Risky Business

Food bank volunteering was fun yesterday. I didn’t think it would be; I searched my brain, deep and wide, for an adequate reason to justify my absence. Then Christine, my hardworking coworker who servant heartedly coordinated the event, expressed her frustration with the heighty number of committed bodies that bailed. And I felt the good conviction to be true to my word and attend the service project. We packaged noodles, spirally ones, for three hours. I laughed, chatted, and sang Christmas songs (only the good ones) with my sweet friend Annie and kept my brain busy, distracting her from recognizing the dread of the incredibly tedious task.

Because I didn’t drive my dangerously eldery Opal Car I had fun carpooling to and fro. When I returned home, though, I couldn’t quite pinpoint the reason for my low emotional condition. I couldn’t help but bawl in the shower as I cleansed the film that comes from Northwest Harvest’s latex gloves and hair nets from my scalp and my hands. Eventually, though, through prayer and reliance on the Spirit, I realized why.

I rode with three young, beautifully single ladies who are either pregnant and/or already raising children, enduring the pain that comes from boys pretending to be men as they bear the growing title of “Single Mom.” Because I’ve not ever experienced the sex I enjoy talking about it and proceeded to ask embarassingly naiive questions to prove my immaturity. I asked of them and they of me (the lack thereof) and while I didn’t share the beauty of Christ with them in relation to our female need for affection which is culturally and sinfully resolved with intercourse, I have prayed hard, hoping that they will soon experience the reality and truth of God’s love for them, fulfilling their loneliness and excessive pain. Alongside the guilt I’ve felt for not harshly and carefully confronting them with the gospel to communicate my love for them in regards to the conversation, I have since yesterday become very angry at knowing that these friends that I love are burdened by their sin in this way, shielded from God’s grace, living lives betrayed but welcomed by Satan’s beloved darkness.

God has been incredibly good to me, mysteriously maintaining my physical purity up to this point. I can consider his goodness and strength because I don’t know how I’ve not run away in hopes of being wooed by a gent, giving him my flower, if you will (that was a shout out to Monica Gellar – but since I keep calling it that, “no one’s ever gonna take it!”). I’m one of those pathetic chicks with daddy issues; most of my kind run in the direction of seeking the attention and fulfillment from another as it was not given by her most vital male figure. God used my sin which was committed in the opposite direction by loathing the male race to guide my stubborn bones away from the penis, soon after softening my heart to Himself and desiring a good relationship with a man who will hopefully one day be my hub. While I am incredibly undeserving of God’s grace and kindness given to me in Christ Jesus I am therefore eternally grateful and will strive (with much failure, obviously) to honor Him and commit my obedience to His goodness.

I am heartbroken for those, in this case those gals I learned more about yesterday, who know not God’s goodness as I do. As I continue to pray hard for their souls and those of their children, I want to serve them faithfully at Doxa. I wish for them to attend our little church and experience the beauty of God’s grace as I have. The gospel is that which motivates me to live beautifully and to experience the wonderful joys I’ve faced amidst the suffering I’ve been given. I’m surrounded by a body of Christians to express God’s character unto me, strengthening me and encouraging me to fight for what is good and true and worth fighting for and I want terribly for others to join us.

Since I know not how to do so otherwise, this is my desperate plea for you who are reading this peculiar blog post to come to Doxa Community Church (http://www.doxacc.org/) and let us serve you as Scripture has best guided us.

Holiday-Hoobity-Whatty?

Christmastime, Christmastime, Christmastime. I can’t help but allow the overwhelming fear of failure in the region of gift giving dominate my thoughts whenever I remember that the month is currently December. But then I’m reminded that I get to make festive cookies and hang out with lady friends in the kitchen and this time of year is redeemed. Also, I invite friends to our Christmas services throughout the month and hope that the heavy effect of the beauty of Christ’s coming will be that which God uses to soften the hearts of sinners like me, graciously bringing them into his eternal kingdom.

I really do love Christmas. I love the jolliness, the candy, cookies, lights, trees, and mostly the gospel and it’s exuberance this time of year. I just hate presents. I mean, I’m a chick so I obviously love presets (he who gifts me a husband will get front row seats to our wedding; seriously you can sit in front of my parents) so by all means, please do not withhold them this year. But when it comes to blessing others with thoughtful, deliciously wrapped boxes of joy my brains cry and so do my eye balls. Much like no one else, gift giving is NOT an expression of my care for a person. I’d much rather hang out and have delightful, learning-more-about-you kind of convos while eating Mexican food, of course.

The Tuesday before Christmas will be our Community Group Christmas party, Gift Exchange included. Eff (that’s my attempt at communicating the frustration that is worthy of swear words but since I’m a lady and I love Jesus and want to honor him with my words, I’ll only pretend to swear because He doesn’t know my heart…eff). We decided who’d be gifting which friend with the drawing of stockings. I picked out Michael Posey’s stocking. The thought of deciding on what to buy with our ten dollar spending cap makes my mind dry, much of how it usually is but this time there's the added pressure in knowing that my intentions effect another. I did think it would be funny to give him Rogaine, just for kicks. But Morgan confirmed that that would be mean (she didn’t tell me it would be mean to publicize my idea, sorry Po).

