The Girl and the Gardener

    This is a story about a girl and a Gardener.  

    One day, walking along a road, the girl finds a root on the dirt at her feet.  She picks it up, brushes it off, and decides to plant it.  She keeps walking, waiting for just the right patch of ground to plant it in.  She stops when she sees a Gardener in the distance and decides if this dirt is good enough for him, it's good enough for her. So she digs in the dirt, packs in the root, and waits. 

    And she keeps waiting, waiting and hoping. She's seen plants in bloom along the way. She doesn't understand why hers won't, especially because it's so close to the Gardener's ground. She loses heart little by little as she watches and waits. 

    The girl spends years bending over that dirt, waiting for something to sprout. Then one day, she stops. She looks up and finds the Gardener close by, watching her with kindness in his eyes, and for the first time in a long time, she sees him, really sees him. 

    Then, carefully she pulls out the dead root from the patch of ground, slowly stands up, and takes it to him. He accepts it from her quietly and as soon as it's in his hand, it's gone. Disappeared. She stares at his hand, empty, and at his face, unmoved. She wants to ask why, but something about his face tells her it doesn't matter. Some questions aren't meant to be answered. Then she sees a change in his eyes. A smile sneaking out. He offers her his hand, “I want to show you something.” 

    Hesitantly, she puts her hand in his and walks beside and a little behind him as he leads her over a small hill along the path. When they reach the crest of the hill, she clutches her hand to her mouth and breathes in a sharp gasp of air as she looks upon a sight more beautiful than anything she had ever seen. Flowers of every kind, every color, fill the space below.  Petals moving in the wind like waves, breathtaking. A symphony of shades and shimmer, as if rejoicing over a deep and settled stillness. He squeezes her hand, delighted by the shock on her face.

    “You...did this?” she stammers with wide eyes.

    “I've been waiting a long time to show you,” he answers.

    “I've never seen anything like it,” she exclaims. “I've never even dreamed of such beauty.”

    He lets her take it all in, breathe in the sweet flower scent, then says almost in a whisper, “It's yours. I've been planting it for you.”

    She looks at him in disbelief, brow furrowed, quietly shaking her head. “No. I can't.” She looks away, towards the mesmerizing scene in front of her. “This is yours. It belongs to you. I can't take it.”

    “Yes,” he says gently, waiting until her eyes meet his. “Yes. It's mine. And you will never know my delight in giving it to you.”

    “I don't understand,” she says as tears form in her eyes.

    “All those years you spent tending that root, I watched and waited. I knew you would walk away from it if I asked you to, but I also knew that until you walked away from it on your own, it would stay a part of you.”

    “But it wasn't a bad root. It could have been beautiful, if only it had grown.” She looks at the ground, trying to keep the twinge of bitterness out of her voice.

    “It could have been beautiful, for a time.” He is quiet for a moment. “But you couldn't see what I could see.” He looks her in the eyes and says, “I saw a girl tangled up in her root. It could have been a beautiful bloom, but a root like that is bound to die.”

    She closes her eyes, knowing what he says is true, seeing it clearly for the first time. After a few moments of letting the weight of his words sink in, she asks, “Why are you giving me this?”

    “I'm giving you this because I'm the Gardener," he said, joy clear on his face. "This is what I do. And I know how much you love beauty.”

    “What if I get tangled up in the roots again?” she asks, concerned.

    He answers, “The beauty you see here, that's yours. The roots are mine.”  

Love Part III

I've been thinking a lot about the love of God this summer.  Looking up Bible verses that talk about love, writing them down in my journal, thinking hard about what the words really mean. What does it really mean that the God of the Universe loves me?  And how does that love change things?  

I was listening to a Christian radio program on my way home from work not long ago.  A woman, a missionary I think, was talking about reaching out to people with the love of God.  She talked about the verse in II Corinthians that says: "For Christ's love compels us us because we are convinced that one died for all, and therefore all died. And He died for all, that those who live should no longer live for themselves but for him who died for them and was raised again" (II Cor. 5:14,15).  She knew the love of God.  She had experienced it for herself and it changed her. Christ's love compelled her to spend her life investing in people, sharing the Gospel with them, loving them.  My thoughts on love began to take a different angle.  

The next day, I was on my way to my nephew's first birthday party. Doing some freeway praying. Lately, I've sort of developed a new habit. Most mornings, during my time with God, I'll write a prayer in my journal that goes something like this: “God, I lay down my expectations. Turn my heart towards gratitude, towards trust in You. I open my hands to receive love from Yours in any way you choose to give it.” Singleness. Deferred hope. Some way, somehow, love from His hand.

In place of those expectations, in place of those dusty dreams, where there has been sorrow and confusion and disappointment, I lay them down to make room for something else.

Redirect my heart.

I was thinking about what the woman said about how Christ's love compels us and I was thinking about long singleness and a redirected heart.  These are the words that came out of my mouth: “God, give me the capacity...to know the love of Christ...”

I stopped. Tears in eyes. Seeing something crystal clear that had been nothing but blurry for years. “God, give me the capacity to know the love of Christ that passes knowledge that I may be filled with the fullness of God.”  My life verse.  The one I chose when I was a teenager.

My whole life, I've wanted nothing as much as I've wanted to know that love. Experience it for myself. Feel loved by the God of the Universe. He's teaching me love in unexpected ways. Ways I wouldn't have chosen. Ways higher than mine.

It's like coming full circle. I'm back where I started, all those years ago, asking Him to let me know, grasp and understand His love for myself.  He's answering my prayer of so many years, just differently than I thought. Through teaching me to lay down expectations. Through deferred hopes and dreams collecting dust.  He's actually answering my prayer in the very best way. It isn't what I thought. It doesn't look like what I thought it would look like. It's Love, yes. Perfect and complete all by itself.  Love that always looks outside of itself, that can't help but change forever everything it touches.  

