-I'm pretty sure that my best friend is a hero. She buys less wealthy people shoes. She gets food to people who are going through a hard time. She gives money to friends who can't afford the things they need. If that doesn't make you a hero, I don't know what does.

-Someone paid for the rest of my mission trip to Washington this summer for me tonight. He's going to get one heck of a crown when the role is called up yonder. Just sayin.

-Another hero of mine whom I love (Melinda!) is going to be coming home from Africa this week.

Could I be any more happy, or more thankful for, or more proud of my brothers and sisters in Christ?

I doubt it.

Words like wine:
Intoxicate my mind

Free me from the oceans
Of lusty emotion.

Good or bad, happy or sad;
Their persistence will drive me mad.

There it is. Finally.
I knew there was an original poem inside of me. Unfortunately, I discovered it like two weeks too late to finish the poetry challenge. Alas. Finding it was wonderful, though, because it was just like that. I found it. I didn't write it, come up with it, or put it together. It just came to my mind, and I found the rest of the words. I discovered it, and discovery is true inspiration. I think there are very few things as wonderful as this. Very few to me, at least.
I love writing fiction because it is always inspired. I never sit down thinking "I'm going to start a story right now", it always comes to me first. I know it's good if I don't have to think much while I'm writing it. If it just flows from me smooth and quick like it's just passing over, passing through. When my mind doesn't get in the way, it's like I'm just bringing the words down to earth from their higher resting place. And it feels so great. I love it.
I watched the movie The Pianist last night. It's a movie about a Polish Jew who played piano like a boss, but was captured, and tortured, and treated like Jews were treated during World War 2. The part that got to me was when he was standing in front of a German soldier, with nothing but his sick, starving self, and the soldier asked him what he did, who he was, the main character (his name is about 400 letters long) told him that he was a pianist. That's all he said. When he was there, with nothing, asked who he was, what he did, he went back to what he loved. What inspired him. Now I don't know if, put in that situation, I would say I'm a writer. Hopefully I'd be on my feet enough to mention my identity in Christ. But whatever I'd say, I love to write, and that is where so much of my joy comes from. When I write from beyond my heart and soul, from the fount that uses me to find its' place on the page, I am doing what I love, and I am so thankful for it.


<3

In this life, it can be the worst, and the best, the most bizzare, and the most average, all in a day. Different things come and go, different people come and go. The night of your life can be the eve of your death. Hope can be the King of your heart one moment, and bleeding out on the battlefield of your soul the next.
All of this brings psychotic emotions that make me feel like a tiny boat floating in a sea, being tossed around by roaring waves, and chuckling winds. It's like no one cares to see it that way, we all encourage the fantasy that we're just trotting along happy as a jolly little monkey, and as in control as can be. The more I see that in myself and in the people around me the more I realize that it's complete bull. None of us are in control and if we stopped the fantasy, we'd know it. Yet we put on a show and title ourselves "playwrite". We refuse to take part in things, because we didn't write them in. We refuse to sing because we can't. Can't? We don't sound right. Sound right? Since when has singing been about sounding right? Lord knows I "can't" sing (I'm about 3 steps up from tone-deafness), but I do, because, in light of those first two paragraphs up there, sometimes it's all I can do. Singing (particuarly when you don't sound "right") is like humanities way of saying, "I'm not in control, and I'm freaking out about everything, but I'm gonna sing. I'm going to sing like I have to, while knowing that I must." It's not complete passiveness (passivity?), but it's knowing that you're not in control, yet believing that it's all being taken care of.
Our song will never stand alone, because that which we believe with our hearts will forever stand by the music in our souls. We allow song to shape our lives, and joy to shape our hearts. Then when that joy begins to leak out of our hearts and into our lives, it's like we aren't on a boat in the middle of a terrific storm, holding on with all our strength, while still facing death anymore. Instead, we are floating across a restless body of water that is hurrying us along to the fearless life that waits on the other side.

O precious Lord,
Forgive my wandering heart
Forgive my idolatrous mind
Forgive the way I take it all for granted
Forgive my unbroken soul
Forgive the pride I entertain
Forgive my doubt
Forgive my discontent
Forgive my love for the things You find contemptuous
Purge me of wickedness
Enable me to be purified of my sinful nature
Strengthen me when temptation flogs me
Allow me to see Your beauty everywhere
Teach me Your truths
Show me how to love like You do
Mold me after your perfect shape
Take away my prejudice
Take away my guilt
Bring diversity to my life
Heal my worn spirit
Empower me to go out with The Message
Change my lustful nature
Allow me to perform completely opposite of my nature
Break my heart for what breaks Yours

All of this so that You will be seen.

