a famous living African-American. She stared at me, clearly wondering what I was talking about. Famous like somebody on TV or in movies, we told her.

She shifted around in her chair. Nobody likes being wrong, and she seemed unwilling to hazard a guess without understanding what we were asking her.

"Do you like the Cheetah Girls?" I asked, familiar with the band from the past several years of working with third-graders and thinking of the equally popular Raven-Symone.

Her eyes lit up. "Yes!"

After more prompting, she came up with a name, Sabrina. She said Sabrina was a singer. None of the rest of us in the room had heard of this person, so we let it go. We wrote it on the main list and on the little piece of construction paper that Consuelo decorated.

As it turns out, Sabrina is in the Cheetah Girls. But she is as white as one of the other people whose name appeared before hers on the list: Jessica Simpson.

The other girl in the room looked confused about the assignment, too. Her mentor stood up and came over to the room coordinator.

"See how Miss Nancy's hand is darker than mine?" the mentor asked. "But they're still hands. We're really the same."

"Not all the same," I interjected. "That would be boring."

Consuelo stuck out her hand. "My hand is darker than yours..." she said.

So I think I spent most of the half hour last Tuesday helping to impart the impression that African-American is a synonym for famous and/or that anybody with skin darker than mine could be called African-American.

But then, it's good that those girls didn't seem to know why we were making such a fuss over skin color, anyway.

Skimming from the Top

Tonight I went to my church congregational meeting. (It was a bit boring in places, but it was never uncomfortably tense. This was an answer to prayer, so praise God for that!)

As each person signed in, he or she received a dollar bill. Then, about two hours later, an elder speaking for the Building Oversight Team stood up and asked us to show off the dollars.

"Now say 'Mine!'" he said. "Say it like a two-year-old!"

A chorus of "Mines" came obediently back at him, and then he asked for the dollars to be passed up to the front. Amidst some good-natured muttering, they started moving.

And then he told us about a remarkable opportunity.

My church has voted to break ground on a building in April of this year. For the past 10 years or so, we've been meeting in an elementary school. Well, we've outgrown it. Navigating the halls in winter is not pleasant, to pick out a point that is mostly comfort-related. We also look forward to having a building of our own to grow our ministry opportunities. What new Bible studies will take place there? What services can we provide for members of the community in which we have been placed?

When we approved the motion to break ground this year, it was with the knowledge that at the time of the vote we didn't have enough money to build the building we had in the plans. Unless more money came in, we would have to put a few stages of the building on hold.

And now, the U.S. government is quite possibly going to vote for an extra $600 in tax returns for every person who pays income tax.

And maybe even $300 extra per child.

My church has a LOT of children.

This measure seems made for us, the elder pointed out, and the numbers went up on the screen: If everybody in my church donates this extra portion of their tax return, money that wasn't even a glimmer in their eyes a few weeks ago, then we could add $200,000 to the building fund.

Wow! Exciting stuff! I hope everybody does this.

But it got me thinking....

Wasn't the rich man who Jesus saw putting so much into the treasury donating the ancient Israel equivalent of an unexpected tax break?

I didn't join in the chorus of "Mine's" in the gym tonight, because when I was sitting there with that dollar I knew it wasn't mine, and that I was probably going to be called to give it back at any second. So why claim what clearly wasn't mine?

I want that attitude to grow in my life. Because in the ultimate sense, it's not my money. It's not my stuff. It's not my time. It's not even my life. My life is in Christ, and I want that to be increasingly obvious.

I don't want to just give him the extra bits that I won't miss.

Today's Surprising Thought

This morning I logged into my Facebook account and saw that one of the new Super Poke options is "Boycott Valentine's Day with." (For those who don't know what "Super Poke" is, just imagine sending a note to your friend saying you are doing that selected action with them. But online, not for real.)

My first thought was, "I could boycott Valentine's Day with [insert name here]." My second thought was, "But why? That seems kind of bitter, and it's not like I'm dreading Valentine's Day this year."

This was the surprising thought of the day, as usually I am bitterly dreading Valentine's Day for a variety of reasons. As I thought more about it, I realized:

1) I'm too old to waste any more time being bitter on purpose. I have enough bitterness that I'm afraid to dig out without making special efforts at new or accentuated bitterness.

2) I have a lot of people in my life who are getting married this year, or exploring new relationships, or even just celebrating yet another year as a spouse. But I am not crying my eyes out over it and wondering what is wrong with me and where have all the cowboys gone.

3) I kind of like the idea of being "the okay single woman." Maybe my mission is to be single for the rest of my life, partly so that young girls who are wondering why they aren't dating and are either wondering if something is wrong with them or feeling pressure from friends/family/etc. can think, "Well, there was Suzanne. She was a pretty cool single person, and she wasn't completely useless or anything. I will be okay, too." I never had an "okay single woman" in my life. It might have been nice to have.