So how does the love of God change things?  Change me?  God, may the love of Christ compel me to meet a new person at church on Sunday when I feel shy and introverted. May the love of God compel me to get out of bed when my alarm goes off instead of hitting the snooze button so that I'll have time to spend with You before work. May the love of Christ compel me to trust you when my heart feels broken. And so much more.  

Ultimately, my story of striving, singleness, my story of love--it comes down to trusting the heart of the Father.  The relentless, tireless, tender love of Him. Today. Tomorrow. In all the little, insignificant moments that make up a lifetime. And here's the thing about His love: it can't be contained. If I know it, if I really do, it will fill me and seep out of me, spill over onto the length of my shadow and everything in its space.

Love Part II

Fast forward 10 years or so.  This is the part of the story called singleness.

Do you mind if I show you some of the not-so-pretty?

If you had told me 10 years ago what my life would look like at 30 years old, if you had shown me a snapshot, I wouldn't have believed you.  I would have flat out refused to believe you. At the starting line of my fourth decade with no husband or babies?  Absolutely impossible.  That's what I would have said.

This is a tricky job.  To express the disappointment I've felt, and still feel sometimes, while not giving the impression that I am without hope or faith in my loving, gracious, faithful God. Because the truth is I do have hope. It's the bottom line carved below disappointment.  The feel of a firm hand, strong in the dark.

Love.

I have hope because He loves me (Romans 5:5).

It's simple.  His ways are not my ways.   His thoughts are not my thoughts.  Yes, I've had times of throwing myself on the ground, metaphorically speaking, flailing my arms and legs about, pounding the ground and air in outrage at the injustice, the shock, the sadness of singleness.

BUT.  Thankfully, there is a but.

God is still good in light of long singleness.  This part of my story is not an accident or mistake.

He loves tenderly the broken heart.  He does.  And in that love is a fierce fight. To rescue it, set it free.

For what comes next.

Love Part I

By the time I was sixteen, I had decided what my life verse would be.  It resonated with the core of me, way down deep where the longing lives and all the way to the surface.  It spelled out my desire, my quest, my hope, my prayer for as long as I could remember.   

"And to know the love of Christ, which passes knowledge; that you may be filled with all the fullness of God."  Ephesians 3:19

As a teenager, it wasn't easy for me to grasp that love.  The situation didn't improve much as I got older.  I think the devil knows how dangerous, how devastating to him it is for us to know, really know and experience the love God has for us.  So he spends all his strength trying to blind us, harden our hearts, make us feel worthless...anything to sabotage our chances of encountering the love of God.  And his tactics are subtle.  In my case, it was effort that got me tripped up.  I thought if I tried hard enough, I'd finally find that illusive feeling of God's love and it would set me free and change me into a different person, a Loved person.  The more that love feeling eluded me, the harder I tried to reach for it.  The devil's job was easy. Make me strive so much for love that I would never stop long enough to realize it was already mine, perfect and complete.   

This is how I've lived most of my life.  But, thankfully, it's not the end of my story. 

Movement

Not long ago, I was driving back from San Diego with one of my roommates. Sand still stuck to our feet, colors of summer sun setting on the rise and fall of solid green. Beautiful. I was verbally processing, a rare and often unproductive venture of mine. Not-very-filtered honesty. Serious stuff: trust in God, blaming God, being single, being sad. Lamenting the disconnect between my heart and my head. He isn't to blame. I know that. But He could make it better. He can, I know He can. He doesn't. What sense can I make of that? What does He want from me? These were the thoughts running through my head and some of them, out of my mouth.  

The thing about verbal processing/filterlessness that I don't like is the lack of closure. Everything inside spilled out, messy. I can clean up the mess but I can't scrub hard enough to get rid of the silence that follows. Vulnerability. Before the God of the Universe, so exposed. And not in my best light.  

The moment passed. We listened to music and enjoyed the view. I dropped my roommate off at the house and headed to the store to pick up the movie we had somehow found the time to reserve on the drive home amidst all that verbal processing. So, alone in the car, I turned the music down reluctantly and exposed the ugly again. I allowed myself (forced is more like it) some honesty with the God. All the things that He heard me process with my roommate. All the things He already knew before I ever said a word. The lack of closure, answer, clarity. The frustration, confusion, disappointment. The messiness. In the Psalms, David refers to it as pouring out my heart to Him. That's what I did. And somewhere between my house and the Redbox, the light bulb flashed. The light bulb that holds within it the mystery of eternity.

Jesus loves me.

How do I trust the one who holds me? The one whose hands are strong and powerful and doesn't always do with them what I wish He would? How do I make sense of what I can't make sense of? By believing down to the very depths of my being that Jesus loves me. My answer to joy, my answer to sorrow. The words I whisper when my heart is broken for love or for loss. The muscle movements of hands that accept exactly what He gives, everything.

He loves me.

These words turn my eyes towards Him, light. So powerful, so vulnerable, these words. It could be that He moved heaven and earth to hear me say them. And if I spend every day of the rest of my life making it a habit to believe them, I will not have wasted time.

That day, that moment, it changed me. It changed everything. My view of the world, my view of God, the nature of reality, me.

That moment is moving from not pushing Him away to stepping towards Him. Movement thirty years in the making.  

The Beach, the Brakes, and the Bread Maker

A long, long time ago, my car started squeaking whenever I pressed down on the brakes. So I did what anyone with a deep aversion to car troubles would do. I pretended like everything was OK and kept right on driving. 

As the months went by, that nagging little voice of wisdom kept pestering me and I reached the point where I knew it was just about time to do something about the squeaking (and the shaking, by this time, especially as I pressed on my brakes going down hill.)  Around this time, I was learning about finances in my discipleship group. Figuring out what God has to say about money, provision, blessing, stewardship, etc. What I learned was convicting and it really challenged my perspective. I had sort of forgotten that God wants to provide for my needs. Without realizing it, I had adopted a self-sufficient mindset. So I thought I might start including God in that area of my life. I was beginning to consider praying for specific things to see what He would do. Sort of dipping my toes in the water, so to speak. Not much expectation. Not much risk. It wasn't that I didn't believe God could answer specific prayers. I just didn't think my requests were all that important. 

