India Reflections...(pt. 1)

It's been a while since I've written anything, and, to be honest, it's been a combination of a hectic lifestyle and a smidge of laziness. So many thoughts and life happenings have occurred that I haven't taken the time to sit down and write any of the down for my somewhat limited, but existent, online audience.

A lot of you know I went to India in January, and for those of you who don't, now you do. I went with a group of fellow students from my school, Charis Bible College, to minister to people in Chennai, India. It was an experience which will last with me for the rest of my life. This trip showed me a lot of things, one of them being that I LOVE going OUT.

Another thing it did for me was be one of the turning points which is helping to heal a past wound, one which has had more ripples on my life than I realized.

When I came home from Uganda about three and a half years ago, I was a defeated soldier--defeated by my own mind. I had been humbled, shown some darker areas of my heart, had some beautiful lessons, and, in my mind, seen that I may have been completely off the mark with what my dream was supposed to be. You see, Africa had been on my heart and in my bones for years--since I was seventeen, actually--as well as many other nations, but Africa was my first love, if you will. So, when I came home a supposed failure, I couldn't see how I had ever been right about what I wanted to do with my life. I thought I was crazy and had so royally missed it when it came to what God wanted me to do with my life. Why do I love Africa so much if I'm not cut out to be a missionary? Why did I ever want to be a missionary? I am so stupid...how could I be so stupid?

These were some of my thoughts upon my return to the States.

To be perfectly honest, I can't say for certain that I ever recovered from that experience. That summer is not one I will talk about easily; it monumentally impacted my life in both good and bad ways. In the time since returning, I have worked my way through so much of it, been able to positively apply a lot of what I had learned there, hashed out what was good and what I could just do away with, and I have regained a good image of myself, though a somewhat different on from when I first began this journey at the Ranch so many years ago now. What I have yet to recover from, though, was the death of my dreams.

When I went to Africa, I dealt with a lot of stuff I wasn't prepared for, including the paralyzing fear of dying in a foreign country, as well as just the fact that missions work is a little harder on your heart than people like to tell you it is. So, after my "failure" there, along with many  hard lessons--although ultimately very good and impacting lessons that I needed--I shelved my dreams indefinitely, thinking I was incapable of being in charge of such precious things.

Going to India, however, has changed this.

A number of years ago, God asked me to give up my desires so His could invade. What I have learned since then is that, once I surrendered to Him completely, He would give me back my dreams and desires because my desires were always good, but the motive behind them was not. Not for what He had planned for my life, anyway--which is much, much better than what I could ever plan.

After I did that, I saw visions of things I could never do on my own--beautiful, adventurous things. However, I misinterpreted a thing or two, as we sometimes do, and though I got "back on track" after those things, a journey usually has a few more twists, turns, trips, or stumbles than we'd care to admit usually.

When I left Spring Arbor and came to Colorado, God started talking to me about dreams--my dreams. Long story short, I am dreaming again, almost two years later. I was so afraid of my dreams and afraid of myself being in charge of them. The wonderful thing about the dreams God gives you, though, is that ultimately He's the one who is in charge of them. I want to go back to India and Uganda; God has been showing me things about these countries and what I will do, as well as a few other things.

When I came home from India, the wife of one of my teammates shared with me that while we were gone a bunch of people were praying for us. One of those people had a word from God for me saying, "The Lord will restore the years the locusts ate away." I think He's doing that right now, and has been since I moved out here.

I'm not afraid of dreaming anymore. Are you? What's your dream? Will you share it with me?

p.s. I will share more about India and possibly my experience in Uganda at a later time. God is such a good friend!

Red pill or Blue pill?

Well, it's been a while. Life has been busy busy, that's for sure. I also don't really like to write out my thoughts for everyone to see until they're at least a little bit formulated...which they haven't been lately. I mean, I have had so many thoughts and so many good things happening these past few weeks it's ridiculous, but that's the thing--so many! Too many to really write in a blog post. Besides, I'm not sure I'm ready to share them with the world yet anyway.

As I said, so much good has happened recently, but there have also been challenges. I want to talk more about the good because there is more glory in that, but honestly I've struggled too.

Suffice it to say, right now I'm on a fabulous part of my life journey. I am getting to know God in a deeper way and I'm loving our relationship. I'm learning to trust Him more and more--something I've always struggled with. I'm seeing my life in a clearer way--a way that allows me to see the beauty and not so much the loss. I just don't trust easily. Luckily, He knows.

He's asked me to do some things that are scary and require a different level of faith than I've experienced before. Honestly, some days I just feel stagnant, like I'm not really doing anything. Like I'm waiting around for a Morpheus to come and offer me the chance of a lifetime, with a clear plan of what I'm supposed to do. I guess even Neo went through times of discouragement and confusion with what he was supposed to do. That's an element of faith though...trusting that it will all be okay. I need to stay focused--I really am doing so many wonderful things. It's more my mind thinking it's not enough or not what I think I should be doing that is getting in the way. Good thing God is good enough to overcome that. He already did.

Mostly I'm writing to throw out some updates on my life. This is the end of my post.

the chronicles of Aubrie and Dena: mommies of all ages

Aubrie is definitely one of the smartest kids I have ever met, I wouldn't be surprised if she is going to end up being some kind of prodigy. The next Beethoven or something. Seriously. One of the evidences of this is her ability to observe and mimic the behavior of the adults in her life. Whether it's simply to know what something is for, like a bib or her high chair tray, or to see what is supposed to be done with a tool and try to do it.

The other day I caught her carrying around her little baby doll and treating it differently than her other toys. She picked it up and started walking around, talking to it and laughing, then she would hug it and pat its back while quietly saying, "Shhh..." in a baby sort of way. She kept repeating this behavior, pulling it away from her and talking to it, only to hug it and pat its back again. She eventually wandered over to her little bouncy seat she used to play in a lot before she could stand up and walk, put her baby in it and started bouncing it around and laughing. She was trying to make her baby "play" with the toys and sleep in the bed. She then proceeded to pick up a bottle on the floor and put it up to the baby's mouth to "feed" it.

Aubrie knows she has a good mommy and her mimicking reflects the loving care she gets every day. I love this kid!

the adventures of Aubrie and Dena: grass and salad

So the other day, Aubrie and I took a stroll down the driveway to my car so I could bring my stuff into the house that I would need to spend the night. When I say we strolled, both of us really did. It was Aubrie's first time walking down the driveway, to my knowledge, and she was stoked about it. At first she didn't want to hold my hand, but once we embarked down the inclined plane, she was clinging to me like a monkey on a banana.