Hopefully I’ll think of something good soon. Until then I’ll watch Jim Carrey’s ever-entertaining version of The Grinch. And pray.  

The Bruising Games

I started reading Suzanne Collins’ The Hunger Games last night and am having a hard time putting it down. In fact, I am currently struggling to allow the wittiness of my brains flow onto my laptop because I just want to get back to my book. I miss Katniss Everdeen (she’s the main character gal who tells me her story; her name alone makes her interesting) and want to know of what’s to happen in the upcoming pages.

I’ve not read a fictional novel in awhile – I think it's been since studying at Multnomah University – because I’ve allowed my friends’ love for reading theologies kind of influence mine and have found many benefits in learning from the theologians’ words that illuminate my understanding of scripture. But I finished the seventh chapter of this novel this morning and now I know why I usually leave them in the book store.

I’ve already encompassed many of Katniss’ character traits. Her bitter independence has influenced that which I immediately consider myself to be entitled to and I’ve found myself questioning my most careful authority figures. Usually I am thankful for the wisdom and truth others patiently guide me to but since hanging out with my little book I’ve not understood them to be caring and wise. I’ve allowed myself to become captivated, wrongfully relating with her battle for survival as though it was I who hunted my dinner.

I’ve been confronted with my weakness but I plan not to put away this book without finishing. Instead, I hope and plan to fight for a good balance of scripture and community to influence my true reality more heavily than the story. I don’t care to jump off the edge of complete foolishness, divulging in the sin of determining the instances my life by my lonesome, as though I were in control of all things as God is. While I am free to simply read a religious-less book without conviction, I shan't allow this liberty to lead me into the continued choosing of primarily poor affairs rather than those which are beneficial, kicking my affection for Christ to the curb.

I am thankful that God has used The Hunger Games to expose my extensive weakness that I might continue to run to Him as I am incredibly dependant upon his goodness. He is the Oak Tree, I am the baby reed that is so easily and rightfully bruised.

Bitter, Party of One

Pastor Brian preached a message on bitterness last Sunday and I again felt conviction’s sharp pinch on my hoarding heart. I knew he’d eventually come to the subject as we’ve been working through all kinds of emotional perceptions. I’ve been fearfully ready to be hit with what scripture has to say about it and as expected I fought the tears that proved that I’m the bitterest gal in the barn. I’m thankful for God’s merciful forgiveness but must continue to fight against the pleasurably comfortable place that my soul so loves to dwell.

I consider it no secret that I’m non confrontational. I don’t like to expose other people’s sin and I never want to be the friend who is always commenting on the imperfections of others and so I so easily overcompensate by avoiding the necessary means of communicating my perceptions, as done in a relationship that is healthy. Instead I practice a seemingly justified harboring of hateful thoughts toward the human who hurt my feelings.

Before God graciously softened my heart to His truth, exposing the reality of sin in my life that I may repent and run to Him I was an incredibly bitter young lady. I kept people at a distance and was convinced that avoiding friendships was better than acquiring some good ones. Since then I care not to sin against God (I still fail, but fight hard) and have hoped to be joyful more so than hateful. But pursuing relationships with people is still the hardest. While I’m forgiven for my failures I’m also forgetful and have recently reveled in the familiar feeling of the bitterness.

When people sin against me I choose to not grow in relationship with them but feel as though I should run far from that growth. I don’t like to hurt. I don’t like that I sin against others but I forget that I’m imperfect when others sin against me. So I willingly open the door when sin is knockin’ and hurt right back. Because two wrongs make a right, right? Ha, I can hear my mother saying, “Corianne Marie, two wrongs do not make a right!” Crap.  

God has been good to remind me that I’m sinful, that I’m not the best but that he in fact is; it is His righteousness that makes me righteous, His glory that is worth pursuing. And this sin, this one that I’m so prone to run to, will always be a battle. I need to understand these things so that I’m armed to fight for Christ. I am gifted to consider this lustfully temptuous feeling to be one that Ephesians compares wrath and clamor to. Dang. My lack of control and justice shan’t produce my resentment but shall instead influence my race toward Christ, the one I get to become like.

The Not So Lovely Bones

It’s already the fifteenth. Dang. That means it’s been thirteen days since I’ve last taken time to sit and consider my thoughts and evaluate my dark, little heart. That means that my efforts of journaling (which turn into blogging) have been neglected, obviously. And this lack of self evaluation, which I usually publicize with the intention of encouraging my friendly friends unto God’s goodness in the midst of my failure, has allowed my humanistic tendency to spiral downward, growing in pride and selfishness.

