Sweet Zaida

Maybe I was just feeling particularly motherly.

It was, after all, Mother's Day.

I also know it had to do a lot with Jessica's short post reflecting on her WorldVision trip to the DR.

I felt like I was giving up my 7 babies (really full grown teenagers, but still).

I was sad about still not having a quasi-Smith to hold on and love.

I was thinking of Truett and how much love and care he'll be born into while millions of others have none to speak of.

I was thinking of meeting parentless faces in Peru and the desire I know I'll have by the end of this trip to take some home and possibly give my right arm to offer them continued care and education and a loving embrace.

I was listening to JJ Heller's "Little Things."

I was reading things like this from Mark Batterson:

"If loving God with all our heart means a heart that breaks for the things that break the heart of God, then loving God with all our sould means a sould full of wonder, a soul flooded with the glory of God, a soul awed by beauty and mystery, a soul that hallows God above all else.

Don't let what you cannot do keep you from doing what you can. Put your money where your heart is. It's not a drop in the bucket. Every act of generosity creates a righteous ripple effect that can change the course of history. It will also change your heart.

When it comes to getting, it seems like enough is never enough. And the same is true with giving. It seems like enough is never enough, so we don't give anything. Let me challenge that subconscious lie that we buy into. You'll never have enough. You'll never be enough. You'll never do enough. But don't let that keep you from giving what you have, being who you are, and doing what you can. If you make a difference in the life of one little girl, isn't that enough?

The bottom line is this: your focus determines your reality. As your perspective changes, you life will change. You might find yourself in the same circumstances. but your heart will change, along with it your motivations and expectations. If you focus on your wants, enough will never be enough. And your heart will get smaller and smaller. If you focus on the needs of others, you'll discover that you have more than enough. If you focus on the here and now, you'll try to hang on to everything you have. But if you focus on eternity, you'll give away everything you've got.

Matthew 6:21-- "Where your treasure is, there you heart will be also."

I think it's easy to talk about things like faith and obedience and compassion in abstract terms. The more abstract, the less convicting the truth is. So let me get concrete. Faith equals God-ordained risks in the face of fear. Obedience equals God-honoring decisions in the face of temptation. And compassion equals Spirit-prompted generosity in the face of greed.

Every word of scripture, with its seventy faces and 600,000 meanings, must be translated via obedience... truth must be translated in your life. YOU are among the company of translators. For better or for worse, your life is your unique translation (of the bible)."

So.

I hopped on over to World Vision.

I decided to peruse and then it hit me that I was "shopping" for faces and I cried.

I cried again when I "added" Zaida to my "cart."

I prayed that she would know now and always that she was added to God's "cart" first.

That's what I want as her sponsor. I really don't need to feel all fabulous and mushy for giving $30 a month when it is well within my means and so worthy a place for my money to be anyway. It's not a pat on my back and I am certainly not a fool enough to believe that sponsoring a child covers my compassion and generosity bases. But I have to say, it felt like an amazing start.

A three year old, convicting me to spend wisely. A smile from a wind-burned face, reminding me of what's important. Deep brown eyes that beg me to see myself in her and say to my soul that it is worth the money and the time and the hassle to get to Peru and meet more of these precious faces.

She is fearfully and wonderfully made. (Psalm 139:14) I know that full well.

When I decided to sponsor Zaida, I figured Jessica had run out of the necklaces she was giving away to new sponsors, but I still wanted something to be a constant reminder of her in my life. I'd bought a pendant weeks earlier, but hadn't put it on a chain yet. When I bought it I thought it was cool because it had a picture of a sheep on the front and "John 10:11" written on the back. My life verse that Mom and Dad chose for my baby dedication comes from that passage, talking about how the sheep know Jesus and he knows them and they follow Him because they know His voice.

Now it would be Zaida's necklace, reminding me that we both have a Good Shepherd, concerned with both of our affairs. I decided to look at the passage again to pray over it for us both and something new jumped out at me:

^"11"I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep. ¹²The hired hand is not the shepherd who owns the sheep. So when he sees the wolf coming, he abandons the sheep and runs away. Then the wolf attacks the flock and scatters it. ¹³The man runs away because he is a hired hand and cares nothing for the sheep.¹⁴"I am the good shepherd; I know my sheep and my sheep know me— ¹⁵just as the Father knows me and I know the Father—and I lay down my life for the sheep. ¹⁶I have other sheep that are not of this sheep pen. I must bring them also. They too will listen to my voice, and there shall be one flock and one shepherd."