Jesus is so open. He receives us, He accepts us, He loves us. All the time He spent here on earth, He spent loving others. He never said "I'm too busy", or "I'll talk to you tomorrow", or "I need my space". He welcomed all the lowlies all the time, and He still does.

That alone makes me want to say thank you in like every language ever used.

It's a huge honor and relief to be able to talk to Him. And it's so cool to know that radically different people, with enormously different lives talk to Him all the time too. I can't even imagine all the citizens of Heaven, with all their diversity. I see loads of diversity in my everyday life and sometimes I think I live in the most un-diverse place on the planet. It's awesome knowing that one day I'll have more time than I can imagine spent getting to know millions of ridiculously different people with ridiculously different stories. To Jesus, it doesn't matter what we were, or where we came from, it matters that we come, and that we abide in Him. No matter what our sins are, no matter how far gone The Man considers us to be, so long as we repent, our past wickednesses are nothing. We get covered by a huge grace, as with a blanket.

SALLY IS HERE!! and I have been beating on her for the last hour :)
She's really a wonderful djembe. Except for this weird sort of piercing/resonating sound that she makes...I'm gonna look into that. Hopefully it's ok/will go away.
I'm so thankful!!



Lydia

The Jesus Vernacular

Sorry, Brianna, I know we agreed on no titles, but I couldn't resist. Just this once. I promise.
I love those three words together though...The Jesus Vernacular. They came to me last night around midnight and I've been tossing them around in my head since then.
I figure the phrase means something like the way Jesus spoke, or the words that should be first on the lips of all Christians: our "native language", in a way. If that is so, then we need to carefully evaluate everything that He has said. Maybe, in order to acquire a legitimate Jesus vernacular we should study the red letters: meditate on them, even. Replenish the gardens of our dry souls with their life-giving Message.
I think that it takes one special person to have his/her own vernacular. Their own language! Well, studying the words of Jesus show us just that: a unique language. I want to call it a language of love, but that's not inclusive enough. He didn't just love, He lived love. He showed mercy: He embodied strength of mind and spirit.
If you know any of Jesus' stories, you know that He didn't slander different racial groups, He didn't belittle the minorities, He respected everyone, even those who lacked respect at the time. He showed the world that an unfaithful woman is just as precious as the most faithful man. He opened the kingdom of God to the outsiders, the outcasts, the destitute. Even so, I shall open my heart to the lowly, to the miserable. Our souls were made to be lifted up to God as fragrant offerings. He has given us the perfect example of how to be just that. He has told us what to say! He has documented a special jargon, dialect, lingo, manner of speaking.
It's splendid, really!
May all of God's children will find the soul power to take advantage of this set-apart language, and the Helper who is always with us. Let's speak the words of love every day no matter where we are, no matter who we're with, no matter Who is watching.

Let us use the Jesus Vernacular.




Lydia

I've figured out that inspiration is everywhere. I've heard that quite a few times, but now I've learned it.

I was watching Miami Ink (this suhweet show on Green channel and TLC about a tattoo studio in Miami)the other day, and I could not stop watching it, because the art and the artists were so phenomenal. For some reason I haven't actually thought about tattooing as it's own art form before. I've always just lumped it with drawing and painting. Big mistake. Tattooes have a distinct style about them. Kind of dark, and flowy. They're beautiful. And the artists themselves seem like cool people (given this is a TV show, not everyday life). Anyway, the tats on the show inspired me to try all different kinds of lettering and sort of in-your-face graphics. That led me to teach myself graffiti. It's very fun. Above is an example of what I've been doing.

Life is a learning experience, isn't it?

Lydia

I have a desire. I have a desire to worship with my hands. To worship with my hands uplifted to God, glorifiying Him...for being...God. I want to worship not just mentally, but emotionally, and physically. I want to be able to show my joy to the Lord in songs of praise to HIM!

I have been struggling with this for a while. Currently, I cannot worship like this...exactly. Sure I can raise a hand when singing, but not in a truly expressive way. I'm not saying I want to jump around and act crazy, I don't. But just expressing my love and joy in the Lord, giving Him the glory, that is my desire.