At Doxa Community Church 1082 Kirkland Avenue NE of Renton, Washington 98059 on Sunday Pastor Brian Morgan influenced my understanding of biblical zealousness. When he’d announced a few days previous that he’d be preaching on this emotion, communicated in the 119^th chapter of the Psalms, I considered only excitement for listening to that which Brian had to say as I am already a master of being passionate. Psh, hear that ridiculousness? So I instead faced the harshest conviction I’ve experienced in quite some time. Everyone is zealous for something, he told us and God was quick to reveal that I’m despicably more zealous for myself than I am for Christ. I love myself more; I do that which I consider to be most beneficial for self more so than I my desire to be obedient to God. I am quick to forget that His truth is abundantly more beneficial. As I sat and felt the pain of coming to understand this sin I’ve come to question my understanding of what I know to be beneficial. It is my own selfish heart that decides what is best for me. I am quick to decide for myself, slow to run to God in prayer for his most beautiful wisdom and am even slothlier (pretend that’s a real word) to allow scripture to influence my understanding.

God is so good to convict me, to allow me to know of my sin that I might repent and run back to him after trying for thirteen days to hide as though he knows not each intention of my heart. In the darkest moments of my proudest days I fight to love myself and He always brings me back. I deserve not his slightest graciousness but am immensely thankful for these ways that He continues to bruise me. His is my consistent truth, even when I flourish in foolishness.   

Anna Farris is a Genius

I have been confronted with much pain and struggle lately; the theme of that which is to be fought for amidst strife has been heavily dwelling on my brain. Sure, I face different degrees of hardship with my every day but the guidance which God has graciously opened my eyes to has allowed me to fight to serve Him, making said strife slightly less painful and mysteriously joyful.

I know not many humans who find happiness in things that hurt. We sprint hard from those the things. At least I do. I allow my emotional status to feed off of lowest, loneliest moments and experience not much joy in life’s many detriments. I feel, though, that with the help of those in my Doxa community, God has grown me a bit. Sunday sermons, book group meetings, discussions at community group, corporate prayer, and day to day conversations that exhibit God’s goodness have been powerful catalysts to my understanding of a continued effort to glorify God in the ordinary practices of my life.

I’ve lately been recognizing the way I sin against others, the ways others sin against me, and the ways that I sin against God.  The realization of my sin influences a deep sorrowful regret of choosing myself over God’s goodness. In those moments how might I imitate Paul in Colossians 1 and “rejoice in my sufferings?” I am not happy when I am sad. Duh. I think, though, that the sadness which comes from godly sorrow influences my heart’s efforts to be directed on Christ rather than darkness and there is much joy in Christ as it is his righteousness that purifies me and strengthens me to desire joyfulness. I am made able to find happiness in knowing that He grants me a heart that is repentant as He is gracious to reveal my weakness.

But I do a poor job of remembering my committed sin when others sin against me. I feel the pain of their selfish intention as though I’m less selfish (allowing my pride to flourish in the blasted consideration of being the best human). Because of Jesus' myseteriously beautiful act of imputing righteouesness I can look past the particular sin that has been committed against me, choose to forgive, and fight to see his perfection in the place of that sin. God doesn’t cover only my blemishes with his purity but does also every other person He has chosen and in an interesting scheme allows for their actions to be used for both their good and mine. He’s not only gifted me forgiveness from the sin I commit against Him but grants me the ability to grow into likeness of him and have a heart that is forgiving to others when they hurt me.

This beautiful truth is quite mysterious to me as I am the most impatient, least forgiving lady in all the land. I remember the yesterdays, proclaiming forgiveness while welcoming bitterness even after forgiveness was requested. While my heart is still hard and wayward in many ways, God has softened a few parts and I think I’m finally coming to understand this incredible attribute. Here’s to much prayer for the practice of being forgiving so that I don’t only understand and continue in sin. Just don’t tell anyone it has taken me twenty two years…

I Need Dead Deer

There’s a first for everything. For the first time I hit an innocent animal. Okay, that’s a lie in 3 ways. A) I didn't hit anything, Ryan was the driver; B) the animal wasn't innocent, it was his fault we hit him; and 3) I hit a crow one time on my way to

Bell Square

It was an idiot bird and I was on the freeway, unable to merge because there was a car on both my left and on my right and the little guy waddled out and did not fly away. I remember being so sad because it was very dead (I saw the fluff of it's exploding feathers in my rear view mirror) and alittle bitter because the bird was a fool for not flying away.

