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Tonight is hard.

I miss Dre, I miss my family, I miss L.A., I miss feeling at home.

Facebook and Skype just isn't the same...Spain is sick, but tonight my heart is a little sad. I've been thinking a lot lately about what you have to give up to do what my sister does -- to transport yourself into another culture, to learn another language, to give up both "home" and yourself in a sense. I've felt that pretty strongly in the short time I've been here - I can't think of a more literal concept for the idea of losing your life to save it. To follow the Lord, you give up your ability to communicate (at least for a time, and even in my week and a half it's been rough), a sense of comfort that you took for granted before, and even yourself. Not that you become someone else or are called to misery...but for a time you lose your ability to relate to people on the basis of language - a pretty big deal.

But the difficulty in my heart and mind is also bringing clarity in those places. The Lord is working it for good, I know - it just get a little tough to trust in the in-between time.

getting over it.

Like any typical college student, I spend a good amount of time praying desperately for the Lord's provision. I feel confident that He can provide for me - even when I've got a lot on the horizon (Spain, an apartment, my deposit for APU, EVERYTHING at APU, etc. ...), I know that my issues aren't necessarily big issues for Him. Okay, more like they DEFINITELY aren't big issues for Him.

But I've been noticing something lately. First, I've been noticing that He provides; second, I've been noticing that I don't really like the way He provides. I would be totally fine with the Lord providing through anonymous checks in the mail, or through the opportunity to actually make more money by working...but I've gotta admit, I'm not so good with the Lord providing for me through my family. I waited for two weeks (and a phone call from my mom) before depositing a check from my parents that I really needed. My sister is getting my brakes fixed today, wouldn't tell me how much it's gonna cost, and I feel terrible. Not like "thankful terrible" either -- just terrible, and down on myself because I couldn't pay for it on my own.

Sometimes I can't believe I actually get a little ticked at God for providing for me in a way I don't like -- I mean, seriously, it's pretty outrageous of me. But I think I've nailed what it comes down to. Pride. I hate to even type it, but I can't think of any other reason for it. It's not that I don't want any help from anyone, and it's not that I think my independence is to be valued and sought after above all else. It's just that I can't get out of my head how much the people I love have given to me, and I feel like now it should be time for me to be able to do it for them. But nope...they're still doing it for me. I don't know why I expect one of the biggest, most tangible sources of God's goodness in my life to suddenly shift to somewhere else because I'm over 21. But I do, and then comes the guilt. That's pretty clearly not from the Father, though.

So I guess I better get over it.

Bear with me -- this is a new thought.

The greys and blacks of life are something that I am familiar with. In my mind, this seems strange in hindsight. Ever since I was small, I've felt like someone who, to put it poetically, dreams in color. I feel that color, excitement, a starry-eyed approach to life, and imaginaton are my guideposts as a person. But the last little while of my life seems to have been marked by a descent of greyness on my life and dreams. My days stopped holding excitement in favor of bleakness. My dreams not only became grey, but actually ceased to come at all. This greyness was dishearteningly pervasive, and I succombed. I'm not sure whether this succombing was a loss, a failure, or something not meant to be -- but I'm sure it took me. I walked through my days in a greyness that I had not formerly known -- a greyness that I couldn't escape or simply gloss over until my feelings caught up with my state of being. I could say more, but I think the idea is clear.

But, even beginning with last summer, I witnessed the greyness of my skies beginning to clear. Color began to be restored -- in short, thickly satured strokes that surprised my dulled mind with their intensity...in long, wispy strokes that sliced through the grey with sustained effort...in great splotches that almost took my breath away. This color has returned with slow determination, beginning to brightly stain the hesitant grey canvases of my life and dreams. But even in its slow and faithful return, this color has not met a heart and mind without fear. "Why," I worry, "would the color return? Is there deep meaning I am supposed to ascertain?" And further: "Is this some kind of temporary relief -- an invisible ink to trick me into a return to fearless joy?" The great return of color has been met by a concurrent surge of fear.

But last night -- a reprieve.

I've prayed and prayed and prayed (without exaggeration) for the return of colorful skies in the midst of a greyness whose rhyme or reason I could not ascertain. Last night, my half and half heart heard a response. "It's time."

"Really?!" I said.

"It's time to return."

Needless to say, my heart leaped -- color surged -- stars returned to my eyes. I was so excited, in fact, that the above conversation took place approximately ten times. Then, a little bit more came. "Knowing the greys will help you to better know and appreciate the colors."

There's not much else for me to say, other than this: I believe I'm done with greys and blacks. It's time to dream in color again.

Life as a Bird

As I was beginning to fall asleep last night, in my mind's eye I was seeing birds.

And I began to think about what a "flapper" I am.  There are lots of currents in life, lots of things that push me around.  That's just life - there will always be emotions, situations, and happenings that gust through my skies and ruffle my feathers.  My response to these things is usually to flap wildly, attempting to right my skies by taming the gusts of wind.  Needless to say, this attempt is unequivocally unsuccessful.  I am never able to control the gusts, never able to appropriately navigate the things that push me around.  