It's not like I'm hugely fond of Valentine's Day all of a sudden. (Hey. I don't even really like Christmas. Of course I could give you a list of reasons not to celebrate Valentine's Day.) But I'm not dreading it. Which is actually a very significant difference.

Some parts of growing up do make life easier.

How do they do it?

I am home sick today. Not sure what it is, but I had a fever last night and I am just feeling very weak still. As I was thinking last night about how pathetic I was feeling, two subjects of the "how do they do it" question kept coming up.

Moms

Moms take care of their kids even when they, the moms, are feeling awful. This just grows more amazing to me every year. Moms in general grow more amazing every year.

When I was a kid, I never thought much about my mom being a separate entity with a separate life and a separate set of needs and wants. She was just always there, ready and willing to do anything for me. There weren't a lot of times when I said, "Hey, Mom...how can I help you out today?" Especially not when I was sick...but then, most times I do think my mom would rather have gotten juice for me than have me get up and get it myself. Because on top of her already outstanding Empathy Powers, she has amazing Mom Powers. Just having her around to be concerned made me feel better. And it still does...I call her even more when I'm sick than I usually do. It reminds me that I'm sick, but I'm loved. And if I'm loved, I can get through it.


Meghan

As I was shivering and aching on my couch last night, I tried to imagine what it would be like to be an 11-year-old in a hospital bed, having a severe reaction to chemotherapy meds.

And I could not imagine it. But that's what was going on with Meghan as I had my fever. In a way (and maybe this sounds weird), I've sort of dedicated this illness to Meghan. By which I mean that every time I start feeling sorry for myself, I remember her. I pray for her, and I pray that in my little lightweight illness I will be able to look to God in the same way she has been under a much greater trial.

I wish me being sick could take some pain away from her.


So, yeah. Moms and Meghan amaze me. I want to be as selfless and courageous as they are at their best. I'm glad the God who gives them grace for their needs is working in me, too...and providing me the grace I need in my own meager trials.

If I die before I wake....

In a recent discussion with a friend, we were talking about who would tell people if we died. Morbid? Not necessarily. You can think about such things without dwelling on them in an unhealthy way.

As I've thought about who would know first if I had died, and how the details afterwards would proceed, one thing keeps nagging at me: I need a will. Or maybe a living trust. Just a trust?

First of all, I need a basic understanding of post-death legal documents. And then I need one of those documents.

My step-aunt Susan died at about the age of 40. My cousin Bridgette died at about half that age. I'm not guaranteed tomorrow. Isn't it selfish, then, for me to live as though death won't happen eventually?

Someday, anywhere from tonight to decades from now, I will die. Then what? Who notifies people? Who gets my DVDs, which may by then be hopelessly out of date? Who gets to sort through all my old college paperwork and decide what to sell on EBay to my legions of adoring fans?

Hence the need for the legal document. Save whoever is left from probate.

I know somebody who has a CD made up that he wants played at his funeral. It contains songs directing focus to God, songs that strongly hint that physical death is only another stage and that what really matters is what comes afterwards.

This part makes me more nervous. Lately, when I've been casually thinking about my eventual death, I've been imagining something like this....

Upon arriving in heaven, Suzanne is shown a long line of people.

"Who are these?" Suzanne asks.

Her guide says, "These are people who never heard the Gospel."

"I couldn't speak to everyone," Suzanne says. "That would have been impossible."

"Look closer."

She looks closer and is horrified to see how many faces she recognizes.

"These aren't the people of Pakistan or Ecuador or Greece," her guide says. "They aren't the people you sent money to help. They are the people who sat next to you at work. They are the people you chatted with in long lines. They are the friends who stopped coming to church."

"But," Suzanne protests, "I've prayed that God would send strong Christians into their lives."

The guide looks at her. "Why did you think you were there?"

I know God is gracious and merciful. I know He won't hold my failures to speak against me. But I want Him to see less of them every year.

So this year, I want to get one of those legal documents.

And I want to start taking better care of my greater inheritance, too. Please pray that this may be the case. I'm so afraid to speak, but I'm growing more afraid not to speak. Pray that keeps up, and that God's words flow through me.

Because I want to wake before I die.

Yesterday

The title of this post isn't a reference to the much-loved Beatles song, but rather to the literal yesterday, January 11.

What excitement there was, folks! In my little office of five people, my boss was out of town on business; then one co-worker called in sick; then another co-worker coughed for about the 50 billionth time in the past two weeks and ended up hurting a rib so bad she was afraid she broke it, so she left, too.

