There isn't much I haven't been doing (except for being in Peru, which is next week).
Lots of happily married people.
and growing families.
Even some newlyweds.
Got me thinking about relationships. Because I pick up on cues like that.
As does the Bachelorette, which, just so you know, I am currently watching. (I need more than a little Peru in my life).
My mom told me a while back that she was praying for me to be encouraged somehow. Not that I am downtrodden or mopey, just that I would be surprised by unique encouragement. Specifically that I would be made to feel beautiful. She would be the last to encourage that I need a man to make me happy, but she is sensitive to the way a girl might perceive the lack of male interest as a lack of beauty. And Momma won't be havin' that.
Not long afterwards, two different friends told me they believed I'd be good at kissing based on the way I enjoy a sucker.
Mission accomplished with those prayers, Mom.
When I told my mother this ludicrous piece of encouragement from my friends and mocked it as the answer to her prayers, she remained unphased.
"Well, God is good all the time," she said with great reverence.
"You cannot be serious right now."
She can't stifle her chuckle, and it's the delight of a mother who prays deeply for her girls and yet knows when to celebrate the Lord's great sense of humor. "Yes I can. I'll believe him for whatever it takes."
Deep encouragement over my current "relationship status" and a firmer satisfation in my duty to love His heart more than my own developed more meaningfully with an invitation into the bridal party of my friend Sarah's wedding.
*I don't like cell phones. I can't talk about it.
And there's something really beautiful about getting an honor you know you don't really deserve.
But it's not just gratitude for the gracious offer of a good friend to bare witness to her marriage.
Not just from her. From Him too.
Did I consider plugging my ears and yelling "I can't hear you!"? Yes I did.
I just don't do well with disappointment. Specifically disappointing others. And these people were making it very clear: they were disappointed.
No one seemed to care for my apology. I was near tears.
I'll likely forget his face, but I know I won't forget his voice.
When he had every reason to condemn me, he encouraged me instead. In his kindness he redeemed the day and set me on my way to show a little grace to my newest coworkers. (read: SLOW ROOKIES).
His whole demeanor bore an uncanny resemblance to Christ.
How many times do I take a situation up on my right to be upset or grieve my own inconvenience when Christ himself humbled himself to a cross, saying, "it's not about me." So, then, life surely isn't about me.
It's about making lasting impressions by His grace.
People, I don't admit these insecurities so you'll flatter me with consolations. I admit these things because while they are real insecurities, I know they are petty up against the ugliness my heart is capable of.
The tricky thing about being single is that I'm supposed to be finding a man to represent Christ in marriage, a model of Christ and the church. But you can't model something you don't know.
So the goal for now is to know God when I see Him.
So that I can know him when I see him.
I'll all but kneel on the steps right then and there in the middle of the ceremony because I still don't know why I'm blessed by friends who have every right to be upset by the amount of time we don't spend together or don't talk but instead choose to focus on the fact that from the bottom of my heart I want nothing more than for them to feel loved and known.
(It's possible I just have that song stuck in my head).
Not long afterwards, two different friends told me they believed I'd be good at kissing based on the way I enjoy a sucker.
Mission accomplished with those prayers, Mom.
When I told my mother this ludicrous piece of encouragement from my friends and mocked it as the answer to her prayers, she remained unphased.
"Well, God is good all the time," she said with great reverence.
"You cannot be serious right now."
She can't stifle her chuckle, and it's the delight of a mother who prays deeply for her girls and yet knows when to celebrate the Lord's great sense of humor. "Yes I can. I'll believe him for whatever it takes."
Deep encouragement over my current "relationship status" and a firmer satisfation in my duty to love His heart more than my own developed more meaningfully with an invitation into the bridal party of my friend Sarah's wedding.
*I don't like cell phones. I can't talk about it.
And there's something really beautiful about getting an honor you know you don't really deserve.