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After Community Group we ventured to the Q so that Ryan could purchase some groceries for his day off tomorrow so that he could, you know, eat food that isn’t fast. Little did he know he’d be eating deer! Just kidding, it didn’t die and we're not going to eat it. But Tayler FREAKED out, screaming like a girl. Usually when she screams in the car I fear that there is a dear we are about to hit so this time when she screamed my instant reaction was, “Tay, you know I think there’s a deer when you scream!” Ooops. Everyone, deer included, is okay and we’ll be laughing for awhile :)

Life Wasting and Chosen Foolishness

Lately I’ve been trying to keep myself from facebooking before I fall asleep. I got into the nasty habit of stalking other people’s profiles as a way of numbing my brain to reality. For no reason outside of foolishness did I start up this poor tendency but it sure did take a toll on my desire to pray; unfortunately the prayerlessness of my heart is quick to affect my love for Christ and I am willingly blinded to my reliance on Him. How heartbreaking it is to know that I am more accustomed to my obedience to destructive rubbishness than I am to fight for purity. My entire flesh desires the comfort of weakness as though it were more beneficial than striving for godliness.

For a couple weeks or so I fought to intently pray before falling asleep but last night I failed. I snuggled up into the multiple layers of my bed’s blankets and began the two hours of life-wasting-sleeplessness. And I knew that as I continued staring off into the status updates of my cyber friends I was fighting to forget the blasted conviction I’d been currently feeling. Sound it out with me: IIIDDIIIOOOTTT. That is what I love to be.

Oh Jesus, when I feel the weightiness of my soul’s weakness, help me fight to know you and to run to your scriptures, being convinced of the beauty of your truth, just as Colossians 1:13 says. Continue to grow my heart to desire you more than myself and to know in the depths of my being that you are better than my failure. Give me the peace of knowing that though I was once alienated, you have reconciled me to yourself and I have been graciously given the ability to grow in love for you. Help me fight for you more so than I fight for myself. I’ve been blessed with the understanding of such death; I need you, Father, to sanctify me into the servant who considers that death to be tasteless.

"Get Out of The Bitter Barn and Come Play in the Heyy!"

Yesterday I woke up to a voicemail from my boss' number. But it was not by boss. Instead, a gentleman who wasn’t so pleasant boldly informed me that if the text messages I’d sent him were intentional spam then the Communication Board (or whatever terminology he used), who apparently look at “this kind of thing” very intently, would take harsh action against me. I got a new phone because my old one was incapable of responding obediently, to say the least; because of it's inadequacies, I had to manually transfer my contacts from the old to the new. The keys of my new cell are tiny and my fingers aren’t so I must have confused one digit with another, inputting the incorrect number for what I thought was my boss’. Within a two week period I had sent two simple text messages, asking who September’s team member of the month was voted to be for a duty I perform at work. According to Voicemail Jerk (I could not understand his real name because of poor communication skills), this was an inappropriate message. Whatever happened to a quick reply, affirming that I had the wrong number? Some people, let me tell ya…

After venting my frustration to Morgan she shared how quick things like this ruin her entire day. “Oh, dear,” I thought. I hadn’t wanted this grumpy fellow to affect the rest of my awakedness as I had a day planned for newly blonded hair and hangin’ with a cute babe at the precious home of Melina Dennis. Morgan’s desire to pray for me was that which Christ used to soften my heart. How beautiful God’s graciousness is. I am thankful for lovely ladies who care about my heart and even that my day might be joyful rather than dark because I am quick to allow myself to revel in that darkness. God is incredibly good to use necessary means to call me out of it.

Without Christ's blood washing out my poison, I'm destructive. Instead of spending my day in seemingly-justified bitterness, I can trust that there is much hope in Christ as it is his character, imputed to me by his gracious will that helps me fight to pursue happiness in the most consistent, beautiful truth I will ever know. I’m still fighting to know, some days  more strongly than others, but trusting Him with this growth has been the most precious gift, allowing me to hope for a life that is compelled by His glory so that I might not be as wayward as I was yesterday.

Babycakes

At Starbucks today I managed to spill some of my Salted Caramel Mocha on my blue jeans, on my grey sweater and in the split ends of my blonded hair without having noticed. I came home and saw the slightly obvious stain just under the collar of my blouse in the mirror then recognized the one on my jeans when I spilled beans just next to it. Why must I always spill? I did it at work the other day when I was sneakily consuming my Whiskey River BBQ Chicken Wrap in the bar closet – we’re not allowed to eat there. But my stealthy attempts were negated since I wore the evidence on my ugly, red polo. Seriously, I eat like an infant. Know what else I do like a babe? Cry. I have been crying so much lately. I don’t know if it’s because of my heightened emotional status that has come from events that have affected my heart or just because it’s I've been working a lot and the exhaustion that comes from sleepless weekends influences my tears. But I cry when things are beautiful, when things are painful, and just because. It’s kind of fun, I suppose. I always cried when I was young but after enduring much ridicule for excessive sensitivity I trained my soul and my eyes to be dry and settled there for years. God’s grown me into a healthier place and I do think that tears are a beautiful expression of emotional experiences. But let’s tone it down in there, Heart of Mine.