Only two of us in my office all day yesterday. It was crazy busy sometimes, but all the customers who called in were nice and nobody was getting angry at us. We didn't get many sample requests, so I was free to sit and answer phones for most of the day. There were a few times I almost said "Look how awesome we are!" but then every time I remembered that bit in Acts 12 about Herod..."And immediately an angel of the Lord struck him because he did not give God the glory, and he was eaten by worms and died."

Because, really, God gave us a great day yesterday. And I had tons to do, and a lot of variety, and there is a large part of me that wishes more of my days could be like that (but without the part where co-workers are feeling miserable, because I don't wish that on them).

Usually if there is something going on socially on a Friday evening, I hear about it before I start my drive home. Last night, nothing was happening. (A quick look at Lisa's blog this morning revealed that this was because last night she and I were of the same mind as to socializing.)

I love my friends, but I have also re-discovered that I love to spend time alone. Not the time sitting in front of the TV or surfing aimlessly on the internet so much as time spent reading, or organizing, or something else that requires a bit more effort. When my apartment chores are done, I feel better about the world. And if the faithful completion of such tasks puts my attitude in the proper place outside these walls, it is worth it to set aside a night or two each week for them.

Last night I cooked. I actually cooked. I steamed some vegetables and heated up some pasta and made pesto to go with the pasta and sliced open chicken breasts and put sour cream in them, with garlic in one and onion in the other. But I remembered why I don't cook much, and especially during the week, because this project took about an hour and a half (or two hours?) and the meat ended up looking a little raw because I don't really cook chicken enough to know what it is supposed to look like when it is safe to eat. Still, it felt more like time well spent than sitting down to watch "just one episode" of some TV show on DVD that turns into me watching the whole disc.

Today I will continue my trend from last night by organizing my VHS collection (yes, I still have one) and going to the gym and running various errands. And maybe I'll even see about social events tonight.

Because I feel good about things here.

Meghan Haan

This is Meghan Haan, an 11-year-old girl who goes to my church. Many of you know her already, and so little of what I'm about to say will be new for you.

I had the privilege of having Meghan in my class for a few years when I taught the 3rd-4th grade group during our Wednesday night Bible study. She impressed me with her interest in and engagement with the material. She asked good questions and provided thoughtful answers to questions I asked. I gave thanks to God for her and for granting the prayers of believing parents seeking to raise their children to be strong in the Lord.

Just now, everyone in the Haan family has special need of the strength only the Holy Spirit can give. Meghan was recently diagnosed with osteosarcoma (bone cancer). It has been literally awe-inspiring to see God work in this family. In the midst of a dark and frightening time, they are looking to him as their only possible source of light.

I have been encouraged by this family in the past--especially by Meghan and her big sister Lauren--and they continue as a source of encouragement. Please pray for drastic healing for Meghan and torrents of peace, comfort, and strength for her, her family, and all those affected by this. Please pray that lives may be changed for the better as they hear this beautiful young girl sing praise to God in a cancer ward. And please pray that those of us who aren't family may know how best to encourage the Haans.

If you would like to stay updated on Meghan, you can visit the website her mother set up: http://greenchairstudio.typepad.com/vibrantlife.

God hears the prayers of his people. Let's take advantage of it!

A Promise

I've been reading through Isaiah, and this morning I came across this passage:

"In that day there will be a highway from Egypt to Assyria, and Assyria will come into Egypt, and Egypt into Assyria, and the Egyptians will worship with the Assyrians. In that day Israel will be the third with Egypt and Assyria, a blessing in the midst of the earth, whom the LORD of hosts has blessed, saying, 'Blessed be Egypt my people, and Assyria the work of my hands, and Israel my inheritance.'"
~~ Isaiah 19:23-25

It sent shivers down my spine and I laughed out loud for the sheer joy of it.

I tried to imagine what it would be like to hear that prophecy in the time it was given. Assyria had been invading and oppressing Israel for years and years. Egypt kept them as slaves for centuries and Israel remembered it like it was yesterday. So I'd imagine some people would have gotten pretty angry when they heard this. Egypt and Assyria worshiping together, maybe. But both of those nations together with Israel?

Then I tried to imagine some countries and groups that might stand in for Egypt and Assyria today in modern minds. Maybe Iraq, or North Korea, or China, or even France. Maybe Democrats or Republicans, Presbyterians or Catholics...let's face it, we don't need people to enslave us or torment us before we decide to cut them out of the reach of God's grace. If we were in charge of who got into heaven, there would be a lot more empty rooms in the Father's house.

But most of us are Egypt, about as far as it gets from the originally chosen people.

We are Assyria, taking whatever we can get and depending thoroughly on our own power.