Well, I thought about the whole brakes situation and I decided it might be a good opportunity to pray a specific prayer. And I gave it a good try. But I couldn't ask God for the money. I just couldn't do it. I don't think it's wrong to ask God for money, but I couldn't quite get past the belief system of my brakes = my problem. There is one thing, one specific thing, I did ask him for, though. And I'll tell you what that was later. 

But first I will tell you that within about two weeks of thinking about these financial things in a new way, out of the clear blue sky, I received a check in the mail for $400. It wasn't exactly out of the clear blue sky. It was from a person, a very generous person who decided to bless me because God had blessed her. So now I had the money I needed to get my brakes fixed. What I still did not have was the resolve to overcome my deep aversion to car troubles and actually go to a mechanic. 

About a week after receiving the check, I was at work. It was a Friday. A happy Friday. My boss gave me a bread maker, out of the clear blue sky. Just kidding. It was out of her garage, actually. But it made my day. I told her she increased my chances of finding true love with that gift. What guy doesn't like a girl who can bake her own bread, right? Then, as I left work that Friday on my way to a graduation party, bread maker in tow, I heard a new, unpleasant sound coming from my car. That sound was the motivation I needed to overcome my aforementioned aversion. Images of metal scraping against metal filled my vision. Within a short time, I had coordinated a stop to the mechanic the following day on the way to the beach, where a couple friends and I had planned to spend our Saturday. It was slated to work out perfectly. The mechanic was on our way to the beach. We were on our way to the beach. I'd drop off my car on the way there and pick it up on our way back.  Simple.  

Later, as I was driving home from the party, anxious about the noises coming from my car but grateful that everything had worked out so well, I remembered something. My prayer. The one request I was bold enough to present to my Father. In my quiet time journal, referring to the mechanic, I wrote, "Will you give me a friend to go with me?" Well, He gave me two. My two friends who just so happened to have invited me earlier in the week to go with them to the beach on Saturday. I felt loved by God. I felt relieved that my car would no longer convulse every time I slowed down. 

Everything went according to plan. I picked up my car on our way back from the OC and was quite pleased to discover the convulsing and squeaking was gone! The new, unpleasant sound, however, remained. So, true to form, I solved the problem the way you'd expect. I turned up my music louder. But the noise was like a gnat flying around my face. Hard as I tried, I couldn't pretend it away. 

Fast forward to last week, due to an uncooperative network, I left work early. I had no excuses. Back to the mechanic I went to compliment him on how nicely he fixed my brakes and to tell him the bad sound hadn't gone away. I sat in the shop while first one, then both of the mechanics drove my car around to try to diagnose the mysterious problem. Well, diagnose it, they did. You'll never guess what they discovered.

Apparently, the bread maker I had stuffed on the floor of my backseat a couple Fridays earlier was rattling around from where it sat. Now, there are two things you can take away from this story. Firstly, I am the kind of girl who thinks very bad things are happening to her car when, in fact, it is just a medium-sized kitchen appliance jostling about in her backseat (I give you permission to use this against me as you see fit.) And secondly, God used that bread maker to answer my prayer. If it hadn't rattled in my ear that Friday, convincing me that my brakes were just shy of leading me and my Mazda to ruin, I wouldn't have made such immediate plans to get them fixed and I wouldn't have gone to the mechanic with not just one, but two friends. 

From the answer to the prayer I couldn't pray to the answer that exceeded the prayer I did pray, God took care of me. He wove a beautifully tangled web of blessing and provision through brakes and a bread maker. "'Now to Him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to His power that is at work within us, to Him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus, throughout all generations, forever and ever! Amen" Ephesians 3:20-21.   

True Story

This is a true story. And it has four parts.

Part I: Yesterday

Some days it's easier for me to trust God than others.  Some days I believe with conviction that God is good and that my heart matters to Him.  Other days, He seems aloof and indifferent to me and I push Him away, accordingly.  I doubt Him, His nature, His character.  I wish I didn't, but I do. This is the way yesterday was shaping up, so, I thought I'd fight it.  Take out my sword.  Sharpen it a little.  I decided I'd look up a Bible verse about God not forgetting about me. My plan was to wait until my quiet time this morning and search then.

Part II: Last Night

I had a strange dream.  Let that be my disclaimer for what follows. I dreamed that I was breastfeeding, or rather that I had need of breastfeeding, if you know what I mean.  Granted, I have no first-hand knowledge when it comes to this topic, but I do understand the general idea of it. And I know what happens when a momma needs to do it and can't.  That was my situation, in my dream.  Like I said, it was very strange. 

Part III: This Morning

Quiet time. It was an especially sleepy one this morning, to be honest. I flipped to the back of my Bible and looked up the word 'forget' in the concordance. The only verse I could find that mentioned God not forgetting about me was Isaiah 49:15. I found it, read it, then froze a little bit. This is what Isaiah 49:15,16 says, "Can a mother forget the baby at her breast and have no compassion on the child she has borne? Though she may forget, I will not forget you! See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands; your walls are ever before me."

Part IV: Now

OK, I can take a hint.  Someone's trying to tell me something.  He hasn't forgotten about me.  And He won't forget about me because it isn't in His nature or character to do so. He is faithful and good and so quick to love me, even when I doubt Him.  

