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. 

The Littles

"Little Things" by JJ Heller

There are not enough minutes in the day
I am crippled by the thought of wasting time
I don’t have enough money to heal the poor
So I don’t want to try

But

it’s the little things

that make a difference

It’s the little things

that show love

It’s the little things

A simple cup of water

that can change the world

That can save our sons and daughters

I’ll be praying for the widow all alone
Sewing clothes for a loaf of bread
It is not my fault that she is hungry
It’s my joy to make sure she’s fed

'Cuz it’s the little things

that make a difference

It’s the little things

that show love

It’s the little things

A simple cup of water

that can change the world

That can save our sons and daughters

We are all related, children of the King
We may not have much, but what we have we bring

Blink Gone

(alternately and perhaps less reverently entitled "holy hyperlink, batman")

When I started this blog almost two years ago (what?!) the url was "blinkgone.blogspot.com"

Because I am keenly aware that any of what I find myself surrounded by could be gone in the blink of an eye.

Correction: I was keenly made aware that things I love (not to mention just like) are subject first and foremost to the will of God. And that my responsibility for the here and now is to capture it. In my photos, in my words, in the meditations of my heart, in worship. As an offering to the God who cares to make something of it all despite all of the fragility. In praise of Jesus for making a way to redeem the hurt and provide meaning to the joy.

Blink and it may be gone. But He will not be.

That may not sound earth-shattering. Matter of a fact it's something I knew going into college. And I meant the words that played behind my high school senior slideshow at my church home:

Holy Father, love me still

I have fallen from Your will

I am broken

Hear my humble cry

My cry

I have wandered for so long

Tired and weary on my own

In Your arms I know I'm home, O God

My God

Take my life and make it Yours, Lord

Fill me with Your love

You are all I need

I surrender all of me

(-Selah)

As time goes on those words seem more and more apt. And I find new ways to take them to heart as I struggle through different heart and life issues in and around me.

He will not get gone. He stands ready to capture my offering and my heart, if I'll let him. I guess it's not earth shattering, but it absolutely should shape the way I go about life on this earth.

'Round bout the time I was growing weary of figuring out how God could possibly shape the path of a hard-working, good-intentioned, yet privileged and lackluster girl just going about college, in March 2008, He introduced me (theoretically speaking) to Angie Smith and the story of Audrey Caroline. All of the sudden the dance of grief and joy and how He weaves himself intricately through it all had a face and a name and weighty three pound body.

It really isn't about a blog or, as my mother refers to them, "all of my little blog friends." But every week as Angie wrote out of her pain and with much prayer, she conveyed truth that I desperately needed to hear, if just to be reminded that my life is not about me or what I can cling to while I'm here. It is about God and Who I can cling to always.

Here is a (not so small... sorry Katie Jones, I know life is too short to be wordy...) excerpt of what Angie wrote on July 25, 2008:

------------------------------------------

On the way out of church, Kate had run into the grass by the car while Abby and Ellie were buckling themselves in, and I turned to Kate and told her to run to me and I would pick her up. Her eyes lit up and she took off full-force toward my open arms. I lifted her way above my head and kissed her sweet cheeks on the way down. As I put her into her car seat, Ellie said to me,

"Know what, mommy? I really wish I had a camera, because that was a beautiful picture you just made."

It caught me off guard, because I didn't even realize she could see me from where she was sitting.

"You think so, honey? Well let's just blink our eyes and keep that one in our heads, then."

I smiled at my 3 sweet daughters, and then Ellie and I looked at each other and blinked our eyes...another moment captured and held as a precious memory.

On the way home, I was thinking about what she said and I realized that I see the world in photographs. I love to take pictures, and I suppose my mind has incorporated a little camera that allows me to freeze moments and store them away. Last week I was driving to the pool, and to get there I have to pass under these amazing trees that make a canopy over the road, only allowing bits and pieces of light to pass through. It was beautiful.

Blink.

I thought about the way it was when I saw Audrey for the first time, red hair and those sweet rosebud lips. No crying, but there was breath in her, there was life to be lived... I am so glad to meet you, sweet girl...stay with me for awhile...