And we are Israel, possessing great gifts upon which we routinely turn our backs.

"Blessed be Egypt my people, and Assyria the work of my hands, and Israel my inheritance."

God's worst enemies will become your brothers and sisters in Christ. It's a promise so sure it may as well have already happened, and in fact it has...I was once one of those very enemies.

Anybody can befriend someone who is just like them (Luke 6:32-34). But when antagonists turn allies, that's a matter for laughter in the Isaac sense: the "impossible" promise made true, and to God alone the glory.

May God's highway connect ever more and more of His people. Especially the ones we can't stand just now.

Beatles Wisdom

I heard "I'm Looking Through You" on the radio this morning, and the thought came to me that this is the hardest kind of relational divide to deal with...or it is for me, anyway. I'll let the Fab Four explain it with the two verses that struck me most:

I'm looking through you, where did you go

I thought I knew you, what did I know

You don't look different, but you have changed

I'm looking through you, you're not the same

You're thinking of me, the same old way

You were above me, but not today

The only difference is you're down there

I'm looking through you, and you're nowhere

Words in—or outside of—a vacuum

Tonight I had a conversation with a few friends about blogs, and I realized again something that I already knew: I would write even if nobody ever read what I wrote.

True, since last January I have written approximately two poems.

True, I have gone for longer stretches than usual this year without posting on the blog.

True, I have not even posted a new fanfiction story in a while.

True, my original ideas often simmer so long on the back burner that the bottom of the pot is almost burnt out.

But when I don't write for a while, I feel it. Or the lack of it. And then I know that writing something—anything—will lift my spirits.

I've written myself further into corners at times. I've written my share of Mary Sues, stories starring a type of myself in which the character standing in for me gets everything I want. I've written more than a few things that should never have seen the light of day (let alone been seen by a fellow human being). I've written out of anger and self-pity. I've written words that were intended to hurt, intended to sever relationships.

But I've also written comfort and truth. I've written clever phrases and dead-on character voices. I've written whimsical stories for children and I've written thoughtful poems about the world as I see it. I've spent a pain-stakingly long amount of time on writing communications in which I try my hardest to temper the truth with love and respect.

My words—on paper or online—are an integral part of who I am. I love writing, and I have learned so much in the process of it. Thank God that He shares creativity with us!

And I do think that creativity is usually best when it is shared. It provides more enjoyment to both parties that way, as well as more growth. Feedback challenges a writer to think about her audience, to realize that she is not writing in a vacuum. It pulls her out of herself and leads her into service of the work.

But if I were writing in a vacuum, I would still do it.

Home from the Holidays

I am sitting at home (where I live) after being home (with my parents and often my brother) for the holidays, with a whole year stretching out before me. Here are some of my thoughts tonight.

• My computer is mind-numbingly slow. I have probably loaded way too many songs and way too many pictures onto a hard drive unequipped to handle the pressure. Perhaps I should invest in a portable hard drive just so I could keep the pictures accessible, but not have them cluttering up my working hard drive.

• I’ve graduated from college, supported myself for 6 years, and now, as I enter the last full year of my twenties (I’ll be 30 on June 2009, God willing—plan your parties now!), I still don’t like the thought of “growing up.” (Anybody who thinks I am in any way too serious or too regimented to be considered anything but thoroughly grown up already did not know me when I was a child. I have always been like that.) I don’t like how you get older and things change, and people change, and how you can’t ever really go back. I appreciate growth. Within reason. But there is definitely a part of me that always wants to be a little girl and have fun. I guess I can look around at family members like my parents and realize that these are not mutually incompatible goals....

• I have way more stuff than I need. I like most of it, but sometimes I fantasize about burglars or tornadoes or fires, and about “starting over” and not accumulating so much. I would miss some things, but if I can lose two grandfathers and a cousin to death, and if I can lose friends and family to distance and time, I can lose (for instance) my notes from my college Playwriting class. (Downside of any of the above scenarios, of course: I do not want to lose my bird. He is a living creature who loves me and for whom I am responsible.)

• As I was thinking earlier about how the idea of a fire cleaning out my garbage is appealing, an association sprang to mind: the Holy Spirit is called a fire. I have a lot of spiritual and emotional garbage that I would miss a lot less than those Playwriting notes. I'm sure I would miss a fair amount of it, but I am willing to try it. Terrified, but willing. Bring on the holy fire, Lord.

• I have a lot of baggage around here (physically) that I could take care of in about half an hour if I would just get off the computer and focus on unpacking....

There's a lot more rattling around up there, but I need blog fodder for later, right? Right.

Happy New Year, everyone. May you not make hasty resolutions today or any other day this year, and may God grant you the power to follow through on every promise to make to yourself and to others.