It Adds Up

This is one of my favorite excerpts from Ann's book, One Thousand Gifts.

The same chapter says, "I know there is poor and hideous suffering and I've seen the hungry and the guns that go to war... I only deepen the wound of the world when I neglect to give thanks for the early light dappled through leaves... and all good things a good God gives.

Why would the world need more anger, more outrage? How does it save the world to reject unabashed joy when it is joy that saves us? Rejecting joy to stand in solidarity with the suffering doesn't rescue the suffering. The converse does.

It is true, I never stop wanting to learn the hard eucharisteo for the death beds and dark skies and prodigal sons. But I accept this is the way to begin."

On Unexpected Delights and Reminders

Most people who know me see me as a pretty off-the-cuff kind of person. It's how my humor, schedule, and brain work (not always successfully). Flexibility is my ebb and flow. So to begin feeling significantly thrown off by a relatively harmless happening means that something is a little too tightly wound up there in my head. Or, worse yet, my heart.

So as I kicked and screamed, God decided to carve out for me a brilliant retreat. An introvert's paradise, sponsored by Delta. An hour and a half sitting on the plane at the gate in Richmond threatened (and then ruined) my chances of catching my connection in Atlanta. Ironic, I thought, since we were on a "Delta Connections" plane. No later flights out of Atlanta meant staying the night there.

It was much more frustrating in my head than it sounds, believe you me.

I was just ready to be home and woe is me and all of that. It was easier to accept once there was no question that I'd miss the ATL flight and when the 3 year old girl in front of me started being hilarious.

"Momma, it's getting dar-yark-- we should probably get going..."

"Think we should tell 'em, Mom?"

"You know what's good about Georgia? If you like it you can love it, if you don't like it, you don't have to go there. It's easy."

"Momma, where I'm from?"

Just can't help but smile at these things. Then we got to Atlanta and there were patrons with their panties all in a wad enough for all of us, so I figured I should just let it go already and get happy because, well, it really wasn't anyone's fault. Don't try telling that to Joe Throwafit at the counter, though.

I got my vouchers and my boarding pass for 8:30 a.m. on Friday and went to set up shop at the food court. As I sat, munching on my amazing hot dog and fries (really the best of both that I've ever had), the place cleared out and I realized it was mostly just me and the airport. Well, and the people at different restaurants around the court joking around with each other with brooms and mops and "you missed a spots" and "that is not my jurisdictions." Airports are loud and bustling. But somehow it's an oasis for me and I'm okay to just have my piece of still amongst it all.

God knows that tendency of mine. Probably knew I needed it, too. And there it was. Like a wave thats repeatedly crashed against this pier even as I've desperately tried to fortify the exterior against its rush-- there is a purpose for this. It's not a nuisance or even an easy-going attitude to accommodate the glitch in plans. It's not anything of my doing either way-- not any more than a weakening pier can withstand the growing force of hurricane winds, there to make a point.

It finally crossed my mind that maybe God had a point to make. And maybe I should be taking notes. Or, better yet, communicating with Him. So I did, with surroundings that I've always loved. Knowing it was in His hands made the rest of the adventure not only bearable, but desirable. A theme our entire family is beginning to pick up on as we pack ourselves and 21 years up and move it all to Fayetteville.

I arrived at the Days Inn around 11:30 p.m. and was so ready to crash but just couldn't. I was too hyped up remembering everything I love about hotel rooms (after already falling back in love with airports). Even those crazy hotel rooms that you're staying alone in on creepy Phoenix avenue. I had to stay awake for this stepping stone into adulthood-- a milestone solo-mission-style sleepover. I really couldn't even contain myself, let alone choose which of my two double beds to sleep on (I went with the one on the right, not that you care).

Ghetto hairdryer coming off the wall.

Ice bucket! I didn't even have a drink that needed ice, but the trip to the ice machine is such an integral part of any hotel stay.

Terrible coffee that you just have to make because it's there and so convenient and so perfect for bathtime with unlimited, immediate hot water.

Sunflower and grapefruit soap: who knew?!

1993 wallpaper border straight out of my parents bedroom (really, the same one).

Calling the front desk for a wakeup call.

Lights that you have to turn on lamp by lamp (highly scary the first time you enter the room and can't see a dang thing).

Free wifi (by which to write the post that I did that night) and satellite tv (that I fell asleep to).

Complementary breakfast (that I was up too early for, rude!)