I go to a great church. I don't think it is at all a bad church. At all. The doctrine is fantastic. But, I can say with all honesty that emotional worship is not a big deal. Worship is stationary, not very emotional. This is a struggle for me. I want to worship the Lord in an enviornment where the doctrine is great, but also where I am free to raise my hands in glory to my Creator. Even more so, I want to do so in a place where people won't look down on me. Where it isn't "weird" or "odd for me to do so. Church is meant to be a family. But when a family isn't supportive or on the same page as you...is that not a problem?

Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying emotions in worship is more important than doctrine. You can't have one without the other. It isn't one without the other. It should be a balance.

I want to feel at home. I want to feel at home in church.


Brianna

P.S. I apologize for maybe not being clear. This was a spilling out of emotion and pain.

Lately, the different ways people do things and how they react to others has been on my mind a lot. Particularly in refernce to worship.
I find SUCH great joy in visiting other cultures and places, because there's always a little something that is different. Even if it's just the way they fold their napkins, it's interesting to me that they do it that way. Sure, folding napkins in half is more economical than making them into origami flamingoes, but that's the way they do it, so it's cool.
What rubs me wrong is when people judge other people for doing stuff their own way (when they tell them they shouldn't do it that way, I mean). If one of my friends was doing something totally unreasonable like the flamingo-napkin example above, I would be like, "Yo, that takes way more time", but I wouldn't tell them not to do it just because that's not how I would do it. Half the world eats with their hands. Who are we to tell them to use forks?
What I am getting at is this question that has developed in my mind. It comes from a few months of 1) studying the Bible, 2) worshipping the same God in different places, 3) discovering more about myself, and how my personality fits with my style of worship, and my relationships with other people, and 4) listening to people talk about their passions.
If someone asked you what your passion was what would you say?
If your passion was similar to mine, I would be excited, we would get along, or at least have something to talk about. But if your passions were different than mine we would probably have a short conversation, then go our separate ways.
Anyway, what I am struggling with right now is the fact that I go to this church full of people very different from me. And even while I love diversity, I find these differences to be barriers. It's not differences like skin colour or ice cream preference. It's that a whole lot of people at my church love college football, and I really really don't (there are many many other differences). And while I'm vocal about some passions, they are vocal about totally different ones. Now I don't want to get up in their business about what they're vocal about, and what they're not-it's them, I'm me-they don't need to like and talk about everything that I like and talk about. Whatever, you know. I'm just trying to find an answer to the question in my heart....is it alright to leave a church not because anything they do is Unbiblical, but rather because you don't feel like you fit?
Here's the deal: I love worship, I love praise songs, I try to love hymns, but I really don't. They (generally) seem more like death-chants than songs to me. So I want a church where only (or at least more, and more passionate) praise songs are sung. I would also like to worship in a place where people feel free to worship however they want to, and aren't looked at like freaks if they clap their hands, raise their arms, or dance in joy throughout the service. I would like for their to be a church where Megan (my awesome, yet very conservative, and less um...boisterous (annoying) ) friend would not feel weird for worshipping her way, and I would not feel weird for worshipping my way (which are probably very different ways considering we're just about opposites ;). I just don't think God made me the way I am so that I'd stick out like a sore thumb at my church.
I still have no answer, and that's cool. I know God wants me at Covenant Presbyterian right now, because that is where my Dad and Mom want me. The actual decision making comes later. For now, I'm just thinking, and praying, and all that.



Lydia


(Congratulations on making it through the longest post ever)

I've attended two services at an Anglican church this week, and it's been interesting. Their music was absolutely wonderful. Here are a couple of lines from the praise songs:

"Break my heart for what breaks Yours."

I love that line so much. It's like the perfect summary of true friendship.

"Oh, He is jealous for me. He loves like a hurricane. I am a tree bending beneath the weight of His love and mercy..."

I want to paint that one, but I'm afraid the lyric is just too awesome, and me painting it might mess it up.

Lydia

Hhhmmm, so I've reached a rough patch in life. Patch might imply to long of a time period because I really don't think these will all last very long, but sigh...it's lasted long enough already if you ask me. Anyway, I'm just going to put the not-so-happy things in my life into a list for now, because I don't want to sound like a winer by detailing them to much. Here they are:
1) My feet hurt.
2) Because of #1, I cannot do my favorite thing. Which is to run.
3) My parents and I are not really able to communicate in the least.
4) I don't have a job because no one in Little Rock cares to hire me. Trust me, I have tried.
5) Because of #4 I have not gotten my license, and therefore can drive myself nowhere, which complicates my life, and depressingly, the lives of my friends.
6) Friends. People. Me. Enough said.
I'm trying to take all this as a compliment from God, like, by making life harder for me He's showing me my great potential to grow, but it's still hard. And I would still love to be farther along in life right now, however great it is being young.