I love how fearless this kid is; she wasn't clinging to me because she was scared, she just knew that she had better hold onto me if she didn't want to eat cement. She did stumble a couple of times, but because she was holding onto me, the impact wasn't as bad as it could have been. At another time I will write out the obvious spiritual metaphor in that image.

Her mom hadn't gotten her dressed for the day, as sometimes happened, so I strapped on tennis shoes over her polka dot footie pajama's. She loved walking to the car.

And she looked like a dork doing it. The cutest darn dork I have ever seen, that's for sure.

Instead of immediately emptying my beat up once-a-podracer car, I put Aubrie in the grass to play for a minute. She tried to eat dirt. I'm sure as hippy-tasting as that was, it didn't quite hit the spot.

She is uber fascinated by grass though; she loves touching things, and, of course, sticking them in her mouth. Once I realized she wasn't going to play in the grass so much as get her fill of it, I decided our outdoor adventure was done for the day.

The next day was Sunday. We went to church, I got a break for a couple of hours, it was a great time. Aubrie is a favorite with a lot of the people at my church. A couple of the nursery ladies told me how much they just love having her in the nursery; she loves playing with the other kids. They said there was a little boy crying in the corner near the end and Aubrie took a toy over to him and tried to make him feel better. This kids possesses so much natural grace and love it just makes me want to gush with love myself. Again, the spiritual metaphor is going to have to wait.

We were invited to join a few of my friends at Souper! Salad! for lunch after church. After nearly knocking my entire freshly made salad to the floor at the bar with her foot, Aubrie was sat in a high chair and we proceeded to eat lunch. Aubrie is almost always the loudest person in any place we go, so you can imagine that we got a lot of attention. One of my friends mistakenly gave her a napkin to play with; unfortunately, that's not the kind of fiber she needs in her diet, so I had to empty her mouth and her hands of it.

I was eating lunch with four of my good guy friends and one of them asked me if people think that Aubrie is my baby, to which I answered a prompt, "Yes." Everyone who doesn't know me thinks she's mine, especially at church, which I really don't understand. I'm a single girl, going to bible college, and Aubrie didn't appear in my life until she was six months old. I had been going to the church for nearly a year at this point. I was never pregnant, never even dating anyone, and yet apparently no one noticed me until I started bringing a baby to church. That says something about people I think.

I also told my friends that people often assume whatever guy I might be with is her father. Since there were four of them, I wonder how many people were trying to guess which one was her dad. The mystery is still in their minds.

Aubrie had some ice cream at Souper Salad. She never has ice cream. So why was I surprised when she played in her bed for two hours instead of taking a nap? I just feel like that had to be asked. She was a hoot at the youth leader meeting at the end of the day too; she felt her voice should be heard just as much as anyone else's as we discussed different things concerning the youth and its future. My favorite part of that meeting was watching Aubrie climb all over my good friend Derek, trying to touch his beard, giving him hugs that she reserves for the people she loves most, and him hesitantly playing with her right back. Aubrie doesn't care if you're uncomfortable or shy or anything, she's just going to love you.

When we finally made it home, she had crashed. Poor little tyke had had all the excitement she could take for one day, apparently, and so had I. I just love this kid.

As our summer days draw to an end, I'm seeing even more just how much of an adventure and rewarding experience this summer has been with Aubrie, let alone everything else I have been able to do. Stay tuned for more Aubrie moments. Thanks for reading. :)

the chronicles of Aubrie and Dena, part 1--dogs

Aubrie is one of the funniest kids I have ever met. I've decided that instead of being a little bummed about the fact that I am almost twenty-four years old and my main job is nannying, I'm going to take advantage of the hilarity I am privy to for most of my week and share it with all of my adoring readers. Thus begins the chronicles of Aubrie and Auntie Dena.

This is Aubrie.

Aubrie likes to talk. She likes to squawk. She is one ridiculous child. There are two dogs who live at the house regularly--Ben, who hacks like a sick old man, and Tassie, who is a loveable idiot. There is another dog who lives there from time to time (she's the grandma's dog) and her name is Racquel. I hate Racquel. Racquel thinks Aubrie is another dog and therefore wants to dominate her. She has also tried to dominate me in the past, but I stamped that right out. Dogs and babies do not tell me what to do.

When Racquel is at the house, I have to keep Aubrie away from her so that Aubrie doesn't harass her and so that she doesn't bite Aubrie. Aubrie isn't scared of Racquel, which is both a blessing and a problem.

Aubrie has one of those baby walker things that I call her roller derby car and one of her favorite past times is to race through the house and chase the dogs around, squealing at the top of her lungs. While some may call this animal cruelty, I call it entertainment. That dog in particular is one of the loudest I have ever met and frankly I don't feel too badly for her when the baby chases her around letting out a war cry. I eventually have compassion on her though; Aubrie shouldn't just be allowed to get away with things like that.

While the dogs are not my friends, Aubrie is. Watching her grow has been one of the most rewarding experiences of my life thus far, and I am excited to see what the days ahead hold for us. Tune in next time to read about Aubrie's hilarious facial expressions and our many adventures as Aubrie and Auntie Dena.

honest tea

It's been a while...actually I'm not sure I've posted anything since the summer began. Oh sure, I've had a few ideas about posts. A few passionate topics I wanted to address. A couple of doldrums I wanted to express. Frankly, though, I just haven't had time.

This summer has been rough for me--probably rougher than I wanted to admit to anyone. No, definitely not my most difficult; that one was the time Lenny the parasite decided to move into my liver. He even tried to have his mail delivered there, which, as I'm sure you can imagine, is not an easy task in any aspect of the idea. No, this summer was not so bad as that, but it's definitely been trying to catch up to that one.

I have felt...beat up.

Stretched too thin.

Like I was constantly banging my head on an anvil, or a brick, and it was also hitting back. Don't get me wrong, this summer has been full of very enjoyable things. Just maybe too many of them. Without enough sleep, more often than not. It has also been full of quite a few relationship issues--including, but not limited to, almost losing one of my best friends, and getting shafted a couple of times by the same group of people when it came to trying to figure out a new living situation. They almost aren't worth talking about anymore, but both situations were very hurtful. I grew, though, and was strengthened in ways I didn't really expect.