I'm venturing out of my own sheep pen, with a Jesus that will follow me to make sure I'm safe, who will break my legs (as was a common practice back in the day) if He has to in order to bring me rest in the company of the Shepherd's one flock.

I wore the sheep necklace the day I got to briefly meet Jessica and thank her for spurring me on to the decision to sponsor.

Turns out, though, that there were still Lisa Leonard necklaces from her giveaway. Something I didn't know until a little package arrived in the mail about a week later.

French is the language I studied in high school, when everyone said it wouldn't come in practically. Amor, of course, is French for love. But that doesn't mean anything to the Spanish-speaking Peruvians I'll visit. Given that I'm visiting Peru, it seemed ironic to me that the necklace is in french. Then I came across what Mark Batterson had to say about my life being a translation of the Bible in and of itself.

The pearl had no apparent meaning except for to make the thing look prettier. But anytime I wear pearls, I think of Matthew 7:6-- "Do not give dogs what is sacred; do not throw your pearls to pigs. If you do, they may trample them under their feet, and then turn and tear you to pieces." Meaning, to me, don't waste this gift of hope and the blessing of necessary means on keeping quiet or on being clumsy about sharing the Word of God. Be careful about where and how you are using your voice and your resources.

The silver and the pearl clank all of the time. A reminder of that sweet face and all that it teaches me. After all, it is all I have to know her by for now.

There are other things I know about her, per the pamphlet I got in the mail:

"Zaida lives with her parents and 1 sister. Her parents struggle to provide for the family. Her father is an agriculture worker. Despite their efforts it is difficult to meet the family's needs.

Zaida is growing up in a farming community 41 miles south of Cusco. Typical family homes are very rustic and are constructed mostly of wood with a thatched roof. The local diet is high in carbohydrates such as potatoes, beans and cereal. Temperatures reach 70 degrees and fall to lows in the 40s. The climate is cold and dry. Rough, mountainous terrain and deep valleys surround the community.

Zaida is not in school at this time. She likes to play with dolls. She helps at home by being good. She is in satisfactory health."

I know that she and I share a love for doll-playing and roles as the youngest in the family.

I know that her birthday, August 26, is Truett's due date, which I chose because I wanted a reminder of what a miracle it is that every bit of his body is growing normally and healthily. Many of the stories I follow reiterate to me that babies don't just happen. Every bit of the body and heart that is being knit together right now is the constant work of God and not guaranteed to work out the way we very badly hope and faithfully pray it to be. So when I say a prayer for Zaida, I say a prayer for Truett and for a d-day that brings us a happy, healthy, sweet baby boy to enjoy for days and years and a lifetime.

I know that she was born the year I graduated, 2007, and is the age of this phase of my life. Her growth mirrors my own as figure out this independent world.

I know that she shares a birthday with Mother Teresa, so she has quite the legacy to learn from. Also the 19th Amendment to the U.S. Constitution took effect on August 26, so that's pretty sweet.

(Yes, I am just perusing the date on Wikipedia)

Historical precedent aside, I can't wait to really get to know this little girl as she grows into her own little history maker. It was too late this go-round to Peru to organize a trip to meet her, but I'm hopeful I might get the chance to go again with the Fairview team and meet those cheeks.

Until then, I'll see her in the face of the kids I do get to meet and praise God that not one of them is "just" another face, as the kids on the front of the pamphlet have long been to me.

Not for long.

Stream of Consciousness

On Tuesday, as I prepared to report to work at 6:30 a.m., I had a lot on my mind.

It wasn't really sparked by anything other than anticipating this trip to Cuzco-- I had an awesome Monday night and turns out Tuesday was really a fun day. Just a glimpse: Dad remembered to add me into the cup count for the coffee pot. And there was a street sign propped on the prep table at work. Like I said, good day.

It was 6:07 when I thought to myself, "maybe I should write some of this stuff down."

But there was no time. So. Like a dork (and like Felicity) I recorded myself speaking what I was feeling. (after all, I did just take a class in Oral History this year). Then I transcribed it and it remains a pretty accurate display of my thoughts going into this trip. For the past couple of weeks I've had all sorts of topics that I've considered writing about and never got around to it. My dictation starts with some of those:

Love and Sarah's wedding and more Addie and Huddy or Baby Truett or funny lyrics or my job or people that I love or Sarah's visit but most of it all comes down to a new recognition of all that I have.