So, as I realized how superfluous and utterly unsuccessful my wild flapping is, I began to think about my alternatives.  I prayed with someone yesterday about a big gust - a terrible situation in their life that simply won't go away and, quite frankly, cannot be "navigated".  All I could think to pray was peace; not as a nice, "cross your fingers" emotion, but as it is with God - strong, active, and able to overcome anything.  So last night, as I drifted off to sleep, I began to consider what that means in my own life (novel concept, right?  Actually living out myself what I pray for others?).  My tendency is to try to navigate the gusts of life on my own, whether by wild flapping or by desperately grasping at a peace that is less than the peace for which I prayed with my friend.  But I realize that neither of these things will actually enable me to navigate the gusts in my skies with success.  As much as I want to simply glide on these unavoidable gusts, all my best efforts only lead to a wild flapping.  The more I think about it, the more I realize with unshakeable certainty that no constancy of affection, no predisposed amount of accolades, no solidity of friendship will ever lead me to a state of mind and heart in which I can successfully glide upon the gusts in my skies.  

There is only one peace that can actually do that - and I've got to pursue it.  It's taking me a while, but I've got to learn it.  I've got to get it right, because I don't want to spend my whole life flapping.    

Musings of a Two-Year-Old

For much of the past week and a half, I've felt very much like a two-year-old.  As I pray, as I talk things through, as I ponder, the questions that rise from my mind inevitably begin with, "Why?"  For every circumstance, for every perceived difficulty, all I can think to ask is "Why?"

This has caused me to think quite a bit about the difficulties of the past year and a half.  As I think about the creeping return of the mindset and state of heart that accompanied those times, I feel a desperation rising in my heart.  At that point, the question of "Why?" ceases and is replaced with another insistent, decidedly toddler-like cry: "No, no, no!!"  Everything in my heart and mind cries out to protest a return to that painful brokenness and numbness that has, in many ways, marked the last little while of my life.  I don't want to go back to times where my friends say, "You're not yourself"; to times where my professors approach me with worry; to times where I simply can't put my finger on the desperate sadness that pervades my heart.  I want to continue with what my heart has been fearfully but hopefully stepping towards - restoration.

But as I think with admitted fear about the sadness and brokenness that seems to crouch at the door of my heart, I have begun to realize something very important.  In the difficulty of recent times, something has emerged.  As I have come to the "other side" of this difficulty, only to fear being grabbed once more by its clutches, something of deep, weighty truth has begun to rise in my heart.  When I seek the Lord, even in desperation of not wanting to return to where I have been, a realization rises:

True peace has become deeper and more real.  Real rest has become sweeter and easier to come by.  Unshakeable assurance has emerged as more than theoretical - it is now real and experienced.                 

If nothing else, this realization makes the last year and a half of my life "worth it".  Even if I return to that place dreaded by the whole of my heart, I'll make it.  And it will be redeemed - because it has been already.    

Campsites

I was thinking today about my comfort zone.  I wish I could think of another word to use that would make me sound more innovative as a thinker, but alas, I only slept for three hours last night.  In light of this, "comfort zone" will have to do.  

Today, as I sat at work, I realized that I felt at ease as I reached out to people I didn't know.  I even felt a little proud of myself for taking the "befriending" initiative.  But then my mind was suddenly arrested - "How easy," I thought, "to reach out in confidence and selflessness when I'm in a comfortable environment."  But how difficult for me, and how common of late, to shrink when uncomfortable.  I find myself in the throes of incredible self-frustration at this shrinking motion; who ever heard of mere (though perhaps intense) discomfort causing the actual reshaping of a person's personality?!  At these times, the way I am perceived is mildly shocking to me; "quiet", "reserved", and "shy" were never (EVER) words used to describe me until more recent months.  Trust me, my family would find these descriptions utterly laughable.  But what feels like "camping out" in a zone of discomfort has brought about this disappointing reshaping of who I am.  I'm not quite sure whether or not this extended stay in my discomfort zone has served as a means for growth; at this point, it is simply not clear to me.

However, I do believe I am beginning to know something else: restoration.  I think it's time for a new campsite.    

Roar.

"From the Gadites there came over to David in the stronghold in the wilderness, mighty men of valor, men trained for war, who could handle shield and spear, and whose faces were like the faces of lions..."

I'm really intrigued by this description.  I always have been, ever since I first read it in the account of David's "mighty men".  I've always thought that's how I wanted to be - someone who approached life (and especially the things of the Lord) with a face like a lion's.  I don't exactly know what that entails, but when I think about the face of a lion, I can imagine that these guys were pretty intense.  Admittedly, it's hard to put into words exactly what this phrase communicates - perhaps I'm misunderstanding it anyway.  But when I think about people approaching life with such ferocity and intensity that they're described as having "faces...like the faces of lions", I find something in me wanting to mirror that.  

To the point: the trouble is, I'm pretty sure my face looks more like Hello Kitty than a lion.  

Depressing?  No doubt.  

True?  Undeniably so.  

This is not to negate kindness - I'm thinking Aslan, here.  But I can't deny the embarrassingly strong parallels between a lion/Hello Kitty and who I want to be/who I actually am.  I know I am to function in boldness, intensity, and strength regarding the things of my life - because it's to be a Kingdom life.  But I also know that I oftentimes function in hesitation, worry, and fear.  This is a disservice not only to me (seriously, who really wants to look like Hello Kitty?), but to those around me.  Although I don't plan on hunting and eating any of my friends or family, I do know that to choose Hello Kitty over Lion in the realm of relationship is a lackluster choice at best.  

I don't want to choose this lackluster in my relationships, in my heart, in my prayers, in my life...I want to have a face like a lion.