Here is a small taste of what I learned this summer:

1) There will be backstabbers in your life. What do you do when someone talks behind your back when it is none of their dang business? Ignore it. It's childish, pathetic, petty, and a whole array of other comparably menial adjectives.

2) Sometimes the friends who stand with you through hard times are not the ones you were expecting. In the past, I haven't really been able to share struggles I was having with the people around me because it always felt like either a) they had their own problems and didn't need to be saddled with mine too or b) they weren't able to see past their issues well enough to listen to me. I have been thankful for those rare people who were there to listen in those times, as I am thankful for the unexpected ones during this time. The difference now, though, is that I haven't talked to too many people about what I've really been struggling with, and honestly haven't had too many opportunities to do so in the first place, but the friendships that have developed over the last few months have been golden.

3) I have learned a lot about myself, primarily because I have spent a lot of time by myself. Some of it is because a loving friend helped me to see a few things I didn't want to admit, but I have also had a lot of time for reflection. I don't know how many of you know, but I nanny for an 11 month old baby overnight. I'm with her for over half my week sometimes and usually it is just me, her, a couple of wacko dogs (sometimes three), and an idiot cat. None of them can talk to me. This allows for a lot of quiet time. If I wasn't so much as reflecting on myself, I have been observing myself. One important thing I learned is that I am a valuable person. I guess I didn't really believe that before.

4) If you want something, sometimes you just gotta do what you gotta do. Definitely you should be in prayer and have patience for whatever it is you're hoping and waiting for, but sometimes you just have to yank yourself up and work for whatever it is you want. It's kind of a balance. I find myself really learning things I only thought I knew before. Funny how that works.

5) Sometimes I just do not care about something I am doing; the only reason I decided to do it was because someone "needed" me. I'm not sure that's the right reason to do something.

Good learning sometimes comes through times of stretching, and man have I been stretched. I maybe overloaded my schedule, but in the end, it is what it is and there isn't anything I can do about it now. The important thing is that I survived and am actually finding myself more and more content with my life--even though not much that I was previously frustrated about has changed. In some cases I am simply resigned, but for the most part I am just determined.

I'm heading into a school year with many snares and pitfalls waiting to grab me, but I know Whose hand I hold, so I know I'll be fine. I may be the talk of the gossip chain of the petty and otherwise unremarkable, but no one can convince me that I am not as great as God says I am, no matter who thinks I can't take care of a cat. Or two. Or who the whole of the Bible College thinks I'm dating. God has me here for a reason, and by golly, I am excited to continue seeing what it is.

In all honesty, this whole blog may have been the unfollowable ramblings of a tired person (I'm falling asleep as I write this), so let me end it as randomly as I possibly can.

I have had a good summer.

It really may not have sounded like it, and honestly doesn't really feel like it some days, but aside from fires and shootings, relationship and sleep issues, I wouldn't take it back. I have nothing to do but thank and praise God, really. I'm thankful I made it through what could have been a lot of junk that could bring me down. I'm thankful for the people who I was able to spend time with. I'm happy I could go to youth camp; that was one of the best weeks I had all summer. I have many more things to be thankful for than to be upset about, and sure, my body and my soul feel beat up, but my spirit is stronger than ever. Proof your attitude doesn't need to be based on circumstances. Well, I'm tired, so I'm going to abruptly end this now. Thanks for reading.

p.s. I also leaped way forward on my caffeine intake this summer, and have also cut back by at least 2/3. I'm proud of myself.

a status reflection

As some of you may know, on my facebook for the past month or so I have been using my status updates as a way to encourage my friends and let them know what I really think about them. These are just a few thoughts on what I have learned about myself and my relationships even in just this short time.

I am not very good at constantly staying in touch with people. I am the kind of person that, when I've befriended you, come hell or high water I'm your friend forever, whether or not I call you all the time or write you, or whatever. I understand not everyone is like that, though. I want to find a balance, be a little bit better about that because I know some people take it personally and it affects how they think that I view them.

I am not very good at communicating how I feel about someone on a day to day basis, except in certain situations--even then, my abilities in this area are marginal at best. I am good at making them feel good and loved, but not in telling them why it is happening. It's usually not necessary, based on the type of bond you have with that person, but it is immensely important to at least remember why you are friends with them. It can help you evaluate whether or not the relationship is healthy, for one thing. For most people, I could tell them I loved them or that I appreciated them or what have you, and they'll think it's a nice sentiment, but it doesn't really sink in. I know this isn't entirely my fault; our culture has dumbed down these phrases (or Hallmarked them, if you will) to the point where they don't mean as much. We also hear these things from people who we know don't love us because they never show it in their actions, so we're numb to it. I want to be better and telling people why I love them, whether that be through words, or whatever.

People forget why they are friends with each other. Easily. Especially with the convenience of facebook. I know I don't unfriend people because of a) I'm afraid they'll think I hate them or b) I'm afraid that I'll someday need to be in contact with them and all of a sudden I'm cut off. That's silly, for one thing. I don't ever want to become numb to or forgetful of how I feel about someone and why I am friends with them.

People want to be recognized as one you love and cherish. It's not a selfish thing, it's a knowing thing. People like to know, be known, and sometimes be publicly recognized as important to someone else. It increases their feelings of worth--yes, this should be found in things other than the praises of other people, but shouldn't we do all we can to cultivate feelings of worth in each other? Don't become a crutch, but don't rip their hair out in an attempt for them to find their worth in Jesus or something either.

I have also learned that I have many close friends (I consider them close, at least) and I am, in many respects, a good friend. I don't say that with pride, conceit, or whatever, I say it because I know the Christ in me is a good friend (in every sense of the phrase), and my soul has learned much from the example that I have with me all the time. Despite my shortcomings, I am a better friend than I give myself credit for--how else could I have the number of good friends (caliber wise) that I do? I rag on myself a lot for feeling like I fail as a friend all the time or that I am not a good enough one, but really I shouldn't focus so much on what I'm not good at--it only keeps me from seeing what I am good at and why I am loveable.

Well, that's it for now. This has been a fun thing to do and I look forward to writing a status about each of you. :) Thanks for reading.

may he deal with me, be it ever so severely

"Then it hit me--I'm alone on my birthday. Even though people invited me to do things, I'm alone."

