blessed break

i've decided to dub this month the "blessed break." ha. i have 4 1/2 more days completely OFF from work and about 3 more weeks completely OFF from school. oh my word... i cannot express the joy that it brought my heart to just type those words.

life gets going so fast sometimes. towards the end of last semester, i knew that i was going TOO fast... careening too closely to complete disaster. but what can you do when such huge papers are due so very closely together? i did the only thing i could-- buckle down, try to prioritize, and get it done. but life went TOO fast... and i found myself feeling pretty out of control. sometimes there are seasons like that in life, i guess...

THIS is the season of my blessed break though. =) i found myself this week reading AW Tozer and a book about mountaineering just because i WANTED to. it was so fun. =) then, today i pulled a CS Lewis book from my shelf and drove to Starbucks... it is great.

i guess there are seasons of WORK in life. i thank Jesus that there are also seasons of REST too! just when i find myself on the verge of some form of insanity, a season of rest comes... a blessed break. ahh... i love it. i am grateful

the whole fam at Christmas

knowing him

There have been moments in my life when I felt that I had a pretty good sense of what God was up to in my heart... I could see the movement of His hand clearly, understand the message He was trying to communicate to me, trace the work of healing that He seemed to be working in me. In those times, I walked with Him with a confidence that we were on the same page, working toward the same end. I felt like I knew where we were going... I could see the finish line ahead. It made the journey seem an easier and SAFER one.

Then... there's other times when the waters seem a bit more muddied... when I'm aware that God is up to SOMETHING... but I struggle for the life of me to trace out or articulate what that might be. I try to hold on to His hand even though I can't see it. And I fight the war inside of me that doubts that He really IS up to something good after all... or have I been mistaken all along? It's a very scary and unsettling place to be--trying to believe when you can't see... to be putting your HEART in the hands of Someone that you can only see as through a glass darkly (I Cor. 13)... when your head KNOWS that He can be trusted, but your heart, after being broken a few times, is afraid to REALLY believe it.

I find myself these days in the latter season, rather than the former. The reality is that some days I feel like I'm clinging to a tiny shred of faith, while other days I'm floundering around, not really sure WHAT I'm clinging to. And then there's the guilt that inevitably follows (I hate guilt... I can't wait til that one gets thrown into the lake of fire.)--it says, "You've been a Christian for 23 years. How can you BE so distrusting? People who really walk with Jesus trust Him."

Well, I think I have a question. HOW did these people learn to trust? Seriously... HOW? Guess what... it probably didn't come naturally to them. I'm wondering (and hoping) that it came through times like I'm describing now... when you can't see but you still choose to believe. When your heart hurts and your every inclination is to take cover and hide, but somehow, you still hold your heart out to Him anyway, LONGING to believe that He's trustworthy.

I have to believe that it's in moments like these--when you're at the bottom but you somehow still choose to look up--that He comes through in the most special and most unique of ways. Maybe these are the times when He shines the brightest... when He touches our hearts in the most personal ways... when we get to know and experience His real heart towards us that we just wouldn't otherwise.

Is this the road of faith? I think so. I don't know why it is so hard sometimes... except that I remember that Jesus said that it's a narrow way and few find it. But I'm finding rest in remembering that there is a PRIZE--and it's Jesus Christ Himself. We can KNOW HIM... in this world, while we're in these bodies. The hard part is that the cost seems to be a measure of suffering likened to His suffering... but the reward is KNOWING HIM. And as we know Him, we find ourselves being transformed from one degree of glory to another... that's a beautiful thing.

"that I may know Him and the power of His resurrection, and may share in His sufferings, becoming like Him in His death, that by any means possible I may attain the resurrection from the dead." (Phil. 3:10-11)

"and we all, with unveiled face, beholding the glory of the Lord, are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another, for this comes from the Lord who is the Spirit." (II Cor. 3:18)

Dear friends... this Christmas, may He lead us to Himself.

attics & temples

I did not write this... but I wish I had. I love it.

My new apartment is in the attic of Jim and Megan's house. It's a big old one-roomer with a mind of its own--a cacophony of lines that occur at approximately 45 to 90 degree angles, with floors that sort of redefine "level." This attic has its own idea of what "square" means; its studs have their own interpretation of the classic 24-inch center. Its walls are loosely vertical and the whole thing is about two weeks away from being much more than a lot of potential.

Right now it is resistant to change--openly hostile to my ideas of what it ought to be. But slowly, surely, occasionally even patiently, I am (with the help of some friends--a hammer, a saw, some nails and a wrecking bar) enlightening it, changing its self-concept, convincing it that it is not merely an ugly, old attic--it is a great space that I would like to inhabit and be on friendly terms with--a space full of promise and beauty and order and life.

I suspect that it wants to cooperate, but it's hard and I must be patient. Whoever it was that shaped the attic before me did so with some pretty big nails, deep cuts, hard hammers, and rough saws. They considered the attic to be wasted space, storage space--a distance between the roof and ceiling--a buffer zone and not much else. Someone else came along and closed it in for a smoking room; a place for those ignoble activities that would be inappropriate in the "house proper." They slopped over the walls with cheap, nasty paneling and put in a bathroom, covered the floors with ugly carpeting and stunk it up with a tobacco habit.

Sometimes in the heat of the toil of my labor I give in to fits of selfish rage--frustration more over my own lack of skill than over my apartment's progress. But late at night when I look over the piles of dust and dry wall and knee-deep debris that remain during this reconstructive effort, I am strangely moved by the place and I proclaim the Gospel to it softly. I say, "I know how it hurts to be torn up. I am often choked on the litter left by my own remodeling. I know what it's like to settle (by the grave act of a strong will) into the despair of believing that you are a wasted space. I have felt the blows of some heavy hammers that nailed me to a sense of uselessness. I have been shaped by some pretty careless workers who came to the task of making me and lacked any craftsmanship or artistry. I know the pain of wanting to be changed and yet being distrustful of changes, of wanting to be worked on but being suspicious of the intentions of the Worker. But here is some good news: He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus. However messy it may look now, however confusing and scary it appears, however endless the task may seem, we are glorious, beautiful, alive! There is much more tearing out to do-- a lot to give up. No thin coat of new paint, no shallow, petty piety will do. It's not good enough to cover up imperfection, it must be remodeled, transformed. Art, beauty, function--these things take time. They may take til the day of Christ Jesus.

But we are not wasted space, we are temples of a Being greater than ourselves, temples built for being inhabited and brought to life. Though we may not understand the process, our Rebuilder does. We are His workmanship and the place where He lives. Little attic, do not despair! I'm being made by a Master Carpenter. I'm learning a little about building, too.

~Rich Mullins