And how much I have.

And I’ve become very aware of this as I pack for Peru, because as you pack to go to a third world country or at least a poor part of a city, in an orphanage, you're surprised at how much you don’t need. And I’m already preparing myself for a complete change of pace. I'm excited.

Because I think that another thing that all of the topics I mentioned come down to, and probably the fact that I haven’t blogged, indicates that there’s a complete lack of urgency in my life right now

Or that the urgency is on things that just aren’t as big a deal when you’re thinking of meeting people struggling every day for food and water and love.

Over here it’s urgent to look your prettiest, be the best, have the best clothes.

And then you go to this country and realize that what’s urgent is the need to be warm.

It's urgent to be clean and sanitary here.

There its just a feat to not have the next small disease that could take a life.

And I feel like I know what I’m going to encounter-- I’ve been to Brazil.

I know Brazil and Peru are two different countries and landscapes and cultures. But they have similar problems. And I don’t expect I get to fix them all in two weeks. But I have a God who’s very concerned with those problems and I’ll go and tell them about that God.

But not really with my words because I can’t

Here its urgent to keep people posted on the next greatest dramas in our lives and we use so many words to convey them. There I’ll just have to use a demeanor. I'll use my eyes and love them with my hands.

And what makes me really sad is what I really just though of was “that’s what she said” because that’s the cheap humor I settle for to keep my life happy and fun because that’s urgent here.

I’ll use my smile.

And I’ll have a heart ready to be broken for these kids. I suspect that when I come back, there’ll be a new sense of urgency in my life. Whereas before I’ve just been lazy, too busy, too--maybe even hurt-- to blog and choose the words to describe the same ole subjects, I have a feeling that when I get back from Peru, it will not be laziness or hurt keeping me from writing. It’ll just be a general speechlessness because I suspect that I’ll be convicted by my God who says, “Sadie, you should have been loving that way long before. Your life should’ve spoken to a different urgency long before.”

God provided this trip for me.

And I know He’s here. And He’s in the closet of Highway 10 fitness just the same as he is in Peru. But I just expect especially to meet Him there. And you can call it a high and I could already suspect that I’ll come down from it and stay pessimistic towards the mission trip mindset or I can choose to believe that He has something to show me there that He couldn’t here. That he can shake things up there the way he couldn’t here. Because I was too lazy or busy or hurt.

He can lay something on my heart there that maybe he couldn’t get through to me here.

I'll leave you with pictures from the last month of life, because it may be all I get the chance to say on the subjects. It has been so much fun, these times with these friends in this place, and I don't begrudge this life in the least.

But when I get back, different stories will be on my mind. I might be speechless, but I don't want to remain so about these kids. About Cuzco. About sweet Zaida. About Vicente and Stephane. Because in so many ways their lives are filled with the right kind of urgent.

But in other ways there is an urgency that is so not necessary. Urgency in a daily struggle to live.

Maybe I’m taking this whole trip too seriously. But I don’t think so.

I’m looking for a broken heart. I am anticipating the Spirit’s movement.

And maybe that’s the main difference between life here and what I expect to learn apart from it.

Why Peru?

In January I wrote a post about numbers. And Uganda.

What I didn't know then was that I was writing about 7 interns, a great boss, one of the most generous families, a little church that could in the heart of D.C., and Peru. And a lot more.

To me it was mostly about $3400 and the feeling that I might never know where to best serve God through a mission trip and even if I did that it would literally cost too much. I ran across Katie's blog. She's in her twenties and is the mother of 12 Ugandan girls. She began a ministry back in 2006 called Amazima and as I read, I had the very real desire to be her. Or at least be as selfless and held by the Lord as her.

For a week I couldn't get the idea of at least joining with Amazima for at least two weeks out of my head. But I reminded myself every time that I could not afford $3400. What with school loans to pay off and no certain career lined up and a car that will only be reliable for so long and flights to pay for and what not. There was no way. Nuh-uh, no way, no how. See ya.

That Saturday night I got a facebook message from Matt Paxson offering me a job and a salary that would all but pay for Uganda. I cried and thanked God and immediately felt like the whole situation wasn't about me going to Uganda, but God's absolute ability to provide a way. It was a humbling experience to completely write God off one minute and see Him make a way seemingly out of nowhere in the next. And once He made the offer, I realized that my doubt needed addressing before I was going to even know where in the world He willed me to be.