What does it mean to be a true friend? For that matter, why does it matter if you are a true friend or not?

Why does the word "friend" hold significance?

If I wanted to, I could elaborately elaborate on each of these questions; if you know me at all, you know this is an important topic to me. I want to be the best friend I can possibly be to every single person who is kind enough to embrace the term and count me as one also (I used to think it was mandated for me to be friends with everyone--news flash, not everyone is worth that kind of time, by their own choice, not mine). Friends mean something to each other. Friends stick closer than a brother, it's been said. Friends are supposed to see us through the good and the bad.

Why, then, does it seem as though being a friend seems to be the hardest thing anyone has ever done in their life? It shouldn't be.

How hard is it to keep your word, to simply do what you say you are going to? Is it difficult to remember a certain day, like, say, the day your friend was born? Would it hurt to once in a while be serious with someone and tell them how they make you feel and why you appreciate them? Or is that just too much depth? I don't ask these questions to attack anyone, but to ask. Why is being a friend hard?

That last question isn't difficult to answer:  people think being a friend is hard because it requires something of them, and people don't like to work at things when it doesn't seem to be a gain somehow. They also all have their own ideas of what it means to have friends or to be one. They are not always totally wrong, but people also tend to treat people based on how they have been treated in the past, which just isn't fair. What I mean by this is, people tend to assume all people are the same. I don't think they mean to, exactly, but they do. They have had certain kinds of people in their lives before, so they take that to mean that every person they meet will be that way, whether it be negative or positive, really. Often times, however, they are concentrated mostly on their negative experiences, and they project that onto you, no matter how loveable you are. I know I've been guilty of this, but God is healing me. I'm changing. That means it's possible, right?

It shouldn't be hard to be a friend or have friends. But it is. Because we only think about ourselves.

Friends are important even to God; He called Abraham his friend, and that was before Jesus. David and Jonathan were closer than either had ever been with their brothers; when Saul (Jonathan's father) went after David, Jonathan kept his loyalty with David. It says in 1 Samuel, "...Jonathan became one in spirit with David, and he loved him as himself." 1 Samuel 20 is all about their friendship; he told David, "But if my father is inclined to harm you, may the Lord deal with me, be it ever so severely, if I do not let you know and send you away safely." He takes an oath and makes a covenant with David (which was huge in that time) to protect him at all costs--against his father! "And Jonathan had David reaffirm his oath out of love for him, because he loved him as he loved himself." Later on in the story, Jonathan is merely having a conversation with his father and Saul throws a spear at him for just talking about David. Would you take a spear for your best friend? I would like to say I would. I really like this story because it takes place before Jesus even shows up on the scene to talk to us about blessing those who curse us and loving one another--it is evidence of God's love throughout all of time permeating our relationships.

Here's a little of what I think a friend--a real friend--is:

listen.
share.
sacrificial--time, money, possessions, etc.
enduring.
patient.
loving.
communicative.
willing.
sees your heart and you don't have to be afraid of it.
unafraid.
vulnerable.
would lay down their life for you.

I guess that is just a summary of what I think a true friend is. I've been blessed to have a few of these in my life and no, none of the friendships have been easy because we both had to work at it, but it has most definitely been worth it. I think the term "friend" has a lot of significance, especially when we are betrayed by one, is because we know it is supposed to mean more than it has become.

Well, instead of continuing on, I will say why I am writing this:  firstly, because it's important for things like this to be said. Secondly because one of my best friends was very hurt today because someone who was supposed to be a friend dropped the ball. Big time. You don't treat my friends that way. Okay, before any of you jump on your religious high horse, let me clarify:  I did not write this out of anger. I wrote it because it has been on my mind for a few weeks and this event just sort of spurred me on to writing about it finally. But seriously, does a person matter so little to you that you can't section off a brain cell to remember him?

I will end with this:  if I consider you a friend, I am with you to the end. Many people would take that statement lightly or say it to anyone, but I don't. Not in the slightest. I would take a spear for you, without hesitation. Sure, some of you will scoff at this and say it's an easy thing to say, but Dena, really, in the face of a spear, how do you know what you would do? Well, I've done it. I've taken verbal spears, slapped people, jumped in front of charging horses (even ran in to save a bucking pony from a GIGANTIC fly--he almost took my eye out), without hesitation. It does not even enter my mind to save myself in those situations. And I could still stand to be a better friend. I don't say this to brag; only people who aren't really my friends will take it that way.

I would encourage anyone who read this whole thing to evaluate your friendships--especially how you are a friend to those around you. Thank you to those who have been a friend to me. :) I hope I can continue to be a better friend to all of you, and if I don't, may the Lord deal with me, be it ever so severely.

adventures in motherhood

Yes, everyone, it's true, I am a mother.

PSYCHE!

Nope, not yet, I just feel like one with the types of jobs I've had lately. I have started nannying for a 6 month old overnight three days a week, and lemme tell you, I have learned a lot about motherhood already and it's only been the first week. Prior to this, and even during this past week, I have also been baby-sitting a ton for several different families from my church. I have enjoyed observing the different parenting styles and kids these parents turn out; it's very interesting, to say the least.

One thing that has really been blasted in my face is the importance of parenting a child. I've known and understood for a little while now how important it is to be present with your kids, to really teach them, as I've been baby-sitting since I was ten years old (well, technically I was a live-in sitter for my youngest sister I guess. Mom says I was her second mom. :) This week, though, I see how crucial parenting, especially mothering, is in a child's life. A baby comes out knowing nothing but what it feels. It is the parent's job to teach it things about sleeping at certain times, eating good foods, being kind to others, respecting adults, etc. Kids don't just pop out knowing all this stuff, as much as we would like them to. It's important to not let them just run the show, especially not in the name of love. Some parents think they love their child, but letting him or her dictate how the day goes is a recipe for disaster, in my opinion, and not an example of true love. Contrary to a popular belief, this isn't what God does with us when we are newby Christians; we have to want and try to listen to him, he doesn't just step in and take over. Usually we are listening, but we don't do exactly what he says because we don't like it for this reason or that. A child has to choose to be responsive, and they usually will, but what child doesn't put up a little resistance to what the parent wants? They have a brain, just because it isn't fully developed doesn't mean they are incapable of making choices. It's the same for God.

