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.

The Soil

I am nearing the end of The Land Between.  The book, that is.  My plan to draw it out over the span of many moons succeeded.

As I read through the final chapter, a chapter about Joseph and how he trusted God through the detours of his life, I am struck with a thought, unrelated to the text, but relevant still:  Singleness is not a curse.  It's not God's way of getting back at me for stealing those life savers when I was five (He assures me He has forgiven me for that). It's not a big black hole into which I have fallen and out of which I cannot climb.

Rather, it is the ground God has given me to grow roots of trust in Him.  Ground I did not ask for, but ground that is mine nevertheless.

Singleness is my soil.  Maybe not forever.  But for now, it's my place to grow or die.  I choose grow.

Manion writes, "Often God chooses to meet us with his blessing in a place we do not choose to be.  He will bless us on the detour.  He will bless us in the Land Between.  Often the place of blessing is not our place of preference" (p. 182).  This is my place.  Singleness.  It's not where I expected I'd be.  It's not where I hoped to be.  It's where I am.

Does that mean God is withholding kindness from me?  What ever happened to hope deferred makes the heart sick?  He put it in the Bible, not me.  It's His idea, not mine. And I can't say it's one of my favorites of His.

Interestingly though, He put something else in the Bible that applies here.  He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.  He offers Himself, the Healer, to the heartsick.  Perhaps his withholding is his kindness.  The Healer infuses water all the way to the depth of that soil, healing dry roots.

I have a part to play in this Land Between.  "We choose how we will posture ourselves on the journey.  We can close our hearts as the Israelites did or lay our hearts open to God as Moses did."

Oh how I want to do what Moses did.

Music Nostalgia

I just bought Constant by Out of the Grey on iTunes. I have been transported to the top bunk in my bedroom in 1997, complete with posters of Steven Curtis Chapman and Amy Grant on the wall space beside me. What a wonderful song this is. What an unusual 14 year old I was. Oh how I loved music. How deeply I felt about it. So what if I was shy and awkward and so profoundly unsure of myself. I felt the music course through me like a hot current. Painful. I listen to it now and I feel my feet more firmly planted on the ground, so to speak. I think I'm happier now than I was then (who really is happy when they're 14?). More comfortable in my own skin. But I still wish I could swim inside it. Immerse myself in that current and be carried away.

I Love Bullet Points

This will be short. I'm writing more so that I don't forget rather than for the sake of art, inspiration or discipline.

Here are some things I'm learning:

• If I am not honest with God because I am afraid of losing His love, we do not have relationship. We have small talk. There is no fear in love.
• Boundaries keep relationships healthy. God has boundaries too. He makes choices and I may not understand them or like them. He allows me the freedom to choose whether or not to trust Him. He doesn't demand my trust. Just as He won't be manipulated by whether or not I give it to Him.
• I think I might be a good teacher someday. Weird.
• I love making yummy omelettes and I love eating them even more.
• It could be that God wants to work out some character kinks in me as I journey through my land between. By withholding the thing I want, by allowing disappointment, by leading me through the wilderness, He is not only teaching me to trust Him, but He is graciously trying to burn away some of the dross in me that keeps me stuck in unhealthy patterns, thought processes, and behaviors. Ughhh...personal responsbility. I think this is what conviction feels like.
  

The Giant Blowhorn

I've been thinking a lot about the Israelites lately. Their wilderness. My wilderness. Their trust issues. My trust issues.

I was reading more of The Land Between the other day and these words struck me:

"Trust is the glue that holds any relationship together. Throughout these hardships, God desired to forge a people of trust...the Israelites are the people of promise, headed for the land of Promise, and they are totally unfit to take possession of the land in their current position. They really don't know God or trust Him. The purpose of the desert is to forge a relationship of trust."

Seems there's a theme here. T.R.U.S.T. And if I look at the rest of the Bible, I find the same theme woven through the pages, imprinted on each story, each character, each challenge, each victory. And if I look at my life right now, and my life over the past year and the decade or so before that, I find the very same theme poking it's pesky head at me everywhere I turn. It's as if God is holding a giant blowhorn inches from my ear, "Shawna, don't you think it's about time?"

Yes, I do.

I wrote a poem about it today.

fierce love look

shape me in the fire of this pain
to fit inside the hold of your arms
where fear is forgotten, only a vague
memory of days gone by when I knew
about you, saw you from a distance
in the pages and the pulpit, before
this fire illuminated that fierce love
look on your face

The Antidote

I was reading another book yesterday. The author, like most of us, wants to figure out a way to live life in such a way that circumstances don't determine her attitude, hope or trust in God. She writes:

That is how I wanted to be, I realized [watching a little boy twirling and dancing in circles, unencumbered and unselfconscious]. I wanted to be as a child, delighting in life, at peace with God, living in the grace of the moment. I wanted to live above the pull of depression and cultivate a heart of joy from which others could draw. I wanted to learn what it really meant to be filled with the reality of God, the love of God, and the joy of God every day, no matter what else is going on in my life (Dancing With My Father, Sally Clarkson).