Muscles Are Nice

A foxy gent came into my workplace today. Let me express my fervent excitement as there aren’t many fellas I’m initially attracted to in said place. I work in a town that isn’t so glam where the men are more ladylike and pathetic, coming in and demanding free fries – who ever heard of such a thing? No offense to them as I’m sure they are pleasant elsewhere but I like a guy who is nice to humans and is real manly. You know; good facial hair, nice arms, outgoing. I think this is mostly because I don’t have facial hair, my arms are so weak, and I’m kinda quiet when I first meet someone. I like the contrast, makes for good balance and that’s what I’m about.

Soooo I didn’t ever learn his name nor did I invite him to know mine but the wedding I planned in my brain was beautiful. I’ve found as I’ve grown up and considered myself eager to find a fella that I like guys who are intelligent. And this one is a UW graduate. Cha-ching! I’ve also noticed that I am a shallow, typical girl who wants to feel the security of the heighty pay-check. Now I understand that that’s not particularly vital as I dream of being a young, strugglin' married couple within the first few years of being married. But let’s be honest, I want to feel taken care of. Also, he had a deep voice, wore a cool watch, and spoke passionately of his truck. Mmmm, manly. Oh how I hoped that the multiple counts of eye-contact we encountered would encourage him to flirt with me a bit! Too bad I’m so cowardly and avoided any further interaction; didn’t give him a chance. And it’s not really likely that such a prestigious gentleman would cross paths with a floofy waitress (especially when my having woken up late influenced my having forgotten to apply the eye-liner). That’s like Jennifer Aniston dating my brother: Not. Gonna. Happen.

This seemingly silly event has been another catalyst to the realization of my heart’s faultiness. I prefer cultural masculinity (which isn’t necessarily bad but should by no means be ultimate) to biblical masculinity. Make me feel secure with your previously mentioned nice arms and facial hair and I’m yours (not really, I’ve been single forever!). I’ve been privileged to come to this understanding with the help of those in my Doxa Community and am still thinking through the detriment of my foolish desires. I’m praying and hoping for growth into the lady that Christ saved me to be, for eventually acquiring desires that are wholly God-glorifying and Christ like as I’ve been mysteriously granted the most beautiful example and the most gracious substitution. God is crazy good and because of Him I have much hope.

Cookie Hooky

Ahh I love me a lazy Saturday, one that’s cloudy and grey so I can feel a bit more justified in my laziness. I’ll say it straight: I am currently hooky-playing. I called in sick for both of my shifts today and that is just ludacris! Saturdays are my money makers! I’m mostly impressed with myself for having done it. Because the only time I’ve ever called in sick has been when I’ve been actually sickly. I remember it, I was sick in bed for three days. It was awful. But today I am very much so well. In fact, I’ve not ever felt better! Except I didn’t go on a run so I’m feeling significantly less fresh – that is, if contrasting the healthiness I feel after having pushed myself unto vomiting (I’m lying). But seriously, I love the I-made-it-home-from-actively-coaching-mylegstokeepmoving (I got bored of putting a space-line deal between each word) feeling, that sense of a miniature accomplishment that no one else cares about.

However, today is one that is absent from any kind of work. I woke up at 6:30 am to attend book group with some members of Doxa where I was encouraged to understanding more of Richard Sibbes’ The Bruised Reed. I sure am glad we discuss the book because there is much that I miss when I read it by my lonesome. It is incredibly beautiful to be lead into understanding by my others who are attempting the same level of understanding.

So now I sit at Starbucks with Pastor Brian and good pal Ryan. We’re working on computer stuff (and by we I mean they, I’m just facebooking) while we wait for the husky game. Mmmm I love me some college football. Not really, I just like hanging out with people and haven’t been able to for quite some time because I have been working nights more frequently. While I love being a waitress more than anything it does suck alittle bit that the good shifts are night and weekend shifts so I miss out on the good hang outs because everyone else works the very opposite schedule. So in my desperation for good conversations and stressless hangin’ I pretended to be sick. While I’m prayferful for a repentant heart in the sin that I committed against Red Robin (Dear God, I’m a loser) I sure am excited to have a day that is free of commitment. Whoop whoop!!

Crazy Lady-ness

On Tuesday mornings some of us from Doxa get together at our little building (located at 1082 Kirkland Avenue Renton, WA 98059 -- Sunday morning at 10 am is the best time to stop by) to pray for the area, each other, and needs of the church. This week, God was gracious to reveal through some wonderful folks that I’ve avoided personal prayer for quite some time which painfully makes me aware of the heavy conviction for the fact that I’m convinced that Jesus is not enough for me; can’t help but be outraged by my stupidity. Pastor Brian preached a message on Sunday that helped me (rather emotionally) understand my blindness. Since then, I’ve still chosen foolishness. Every part of my flesh runs from Christ even when I see his goodness; it is the Holy Spirit who has strengthened me to be here at all. By my own self I choose all things but those that are good; I prefer darkness to the beauty of God’s glory.