I had a realization that I hope I get to use in a sermon someday about babies and baby Christians. The baby I nanny for has been experiencing some gas issues; she seems to be in a lot of pain when she needs to burp but it just won't come out. So she often wakes up in the middle of the night or interrupts a happy moment by suddenly pealing out in screams. I pick her up, rock her, walk around, pat her back, anything to help relieve her pain and calm her down. Then, she burps. Usually it's not very big. As I lay in bed one night, shortly after she'd woken up with one of these spells, I was thinking about how my back was hurting a lot that day and the fact that I wasn't screaming about it. Then it hit me; I am older and know more about my body and the world around me than that baby does, sweet as she is. I understand that a little bit of pain is not the end of the world and life will go on with or without it; screaming doesn't really help me any. (don't get me wrong, I've screamed in pain before, but now it's only for extreme pain, which is a high bar for me.)

Baby Christians (which can be any age, no matter how many years you've "been with the Lord", let's face it) are prone to screaming when faced with trials, no matter the kind (they tend to scream over very small ones, and it's usually self-inflicted or because they aren't trusting God). And I'm not talking about productive screaming that releases things to God and stuff like that. No, screaming because it hurts and they don't know how to coherently communicate their needs or don't know how to deal with pain. They scream and scream about a little pain in their belly...and then they burp. Usually it's not very big. Then they have one of two reactions:  either they smile and laugh as God rocks them on his hip and life is good (until the next gas build up) or they get angry with God for not relieving their pain right away.

On the flip side, mature Christians tend to be the ones who know how to deal with pain (who also can be at any age, young or old). Plainly said, it's because they don't see the pain. Let me qualify:  they see it all right, and feel it just as strongly, if not more so (since it's usually bigger issues), but they have learned to look beyond it towards the prize. Pain in this life, especially from trials, is temporal and nothing compared with the glory we have in Christ. They scream only when pressed to the point where their faith ends (because everyone is at a different place in their faith, depending on the area we're talking about) and it's still not to blame God. Their joy is lasting, their peace surpasses all understanding. They walk in the Fruit God gave us, so why wouldn't it be this way?

So, which kind of Christian are you? Obviously there are stages in between, just like with kids, but where are you on the spectrum? I'm not trying to imply that this is an act of works; Jesus is the good shepherd, HE is the way, the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father but by him, so it's not based on what we do to attain goodness, but whether or not we accept the gift that is already there. You may be more of a baby Christian than you realize.

Anyway, I've learned this week that not only do I want to be a mature Christian, but I also want to parent my children well. This is the future we're talking about, folks. Are you really going to leave it up to chance? I want to parent my children into being mature Christians too, which more often than not means teaching them the foundations for having a relationship with Christ, and then letting them go. I don't mean we just let the bumpers down on the bowling lane, just that we don't try to push and shove them into the kind of Christian life we think they should have. If we lay the foundations correctly, you might just be surprised by how much they turn out to be like you wanted without your constant badgering.

past, present, and future.

Whenever I write things down, I grow, but I also have to go back and re-read where I was before. This is an somewhat painful, but good thing. ;) I enjoy looking back on the journey though. Sometimes, upon reading something I wrote even just a few months before will reveal some nugget that I learned or experienced that helps my present self. Then I want to high-five past self. Sometimes, though, I just want to slap past self. I think it's better to high-five her, though, because she kept plowing on. She helped future self even if present self doesn't always think so.

How great are the plans of our God! He prepares us for things in such a subtle way long before we actually go through whatever it is we're heading towards. Our lives are just part of his brilliant work of art, his symphonic hands mold us in ways that make us more radiant than we could ever be on our own. He inspires me to do my own art to demonstrate what He has done in my life and in the lives of others.

the glass piece I finished over the summer and my lovely sister behind.

I haven't talked much about this piece unless someone asked. Charlene saw me working on it over the summer and she thought it looked creepy. ;) I suppose in a way it is. In case you can't read it at a glance, the paint is done around letters spelling the word "beauty." The color is purposely meant to look like blood (thanks to Trevor Tracy for helping me pick it out) and the pieces of glass are all glued on a larger piece at jagged angles to appear as though recently broken and scattered. Glass sometimes causes bleeding (although I only cut myself once while working on this!). There are probably several interpretations or explanations I could give for my choices in this piece, but my most general one is this:  beauty sometimes comes from brokenness. In fact, I would daresay the most lasting beauty does come from its share of bleeding and transparentness. Take Jesus for example. His body was shredded and hung on a tree to give us life, and life everlasting. He bled. He was transparent. His blood covered all sin and renewed our chance at life, love, and hope. The most beautiful thing in the world was a bloody sacrifice. He endured what we deserve, he experienced every single kind of pain we could ever imagine--including rejection and loneliness--so he could show us he empathized in a way no one else could. The way no one else would. Our sin was transparent to him, but his blood covered it so all we saw was his beauty and glory.

Beauty is all around us, yes, but especially in the broken places. For it is in these broken places that the most beautiful thing of all shines the brightest. Jesus is our light in the dark and brokenness is dark, my friends. His blood is what covers it, not ours. All the bleeding we do whether metaphorically or literally for brokenness means nothing, whereas his means everything. That's a bit of what this piece is about.

His beauty covers my past, present, and future self. She is beautiful because of Him. He doesn't make junk. He only knows how to make art, even if it includes our junk.

identity theft

It's true that you identity changes as your life goes on. Your identity is wrapped up in this current thing in your life, or that, but when it's over, there is this sense of emptiness or loss. Sometimes this is okay because your identity changes as you grow as a person, but, in a sense, I think I'm realizing that your true identity shouldn't ever change if you truly have the mind of Christ.

Identity is defined in the dictionary as:

the state or fact of remaining the same one or ones, asunder varying aspects or conditions: The identity of thefingerprints on the gun with those on file provided evidence thathe was the killer.

2.

the condition of being oneself or itself, and not another: Hedoubted his own identity.

3.

condition or character as to who a person or what a thing is:a case of mistaken identity.

4.

the state or fact of being the same one as described.

5.

the sense of self, providing sameness and continuity inpersonality over time and sometimes disturbed in mentalillnesses, as schizophrenia.

Identity is much more that what you are doing. It is your being, what drives you, what you stand on, what enables you to really follow Christ into the fray. You don't change when you have an identity. Wrapping up one's identity in something they are doing is a very shallow, flimsy thing at best. You can wear a name tag that says, "Hello, my name is PhD, Masters in Divinity, Slimy-Know-It-All" or "Hello, my name is Deadbeat, Dropout, Loser", but that is not who you are. That is what you have done.