I even almost put my clothes in the drawers just because there were so many of them and, you know, because I could. There was so much freedom, and that is no joke.

I don't go about my days feeling stifled. I have a family very supportive of my independent venture north and friends who want nothing but happiness for me. More than that, I worship and seek to serve a God whose very purpose in sending a Savior was to bring freedom to a world then-stifled by Old Testament law. I wonder how many of us still feel burdened by a law eradicated 2000 years ago that finds new avenues to make itself applicable today. How many held back by Satan not dangling bad things in front of us (though he does plenty of that and I, personally, hate him for it) but convincing us that good will do. How many, like me, are frustrated by finding that good is never enough like he promises. See, if anything, my shackles are those that I clench around my own fist-- this idea that if I could just make everyone happy, the world would be a peace. I enslave myself to keeping the peace, to looking blameless, to pleasing people.

But here I was, in either a horror movie or a dream come true, fed, bathed, caffeinated, comfy and warm free to be. Free to admit my faults and recognize hurt. Free to clear my mind and let it be enough-- a springboard, at least-- that I was, indeed, fed and (relatively, hopefully... but in all honestly, truly) safe. Free to be glad about that and not guilty for it. Not guilty for feeling positive and rested, peaceful and optimistic. Guilty only for judging myself by a law, a standard, that I'm freed from to begin with. Guilty only for distancing myself from the real standard-- the one of grace set forth by the living God who wants to come into my every day, my every action. The righteous God who gave all He had to put out the self-righteous flame underneath me in favor of imparting it to me through refinement and forgiveness. The God who promises His presence in the process. He was there and we were free to meet and I don't know that I was appropriately awed at that at the time (I was sidetracked by the tricks listed above).

I am so thankful for it now. As the rest of this break has flown by and been such fun in the company of my blood folk, as I look forward to a lot of work-- academically and emotionally, and as I think of the future in terms of careers (per the airport time, I am re-pumped for the flight attending option) I am not only grateful for the oasis time, but also for that freedom to meet with Him during any of that which anxiously knocks at the door. Thankful for the delight, but mostly for the reminder that accompanied it.

Reunited (and it feels so good!)

(originally written September 2, 2010)

It always manages to surprise me, how quick and seamless the transition back to the school world is. Summer seems like forever ago and I've chosen my topic for 4 different research papers this semester.

Welcome, Sadie.

Why thank you.

I say seamless. That probably isn't the best adjective. Fun, exciting, hilarious, adventurous, tiresome. Mostly. But seamless= not so much.

Noelle came last Thursday to hang out and get in some last bonding time before she, you know, gets a new roommate.

Oh yes, we celebrated that, too. By "we" I mean a bunch of us. Because we love Noelle and we are so thankful for the time to have been single with her. But we want her prepared for... not being single, if you will. I think we took care of that with a slew of new "outfits." And we even designed and modeled some of our own ensembles. There were some creative minds in the bunch. But mostly there were hearts that genuinely care for our sweet friend as she journeys into uncharted territory for all of us.

Then she had to leave to party on.

Meanwhile, back in FredVegas, I decided to fall back from adventures to Annapolis given that Arkie was acting weird.

Good thing, folks. Good. thing. Despite the fact that the car was acting slightly out of character, I agreed to help a couple of friends by following them to a relative's house, where they could drop off their cars to be serviced and I would drive them back to their house.

I said "I have nothing else to do this afternoon. Why not?!" (read: good thing I didn't have anything else to do....). (You're welcome for that small dose of dramatic foreshadowing).

So I get to the sketch driveway in Summerduck, Virginia (no lie). (and no, the AAA people didn't know where it was, either). (yes that was more dramatic foreshadowing). I put the car into park. Or I at least made the gear shift line up with the "P". Whether or not the car is actually in park is apparently relative these days. Imagine my surprise, then, when I took my foot off of the brake and the car goes, oh, about half a mile, before it clicks that something might be wrong. I'm that sharp. So I get my foot back on the brake about 2 seconds before rear-ending Chris's truck into the house/auto shop off of the unnamed road, which is off of the unnamed road, which is off of the unnamed road.

Thank God for emergency brakes.

No really, I did. Right then and there. Because that is how I roll. Pun intended. Come to think of it though, I don't know if it was right then. Right then I was trying to restart the car and was probably slightly distracted by that it wouldn't. Arkie wouldn't even try. That is when I started saying goodbye to my (no longer) faithful compadre. Once the car wouldn't start at all and was stuck in drive indefinitely and Chris was in the driver's seat-- that's when I said a small thank you for emergency brakes.

