joy joy joy

Today, I'm thinking about joy.

Well, okay, I haven't thought much about it yet, but I'm going to start thinking about it. This is what I've got so far - up to this point in my life, I don't think it's ever been really difficult to sustain joy and happiness in my life. Not that life has always been easy, but I'd be lying if I said that life hasn't always been good. Even in the difficult times, there have always been relationships, people, things, ideas, and purposes to make it relatively impossible for me to lose joy and happiness.

But I find myself struggling with these things quite a bit these last few days. It definitely doesn't mean an absence of those aforementioned things - there are still relationships, people, things, ideas, and purposes that are very dear (and very exciting) to me. But I just feel...deflated, I suppose. Not necessarily defeated, just a little deflated. It's felt tougher in this last season of my life to feel happy, purposeful, and steady. I've spent countless minutes, hours, even days trying to put my finger on why I feel this way. That, I've almost decided, is something of a waste.

Today, I remember what my Dad always says:

"Don't let anything steal your joy."

This is tough to remember. But I want that to be true of me. I want it to be true regardless of any person, any circumstance, any sadness of heart. I think that's a tall order, but it's one that I want to contemplate. Beyond happiness, beyond bliss, beyond circumstantial satisfaction --

joy.

Back to School...

Freshman orientation.

It's just one of those unescapable and unfortunate realities, made that much worse by not actually being a freshman. I don't remember exactly embracing the whole process as a true college freshman...much less as a college student five years down the road from that point. It's obviously unnecessary to say that I felt old, but I also encountered a reality that I didn't expect:

I felt out of place.

"Noooo!"

I thought.

But there it was -- reality. No perfect fit, no lightning bolts, no instant connections, no emotional high. Just reality. I found myself in a room filled with starry-eyed, eager, perhaps overly outgoing (we're talking theatre majors here, after all) freshmen. Even as freshman, however, most of them had a better theatrical resume than me -- and besides that, they were theater people, an obvious fit for the program they had chosen. And although the reality was no doubt overplayed by the sensitivities of my own mind, it was still obvious that I'm not exactly that way. Not exactly a fit. Not exactly the natural choice for where I was at.

All these observations and realizations were too much for me...so they were followed closely by a somewhat frustrated prayer.

"God, what am I supposed to be all about? Shouldn't there be something that I'm just a fit for? Something that I'm just naturally supposed to do and do well? What's my thing? What am I supposed to be all about?"

Fortunately, there was a quick answer.

"The only thing you're supposed to be all about is Me."

Oooh. That makes sense. I don't know what the deal is with all these "in between" feelings, all of these musings about where I'm to connect and fit and be, but if the point is for me to learn this better, than ok -- I'm on board. More than that, I'm all about it.

I just spent a long time reading a friend's musings. Her honesty was striking -- as was the similarity between her struggles and mine. As I read I just cried. So much of what she wrote, what she writes, echoes the thoughts and feelings that are in my heart.

Honesty, honesty.

I long for the honesty that she has. To be able to speak in truth and freedom the things that I usually reserve for my journal -- the things that I fear to allow into the light of day. To express without fear of annoying those dear to me. To express without fear that freedom of expression will equal loss. Just honesty without fear. These thoughts are not confined to a certain area, to a certain place or type of relationship; I want pervasive honesty. I find myself in a vicious cycle at times. I find in myself a deep longing to be loved and cherished for exactly who I am. But even when I have this love, even when I feel it is on the horizon, I dread its loss...and I feel that it surely cannot be, for one reason or another. So I duck and weave around the pillars of truth and honesty, playing hide-and-seek with true love in every place it is found. But in the midst of my game I cease to be truly known as who and what I am -- because, obviously, I am hiding in one way or another. And thus any love I experience seems insecurely founded, and I arrive, again, in fearing love lost. To make it clear, once again, this applies so broadly to my life -- these are not the musings solely of a daughter, of a girlfriend, of a sister, of a friend. They are just musings from me. But the Lord has told me what I am to be. No more mousing around.

Honesty, honesty.

Not because I have unvoiced opinions. Not because I have previously been too insecure to be who I truly am. Not even because I have been dishonest. But because I am who He has made me to be, and there is no need for pretending. There is no need to conform to something else. There is no need for fear, because there is a love that supersedes all fear.

Even now, I'm tempted not to click "publish post" -- what if this is too introspective, too personal to launch out of my journal, too elementary, too emotionally driven? But I will click. After all, this is a conversation I'm having with my Father. And I know at least one other person who is having the same kind of conversations -- she wrote of them as well, and I'm thankful. So...click.

glory & reality

Sometimes I still can't believe He came.

My time overseas has been marked by a simple but intensely profound revelation -- "in Christ alone". The hymn has been playing over and over again in my mind as I've encountered different people, different nations, and different cultures. And even now, after living the entirety of my life in the reality of the cross, I still can't believe it sometimes -- that Jesus Christ would come to us and make a way to bring us near, embracing the beauty and ugliness that comprises the human existence. It seems unbelievable to me that such an incredible thing has been in the heart of God for all eternity -- to send His Son to die, rise again, and make a way for all people from all places to come to Him. I feel speechless about it, and incredibly blessed to know life under the reality that has been accomplished by Jesus on the cross.

What can I do but determine to make Him known? What other response could I possibly have, than to make known the hope that exists in Him alone? What else could I possibly fight for, other than the freedom that He brings to those who are oppressed by their own sin and the sin of others? There is nothing else worth standing for, nothing else with even a remnant of hope, nothing else with even a dull ring of truth.

In Christ alone.

...

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.