I thought I understood this, but with everything God's been showing me these last few months and what it's all coming together to mean, I see now that what He showed me before about who I am in Him was only a glimpse of who and what I really am to Him. It was enough to stand on for a time, but now life is hitting a new beat--time to really face Him and what He made me and abide in it.

There are some--some I've come into contact with recently, in fact--who set up a false identity for themselves because they want to be something. They think that if they want to be it bad enough or that if they can get enough people to believe it, they'll be it. They're wrong, though. Identity starts inside--much like character, and acting, consequently--and comes out. The song says, "from the inside out" doesn't it?

Unfortunately, associating with false identities or wrapping your identity up in something that is only what you're doing will cause emptiness and a sense of loss when whatever you've been doing comes to an end. I loathe fakeness. Loathe. Hate. Want to set on fire. I hate it especially when I get caught up in it. I refuse to do it anymore.

As I've jumped off this bridge, screaming to add to this cacophony of rhythm, God has challenged my identity. I have been one who tends to identify with whatever I am currently doing. Sometimes it was in my job, usually it was school or whatever I was going through. It labeled me. When I was confused, it gave me comfort. Good golly what a mess that was sometimes. It wasn't always bad, but it wasn't ever what I should've been doing. Going to Charis and working a lame job has helped draw this out into the light where I could really examine it. I came to Charis without very many expectations. I wasn't sure what it would be like; I hoped it wouldn't really be like the other Christian bubbles I'd been a part of, but I didn't know if it would be better or not. I went in hesitantly, observing before I plunged into anything. I'm so glad I made that decision. Instead of just jumping into a social network or into a lot of stuff that would get me noticed at school, I've floated under the radar for the first time in several years, but not in a self-conscious, shy way. I've experienced a lot of things and thought about much during this time, but what it has all come down to is my identity and where I am with God. It started with the fact that I didn't (and still don't) want Charis Bible College to be my identity. I didn't want to be a Charisite, didn't want to be someone who was all gung-ho about the school because I knew God was more than a good bible college. I also didn't want the physical challenges I experience to be my identity, so I have mentioned it to only a handful of people at school. I also didn't go out of my way to make a bunch of friends, especially because I didn't feel like I fit with most of them.

Instead, what has happened is I have made a few good friends, I have begun to really understand what it means to not fear man, I have had an interesting job and subsequently quit in a five month period, and I am enjoying the adventure. I've been sleeping through the night--what a joy! I'm the kind of person who doesn't sleep much when I'm upset, which is apparently the opposite from most people. I sleep best when I am at peace. Retaining the identity Christ gave me when I was born again has to be the most peaceful thing I have ever gone through.

You can know a lot of things about God and what He says, like how He says the "fear of man proves a snare", but understanding them is a whole different ball game. Turns out, not fearing people means having a true identity in Whose you are. Why should you be afraid of anyone or anything if the Creator of the Universe has your back? I've said that before, but holy crap, have you ever really thought about that? God does NOT abandon His own--that's something I've learned out here too. For too long I lived under the biggest lie--that sometimes God just drops me in order to teach me something, that He let's bad things happen to me so I'll be stronger. No, bad things happen because this world is tainted. He sent His son so that we might be redeemed and be able to confidently say He has our collective back once again. Whew. That's a different soap box. I might go on it sometime and actually provide scripture, but I'm just going to move on for now.

I haven't lived the holiest of lives since I've been out here, but I'd say I've gained so much more in this leap than I ever did in trying to live holy on my own strength. I think that matters more to God, and He matters a lot to me. The identity He gave me is pretty swell, if I do say so myself, and I'm not about to let anyone or anything cut in on my race anymore. Especially not me. I am my biggest roadblock in life. I often have to tell myself to get over myself. It can get confusing sometimes. No more identity theft by way of an inside job, or an outside, for that matter. Be loved, kay? Everyone's on a journey and I did understand this a bit, but now I see just how much I didn't see before...I see how selfish I've been. It's humbling to think that God's grace covers that and I can just go on with life. He doesn't hold it against me. What a great friend.

two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl

If I was writing about a broken heart, I'd start with yours.

Your story involves mine because it breaks mine, but not for the reasons I thought before. You see, all day I think of you, and all day I want to cry. I thought this was about me. I was wrong. I wanted to say that what I thought was a promise, was merely a loaded clip aimed at my heart. It was your heart that shattered though.

I was hurt--broken--too, until I knew your story. You see, that day you held my hand, that's when I fell for you. It's the day I still look back on when I want to be filled with joy and feel like I'm loved. For a while the memory also brought with it an ache, a dull slice across my heart. I admit, sometimes it still does. You were happy. I was happy. For me it was the first time in months that I had smiled so much. I know now you were starting to hurt then. I wish I had known. Then again, maybe that would've ruined it.

"Holding hands, feeding ducks. When I met you, that's what I wanted to do."

From the first day I knew you, I knew you were special. I didn't know you were like me, hiding your pain behind playful antics or somber wallflower acts. I thought you knew where you were, who you were, and what you wanted, nothing more. How could someone like you hurt? Your spirit was so lively to me. You helped me find my heart again, back on those swings. I didn't know it was hiding until then. I didn't know I was looking for it. I didn't know I was so blind.

Even when you lied to me, I still loved you. I didn't know then why the betrayal hurt so much, but now I think I do. I think it was because my hope was dashed a bit. Hope I'd had subconsciously that you wouldn't be like the rest. That betrayal wouldn't happen. Even when you lied, I learned to still be okay when it was over. Of course, I didn't know I loved you until after I was angry with you.

I once was blind, but now I see.

I see now, I see that I was blind. I wanted to know you before, but that desire was blinded by the stronger desire to be known by someone like you. I wish I could've been a better friend to you. I wish I could pretend that perhaps my life helped to distract you from yours, but I don't really know. I hope I did a mite better than I think I did.

I see now that you have been in pain for some time now, even when you were hurting me. I was so blinded by my own supposed agonies that I didn't touch yours. How could you feel whole when your world is falling down in threes? When what you really want doesn't seem to want you? I see now that what you thought was a promise, was merely a loaded clip aimed at your heart. Your gun wasn't even loaded when you aimed it at me. The pain I felt was self-inflicted.