I’ve found that I’ve been alittle out of it lately. I don’t know what is wrong with my brain. I even went on a run this morning and thought about nothing; when I run I usually pray and think deep thoughts. Instead of those good things my mind was blank and couldn’t wonder about anything other than the continued motion of putting one foot in front of the other. These last few weeks have been different, something is off. I had hoped I could contribute my weirdo-ness to lady time but it has ended and I’m still going crazy.

I’ve tried to figure things out for myself. As previously mentioned, I’ve not even committed the thoughts and attitudes of my heart to prayer. And there is something dangerous about this kind of solitude. Why do I fall so quickly into ridiculousness? Here I am, a part of an incredible people called Doxa Community Church and I still let my pride conquer my heart. After two years of much growth I have seemed to regress into selfishness, not caring to allow others to help me figure things out. My embarrassment of weakness influences my fear of vulnerability, allowing me to sprint from the growth I am privileged to endure. I’m a fool, a gosh darn fool. I’ve spent many moons trying to figure myself out. Can’t do it alone because let me be the first to proclaim that my life is the messiest. Oh, how I wish I could do it alone. That selfish heart is the one that has denied my community of being used by God to help me through trial. I can’t say that I want to display my sin across the universe but how beautiful it is when I share my heart with those whom Jesus has given me to live life with.  

Sleeeep Vanessa! (name that movie)

Good golly I’m exhausted! I even stayed in bed until 9:30 this morning but can’t shake the drowsiness. My crazy body hasn’t seemed to sleep so well lately. So bring on the shots of coffee. Actually, don’t; I hate coffee. Instead I will sip on my tall Salted Caramel Mocha (which doesn’t have too heavy of a coffee taste) to feel fall’s coziness and will fight to keep reading. I usually love reading but today I crave to allow my eyes to be lazy. I’d rather be in my bed, curled up in a blanket and watching a movie. But when I take the emotion out and consider the bigger picture I don’t suppose I’d like to waste my day completely. Only a little bit...

Sometimes fighting through things such as this seems unbearable. Sometimes I wish God would give me other struggles to work through. Sometimes I’m tired of dealing with the same things over and over again, of having to be reminded of the difficulty these things are going to be. Most of the time, I wish I didn’t have to struggle at all. I wish life could be easy. I find myself envying people who don’t realize their depravity of life without reliance on Christ because they don’t understand their need to war against their flesh. Sometimes I want to submit to my desires instead of being obedient to Christ because that’s so much easier. But when it comes down to the realization of eternity, I’m incredibly thankful that Jesus has endured the cross, that he died the death I should have so I am made able to fight the battles of life - without his having granted this strength, denying sin at all would be impossible. While today I don’t want to fight, I anticipate the tomorrow when I’m thankful for God’s beautiful gift of grace in arming me for the battle. Until that anticipation comes I’ll fight through today’s particular weakness. If anything, I’ll pray for the ability to do so.

Weakling

I feel like the absence of the sunshine has influenced my excessive sleepiness. I’ve hated my early morning alarm clock; waking up has been literally painful. I don’t like to admit it but I’ve taken a long nap… three days in a row! Today I fell asleep watching Titanic and felt rather guilty for napping while Morgan finished the dishes. In the semi-unconsciousness of my nap I could hear those plates bangin’ against the sink. She’s got three cute kiddos and pushes through the exhaustion that comes from the inability to sleep because of a ten-month old in order to serve her family so beautifully. But here I am, a lazy mother of zero, sleeping on the couch while she does the homemaking. Cor, you fool! I want to make my singlehoodedness worthwhile as I’m advantaged with much more time and energy. Oh, little heart of mine, don’t justify our sluggishness because of the lack of energy from the sun but fight to be servant-hearted in your attempt to glorify God in the practical workings of young life! Also, I want to be helpful to Mor. She’s the bee’s knees!!

Ceramics

Starbucks. Sunshine. Reading. Urine? I have to pee but am much too lazy to venture the short distance toward the ladies’ room as I’ve entered my second hour of sitting. I came to sit and read the first chapter of Richard Sibbes’ The Bruised Reed to prepare for Saturday’s first meeting for this particular book and read it, I did. I’m excited to discuss it on Saturday and go on to pursue the next chapter to ready my brains for the following week. I very much so love reading and even more so do I enjoy growing and learning with people who love to do so also. Through enduring the first chapter, I now understand what the bruised reed, which is descriptively used in Isaiah 42:1-3, means in it’s relation to Christ and it’s holding of that meaning and understanding with the rest of the workings of my life.

The thoughts I’ve battled through because of that thing that is my life have been throwing me all out of craziness lately. My housemates and I have had many deep discussions on singleness (the place that I am currently dwelling) and the effects that my thoughts have had on my heart through this season. I’ve reacted to friends’ relationship statuses quite raunchily, if you will, loving said singleness and creating quite an idol out of it. The pain that has come from my sin and the sin of others has such an effect on the way I understand reality. For example, the depth of marriage gives me the willies. I am quick to be overwhelmed when dealing with my own self and throw another human into the intimacies of my life and I don’t know that I can handle it. I am slow to allow Christ to outweigh those inadequacies even though I have been granted the gift of knowing Christ to have a stronger, better effect on my heart.