What I Believe

I believe that God is good. He is faithful. He loves me very much. He will not let me wander through the unknown alone. He will not leave me or grow tired of me and walk away. I believe that He is working out the circumstances of my life for my good, even the disappointments and the things I don't understand yet. He will put me at the school or job that He chooses and whatever He chooses will be what is best for me. He will close all the doors of the places that are not His best for me and He will open the door at the right place for me. No matter the circumstances of my life or the stage of life I'm in, I will always, ALWAYS have need to trust Him deeply and completely. The more I trust Him with today, the more easily I will trust Him tomorrow. And He will prove faithful. He will prove constant in His affection for me. He will open the windows of Heaven and pour out blessing that I cannot contain. I know this because He already has and because His Word says so. I can't see the end of the story. I can't see past today. The disappointments that seem so hard to carry today may be weaving together a story more beautiful than any I could have imagined on my own. Or it may be that I will never see the finished beauty in this life. It is only a reflection of Him anyways. He is true beauty. And I will see it someday. I will see Him someday. My goal is to trust Him as much in this moment as I will in that moment.     

Teacher

I've been away for a while.  Well, not away exactly.  Just to Mountain View Middle School for seven weeks and to Moreno Valley High School for almost seven weeks and to work at Skanska in the afternoons and evenings and back to this little bedroom after all of that to plan for the next day of repeating it all over again.

This isn't a thorough description of my life since my last post, but it'll do.  Just know my absence was for a good reason.  I was sitting at the drum set at practice last Saturday morning, checking my email between songs, and I saw a message (a very, very expensive message) from Commission on Teacher Credentialing wishing me congratulations on my single subject teaching credential.

Come to think of it, technically, I can say I became an English teacher at band practice one sunny, Spring Saturday morning.  I like that.

Student teaching taught me a lot. Endurance. Hard work. Compassion. Time management. I have still have so much to learn. But now I can start learning as a teacher.

Thankful

I've already mentioned that I turned 30 this month.  Normally, I view my birthdays as not so celebratory occasions.  That's silly.  What I realized this year is that birthdays are gifts, just like so many other good things God gives.  So, in my new found spirit of gratitude, I've made a list of some of the things I'm thankful for.  Without further ado, here they are (in no particular order).

I'm thankful for:

1. My identical twin sister
2. A small room in a big house with girls who love Jesus like I do
3. Chris Quilala, Kim Walker (especially her laugh) and their friends
4. My job at Skanska which is the kindness of God in job form
5. Dinner, good conversation and general walking through life with the Berrys
6. A healthy family, good conversations with my sister-in-law, SYTYCD and NCIS marathons
7. Space heaters
8. Playing the drums at church
9. Coffee, coffee cups, coffee cup lids, coffee smell, coffee shops
10. Melatonin
11. The smell and thrill of used bookstores
12. Friends a girl could only hope to find and they are mine
13. Long car rides
14. Jesus Culture and Bethel Live Pandora stations
15. Nathan, Caleb, Kylie, Ellie, Connor and Landon (and that I get to see my brother and sister as parents)
16. The faithfulness of God that will take me the rest of my life to grasp
17. A church that is such a blessing to me, I don't have words (except these...and eph. 3:20)
18. A mom who has always loved and supported me
19. My precious nephew who calls me Uncle
20. Colorful trees, covered bridges and sunsets.  They are my favorite.
21. Neil Diamond
22. Sushi - (the happiest food on earth) especially with my brother Joshua Arthurs who shares my sentiments
23. D-Group
24. That I get to go to school for pretty much the rest of my life one way or another
25. The Bible
26. God's constant, compassionate, deep love for me
27. Books
28. My bff Allison
29. So many people I am so very grateful to have known and to know still
30. Turning 30

Soapbox

A couple weeks ago, I was teaching first period, Bible, to a classroom of 7th graders. We were reading the story of Joseph. How he experienced so much trouble and heartache and still put his trust in God.  How he saw God come through for him.  One of the verses we were supposed to cross-reference with the Genesis text was Jeremiah 29:11. "'For I know the plans I have for you,'" declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.'" I figured some of the kids might not have heard it before, so I strongly encouraged them to memorize it and keep it close to them always so that they would never forget that God is faithful. No matter what they face, no matter how they feel, He knows the plans He has for them and His plans for them are for their good.

Around the same time, my 30th birthday was approaching.  I was determined not to have a bad attitude this time around.  Gratitude, it turns out, is a fantastic antidote for getting-old-gloominess.  And by God's grace, I was grateful.  Mostly.  Except for the teeny tiny pesky part of me that poked its head out every now and then to whisper the question, "Shawna, has God forgotten about you?" Doubt. I hate it. The stuff that closes me off to the perfect love of God. The stuff that questions His goodness and His kindness. It folds my arms over my chest and keeps Him out. But He came to my rescue with His Word. His promise.

In the middle of my doubt, He reminded me of my soapbox from first period.  Jeremiah 29:11. A verse I've known for a long, long time. I've known it for so long I guess I just forgot about it.  It was as if He was saying to me, "Shawna, do you see?  I know the plans I have for you. I've known them all along. I haven't forgotten about you."  It wasn't just a soapbox.  It was truth.  And it's just as true for me as for my 7th graders.

There's more.  This week I got a belated birthday present from my boss.  Attached to the ribbon was a little gold key chain.  Guess what's carved into the key chain. Yep.

"For I know know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you a hope and a future" Jeremiah 29:11.  

  

Humility and Hope

It's the last night of November and rain clouds crowd the sky. Wet ground and grass welcome winter and Christmas lights on tree-lined streets glow in anticipation. December commences at the strike of midnight and with it, my countdown begins.

Decade, your days are numbered.  A new one is on it's way.  It's fitting that this night also marks the end of my stay at this house on the Wood streets.  If change is going to come, it might as well come in big doses.  I will miss this house. It's creaking floors and red door. My room with its brown walls and a closet the size of a small country. And I will miss the cushion of my 20's. But it's time to move on...

And I do that believing God knows what's best for me.  Don't get me wrong.  I have my moments.  My meltdowns.  Panic at the realization of how different the picture of my life looks compared to how I saw it in my head these past three decades.  I don't always trust God, but I do sometimes.  I do sometimes.  I do tonight, with a stormy sky outside my fleeting bedroom window and a song about eternity sounding through my laptop speakers.