Can you forgive me? Will you?

I don't think you know any of this. I am loathe to be more than a coward and actually tell you to your face. I wish I was braver.

I wish I could tell you what you are to me. A rainbow on a rotten day--a promise--wouldn't say enough to do you justice. Flowers blooming everywhere--but only in my mind. My heart erupting with light--which sounds a bit fatal, if you think about it. Your smile can make my soul soar and make me feel safter than being in the Bat Cave. I am absolutely petrified of the ocean, but I'd go in with you. But it's positively more than any of this! Those things are mere fragments of what I could say for you! The way you light up the lives of others, those around you, by simply being constant and wanting to be around them. The fact that you notice little things, that you live simply. That you are witty, clever, and quite the goon. You want to help others in a way that isn't necessarily noticed by everyone and their mother on national news. You listen. You care.

I guess I could keep gushing like a heartsick buffoon, but the time has come for me to say this:  in this pain you are going through, I know He has you. I sometimes think I could reach out, take the pieces of your heart and mend them, but I can't do that as well as He. I talk to Him about you when I feel like crying. These days I'm crying for you. I know what it's like to feel pain and not know how to fix it. I know what it's like when all you want to do is hide from it and everyone else. He knows. He is a comforter and a friend. He wants you to know you are loved, always. That's something that's hard for me to grasp, too.

We're in this together, whether you like it or not. We'll know we're Loved or die trying.

I suppose it's true when they say love blinds you--a version of it does, yes, and in certain ways. Sometimes love is purely emotional and selfish. When His love light can finally break through that muck you've carved around you--that blinding light you thought was love--you'll really see. He's there and you're there and that's all that matters. Then you can see others--His light isn't blinding. I pray His love will shine through me ever brighter in the days to come, especially when it comes to you, my friend.

We'll see the lights coming off of us, illuminating what we really are--loved.

I once thought I'd be writing about my broken heart, broken over a silly thing like you. Now I see, though, that it's your heart that really needs the mending. Mine was just bent a little out of shape. You're a hero, I was a fool. Good thing there's grace for that too.

my life is like a screamo song

Okay, screamo, metal, what-have-you, that's the type of song I'm talking about.

Apparently, according to urban dictionary, a screamo song is a throwback to emo songs of old. That's not exactly what I meant, so forgive me if I'm loose with the definition. Also, despite how it may sound in the following, I am a fan of the above genre. Don't hate.

Essentially, what I am and have been experiencing are moments of clarity punctuated by moments of absolute in-lucidity (I know that they're saying words when they're screaming, but I swear all I hear are gorilla mating calls--not to be associated with what I am about to discuss in similarity to my life) and a raw outpouring of feeling. It's not necessarily negative feeling, really, just a lot to let out sometimes, and a lot I don't really know how to explain at first. Everything is also very hardcore; as was pointed out once again the other day, I don't do anything halfway. Jessi Nichols once said, "Dena, everything you do, the way you live, is epic." (Epic, by the way, has more than the one meaning of being a poem like Homer. it also means of unusually great size or extent. It also means heroic or majestic, but let's not get too particular). Lately I've felt like this was true; I have an unusual life which involves me feeling like I'm not well understood in most cases--primarily with those closest to me (does that sound emo or what?)--yet another parallel to screamo. (I feel like this word should be hyphenated like 'scream-o' but then it just sounds silly.)

Sometimes people who listen to metal or screamo (emphasis on sometimes) are those who feel alone at times, even when surrounded by people who they know love them. Yes, we are loved, but are we known? I would almost be so bold to say that is the more intimate step of love, to know someone and to want to get to know them as they change and grow. The love one's family possesses for them is often unfailing and somewhat understanding, but there is often a lack of empathy. That's how it feels for me sometimes, anyway.

However, there is a harmonious feel to this life, also. The instrumental part of the song, sometimes a bass or guitar solo, which gives the song its rhythm, feel, and direction. This part is primarily why I like this genre; the music is not noticed at first a midst the gorilla cries, but it is the part that makes it listen-able. I don't know about any of you, but just listening to someone scream is grating and painful, especially if you can't understand what they're screaming about. Don't get me wrong, I can scream with the best of them (no offense to those of you out there without this ability) and screaming can be an effective way of release, but nobody really likes to listen to it, I don't care what they tell you.

Where am I going with this, you might be asking right now. Honestly I was asking myself the same thing (today has been rather lethargic--strange how tired you can be when you've done nothing all day). Here's the long and short of it:  I have just jumped off one of the biggest bridges in my life and moved to Colorado Springs. Gotta say, not something I would have chosen to do on my own. It's been both exhilarating and frightening. God has come through in ways I never really imagined and that's the only thing that's made this worthwhile. I'm sure that's a rather negative way of looking at it--the adventure and chance to be in a new place has also been worthwhile. The chance to trust God in a new way--a much bigger way than I imagined--it's all been worth it. This doesn't mean it has come without moments of screaming. In some ways, I wish I wasn't here. I'm having to do a lot of hard things. I keep having to remind myself that I told God I wanted the hard things so I could grow and really become who he needs for my job on this earth. Be careful what you tell God in a moment of emotional upheaval when you feel stagnant.

Knowing and being known is an intimate relationship; it takes time and effort...it's the effort part that some miss. Lately I've been burned when it comes to certain friendships and even relationships within my family, but I still keep my head up, looking for the people God will bring that won't do this so easily. I constantly remind myself that people are fallible and will fail me at some point, especially if I have high expectations. What's harder to remind myself is that it's okay to hold people to some standards. It's been hard to see those who have left or I have had to leave behind. It argues with my nature, which is to never leave anyone behind. This bridge, in particular, has been one of the hardest and scariest to jump off. I usually maintain the mantra of, "I'll jump off that bridge when I come to it," but this one seemed to come up on me quick.

As I look back across the last five years or so, though, I see where I have jumped off many bridges. For some, I landed in a boat. For others, I landed in the water and was swept downstream. Somehow, though, I've always ended up where I needed to be and in one piece, so to speak. Actually, I've been shattered more times than I care to recount here, but I'm starting to glimpse the masterpiece God is building from the pieces. It has also been beautiful to see who I land next to sometimes; it's not usually who I expect, but I am thankful for each one who has come down the river with me after the crazy banshee known as Dena Williams landed in the boat or river next to them. For some reason they saw something in my life worth sticking with in some capacity. It hasn't always ended well, but it has made me who I am. That is the harmony, the symphonic part, I think, the masterpiece of love. It's easy to hear all the screaming (yes, occasional gorilla grunts) and be angry or sad or even excessively happy. The joy, however, is in the rhythm. All together, it makes a song.