So we called AAA and went through 4 representatives because they couldn't understand why a girl from Little Rock would be in Summerduck, VA. Two things regarding this point. A. I've never once been treated like the move to VA was a step down from AR, so score Arkansas! (AR-1, VA-4,001) Don't get me wrong, I love them both, but Sarah Holljes, who is soon moving to the Natural State can attest, people usually rank the Commonwealth over the origin of WalMart. Ungrateful people. B. I, too, had no idea what I was doing in Summerduck.

While on hold with these truly trying to be of help people, I heard about 50 times that Justin Timberlake-- "that's right, Justin Timberlake!!"-- designs for Triple A apparel which you can find at "A. A. A. dot com." Exhilarating. I will do just that when I get back to civilization, thank you, recorded sales lady.

*September 24, 2010*

I started writing this story forever ago and have just now revisited the post. I still remember it all so vividly. It's just an out-of-body kind of experience when you're outside of civilization in the whacky parts of Virginia with people you don't really know that well and then they call up Dave the crazy tenant who shows up in his old truck on some rampage about how much Chris owed him for this because he was supposed to mow his Mother's lawn by sundown.

And then you can't find your phone. So you interrupt Dave's explosion to ask to look in your bag in the bed of the truck so you have it if, you know, something happened.

I don't care to dream what "something" might entail, but you can never know.

And then Dave starts talking about how feminism ruined his appetite because now women can't cook and then you get told you look like a person who could spare $40 anyway when that's the tow bill and you're hauling things like a Tivo and a sack of water bottles and sparkling grape juice (and Dave makes a comment along the lines of "you're probably a virgin, too, huh?") because you're not sure if you'll see you car after A and J Automotive gets done with it and you've emptied it's contents into the truck bed.

All of this while dressed to the nines for the Annapolis wedding shower I didn't end up going to because I sensed Arkie was done for. Heels and jewelry and all. Not exactly Summerduck style.

It's fine, though, because when I got home Claire was making us all dinner and we laughed over candlelight and talked through our first weeks of class, respectively, and committed ourselves to starting a fresh, new week.

And that's exactly what we did. (that was before I got a ticket once I got Arkie back because we'd used the temporary parking pass from the dashboard to write down the towing numbers and I left it with Chris and couldn't print out a new pass. What do you do but laugh?)

I was really glad it all happened, though.

A. Back in Peru, I helped pass out letters Chris and Lizzie wrote to the kids and watched as they beamed because their "future mom" and "future dad" cared about them. I made note in that moment that I really didn't know Chris and Lizzie that well and probably should because they use the money that they manage to save to physically visit these kids and when they don't have the money to write because they care. This was my chance. In a strange package.

B. There are awesome freshmen at the BCM this year. For some reason this is the first year that I've really considered what it was like to come to this place and not know a soul and have no real way of exploring the city around me (besides random journeys in Ruby). It's like I got a car and life took off and the opportunities were endless. I lost the connection to the days of wishing someone would offer a ride and then the amazing blessing it was to have people take an interest in the newcomers. So as I was meeting the new freshmen, my car was taken from underneath me and I was leveled with these awesome people and put in the place of humility where I always belonged.

C. I was re-acquainted with the blessing it is to have a Dad to call when my car is broken and I'm stranded (well, until Dave came to the rescue). First, just to hear his reassuring voice. Secondly, to know he'll do whatever he can to help. What did I do to get that? The answer isnothing. And so my mind wanders to the people who don't have that in life. The voice and the means to help from their dads. Then my mind has a talking-to with my heart and tells me to do something about it but the problem is I don't know and there are papers and tests and weddings and parties and family and fun to distract myself with until I remember that none of it is as satisfying a cause as actually taking Jesus and his commandments at His Word andhelping people.

D. Along those lines-- and despite the tone I take in this post to be humorous because reallywhat even happens in Summerduck, Virginia?-- my time in the rural parts and my interaction with people that Sunday reminded me that I am no better than Dave. The unnamed streets that AAA can't find are filled with people no less important to God than the people on College Ave. I am no more-- or less, for that matter-- loved by God for wearing a ruffly dress from Target and having an iPhone to call for help from a loving home.