At my first meeting with Matt, he offered me the chance to go to Peru with the youth as a leader, and even reduce my fare further for doing so, technically, as a staff member. The total cost to me would be $500.

It would also cost me my naivety in believing that I was too poor to follow God wherever He calls and that He had no use for an average privileged rich girl like me.

No, no, He has use for me and it starts with asking me to count it all as loss compared to knowing Christ Jesus as Lord. And this I actively do as I sit down to full meals and sweet laughter and a bonded family rich enough to muster up a week to make a house a home for its newest member and his parents. We are rich. In many ways I am so thankful for that, especially in the ways that have no monetary value attached. And it is an aspect of our lifestyle not at odds with God or Christlike living.

But. For some reason God has put on my heart that it could all be gone in an instant. That it could all literally be lost and Jesus Christ would still be the giver of righteousness, just, and the source of joy.

I've also become more aware that on my own, which I will be soon, I really don't have that much aside from loans and last semester's salary. That takes me back to how rich I am in things not of monetary value, like parents and siblings who would not only support me through rough financial times but already encourage me, no matter the cost, to follow God's leadership in my life. I have a happy childhood, meals on the table every day either at my home or at a restaurant and the luxury of pedicure outings with my sisters (including mom) or movies with friends. I have access to medical care and the physical means to maintain a healthy lifestyle. I have the safety and security of knowing I am loved by many and would be missed if someone, say, grabbed me off the street. There are people seeking relationships with me who care to be my friend. If I had none of this, I still live in a country where running water is so plentiful it's free.

And even if I didn't have that, there would still be 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, but that which is through faith in Christ—the righteousness that comes from God and is by faith. I want to know Christ and the power of his resurrection and the fellowship of sharing in his sufferings, becoming like him in his death, and so, somehow, to attain to the resurrection from the dead. Not that I have already obtained all this, or have already been made perfect, but I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me. Brothers, I do not consider myself yet to have taken hold of it. But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus.

-Philippians 3:7-14

That hope makes me rich on its own. Living like I have that hope should be my desire each and every day. And it should make a difference. I think it's hard to do so-- live like I've been redeemed and have it make a difference-- in America, where the majority of people aren't often faced with not having things. And then the things get confused with hope. And soon people live like all hope is lost when they get a $40 ticket or the team didn't win or the server is slow or there isn't enough money in the bank for a trip to the mall to buy more hope.

I get so caught up in it all. Like my day is the worst because Mom asked me to unload the dishwasher or because my hip hurts from painting the air conditioned home.

News flash for Sadie. I'll be going from working in this

to this

in one week. And with me I better be taking some hope for the people who would be happy with four simple sturdy walls and a family to work alongside. Who would be thrilled by some medical attention or the leftovers I just threw out. The good news is that I do have Hope and even if in my rushed, hurried life I don't take the time to know Him as often or deeply as I should, He will reveal and does reveal Himself to those not as rich as me in languages I don't know based on their own commitment to following Him.

And in doing so He makes them rich.

In doing so He makes me rich.

So, dear one, put aside nuances of how much you do and don't have, how much control you want of your life and circumstances and look to me for worth and profit.

I can't meet every need I'll encounter in Peru, or here at home. But I know Who can. And He asks me simply to point them in His direction. I look forward to doing so in a place and amongst people who have little. The sights will be hard and shocking, I'm sure. Orphans are hurting, people with destroyed homes are devastated. But they are not shy in admitting their need.

^{As Jesus went on from there, he saw a man named Matthew sitting at the tax collector's booth. "Follow me," he told him, and Matthew got up and followed him. While Jesus was having dinner at Matthew's house, many tax collectors and "sinners" came and ate with him and his disciples. When the Pharisees saw this, they asked his disciples, "Why does your teacher eat with tax collectors and 'sinners'?"}On hearing this, Jesus said, "It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick. But go and learn what this means: 'I desire mercy, not sacrifice.' For I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners."

-Matthew 9:9-12

Why Peru? Because God can. Because Jesus said "follow me" and, like Matthew, I want to listen. I'll let Jesus speak for and defend himself among the cynics (including myself) and those who say I'm too good to make a difference amongst those financially poorer than me. I'll return to America hoping that conviction will hit me closer to home so I won't feel I need a Peru to make a difference or address suffering with compassion and mercy.

I'll consider myself amongst the sick, because I, too, need a doctor.

You're So Gangsta, I'm So Thug

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). 

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. 

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. 

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.

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.