"Afraid? Of What?
To feel the Spirit's glad release?
To pass from pain to perfect peace,
The strife and strain of life to cease?
Afraid-of that?
Afraid to see the Saviour's face
To hear His welcome, and to trace
The glory gleam from wounds of grace?
Afraid-of that?
Afraid? Of What?
A flash, a crash, a pierced heart;
Darkness, light, O Heaven's art!
A wound of His a counterpart!
Afraid-of that?
Afraid? Of What?
To do by death what life could not-
Baptize with blood a stony plot,
Till souls shall blossom from the spot?
Afraid-of that?"
-E.H. Hamilton (I am aware that this poem has little to no relevance to this post, I just like it).

Lydia

A few things have gotten me down and pretty much chewed on my mind in the last two weeks and I have, therefore, felt kind of discouraged. Discouraged about people, about myself, and about my walk with God. It is not fun feeling this discouraged, let me tell you. Well I have prayed and prayed for God to pick me up off the ground so I can live a more encouraged life. I just can't face the idea of living life with only a forced smile, finding little to no temporary joy on this earth (darn my ingratitude). God has answered that prayer. Today. About half an hour ago. Allow me to tell you about it.

I'm stuck at home all day (another blessing-I am exhausted) and my whole family was gone this morning. I had the house to myself. I didn't know what I was going to do until I turned on my music and started painting. My intention was to paint a picture of a little cabin in a field (emphasis on the lightning bugs) for my "aunt" who is having surgery. That didn't exactly happen. I got carried away by the island music I was listening to (Jack Johnson-hence the tiny pic) and started painting a beach scene-I adore the beach. I painted a little changing room with a purple curtain, and the sand and the sky and the sun, then laid back to let the sand dry so I could add a couple surf boards.

While I laid back I thought about just how great it was. I loved that music. I loved every stroke of the brush I took. I loved the beach that was drying on the canvas.

I knew that God had just given me a taste of heaven, because as I had painted that was the word chugging around my brain like a train on its track: heaven heaven heaven. It wasn't just like heaven, of course, because it wasn't perfect (ha.ha. in no way is that painting perfect!), but it was a taste. An encouragement. My God sent me a taste of perfection. He gave me a taste of the eternal bliss I am striving towards. God had mercy on me. Not only by feeding, clothing, and blessing me with great people every where I turn, but also with something I had specifically asked for: a picture of what's to come.

"Gotta get to the sea-ea-ea. Come along-long-long, gotta get to the sea!"

Lydia

that city of trust.

Everyday comes with its own oppurtunities to trust and build trust. With every day that passes free of violation, and betrayal one becomes more and more trusting. And then one is betrayed, or let down, or forgotten and it starts all over. Back from the point where you think you'll never trust again and you'll never find your place. For most those spells don't last long. Soon one is back on his/her feet ready to face it all again and accept people and their sometimes-beautiful, sometimes-cruel imperfections. Ones' own shortcomings brought to light help one to regain trust in others also. One sees that he/she isn't perfect and neither are other people but we all mean well, right? But what if the hurt was constant and what if every moment in your life that meant something special because someone did something kind or put their trust in you turned into a moment when you were mistreated or betrayed? What if there weren't those times for recovery after every heart break? What if each torn heart string led to another being plucked too violently upon? Would every single strand of belief and feeling be broken, violated, and torn? What would happen then? How could one return to a time before such pain wreaked havoc upon you, body and soul? The road to redemption is a bitter place that not all are blessed enough to see the end of. But many do. At the end of that road there is a brilliant white city where nothing bad happens. Nothing bad. In that place, light everlasting will take the place of this present darkness. There no one will harm you and you will no longer have the desire to hurt others. There all will be made new. The forgiven whore will sing a new song of purity and grace and the repentant drug lord will pour himself out at the footstool of the Most High. There, beautiful children-even those born in brothels-if they have been made new, will never fear nor doubt nor hunger again.That city is perfect. That city is full of tearful reunions and heartfelt song. That city is where I am going.

Lydia