So now I'm reunited with the striking young sportscar with wide hips and seats that hug you and reminded of things my busyness would've sped over.

Starting Now

More on life as in "event to event" coming soon.

But for now there's just time to convey what I'm learning about He Who ushers the events along.

On Saturday my friends were so fabulous to celebrate with me in the city.

You know the one.

I guess I'm just weird or something because my idea of celebrating was to go to church. Just to put the crazy in crunk birthday celebrating. It wasn't to be high and mighty or cool (especially temperature wise, because the place was hot with people) or in wide open spaces to ring in adulthood (again with the mass amounts of people).

You see, what I love about a wedding is of course the couple and the party and the love and the dreams about the future. But what I really love is that more than anything it is a dedication-- a recognition that for better or for worse, as humans, we are much more prone to mess things up than to admit to fault and make things better. Thus, the marriage is presented as an offering to God-- a promise to give it to Him before giving it up.

I don't have a wedding in sights. But why wait?

Birthdays, like weddings, are about the person and the party and the love and the dreams for the future-- why miss out on the dedication aspect until that one wedding day that will go by too quickly and for that matter is not even necessarily going to happen simply because it's what I've pictured since I was able to walk down a pretend aisle in a white dress-up dress.

At 21, there is no wedding for me. But there are "I dos" to be said.

Sadie, do you care about poverty?

Sadie, do you care about sadness?

Sadie, do you care about honoring me?

Sadie, do you care to know me more than you know about me?

Sadie, do you want my will in your life? Do you spend time counting the cost?

Sadie, do you commit your fears to me as you wait in anticipation for direction?

"I dos" to be pondered. Commitments to be made. Especially as a single 21 year old anticipating adulthood.

So I took the attention and the love and the company and the well-wishes and the gifts and the party intended for me to the alter to leave it there for Him-- careful not to be foolish enough to think that I've earned or deserved or been entitled to the absolute privilege of a life I've been able to live for 21 years.

It's been a gift.
An unexpected gift.

I got to tell God that I don't expect these fabulous things from Him in order to continue to love Him and enjoy His plan and delight in His promise that He has something much better not only for me (after all, I already have it pretty good) but also for the people who really need better. Who live without enough. Love, water, resources, access, care, strength, life.

I've got love, water, resources, access, care, and strength. I even have life. 21 years of it.

What I want is to have these things in such abundance that they spill into the lives of deep, admitted need.

I want the humility of recognizing my own areas of true need, not wasting time with surface level complaints regarding temperature or taste or smell or personal preferences that are okay, but not what I'm ultimately convinced of... that ultimately are not my hope.  I want to give voice to truly convicting things and to glorifying the God who does something with those convictions.

I want life. Not time, necessarily.

I want to remember that my time is limited, that the next day is not guaranteed to me and that even if it was, there is no guarantee that my life as a quantitative whole would mean something.

I want to be as desperate as those in physical need in my approach to God, asking that He grant spiritual life to my days. And in the process I want to help meet those physical needs.

As Mark Batterson preached on Saturday, I want to make worthy complaints to the One who can do something about it. I want the petty complaints out of my daily conversations-- bigger picture: I want the me out of "my" life.

The Old Testament book of Habakkuk is all about the minor prophet getting upset by what he sees in the world and asking God to do something already. So then God said, in essence, "you're not going to like it." The Lord says that comfortable had to look a little worse before change would look a little better.

And as Habakkuk looked around at injustice and terrible quality of life around him, he coupled his worthy complaints with reverent resolve to do something about it, knowing that ultimately God would bring change and that ultimately his joy and strength was the Lord, not the circumstances in his own life or the lives of others.

And he said all of this with stringed instruments, in praise.

Part of complaining about the right things-- the things that break God's heart, too-- is appropriately appreciating all that I do have. Being thankful for the good I see provides the motivation to confront the less desirable things. It also means recognizing it while I have it, knowing full well that with or without the "good", God would still be good.

I don't do stringed instruments so much. I do pictures, though.

So with my 21st birthday commences "365 days of thankfulness"-- a picture for every day to convey my appreciation for life as I seek out God for life. It focuses on my own life for the express purpose of me recognizing that I have so little to complain about. It also reminds me that those complaints I do encounter in my daily thought life belong with God and not mixed in with a world struggling with worthy complaints. 

Day 1:

I'm thankful for sunflowers.