The conversations I’ve had with my roommates have been that which God has used to bruise me, to remind me of the fact that I am merely a reed and am not a strong, self-sufficient oak tree. I am utterly dependant on Christ and the grace he’s given me. I am incredibly blessed with friends who care for me deeply, reminding me that Jesus is better than all things and that there is hope for the relationships that I’ve not yet experienced. I’ve only dated one fella and it was for a very short time; I don’t have the experience of knowing the companionship of marriage or that even of a blooming courtship. Because I am not a wife, I know not the ways I’ll respect my husband, consider him worthy of my submission, or desire the partnership with him. I’ll not ever feel those things until I enter the scary door of marriage. To some extent I’ll fear the union until who knows when but God has put me in a place where He’ll remind me of His goodness. Sometimes I think of myself as that big, established oak tree without realizing He’s there. But I am a reed that must be bruised, a weak little lady who must be reminded of his graciousness. I am glad to be bruised in the ways that He knows to be necessary. He is the Potter, I am merely the clay.

Yard Work

I’ve been trying to produce a decent blog post lately but I haven’t been able to put the thoughts I’ve been struggling through together so well. As I was weeding (more like sticker-bushing because the weeds turned into prickly vines after a few moments of plucking in the side yard) this morning all by my lonesome I started realizing the whirlwind of madness my brains have been processing. The detriment of secluding myself to the inner workings of my thought process is that I’m quick to flee from truth and consider my realizations to be most realistic in the scheme of the universe than is gospel and how it relates to each situation I encompass. I decide my own perspectives to be factual instead of running to Jesus to determine what's real. In order to maintain a healthy grasp of reality I need to be involved in community and God has been gracious to provide Doxa Community Church where my heart is influenced by the truth revealed in scripture so that life can be consistent in our united effort to glorify God.

Congratulations to the Poseys

They’re young. I bet he’s 16 and she’s 17. He’s wearing a shirt that says “sexy.” I think he made it himself. It’s quite the compliment to the faded black jeans which don’t quite fall past his ankles. Also, his hair is kind of greasy. She could use a straightener to help lessen the frizz of her shoulder length hair. It’s hot out so she’s wearing shorts, jean shorts. The musty color of her mid-calf length socks brings out her seemingly neon whiteness and her slightly shaded reading glasses give me the impression that her intelligence is of higher priority than her desire to be fashionable. He’s shorter than she is but they’re adorable. Whenever I come to Starbucks alone they’re here, cuddling in the corner of the store. They’re always touching, snuggling, smooching. They don’t talk much; just sit in each others laps and gaze into each others eyes. Usually I would be annoyed with their adolescent romance because A) their lack of conversation kind of implies that they don’t have much of a relationship outside of their physical affection and 2) I’m the creeper single lady who is secretly observing and typing about them to make myself feel better about said singleness. But instead I’m always glad to see them when I get here. They’re a cute, happy couple and are a pleasantly familiar contribution to my experience. So is my black tea lemonade (mmmmm).

My summer was full of celebrating couples with having attended many weddings. Peter and Molly Holmes, DJ and Sarah Motley, Jeremy and Jaymie Johnston, David and Kayla Hisey, I had to miss Jason and Danika Sutton's (L), and finally Michael and Ashley Posey. The Posey wedding was last night. It was so beautiful and I had so much fun. I got to help set up the reception area a bit and even helped Tayler decorate the get away car, Ryan’s little 2-door Honda. We made sure to make the car about the bride and groom but wanted to bring attention to Ryan, their still-single driver, for kicks and gigs. So we wrote “I’m just the driver,” on the window of his driver door to imply that he wasn’t getting any meant-for-marriage-kind-of-action, if you know what I mean. Ooooh and I got to dance with people I love. Though I'm not so good at it becasue my bones are the whitest, I love to dance very much.

Back before the Holmes wedding I was pretty bummed to be single, just like any 21 year old boyfriendless female. We women-folk want the attractive gentlemen to swoop us off our feet. As a Jesus-loving lady I consider marriage to be God-glorifying so I’ve wanted to embark upon the adventure ASAP. I guess I’m just at that age where the people I'm surrounded with open the door to that next stage of their lives. But I haven’t opened that door and to my surprise I’m incredibly glad. At the Posey wedding last night I had the odd revelation of this attitude. I can’t help but be thankful to Jesus for graciously answering my prayer in this way. As silly as it sounds, I started this summer afraid for this season of seeing so many people start their lives together while I continued mine by myself (when I say by myself I don’t mean it literally. I live with many incredible people and am cared for beautifully. Doxa has truly and wonderfully fulfilled my need for relationships. I just mean that I haven’t found the husband.) I've not wanted to feel lonely and blue to express the discontentment of where life has brought me. I’ve prayed hard to love my life fully and God has been incredibly incredible in allowing me to guard my heart from the darkness of loneliness (that is, the loneliness of not acquiring a fella that is my soul mate. I have been lonely otherwise; I just house sat for two weeks and that was real lonely. I was very sad.)

