the adventureless adventurer...?

Here's an example of my being an oxymoron (since that's what this blog is titled, I suppose I should insert an example once in a while):

I was born an adventurer. There was a time in my life where I wanted to be an astronaut, another time to be in the air force so I could fly planes, another time where I wanted to be on the U.S.S Enterprise warping into the next intergalactic crisis (let's face it, secretly, I still want this one)...basically, I wanted (and still want) to fly, save the world, and explore new things...yet, I have not felt strongly inclined to actually pursue such an adventurous life. Oh sure, I've had plenty of my own adventures that I know have played out in smaller ways (which is probably more accurate to the way life really is), but why haven't I seriously pursued these things? Other than the Star Trek option, for obvious reasons...

I think one of the obvious answers to this is the fact that fear has been a constant struggle throughout my life; fear of failure or what other people would think, mostly. Not of dying or getting hurt, really. Of things that can't actually hurt me. Odd, I know.

Something else that was said in one of my classes recently has been sticking with me lately, and kind of relates to this:  is my Christianity boring?

Could I be living a more adventurous Christian life? I have always kind of thought of my relationship with God as an adventure in itself, a journey, but I've suddenly wondered if there is more to it than I've realized. Granted, I've had a lot of adventure within and throughout in ways I did not expect and ways people may not classify as an adventure...more than other people, dare I say. But is there more? More to tap into?

I think there is. Maybe this is why God gave me an adventurer's spirit? He always said I'd be different--maybe even different than what I thought of as different.

I'm learning what it means to be the heroic Dena instead of the heroic Whoever I Think Other People Want or Expect Dena to Be. This has been an adventure in and of itself...but I still can't shake the desire to leap off of tall buildings or shoot to the moon, just to see what's out there, even though I'm not sure how to do that (in my own life). Am I afraid to fly, or am I just looking for it in the wrong places?

I'm sure I can answer these questions and others can, but it's just what I've been chewing on tonight. The speaker in chapel today talked about knowing your name, the one God gives you. It's kind of funny that it's what I've been thinking about lately, too. God is good, yo. I don't really have an ending for this other than that.

be still...and know

I think God is doing something in me, something heartfelt and needed. The last six or seven months have been punctuated by pain for the most part, with little joy or happiness (other than working with the Ranch Hands, who I really miss). There has been very little that I have done because I wanted to. Even though not much has changed about my situation or the people around me, such as my family, I find myself inexplicably...stilled. Joyful, almost.

I'm not sure when it began; perhaps it was about three and a half weeks ago when I was feeling like I didn't measure up to anyone or anything, not even myself. I guess, to explain further, I felt like I was a burden to those around me and foolish for choices I had made in the past. Right when I was feeling the worst, though, God spoke to me through a few very trusted people, telling me I wasn't so far behind as I felt, that I was actually thriving in ways I hardly took notice of. These things were then followed by somewhat painful realizations and moments where I realized there were some rough areas I didn't want to admit to or change in my heart--although some were of my own imagination, not fact or reality. Eventually God won out, though.

Ever since, I have been slowly overcome with a stillness of my soul enamored by God's beauty. Even now it's hard for me to write about, hard to put into words. About two weeks ago I wrote in my journal:  "I've been afraid to care, afraid to hope. Is hope even valid? Show me, Lord. Show me I can hope! There has to be more in joy than just what I know already. Show me, please. I see this rock in my heart, but I lay it at Your feet and ask you to soften it in any way you can." Just two days later I found myself in the woods, on my knees under the weight of what beauty is and isn't. Beauty isn't grasped, it is known. God isn't grasped, He is known.

This summer, the ranch hand girls and I began a study on what it means to really know God's voice--I say began because there is no end to this study. Knowing God's voice is knowing Him. Trusting, believing, reaching for...there is so much more to knowing something than just knowing about it or believing about it. That knocked me over enough, but now I see it applied in another aspect.

I wrote this that day in the woods:  "Your beauty is such that I can't understand. Dew drops are your rhinestones, the moss your emerald. It's incredible to me that I am Your diamond; I feel so much less beautiful than these woods. So less breathtaking than the sound of the wind or the falling leaves in the sunlight. The nip of cold on my nose and in my mouth is like a sweet, crisp caress...People are your gems to be adored, the rest to be observed." (p.s. falling leaves are gentle looking until they hit you in the nose, like one did to me, effectively snapping my reverie for a few minutes. I just laughed).