I'm thankful that they only stay fresh on the table for one week and make you stop and appreciate their beauty while it lasts.

I'm thankful for Noelle (who bought them for me on a weekend intended to celebrate her) and the beauty of college living with her while that lasted.

I'm thankful for the many things she and the sunflowers have in common-- most notably, the ability to brighten my day.

Also I'm thankful for the unexpected blessing that they both were.

"Jesus Wept"

When Lazarus died, Jesus wept.

Blotchy tears, I am convinced. (insert some sort of jargon about greek roots and stuff here)

Because his friend, whom he loved, was dead. Buried. Gone.

He felt the pain as deeply as any of us would have (or do).

He could have kept his friend from dying. He knew all along he could save him. But first he let the community hurt. Long. And he dared join them there.

Could it have been so that he could rejoice just as jubilantly when his friend emerged (hopped out of...?) from that tomb? He met Mary (used her hair to wipe perfume on Jesus' feet Mary) and Martha in their low to lift them high.

I was confused as to why the story of Lazarus was our sermon tonight when Mark began. 'Til then it clicked.

He stooped. To lift us out of this.

Whatever this is to you.

He lowered himself to helplessness, finality, and the feeling of irreversability.

The drop in his stomach, the lump in his throat.

And even with the power to raise Lazarus, Christ would not do it without knowing that God would get the glory.

With the power to climb off that cross, Christ would not do it because he knew that would not glorify God. So he died.

And Mary and Martha wept.

Tears (blotchy ones) that Jesus knew.

As far as they knew, the situation was helpless, final, and irreversable. The only person they'd even known with the ability to reverse death was dead. Refused to use his power, knowing the glory was not in escaping death, but in beating it. In redeeming it.

He focused his power on redemption. He focused his power on humility.

Before he spoke Lazarus out of the tomb, Jesus said to Martha, "I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in me will live, even though he dies; and whoever lives and believes in me will never die. Do you believe this?"

"Yes, Lord," she told him, "I believe that you are the Christ, the Son of God, who was to come into the world." (John 11:25-27).

The glory is not in escaping the pain, but in having it redeemed. Letting Christ beat it.

Martha focused on the power of Christ's redemption. She focused on humility.

And Lazarus walked out of that tomb.

Once Jesus was buried, the power that commanded such a miracle seemed gone.

He wept like us. He got wounded like us.

But his power to heal is so far beyond me.

"He was in the world, and though the world was made through him,

the world did not recognize him.

He came to that which was his own, but his own did not receive him.

Yet to all who received him, to those who believed in his name,

he gave the right to become children of God--

children born not of natural descent

nor of human decision or a husband's will,

but born of God."

(John 1:10-13)

When he rose from death, Christ proved for all that nothing is helpless, final, or irreversable.

He knows the power of my tears. Because he came low.

Then he resurrected on high.

He stoops with his wounds, tells me to feel them because he knows.

He wept.

But he also rose. That I would know the power of those wounds.

Sin has lost its power, death has lost its sting.

As with Jesus, though, it is not just about having the power. It's using that power to the glory of God. And feeling powerless outside of the grace and guidance of God.

I weep for it.

So did Jesus.

He joins me in the longing, and he leads me to the joy.

So I say, "Happy Easter, happy Spring, happy every little thing!"

In Which I Am Thankful For A Lot of Things

You might think that a week at home with no real responsibilities might lend itself to some great blogging by yours truly. It is true that I have had a title ready to go like everyday this week (I wish I could remember one now so that my title wasn't so... how you say... straightforward. But, then, you get what you get).

But our wireless internet has been out intermittently (hm-mm, and I've intermittently been playing the Sims and getting "caught up" on the DVR. And caught up with the family and friends, of course. How dare you accuse me of the wrong priorities?!) and even if it was working, by the time I got around to it? Let us just say it was bedtime. It's not like I had all the next day to sleep in. Oh yeah! I did (but 'cept for that one time when I set an alarm and it woke Emily up but I kept right on sleeping. That was unthoughtful of me...).

Entyway. All I'm saying is that the first thing I'm thankful for this season is that our internet has been out intermittently, since because of this Evelyn has mostly sat in the corner observing the life around her as opposed to consuming mine. Which is good, because in this event Dr. Mario was able to swoop in and consume my life. A much nobler undertaking to be sure.