The song is called You Hold Me Now.  There's a part at the end, almost an afterthought, that says Your kingdom come/your will be done/here on earth as it is in heaven.  This is the way I want to begin the new things that are coming, with humility and hope. Humility to accept a different picture than the one I had mind and hope because I know from the bottom of my heart that He knows what's best for me.  More than anything else, I want my life to be about His Kingdom and His will. Right now, for me, moving towards His kingdom and His will means moving towards humility and hope.

Thanksgiving

So Thanksgiving's coming up.  My favorite day of the year.  My favorite half-week of the year, actually.  Four days of being around people I love.  Four days packed full of one of my most favorite pastimes, eating.

In the spirit of excitement and anticipation, here's some of the things I'm most looking forward to:

Brie cheese, turkey races, no homework, Starbucks on Thanksgiving morning, a gazillion pints of Baskin Robbins ice cream, prime rib, oh so buttery mashed potatoes, Landon's first Thanksgiving, never ending Christmas music on KOST 103.5, cold nights, chopping up onions and crying profusely, three-night slumber party, sitting at the eternal kid's table, potato peeling party, seeing people I don't get to see as often as I'd like, classes being cancelled on Tuesday night, driving to Orange County while listening to my favorite Thanksgiving music which is of course Carrie Underwood's first album (there's a story there, maybe I'll tell you about it sometime), turkey sandwiches, fireplace at Aunt Sue's, whipped cream ceremony, and if we're lucky, perhaps getting to watch one or two cheesy/delightful Hallmark channel Christmas movies.  

Most of all, it's the people.  My family.  Enjoying each other and being grateful for the gift we get to share: Thanksgiving.  

October Baby Part II

All I can say is it's a good thing I watched it within the seclusion of my room.  I think there's a certain type/amount of crying during a movie that is acceptable within most social norms.  I'm pretty sure my type/amount of crying during October Baby was outside of the 'acceptable' range.

There are two scenes that particularly bulldozed me and I'm not going to tell you anything about the scenes because I don't want to ruin your viewing experience.  Suffice it to say the movie left me feeling very, very sad.  I felt like my heart was breaking for me and for Him, my Father, my Abba, because of the way I don't know how to love Him.  I don't know how to love Him as a daughter.  I don't know how to love Him in freedom and without fear.  And the reason I can't give Him the love of a daughter is because I don't know how to be loved by Him as Father. Abba. I don't know how to be loved by Him in freedom and without fear.  This 1) makes me very sad and 2) makes Him even more sad.  

So what's holding me back? Same thing that holds us all back. Lies. They come in all different shapes and sizes, but the message is the same. Whatever Satan, the father of lies, can do to make us question or doubt or reject or refuse the perfect, unconditional, infinite and constant love of God, he will do it with gusto.  He will do it with desperation because he knows that once we know, once we really know the love of God that passes knowledge (Eph. 3:19), he won't have a chance.

Truth is a powerful thing.  It heals, it sets free, it changes a person. How I feel doesn't change the truth. Whether or not I feel loved by God like the dad loves his daughter in the movie doesn't change the truth that He loves me likes the dad loves the daughter in the movie. Actually, the truth is that the depiction of the father's love in those scenes is hardly a drop in the bucket compared to how He feels towards me. And you.  For all my crying and sadness and general brokenness on account of living in a fallen world, this Truth really is my home. And I believe that it will heal me, set me free, and change me.  

For me, watching October Baby was kind of like ripping a band-aid off tender skin, only to expose wounded flesh.  Some wounds need exposure to heal.  In that sense, I am grateful to have been so deeply affected by the movie because while the sadness was intense, the lasting impression of it isn't hurt.  It's hope. I have hope that the wrong ideas I have about God and myself will be replaced with truth. I have hope that someday soon I will be able to call Him 'Abba' without squirming inside.

October Baby Part I

I love a good crying movie. The kind of movie that grips the place where all the pent up tears are and rattles them out of you. The kind that you probably should watch in solitude due to the periodic, involuntary guttural sounds that escape your slobbery face. Here are some examples: Marley and Me, Hachi: A Dog's Tale, Courageous. All of them very therapeutic, if you ask me.

Well, I found another one. It all started in church last Sunday, during one of those kinds of sermons that you can listen to probably one million times and still learn stuff from. This sermon came with a movie clip. A movie called October Baby. During the clip, it took all of my will power not to let the floodgates open, but I had to face a room full of people behind a very clear plastic drum shield immediately afterwards and it would have been embarrassing to have a slobbery face.

I won't spoil the movie for you if you haven't seen. But the clip showed a dad hugging his daughter. Simple, but powerful just the same. My eyes were not the only wet ones in the room when it was over. The clip was sort of a visual representation of the main idea of the sermon. Because of our sin, we were separated from God. But because of what Christ did for us on the cross, He has made a way for us to have a real, personal relationship with God. One of the main verses we looked at was Galatians 4:6, “Because you are sons, God sent the Spirit of his Son into our hearts, the Spirit who calls out, 'Abba, Father.'" For those of us who have made Christ the boss of our lives, not only are we no longer separated from God because of our sin, but we have access to close, intimate relationship with Him. We can call Him Abba. Daddy.   

I don't know about you, but the idea of calling God 'Daddy' makes me squirm a little on the inside.  I have had a relationship with God for most of my life, but my relationship with Him is not like the one I saw in the movie.  She was so secure.  So sure of herself in light of her father's love.  I am just not that girl.  Not yet, anyways.  For me, it's been an upward climb to know Him as Father.  That's why watching the clip was so hard.  It showed me how I want to be, not how I am.  

But I figured the fact that I had such a strong reaction to the clip meant that maybe whatever it was stirring up in me needed to be stirred. So I took the plunge.  Rented myself a Redbox.  I thought it would affect me, but I was not prepared for how much it did...