Following all of this dilly dally in the woods, I spent time making cookies and abiding in the quiet of thinking about God. Makes me sound uber holy, doesn't it? Don't worry, I'm not, I don't think. I like hard rock and action movies, okay? I'm not holy yet. It's just that my favorite thing to do is think about and talk to God--so what if I do it while making cookies? Anyway, I felt quieted after that and, the next day, I actually started my morning off the way I would like to every morning by eating (for starters), reading my bible, and thanking God for the coming day and the one that already came. Then, in class, my professor talked about the fact that Christ can relate to every scar and pain any and every person has because he had some element of everything terrible happen to him.  He bore them throughout his life, not just on the cross. And he won. The honest beauty of the chance to know someone who would do that for me made me silent for a good two hours. I felt like speaking about any of this would not do it justice. I had known these things and this knowledge of Jesus' scars had helped me through some things earlier in life, but hearing it again made me too happy to speak.

Even now I don't know if I'm accurately explaining everything going on...which is okay. God is just...so beautiful. Shawn McDonald has a song called "Beautiful" and in it there is a haunting line that says, "What a beautiful God... What am I that I might be called your child? What am I that you might know me, my King? What am I that you might die so I might live?" --he sings them in a pretty haunting way. It's true of me right now though...what am I that I might be loved by such a beautiful God? I must be something; a God like him wouldn't pay attention to me otherwise.

God wants to know me and I him. So even though it's really painful for me to come to this empty house and see what isn't there anymore--namely my sisters, my grandma, and my dog--and it's painful to know how much my extended family hates our guts, I can still rejoice in the days to come. I saw Secretariat today (go see it, pee ess) and my dad and I were both compelled to tears (he'll deny it) because we could relate to this woman's pain. She loses much of what she loves in a short amount of time, but she hangs onto the fact that she must still run her race. Secretariat is just her outlet--on a day when she suffers a particularly bad loss she goes to the stable where the horse was born and cries for a bit. However, when her friends come to see her she says something to the effect of, "We will still rejoice today and for the rest of the days to come!"

I don't know if I have a Secretariat to help me work my way through this grief, but I will still run the race. All I know is right now I find myself stilled before his beauty...and with one or two things of unexpected happiness. I confessed to God a little while ago that I wasn't happy. He knew, but he wanted me to tell him. He said he'd change that. I hope it keeps going. :)

hit me again, I dare you.

At this time in my life, I feel able to legitimately say, "I feel like Job." A lot of people use that to describe their life circumstances and thus it has become a bit of a cliche. Nevertheless, I think it's appropriate for a time like this.

My life has begun to melt at the seams. I've done a lot of weeping, screaming, and not enough eating. It hurts like someone kicked me in the ribs ten times and left me for dead, naked in my agony. I don't know where home is anymore. The last few months have been wearisome, to say the least. This week I have been hit with something daily, it seems. Today when my mom called to tell me my uncle will probably not last much past the next week, it hit the ache in my heart like a fly hitting an already over encumbered bug covered windshield. I don't know if my wipers are broken or just need more fluid.

Y'know what, though? I've also been reminded this week of how blessed I am. Not only am I blessed with good friends and a little family of animals, but more importantly I know God is my rock and my salvation, of whom should I be afraid? Certainly not of an earthly family who hates my guts simply because my grandma loved me. Definitely not of death. Most assuredly not of money.

A friend gave me this picture last night, but I envision a certain exchange about my life went something like this:

Satan:  I'm going to hit her again...ha ha, this one will really drive her into the ground. (nervous tone change) She's gotten way too close, this can't go on...
God:  Go ahead and try. I'd like to see what happens, I'm sure this will be good.

God told me a while ago that I would be different, that I would often feel alone. But He told me it would be okay, I can take it. He made me with this ability.

So though I often flood my bed with tears and groans in the night, God makes my every day new. My heart may be crying out in ways I can't put into words, but, to be cliche again, the night is darkest before the day. Even in spite of all of what God has told me and what I am experiencing, I would not say I have once found myself angry with God. A lot of people use these times of pain to tell God just how they feel about what He "did to them." I feel this to be unutterably selfish--way to set yourself up as the most important thing on the planet and claim that God specifically squished you out of spite. Why would the King of the UNIVERSE really need to do that? Besides love and grace, that just doesn't make sense.

Anyway.

I'm not angry with God. If anything I "feel" closer to Him right now than I have in other times of grief. It's almost like he's spent the last few days showing me where I have come from and how far that really is; that I have truly learned from past anguish and am on the right path for once. I'm sure I'm still making mistakes, but I'm both a failure and redeemed every time my heart beats, there's no way around it. Hallelujah for grace.

Whether I'm hit again, I am not finished with this race. Who cares if I run it slowly? I'm still running.

So here's the deal, Satan, I will not curse my Lord. I won't even take time to throw swear words at you that I feel burning in my veins. I say bless the Lord, o my soul.

Take that, moron.