I'm thankful for, dare I say it, Twilight. Sure, it's kept the lady friends of my family out on the back porch with the door shut so I could still function without disturbing them, but I am glad that they've had that retreat. I'm thankful that it's been something to bond us all (even though I have refused to read the books based on the principle that I will not read on break given the oxymoronic tendency of that sentence).

I'm thankful for grandparents visiting. Sometimes visits aren't the most convenient or stress-free or exciting but I was thinking this time around how cool it is to have these figures in my life who love the mess out of their family. So without considering it really, their presence might seem a nuisance or whatever. But if I ever needed anything, they'd be there. For any time I've distanced myself or acted uninterested or overtly blown them off, they still come back and want to know how I'm doing and where I'm headed. So once you consider it, the nuisance isn't really that at all. It's caring. I see a parallel with Jesus there that was unmistakeable this go 'round. Sometimes I get burdened by his presence when he brings the conviction I ask him for or I find his words stale or boring, a nuisance, because it's not how I talk or they aren't how I'm living and I feel like I have to metaphorically clean the house before I can have him in. I blow him off, I tell him I have other plans, I tune out his conversation. But he keeps coming back because that is love. And because Jesus Christ would do anything for me. I'm thankful for that this Thanksgiving. And I'm thankful to grandparents for being that very real parallel in my life.

I'm thankful for Insanity. Not.

I'm thankful for every single one of my dogs. And again, thanks to the flaky internet, there has been ample room for them in my lap. Well, for the little ones, anyway.

I'm thankful for work.

I'm thankful for co-workers.

I'm thankful for southern accents and "thank yous" and "have a great day" and "pleases" and genuine "how are yous" as I get when I'm on the register.

I'm thankful for teachers who still mean the world to me and for the opportunity to serve them. Katie and I got to take a smoothie bar out to Little Rock Christian the other day and I kept joking that it was a modern version of washing their feet like Jesus did the disciples in that we got to serve them on this day. Katie gave me a strange look. I maintain this theory.

I'm thankful for Dad's promotion. But not near as thankful for that as I am thankful for the way he practices medicine in general--genuinely caring for his patients, with patience (except for when they can't get it through their head that it is just a VIRUS!-- sometimes that's frustrating for him...) I am for sure thankful for the opportuntity to celebrate with the entire family (and an entire cow between us all!).

I'm thankful for my Mom's cookin'.

Oh, I'm just thankful for laughter and chill.

I'm thankful for a break. And though there is a certain pit in my stomach reserved only for thoughts of going back and completing assignments and courses (I wish I could just fill said pit with food as I have every other nook and cranny of the organ), I am thankful for school and the opportunity to learn. So as I digest all of this frickin' turkey (mostly just sweet potatoes, let us be real), I do my best to digest with a good attitude the responsibility I have to do these next two weeks well.

I'm thankful for Virginia. I'm thankful for Arkansas.

I'm thankful for Link and Arkie.

I'm thankful for all of the changes that have happened since this time last year to prove many a time my own inadequacy and God's own timing and providence.

I am so thankful for every single one of my friends (those for whom I will serve as a bridesmaid as well as for those who insist we won't be friends come that time. cough Katie Jones cough. I'm also thankful for the gross nasty peach bridesmaid dress I'll be wearing come Sheryl's wedding...)

I am thankful for my camera and the people I get to take pictures of.

I am thankful for board games and families of friends to keep me out until all hours whilst my own family frets over my whereabouts because they care.

I am thankful for a lot of things. Hence, the title.

Sorry for the boring list. I just felt like it should all be stated for the record. And it was a good exercise to combat what Natalie Grant dubbed the "post-Thanksgiving blahs" -- to pump me back up to "real" life come way too early in the morning.

I Don't Know Why It's Me

It's that time of year when you're supposed to start up a list of everything you're thankful for. And then get that Josh Groban song in your head.

It's also that time of year when depression befalls a silent minority not because they aren't thankful for things but because of what they want to be thankful for that they just can't be. Either because they don't have that thing or because they simply can't be thankful for painful things the way they know a "Christian" should. Does it make them a bad Christian? Oh, just put that on the growing list of things to be concerned about this season. Then put your worries, your sorrow aside because, gosh darnit, we're having Christmas. Starting in October.

The rest of us go about our holidays feeling blessed and fulfilled and giggly and pity the ones that can't seem to keep up.