How It All Started

The Main Deck (the Drum Room is on the left)

It all started in a little room inside an old building on an island not far from the shores of Long Beach, CA.  It was the end of Summer 2006 and I had just up and moved from my third story apartment in Wheaton, Illinois, to a Christian camp on Catalina, where they said they could use some help in the kitchen and where the Pacific Ocean was our front yard.  That little room, later to be known by all who lived on our crevice of the island as 'the drum room', had windows half the size of the walls and a view to explain why. And best of all, inside the window walls there was a shiny red drum set.  This place, Campus by the Sea, was my home for one amazing year and the drum room was where I learned to play.

View from the Drum Room

Not long into my stay at Campus by the Sea, I meandered into the drum room with a couple friends one day. Even though I couldn't play the drums at all, not even a little bit, I liked being there.  We had some guitars in the room and in general there was a very musical feel to it.  And, like I said, the view wasn't too shabby either.  So we fiddled around a little until one of my friends asked me if I wanted to learn a beat.  Um, yes please.  He showed his wife and I a basic quarter note drum beat and it looked so simple, so straight forward, so easy!  Then I sat on the stool and tried it for myself and for the life of me, I could not figure out how to get my hands, legs, and feet to do different things all at the same time.  I was convinced it was impossible.

The Shiny Red Drum Set 

As a last resort, I tried going through the motions in slow motion.  I literally forced my limbs to move at the will of the messages my brain sent them, at the speed of molasses.  This seemed to do the trick.  Soon, my brain and limbs had found their groove (for the pun-lovers).  I could move to make a beat without having to think about it.  Thus ended the peace and quiet of Campus by the Sea.  Technically, I lived in a cottage at the top of the canyon.  But the drum room was my true home. I'd be there after work, before dinner, after dinner, on my days off. In the winter, I was there with frozen fingers, strumming and writing and, with earphones plugged in to my boombox, playing some song on the drums that was light years beyond my skill level.  It didn't matter. It was music. I was playing music.  The reality of that was, to me, more unbelievable than the view.

Photographic Evidence

It's been six years since that first day in the drum room. With the exception of about a year and a half of drumlessness (sad!), I've played regularly since then.  For the past few years, I've played with the worship band at church. There's a verse in Ephesians that talks about God being able to do exceedingly abundantly above all we can ask or think. Well, it's true. My drum story is proof.  I don't know why He did it, but He gave me a gift.  It's a gift I will never ever take for granted.  And this gift He gave me, it's something I can give back to Him.  It's a reciprocal delight.
 

The Story of the Health Class

Here's another story of how God came through for me.

Currently, I'm a couple semesters away from becoming an English teacher.  How I arrived at this point in the first place is a story for another post, but let's just say this adventure was never ever part of my five-year plan, ten-year plan, entire-life plan, etc.  But I'm here nonetheless and, crazy as it sounds hearing myself say (type) this, I'm happy.  So here's my story.

Because of God's amazing provision in the form of the temp job I landed this summer, I'm able to pay for this semester out of pocket via an installment plan.  One of the classes I'm required to take to get my teaching credential is a health class.  The kind school of ed person I talked to at CBU suggested I try to take the class at a community college to save a little money.  Within about 24 hours of registration opening, I signed up for the 8 week, on-line class. Made it onto the waiting list at a local community college.  I felt a little nervous, but hopeful I'd get a spot.

Fast forward a few weeks, I logged onto the community college website to check my waitlist status as I had done so many times before and found out I was no longer registered for the class.  Turns out the automated system had called up my number on a Saturday and I had 24 hours to respond or I'd lose my spot.  I found out on Monday.  My spot was gone.  The next 30-45 minutes rushed by in a whirlwind of panicked emails, a desperate phone call, re-registering for the class, and finally landing back on the waiting list, this time at spot number 19.  The bottom line: I would either have to come up with roughly $1500 to take the class at CBU or hope to take the class in the spring and push back my student teaching, the final step in my credential journey, until next Fall.

Throughout the ordeal, I really desired a different perspective than my typical go-to perspective (fear and worry) for times like these.  I remembered the verse that says "My God shall supply all your needs according to His riches in glory by Christ Jesus" (Phil. 4:19).  It just felt like such a loss, though.  I know it was only a class and life would go on if I had to end up postponing my student teaching, but still, I felt sad.  Really sad.

At the same time, I feel like God showed me something extremely valuable during my time of crisis.  When I first made the decision to start down this road to becoming a teacher, I knew I was taking a huge risk.  I hadn't seen any writing on the wall.  I hadn't heard God's still small voice or a voice behind me saying "This is the way, walk in it" (Isa. 30:21).  Sometimes God leads us that way, but sometimes He doesn't.  For me, it was more a matter of setting out all the pieces to the puzzle, the ones I could see, and laying them before Him, choosing His way above all else, and finally, moving forward in my decision.  Since then, I've seen Him provide in such wonderful ways and I've been so encouraged by the time I've spent in classrooms.  It seems like it's where I fit.  But still, every once in a while I wonder if I made the right choice, if God is pleased with me heading down this road, if He will take care of me for the long haul. It wasn't until I came to the end of my rope, that Monday of the Lost Waitlist Position, that I realized I'm not alone in this thing.  He has led me here.  He has taken care of me "all along the way I went until I reached this place" (Deut. 1:31).  And He won't stop now.  That's the truth that brought comfort in my crisis.  It was my need of Him that allowed me to see Him where He has been along--beside me.