But it's not just gratitude for the gracious offer of a good friend to bare witness to her marriage.
Not just from her. From Him too.
Did I consider plugging my ears and yelling "I can't hear you!"? Yes I did.
I just don't do well with disappointment. Specifically disappointing others. And these people were making it very clear: they were disappointed.
No one seemed to care for my apology. I was near tears.
I'll likely forget his face, but I know I won't forget his voice.
When he had every reason to condemn me, he encouraged me instead. In his kindness he redeemed the day and set me on my way to show a little grace to my newest coworkers. (read: SLOW ROOKIES).
His whole demeanor bore an uncanny resemblance to Christ.
How many times do I take a situation up on my right to be upset or grieve my own inconvenience when Christ himself humbled himself to a cross, saying, "it's not about me." So, then, life surely isn't about me.
It's about making lasting impressions by His grace.
People, I don't admit these insecurities so you'll flatter me with consolations. I admit these things because while they are real insecurities, I know they are petty up against the ugliness my heart is capable of.
The tricky thing about being single is that I'm supposed to be finding a man to represent Christ in marriage, a model of Christ and the church. But you can't model something you don't know.
So the goal for now is to know God when I see Him.
So that I can know him when I see him.
I'll all but kneel on the steps right then and there in the middle of the ceremony because I still don't know why I'm blessed by friends who have every right to be upset by the amount of time we don't spend together or don't talk but instead choose to focus on the fact that from the bottom of my heart I want nothing more than for them to feel loved and known.
(It's possible I just have that song stuck in my head).
He is, indeed, good all the time.
Because even though the confidence was strangely boosted by that startling observation of dear friends, it mostly just accomplished making me super self-conscious when I eat a sucker.
You should know that I've never expected this position of honor from any of the girls who've offered it.
Most times I wonder how in the world I'm making a positive impact on the lives of my friends because quite honestly I'm not as diligent as I would like to be about praying for God's evident hand in each of their lives. Plus I can't tell you how many times I've been deemed a "failure at communication" from Virginia and Arkansas friends alike.*
So, yeah. The bridesmaid thing is an outta-left-field sort of thing.
Something about a weekend with old friends and getting to know the friends they've chosen along the way rededicates me to kneeling before God in gratitude for friendship. In request of wisdom and joy for these friends in their pursuits. It sort of feels like the least I can do for a friend who has asked me to be a close witness to her forever vows. Vows from a man who makes her feel lovely. Vows from him to love her as Christ loves his church. Vows for a relationship bent on grace, honoring one another even when it isn't deserved. Vows for a relationship built on worshipping God in and for his grace -- not relenting in modeling that grace for each other and for a watching world.
It's gratitude for grace at all.
It's gratitude for grace at all.
The other day at work (go with me on this) we were slammed. My job was to put ingredients into blenders and hand it to the people manning the blenders. But there were no more blenders left to put ingredients into because the blending staff was going so slow.
We were 25 orders behind. Twenty five. There was no way of speeding up the process except to encourage the rookie workers along and ensure them it would get easier and their pace quicker.
I wish I had been so patient as to see that at the time. Instead I paced around with a stressed, accusing expression and did my best to appear busy. I certainly did not want the discontented crowd swarming to me, asking for refunds and accusing me of not doing my part.
Let the record show I couldn't do my part because SLOW ROOKIES.
I wish I had been so patient as to see that at the time. Instead I paced around with a stressed, accusing expression and did my best to appear busy. I certainly did not want the discontented crowd swarming to me, asking for refunds and accusing me of not doing my part.
Let the record show I couldn't do my part because SLOW ROOKIES.
Try as I might to guard myself against the attacks of angry customers, they had me made. Customer after customer gestured for my attention over the screeching blenders.
Am I proud of that? No.
Am I proud of that? No.
I felt stuck and defeated and really sorry for letting the customers down and frustrated with my own attitude. Nothing was going right. I would apologize for the wait with the sincerest smile I could muster, only to be met with eye rolls and non-verbal "sure you are"s.