The thing is that I'm not entirely in either of these categories. I have a family with whom I love to celebrate. Who I love to celebrate. Two of my pretty apartment mates surround me with their work and their laughs and the sunlight is streaming in through the door, creating a glow off of our fake flowers (DIE blumen!) and, for me, life in general. I'm thankful for that. But I also sometimes (most times) wonder if "glowy" is really what I'm supposed to be going for. A lot of people spend their lives trying to make their family something they can be thankful for, or turn their pain to gladness, or to reach a contentedness with the people or places around them. There are those who deeply desire picture perfection and others who will strive to make it look like they have it. Especially around the holidays. Others know they won't ever have "perfect" and decide, especially at the holidays, that they just wont celebrate in light of that.

Then there are the me's. The ones who, by a lot of other people's standards, have perfect. Not that they are perfect, but they have an ideal situation. And they know that people are looking in thinking "yeah, if I had that situation, then I would be perfect. Then I would be thankful." People like me who are so genuinely thankful for having all a person could want but realize it's not all a person needs. Because if what I have is what people need to be "perfect" or whatever and I truly believed that, it says to other people "if you don't have a family like mine, if you are surrounded by people you don't like, if you're feeling pain, then you can't have the hope that I have." Which, of course, couldn't be further from the truth. And, ultimately, what I have is not perfect. It might be ideal, but it's not worth striving for, this aura of perfection.

Why?

Because once you get there, where I am, apparently, you still have this: "But whatever was to my profit I now consider loss for the sake of Christ. What is more, I consider everything a loss compared to the surpassing greatness of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord, for whose sake I have lost all things. I consider them rubbish, that I may gain Christ and be found in him, not having a righteousness of my own that comes from the law (or other people's definition of "perfection"), but that which is through faith in Christ-- the righteousness that comes from God and is by faith." (Philippians 3: 7-9)

Having close to everything by the worlds standards is that much more I have to be prepared to call loss compared to knowing Christ. Not that I have to lose it. Not that I can't be thankful for it. But what does the girl who has everything need? What else could I possibly want? I could use this sentiment to smile brightly at parties and call myself blessed this Christmas season and I probably will. Because if someone so rich and privileged as me can't get happy, who can, right?

But the girl who has everything needs Christ. Because the girl who has everything has more to lose without Him. And when all of it is gone, He is what remains. So I'll use the season to be grateful as I should, but I'll do my best to use it as a time to come to know even more how useless these things are compared to being "found in Christ." I'll do my best to use this time to come to and understanding of what that means. And how it should look in my life.

I don't know why it's me, the girl who has "everything." But in the meantime, I'll have this:

²⁵Woe to you who are well fed now,

for you will go hungry.

Woe to you who laugh now,

for you will mourn and weep.

²⁶Woe to you when all men speak well of you,

for that is how their fathers treated the false prophets.

Jesus' words. Words that say to me "be happy now, be thankful now, eat, laugh and enjoy good counsel now. But it just isn't where it's at. Because when the day comes that you're hungry or mourning or the object of unkind or untruthful words I'll be just the same. I'll be enough then in a way your 'good' life only appears to be enough now."

I don't know why it's me, the girl who really has nothing.

Jesus sets up the spectrum in those verses and tells the crowd that he's got the in between covered. Whether I have good or have have plenty (mostly because one day my "plenty" will be irrelevant) Jesus is where it's at.

He says "you're not good enough, you will lose your things and life will be tough." But he also looks at every single person, to me, and says "I love you and I want to help."

I don't know why it's me.

But, it isn't just for me.

And that is what I'm thankful for this season.

That and really good coffee creamers. I had to mention it. Just to take this post up a notch...

I know, I know, I go on and on about Christ's sufficiency and the plight of a person who doesn't have to want for much and then bring up creamer.

But the truth is, "I wont that."

And when Katie Jones tries to steal that?

Well.

It doesn't much bring out the best in either of us.

Just ask Peterso.

Or Sally.

But hilarity does ensue.

(this is not me trying to pants Katie Jones.)

(this is my unsuccessful attempt at getting and using a straw for a sip.)

(this is the part when I say "I can't believe we haven't spilled this all over ourselves." KJ gets an idea...)

(this is the part when KJ pours the coffee all over me.)

(this is the part where I try to wipe the coffee up with her sweatshirt.)

In the end I had to come to terms with that I might even be a tad addicted to creamer.

It's not easy being her roommate. But someone had to do it.

I don't know why it's me.

(I'm glad it is)