But the story doesn't end there.  I came home from work the next day, still struggling with the disappointment of the situation but determined to resign myself to God's faithfulness however it would look, and I found an email in my inbox from the community college health class professor.  I'd emailed her the day before in a panic and got an immediate automated out of office reply saying, in as kind a way as possible, you're out of luck.  This email was different.  She said she understood my predicament, that it happens a lot, and if I didn't mind signing up for a different section of the class that began the day before, she had an add code for me that I could use to register even though the class was full.  I could hardly believe it. Immediately, I whipped out my debit card and grabbed my spot in the class while I had the chance.  When I looked online, the waitlist for that section was just as long, if not longer, than for the other section.  There is no explanation for her generosity and graciousness apart from the hand of God at work in that situation.  He could have provided in a number of ways and I believe that whatever way He chose to provide would have been what's best for me.   But I'm so grateful that He chose to provide in this way. And even more, I'm so grateful that He will continue to walk with me along this road.  

Dreams That Pale in Comparison

Recently, I stumbled upon a song. After the initial stumble, called Youtube, I bought the song and proceeded to camp out for awhile. A long while.

The more I listened, the more I got lost in the words, and in the voice of the girl whose heart was breaking over each one.The song is called Have Your Way by Britt Nicole. It's about surrender. It's about the bottom line. It's about the final answer to the question, “Will you push Me away?”  I listened to it over and over again, each time feeling my own heart turn towards the Father, broken and healed all at once.

Even if my dreams have died

And even if I don't survive

I'll still worship you with all my life

And I'll stop searching for the answers

I'll stop praying for an escape

And I'll trust you God with where I am

And believe that you will have your way

Just have your way

Just have you way

For my whole life, I have wanted so badly to be able to trust God, in love and without fear.  And for my whole life, I have struggled to see Him as the loving and gracious Father that He is.  In His graciousness, He has used deferred hope and tender provision to reveal His heart to me.    

I will never trust God perfectly, until this dim glass is gone and I see Him face to face. But what I can say now that I couldn't say before...ten years ago, five years ago, even one year ago...is that my eyes are turned to Him in hope and loss, love and trust, all mixed together, and they will stay there.

It's like coming to the end of a long journey, weary and spent. Broken. But grateful, so grateful to have made it at long last to the place that makes my dreams pale in comparison.

So what I'm realizing is that His dreams for me are bigger and better than my dreams for me.  I can't believe I'm even saying that, but I am and I mean it.     

91 W

I'm so thankful for the 91 freeway.

What's even more astounding, I'm so thankful for traffic on the 91 freeway.

For some reason, the 91 freeway is where the clutter is cleared from my mind. I can see past the cobwebs. I can hear God better.

Recently, I made the trek from Riverside to Orange County on a particularly traffic-y day to the welcome accompaniment of newly discovered worship songs.

I sat there in my car thinking about how grateful I am for my church and my job and my friends. For getting to play music. For a new nephew on the way. For so many things. And for some reason, still, my heart felt broken for reasons I've named before.

There comes a point in time when you just have to choose what your answer's going to be. I once heard someone refer to it as the bottom line. What's your bottom line? And what's your answer going to be when you get there?

Faithful. That was my answer. God, more than anything I just want to be faithful to you. Through many tears, that was my answer to the bottom line.

I drove on not saying anything, just listening to the music. A song came on, one of the ones I just recently found and instantly loved. Its called Great I Am by New Life Worship. I sang along as much as my memorization would let me. By the time the song reached the bridge, I was a blubbery mess.

Thankfully, by this time traffic had slowed us all to single digit mph and I was able to see brake lights through my blurred vision. The song is about how big and good and worthy God is. I felt like it was His way of telling me that His intention towards me is the same as my intention towards Him. Faithfulness. Except His intention is more than just intention because He is God. Faithfulness is His promise.

I sang along with the rest of the song the best I could, my face wet and my voice barely able to get the words out. I was overwhelmed by the goodness and kindness of God. Overwhelmed that He would meet me there in that moment, through my love language: a song.

At my bottom line, on the 91 West, I encountered the faithfulness of God.   

My Egypt

I think I understand something. 

I understood it last night at the corner of Central and Riverside after something difficult happened and I wanted so badly to lose heart again and I told God so.

Let me give some context first.  I've sort of been on a journey with the Israelites lately, first through a book called The Land Between, then through reading about their journey in Numbers and Deuteronomy and hearing the story from God's perspective in Isaiah. There is no question the children of Israel had a rough time of it. Faced with the choice of faith or despair, they often chose the latter.  

I've been trying to put myself in their shoes.  Only I want to make a different choice than what they did.  I want to choose to trust God. In putting myself in their shoes, I needed to nail down exactly what my Promised Land is.  What is my land flowing with milk and honey? I'm sure there's a fancy theological answer to this question, but this is what I cam up with:

My promised land is God Will Not Rip Me Off.  

That is the promise I'm walking towards.  That's the promise I'm banking my life on.  He will not rip me off if I give Him my trust.   

So I figured out the first part of my Israel analogy.  

Fast forward to most recent disheartened moment last night when I felt ready to throw in the towel on this whole 'trust God' business.    

Then I figured out the second part to the Israel analogy.  If my promised land is God Will Not Rip Me Off, what is my Egypt?  For the Israelites, Egypt was oppression, despair, misery.  God delivered them from Egypt with a marvelous plan for their good, but they had to learn to trust Him along the way.  

So this is what I understood: If my promised land is God Will Not Rip Me Off, my Egypt is Abandoning Faith in Him. 

It's so simple, yet I feel like its the biggest truth I've ever understood.

What does it mean for right now? The desert is a place where I learn to trust Him. These circumstances that carry the heavy weight of disappointment are my hunger and thirst in the desert. They tempt me to say why did I ever trust God in the first place? Why did He lead me all this way to let this happen? Why doesn't He care about me? I might as well give up on hope and Him. That's what the Israelites did. That's what I've done so often over the years, not realizing that He has been carrying me in His arms like a father carries his child all the way I went (Deut.1).

I wish they had opened their hearts to Him even though they were sad and scared. Even though they were tired and wanted their time in the wilderness to be over more than anything. I wish they had turned their hearts and eyes towards Him. I wish they hadn't pushed Him away.