Blink.

After a hard day of school as a teenager, my dad took me out in his old-fashioned convertible to talk and make sure I was okay. We drove to this field in the middle of nowhere that he had found a few weeks earlier. It was amazing, because as soon as the lights went off in the car, what seemed like millions of fireflies danced around us. I was completely mesmerized, and as the hot September night soaked into our skin, we watched them light up the night, and I felt like God spoke to me. It is one of the earliest recollections I have of feeling His presence, and to this day, whenever I see fireflies, I remember the way the old leather seats smelled when my father loved me enough to show me that life is beautiful even when it hurts.

Blink.

Me, in a veil I had dreamed of wearing my entire life, and a church full of people who were celebrating the way we loved each other. I was so nervous because I was sure I would trip and fall, but then the huge wooden doors swung open and I saw him, and I wanted to run to the end of the aisle.

Blink.

"It is very possible that your daughters will not survive. Now is the time to start praying."

Blink.

"4 pounds, 11 ounces, and the other is 3 pounds, 11 ounces! They are here and they are healthy!"

Blink.

Kate recites her Bible verse from yesterday (A soft answer turns away wrath...thank you, Ms. Nancy's class ladies!!!) as "A soft answer turns away the rats." I spit my coke out all over the car and tell her she is brilliant and that I love her for being exactly who she is. This morning, she was acting up and using a less than desirable tone with her sister, and I asked her if she remembered the scripture I had taught her yesterday. She nodded yes. I asked her to say it to me. She replied, "I think the Bible says I am going to time out." This time it was coffee.

Blink.

Abby, in the backseat of the car, eyes closed and hands in the air, worshiping with the music as she has seen me do a thousand times before.

Blink.

"Lord, I believe. Help my unbelief..."

Blink.

Todd surprises me at our wedding with a song he wrote for me. It is called "After the Rain," (seriously) and it tells the story of how he knew he was supposed to marry me one day when he prayed during a thunderstorm, and moments later it just stopped with no warning.

Blink.

My brother-in-law Greg calls, and tells me he went to play golf. He says he cried on the way home because he realized he will never play golf with his son Luke. I never mention the conversation to anyone, but the next day, Ellie draws a picture of Audrey and Luke. She says they are playing in heaven. I look closer and see something I have never seen her draw (because as far as I know, she has never heard of the game), and I ask her what they are playing. "Golf." she says, and skips out of the room...

Blink.

These moments, and millions of others, engraved in the beautiful book I am making in my head. As I drove home, the Lord spoke to me, and I want to share with you what He said, because it is not an exaggeration to say that I believe it has changed my life.

Angie, sweet daughter of mine. You know, I do the same with you...every day, every hour, every moment. ..

Blink.

I was speechless as my spirit understood what He was saying to me. Not necessarily in words, audibly, but it was as if I knew something profound I had never known before, and I knew God had imparted it to me.

I have choices, every second of the day, to serve my Lord. To honor Him with my speech and with my thoughts, with the way I love those around me and the way I worship Him. Every moment, there is another opportunity, and I want to use as many of them as He will allow. In fact, Scripture tells me that one day I will stand before Him, and I will (symbolically) hand the King of all Kings a tattered scrapbook of my days. It is up to me to decide what the pages will reveal.

I was washing the dishes last night and thinking about what the Lord had said to me, and I heard the girls fighting. I raised my voice more than I meant to, and I thought to myself, "Wow. I don't look like myself in that one. Let me try that again." I apologized to them for my tone and let my hands drift into the hot water. Now that one felt better for me too, Lord.

There are many, many pages I want to rip up and hide...maybe you do too. But that shouldn't consume me. Rather, I want to focus on the beauty of this gift that the Lord has given.

It is the gift of this breath, this moment, this photograph. My offering, captured.

We need not dwell on the things we wish we had done differently, nor should we even give too much thought to what the future will look like. We need not worry about the pages, but rather this very simple fact.

I have this moment. Right now. And I want to make it good.

I am sitting cross-legged in an old chair, pouring out my heart to you, because above every other thing I can think of, I want these words to be a beautiful photograph for the Lord I love.