Then came the one man.
He obviously saw my remorse. With kind eyes and leaned-in whisper, as if he knew he was speaking directly to my crushed little heart, he offered, "It's not about me." He reached for the smoothie and I handed him his straw. "I can see you're working as hard as you can. Keep up the good work."
A genuine smile came over me, conveying my deep relief at his kindness.
I stammered out a "thank you" as he exited the building. He probably didn't hear it, and he didn't have to. He'd already seen my gratitude in my immediately transformed demeanor. The noise of discontent and hurry and the dern blenders mattered no more.
He had every reason to be as upset as the eye-rollers. He really could've demanded his money back and the request would be just. He had the power to crush my spirit and make a scene. He maybe even had the right.
But he didn't take it. He made so much more a lasting impression by his grace.
Sometimes I don't feel beautiful because my hair is long and frizzy from humidity. My thighs are dimply-- they just are. A pimple takes its sweet time letting me know that it does not appreciate me sleeping in my make up. And the nose. Oh, the nose.
Mostly I sometimes don't feel beautiful because I don't feel like I'm much resembling Christ. What, with the grace and all. To be honest, the degree to which I fail to resemble him is strongly correlated to the degree I fail to seek him.
And in the meantime I'll feel beautiful standing on the altar, celebrating the union of a great friend to her best friend as they seek to know Christ by their love. I'll feel beautiful as we gather in a circle around before the ceremony and offer praise to God for our friendships and lift the entire day to Him as worship.
I'll feel beautiful for being told I've had some Christ-like influence on the bride.
I'll whisper along to the words of "The Wonderful Cross" as the bride and groom take communion.
When I survey the wondrous cross
On which the Prince of Glory died
My richest gain I count but loss
And pour contempt on all my pride
See from his head, his hands, his feet
Sorrow and love flow mingled down
Did ever such love and sorrow meet
Or thorns compose so rich a crown
O the wonderful cross, O the wonderful cross
Bids me come and die and find that I may truly live
O the wonderful cross, O the wonderful cross
All who gather here by grace draw near and bless
Your name
Were the whole realm of nature mine
That were an offering far too small
Love so amazing, so divine
Demands my soul, my life, my all
If that day at work was a metaphor for life, I'd still be me. Waiting for a job to do. Pacing where I am, frustrated by the slow process. I could go all self conscious and get down on myself for not being able to fix everything I see that is wrong with the world (you know, hunger and poverty and abuse and the like) and believe everyone is out to point out faults. I can get defensive against their accusations. I can pace around and make it look like I'm busying myself appropriately and avoid the issues altogether.
Or I can be the active recipient of grace. I can resolve to deal faithfully in the small things I've been entrusted with for the moment. I can believe Him to see me. I can let Him encourage me to patience and to supporting those around me. I can let his gentleness convict me of my harsh heart, but I cannot encounter his grace and go on feeling or acting ugly.
So, I will waltz up and down that aisle solo with a pep in my step for as many times as I have the honor to do so for my gracious friends. I will do so confident in the beauty of his grace.
And if I do so happen to lock arms (and possible even well-trained lips) with my very own groom in this lifetime, we will be sure to do so with our own swagger.
He'll be so gangsta, I'll be so thug. Hey, soul sista.
2 comments:
Yes, I did read this post (all of it), but I'm pretty sure you've done much longer ones in the past. It's nice to see you blogging again, what with the hectic life you lead.
As for Saturday, I'd like to go, but I know it won't fly well with my mother. I do have to be careful about not overdoing it, meaning I really can't walk that much yet. I'd rather not hold you guys back because of that.
Does the fact that eating suckers now makes you feel self-conscious mean that you won't be into PDA with the future mate? Sad.
P.S. This is an awkward way to communicate, but I applaud your communication nonetheless. ;)
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