So that's what I want to do. If God allows me walk through hard stuff, He allows it in love. I will turn my heart and eyes to Him. I will not push Him away.      

The Phone Charger

I have a story to tell about how I saw God come through for me. 

Earlier this week, I was doing some homework when I got a call from my very pregnant sister who asked me if I might be able to take her to the hospital.  Um, yes.  She felt bad asking me because I live sort of far away but our mom was out of town, her husband was in bed with the flu, and baby Landon seemed eager to meet us in our disjointed state.  I couldn't think of anything I'd rather do than meet him too.  I grabbed a backpack, stuffed some essentials inside in case it turned out to be an overnight stay, and drove off toward the sunset.

I was on the 91 headed West, and as excited as I was about Landon potentially arriving, I was also anxious about the homework I had put on hold.  It didn't help matters much that I had already been anxious about homework before putting it on hold.  So the small change in plans for my Tuesday night required some out loud verbal processing to myself in my car of all that I had to get done for my classes over the next week and trying to get a grip on a plan of execution.    

Then I remembered what the Bible says.  "Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which passes all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus."  Phil. 4:6,7

So I prayed.  "God, I offer these anxieties to You.  Hold me in your arms. Amen."

In my rush to pack my bag for the night, I remembered almost everything I needed.  Everything except my phone charger.  I thought I had more battery life left than I did and when I made it to the freeway I looked down and realized if I ended up staying the night, my phone would most certainly die.  I considered going back for the charger, but thought it better just to get to my sister.  And I added 'phone-will-die' to the list of anxieties I already told you about.  This was all before I prayed.  

Not more than two or three minutes after I prayed, I remembered something.  About fourteen months ago, when I purchased my phone, I received a handy car phone charger in the new phone box.  At that time, I took the handy car phone charger from the new phone box, stuck it in the very bottom of my console and left it there where it has sat neglected and forgotten these fourteen months.  Out of the clear blue sky last Tuesday on the 91 headed West, I remembered it was there.  And it worked.  

I couldn't help but smile.  OK, God.  I get it.  You're taking care of me.  You care about the little things and You will come through for me with the big things too. I drove the rest of way to the hospital fully confident in the goodness of my God and in His love for me. Confident that He will take care of me.        

This is a story of a phone charger.  And it's a story of how God came through for me.     

Jar of Optimism

I have a jar of optimism on the table beside my bed.  What's a jar of optimism, you ask?  Well, a jar of optimism is a place to put thoughts that run contrary to one's natural thinking processes, especially if one is not naturally an optimist. I write my optimistic thoughts on little pieces of scrapbook paper, date them and stick 'em in the jar for all the world to see.  Or just for me.  They're my proof to myself that I do, in fact, trust God.  You do trust God, Shawna.  See, the proof's in the paper.  If you dug through my scraps, you'd find very determined statements like, "God will take care of me" and "He is working out everything in my life for good."

Some people are better at trusting God than others. But just because you're not good at something doesn't mean you'll never be good at it, right?  If I build my relationship with Him, trust will develop.  It's the natural progression of life with God.  Every time I open up part of myself to Him, hope or fear or love, and He comes through for me, which He always, always does in one way or another, trust grows.  I'm finding that I don't need to work so hard at it these days.       

I started filling up my jar in January of this year, right after I quit my desk job and stepped out on the ledge that's currently beneath me.  And I'm happy to report that at this very moment, my jar of optimism is almost half full. 

Love Knows Best

I want to walk alongside people and tell them how I have seen God come through for me.  He has.  He has blessed me in ways I never would have imagined.  Ways that fall into the category that Paul talks about in Ephesians...exceedingly abundantly above all that I could ask or think.  I am grateful.  Really, I am so grateful.

But how can I walk alongside people and tell them how I've seen God come through for me when there is a big gaping hole in the middle of me the size of my biggest dream and desire left unfulfilled?  What do I have to offer those people?  What story can I tell them?  What if they see through me and discover that hope and I have an on again/off again relationship?

I have wrestled with these questions lately.   And I think I have the answer.  God is God if all my dreams come true.  God is God if none of them do. He stands apart from me, holy and good and fully Himself.  And this is what I will tell them.  This is what I will tell you. He climbs into the big gaping hole and He fills it with Himself.  All at once, He leaves it empty and He fills it with Himself and I get to tell the story of how His grace is sufficient for me.

This is not the story I asked for, but it the story I get to tell.  This is how I've seen God come through for me.  He offers Himself in the place of the deferred hope.  Love knows best.

Twins

My brother took this picture of my sister and I last week.  I was fortunate enough to get to tag along with the Cushman family on their visit to Madera to spend some time with Josh and Sara and their little ones.  Usually when I tell someone that I have a twin sister, the question immediately follows, "So are you guys identical?" After 29 years of being twins, we still don't know the answer.  It is and has always been a mystery.  Most of the time when people ask me the question, I will do two things: 1) pull out the picture of Kimberly that I keep tucked away in my wallet (she laughs at me for this) and 2) share with the viewer my strong opinion that I do not think we are identical.  And usually the viewer is very quick to disagree with me.  I will say, though, that in light of the picture above, I would be tempted to consider the possibility that it may be true.  What do you think?  

Sushi Oh How I Love Thee

Yesterday I ate what I believe to be the single most delicious and delightful food on the planet.  It comes in many shapes and sizes.  Prices range from normal to splurge (the price I paid yesterday fell into the latter category).  The particular variety I ate was called the Madman roll.  Eel, tempura shrimp, cream cheese, and asparagus wrapped in a seaweed and tempura batter and topped with spicy tuna and spicy crab.  I have suspected something for quite some time, and if you know me well you have probably suspected the same thing: when God created me, specifically the part of me that houses the food appreciation and enjoyment component, He made mine extra big.  I am ok with that.