What is the antidote for depression, anxiety, worry, sadness, stress and the cherry on top, that pesky all-encompassing feeling called OVERWHELMED?

Well, Jesus.

But also, gratitude.

Gratitude is the thing that loosens the muscles in our necks that get so stiff from looking down at all that is wrong and frees us to look up, to the One who is our help.

My heart is heavy, but I will look up. I will let gratitude change the direction of my eyes.

Here's some things I'm grateful for:

My best friend, who lives far away and who I haven't seen in almost three years, is coming to visit tomorrow. We're going to go to bookstores and coffee shops and I'm going to cook thai food for her. So excited.

My sister found out yesterday that she is having boy #2. This makes the count: Nephews - 4, Nieces - 2. Blessings.

I have the best church a girl could ask for. And they let me play the drums there.

What are you grateful for?

My Land Between

I'm reading a fantastic book right now. It's called The Land Between by Jeff Manion. The land between is a wilderness, a desert, a transition. A place potentially full of discouragement, anxiety, fear. An unknown. It's also a place where the ground is perfect for growing new things. Where truth finally has a chance to reach down to the roots and grow trust and hope, maybe for the first time.

In the land between, everything is stripped away. We get down to the bare bones of who we are, what we're about, where we're heading. The children of Israel made their choice in their land between. They chose to believe God had ripped them off. They walled themselves off in their wilderness. He couldn't change their minds. He tried.

How can I make a different choice in my land between? My answer is in Deut. 1:28-33. He carried them in His arms like a father carries his son all the way they went. But still, they didn't trust Him.

In my desert, in my wilderness, in my land between, I will be like Israel in His arms.

My roots will grow in Him.

And I will trust my Father.

The Car Wash

Funny story. Last week, taking full advantage of my transitional unemployment, I decided to wash my car. And by wash my car, I mean excavate the mound of trash and junk that had buried my poor trunk, vaccuum every reachable space, scrub my seats, wipe down all parts of the interior including the ones that I haven't really paid attention to ever in my 29 years of life, and of course, give the outside a nice, thorough washing and drying. I even sort of cleaned my tire rims. This was serious business.

I finished the project with pride and a wonderful sense of accomplishment. A couple hours later, I heard a knock at my front door. My gardener, very apologetically, confessed that he had accidentally splashed mud all over my car as he was blowing away leaves. I thanked him for letting me know. Then I went outside and washed my car again.

So here is the moral of the story: don't wash your car on gardening day.

Mess and Pressure

My bedroom looks like a tornado-swept Midwestern town. Or like a t-shirt turned inside out. My closet, drawers and bins have vomited their contents all over my floor, leaving me with a narrow and dangerous pathway from where i sit on my bed to the door.

I have a lot of work to do. I have to figure out what to get rid of, what to keep, what to do with what stays and what to do with what goes. I have to make the end result better than the starting point. If I don't, this mess and chaos will have been wasted.

I have to get it right. Just like I have to 'get it right' outside the walls of this room. Where the piles are made of pressures, not clothes and where there's a lot more at stake in walking the narrow path than just getting from my bed to the door.

Doing life God's way, not mine.

For most of my life, I've operated under a pass/fail mentality. I've approached life and God that way. If I succeed, He will like me. If I don't, He will leave. So the pressure builds. Doing life God's way because in my heart of hearts I desire to please Him...and because if I mess it up, I'll be on my own.

We all face the pressures of life every day in various shapes and sizes. Relational pressures. Financial pressures. Decision-making pressures. The list goes on. What I'm starting to realize is that my ideas about God and getting it right are simply not true. In fact, I found out that the Bible has some things to say about it:

"And God is able to make all grace abound to you, so that in all things at all times, having all that you need, you will abound in every good work." II Cor. 9:8

"May the God of peace, who through the eternal covenant brought back from the dead our Lord Jesus, that great Shepherd of the sheep, equip you with everything good for doing His will, and may be work in us what is pleasing to Him, through Jesus Christ, to whom be glory for ever and ever. Amen." Heb. 13:20-21

Doesn't sound like the abandoning type, does He? He sounds more like the God who wants more than anything to walk the narrow road with me. Navigating through the pressures of life within the safety of relationship.

Me and Him.

You and Him.