So, yes, I spend a lot of time mentally screaming and being frustrated, but at the back of all of this, I can hear the melody stringing out a sweet song--not one normally heard in a screamo song, but a floating harmony made up mostly of violins. It's peaceful. It reminds me of Whose I am. Soon the music will overtake the screaming.

Regardless of where this has brought me, I'll still jump off the next bridge too, probably still screaming, but the music will be loud enough to hear over me. That's how He works.

"I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret to being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do all things through him who gives me strength." -Philippians 4:12-13

what's in a name?

My name is a walking oxymoron.

“Deanna Williams?”

“Dena.”

“How do you spell that?”

“D-e-n-a.”

“Oh...Dena...is that short for something?”

“Nope.”

My name is one of the most mispronounced in all of America, or so it seems. I often get something like Deanna or Dana; the Deanna confuses me because there are no extra 'A's' in my name at all. Just one, there at the end. Dana is kind of understandable; I worked at camp for a summer with a Dana and boy did that get confusing. The different spellings people come up with amuse me too—Deena, Dina, Deana—my name is among the simplest to spell and yet no one seems to be able to get it right on the first try. I've grown fairly patient with this fact, although I was Dean in the yearbook once. Typo.

The strangest misspelling I have encountered thus far, though, was in Uganda. You see, the pronunciation of my name is how they pronounce “dinner.” I told the kids I was teaching what my name was and they hid their faces behind their hands and giggled, whispering to one another in Lusoga. I didn't know why this was for quite a while—not until a girl asked me if “d-i-n-n-e-r” was how I spelled my name. They considered it their personal joke all summer long.

The other ridiculous thing I have trouble understanding is when people ask me if it's short for anything. First of all, the only thing I can think of it being short for is “Pasadena” but what kind, loving parent would name their child after the city that hosts the Rose Bowl? No, my name isn't short for anything. In fact, people usually have to lengthen it in order to give me a nickname.

My name, according to my parents, means “Bright as Day.” My mom wanted to be able to be saying, essentially, “Bright as Day, would you come here?” or “Bright as Day, eat your soup” or “Bright as Day Marie, bend over my knee right now!” I'm sure my mom meant well, but did she realize what she was doing to me when she gave me such an obscure name? Not only an obscure name, but one with a bizarre spelling? She basically signed over the rights to everyone else in the world to be able to mock, tear apart, and misunderstand me for the rest of my life.

Even if she didn't know what she was doing exactly, it was probably part of God's grand plan or something. When I told my best friend what my name means according to my parents, her laughter was like a loud horn blowing a single blast before being quickly silenced when she put her hand over her mouth.

“I'm sorry. Was that out loud?” she asked amid stifled giggles.

The next day she sent me a piece of flair on Facebook that said, “My Indian name is Trips Over Sunlight.”

I think God knew there was a potential in my personality and internal makeup to take life and myself too seriously. So He made me a joke. Having the name “Dena” has certainly proved a source of hilarity; the Trips Over Sunlight thing isn't too far off, really. I trip over everything that has mass. I can manage to stumble over things that do not even protrude from anywhere, like the ground. It's like things just pop up for me to trip over and give everyone else a hearty laugh. Over time I began to laugh too, but my laughter is bittersweet. I know it's a gas, don't get me wrong, but am I always to be the one to give others such an opportunity to relieve themselves from the mundaneness of life?

The fact that my last name is one of the most popular in the whole United States is fairly humorous in and of itself, considering the oddness and rarity of my first name. It's an interesting oxymoron; the surname means the shield or defense of many. I couldn't win with my last name in Uganda either; they just thought my “second name” was comical because it is a boy's name.

So...Bright as Day (Trips Over Sunlight) Shield of Many. If that isn't a joke of a name, I'm not sure what is. Who would really want someone who trips over sunlight to be their shield?

In many countries in Africa your name is supposed to define you, to be a reflection of who you are as a person. On the surface of it all, my name is a farce, so it could be assumed that I am such. The truth is, though, I secretly want to be what my name means. I want to be a light to others, one that shows them this life isn't so bad. The one that when someone's dog just died or they lost their job they can come to for a hug and lightheartedness borne out of my own share of suffering that can show them things aren't so bleak as they feel. I want the plain, contradictory name of Dena Williams to accompany a smile…I just hope that beneath the mockery and joking it means there is a quiet joy and a knowing that when they say it, when they see me, they don’t have to be reminded of what they want to run away from. If having to be reminded of what I have run from all my life does that for them, so be it.

I just keep hoping that sometime, somewhere, someone will do that for me.

adventure-full adventurer

Many things have changed since my last post I think. I also think it will take a while to unpack them all. For one, I'm not afraid of adventures anymore. Not like I was, anyway.

I think I'm more ready to step onto the Enterprise than I was six months ago, thanks to God. The phrase "love casts out fear" has taken on a new meaning for me. The more I have begun to understand God's love for me, the less I am afraid of silly things like getting on a bus and travelling for thirty hours to Colorado. Sure, it's not for everyone and no, I don't recommend travelling just for the sake of travelling. There should be some kind of purpose to it. Mine was to get to my family here in Colorado Springs and to try and figure out why the heck God told me to come here. Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful for the priviledge of such an adventure which includes climbing mountains and coming down the sheer faces of giant rocks, but I have no real reason to be here. I didn't have a job waiting. I'm not looking to settle down yet. My family and I aren't exactly in sync (no matter how much we've all changed because of this) and I only have one real friend here outside of my family. Doesn't seem promising, does it?

I'm trying to keep my heart open and my eyes searching...God has to have something up his sleeve. I know I'm supposed to be here, but, on the outside, there doesn't seem to be much happening. I'm thankful for much right now, though--the chance to spend time with my family (which hasn't happened in seven years), a wonderful new place to explore, a good friend to explore with, and, of course, continuing chances to know the Lord more.

I've noticed themes of restoration around corners here and there. Maybe my summer has more to do with that and less to do with paying off my debt. God will honor me if I obey him, I just have to trust him. It'd be nice to be let in on the plan once in a while though.

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.