Blink.

In a few minutes, I will go find my children their dresses and we will go to a cook-out with friends. As I snap their sandals and brush their hair, I will tell them how I love them and how grateful I am to be their mommy.

Blink.

Todd just came in to tell me about something he is reading and I nodded absent-mindedly as my thoughts drifted everywhere but his voice. No, I thought, I don't want it to look like that. I want to love deeply, and have him know that I care about what he cares about. I want to show him that I am here to listen, and that he matters to me.

Blink.

I met a woman who does not know about Jesus. She is broken, bruised, hurt, alone. I want to show her the way He loves her, to inspire her to let me into the places she runs from. I want to make His name known. I want my life to be lifted up to Him, offered to Him, spilled out for Him...

Blink.

"She is gone..."

Blink.

A crown of thorns, piercing his sweat-drenched brow...oh, my sweet Savior...

Blink.

You refused the bitter wine but drank deep of the cup that would not pass.

Blink.

I see you there, Lord, and I will not turn from You. Not in my joy, not in my agony, not ever. Not ever. I will remember the scars, and the gracious Love that the world could not believe...

Blink.

Oh, my Jesus...speak to us through your Word...

...whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable-if anything is excellent or praiseworthy-think about such things. Whatever you have learned or received or heard from me, or seen in me-put it into practice. And the God of peace will be with you...Philippians 4:8-9

-------------------------------------------------

It made me want to start documenting my own journey, that post. Even as I still work at knowing God personally and letting Him work on my personality.

"Meeting" Angie encouraged that in me. The opportunity to actually meet her this past weekend was a divinely-orchestrated reminder of that purpose just in time for summer. (And apparently just in time for Angie's baby, Charlotte's birth, which happened tonight). Contrary to popular belief I did not plan a trip around meeting my aforementioned "blog friends." Indeed, Katie and I always planned on traveling past Nashville on Saturday on our epic road trip from Virginia to Arkansas. It just so "happened" that Angie and Pete had a book signing at that exact time.

So we stopped in to say a quick "hello" (yes, in our specially-bought-target-clearance shirts and after having read through "I Will Carry You" in the car on Friday, thank. you. very. much.).

I told Angie of how I will never forget the sight of watching 17 year olds tear up while watching their story on a computer set up on the floor of our church's nursery as we discussed what it means to know God as sovereign and to entrust Him with the most sacred of our possessions, believing Him to redeem what seems broken to us in this lifetime.

I also got to confess that we were geeking out like schoolgirls (or like she would be if she were meeting Beth Moore).

I got to meet Jessica, whose words and pictures during her trip to the Dominican Republic just two weeks ago inspired me to sponsor a sweet Peruvian girl named Zaida. (more on that later)

I met Pete and told him that I based my sermonette to the high schoolers a few weeks ago in his message regarding "Plan B" even as we discussed the Nashville flood and Crosspoint Church's reaction to their own plans being thrown off by the damage and recovery.

Finally, there was Todd, with whom we talked at length about grief and wisdom and letting Christ in through our doubt, fear, and pride. He prayed for us as we each stood with hands on shoulders and then we went on our merry way.

You know, just a quicky stop for a short hello. ;) (maybe I'm just entirely incapable of that?)

As we walked away it dawned on me that the man who sung the words accompanying my graduation slide show just took the time to lift his voice to the Lord on the behalf of two girls who desperately want to know Him Who walked the Smiths through the most desperate time in their lives.

Holy Father, love me still

I have fallen from Your will

I am broken

Hear my humble cry

My cry

I have wandered for so long

Tired and weary on my own

In Your arms I know I'm home, O God

My God

Take my life and make it Yours, Lord

Fill me with Your love

You are all I need

I surrender all of me

(-Selah)

Once again I read the words anew and praise God for how He works. With every blink of my eye, He continues to be Who He says He is. All else will, at some point, be gone.

Blink.

Even to your old age and gray hairs
I am he, I am he who will sustain you.
I have made you and I will carry you;
I will sustain you and I will rescue you.

-Isaiah 46:4