I guess I’m trying to communicate God’s goodness to me. My heart is so quick to be foolish and wayward but the Holy Spirit has given me the strength to push through what would usually be a hard season. Instead of bitterly recognizing the hope I should have in light of the raunchy Starbucks couple (because if they can find someone, I can find someone, right? -- I'm a jerk), I’m awkwardly filled with joy for being single. While I was sad to see Posey go on with his life and move out of our compound, I am so happy for him and his new wife and am excessively happy to not be married, myself. I hope to continue to fight for this joy as I’m sure it will soon become difficult as that’s how life goes (and also how my bipolar heart rolls). But I love being a single young lady for now. I hope to celebrate other couples well as many friends will continue to get married as I’m sure that’s what will come as the years go on. Through it all I want to live obediently to God and in love with where He’s allowing me to grow in likeness of him, whether it be forever long singleness in pursuit of adventurous ministry or the dramatic motherhood of raising twelve children whose names I cannot remember to continue my mother’s tradition of numerous offspring and a faulted memory. For now, I love Renton, Doxa Community Church, and Jesus very much and hope that the beauty of God’s grace through the gospel of Jesus Christ will be illuminated in my heart forever and ever. AAAAmen!

1082 Kirkland Ave

Doxa introduced her first public service as a 1082 Kirkland Avenue Renton, WA 98059 resident today and a good amount of people showed up to hear Pastor Brian proclaim the gospel! I was pretty encouraged by the fact that there were quite a few people who I’d not known previously to Doxa’s existence. It was nice to have a positive experience with church attendance as I’m usually bummed by the outcome of our efforts. My efforts, even, weren’t fruitful; I invited people who I’ve come to greatly care for and no one came. Though it’s painful to know that my friends aren’t responsive to the thing for which I hope for them I was so gladdened to hear Pastor Brian speak so beautifully about Jesus to the people God picked out to hear. I've been praying for them; I've been hopeful (some times more than others; discouragement comes and goes) in my desire for them to come to Doxa and to believe these truths that Brian revealed. Jake’s coworkers, in particular, have been on my mind throughout the day since having endured a church service with them. I hope for their hearts to be softened to the wonderful realities that God’s been so gracious to reveal. Jake said that one of his coworkers that came could repeat everything that Bri said. First, I’m incredibly impressed and envious of his wicked memory. Also, I’m prayerful that the gospel becomes that which compels him unto repentance in his desire to live in pursuit of God’s glory. I would love so much for him to come to Doxa and grow with us.

I have such hope for Renton. I love Doxa Community Church so much and today was such a lovely morning to see God’s church be embraced by some people who’d have never have known us if it weren’t for Doxa. I hope that He continues to bring people together as we’re incapable to do so ourselves.

Rollerblading Life Away

The drive from Maple Valley to my house in Renton is pretty awesome. Next to the highway there is a popular paved trail where people often jog, bike ride and even intensely rollerblade. I’ve seen multiple couples, all decked out in knee and elbow pads, race with angry faces. It’s quite entertaining to know that people like to flirt by rollerblading. I can’t wait to have a fella…

I’ve been house sitting in Maple Valley and have been experiencing the long drive quite often. My bank account isn’t as intrigued as I’ve spent an incredible amount of money on gas. Fuel expenses aside, it isn’t as wonderful this time (I stayed at this house last December). Six months ago I had reveled in the solitude of the practically empty house. Other than Joey Dog, I’m the only one. I felt so responsible to be maintaining a large living space by myself; the darkness of that solitude was exciting and dangerous (is it sad that that’s what I consider to be exciting and dangerous?). This beloved loneliness had harsh effects on my desire for the sharing of life with other people, an important pursuit that has become a beautiful vitality. I became significantly and wrongfully dependant on myself and my selfishness therefore flourished. Unfortunately, moving back home after two weeks was hard; it took a few months to get back to the realistic normalcy of living with other people. Because of my faulted ability to remember important things I forgot about the pain I caused my truly wonderful roommates and before considering their wisdom I agreed to living in Maple Val again. Brain and Morgan voiced their concern of my temporary living situation and because I’m a lady I was alittle offended. They didn’t have much hope for me (because they know me better than I do) and told me hard things that have made me want to prove them wrong. So I’ve fought hard to be present at my Renton house.

Yesterday was Tuesday. Tuesday Nights are Community Group Nights. So I got off work, ran to my house-sitting-house to feed Joey and let him pee then raced to my house to get there and quickly relax before the 6:30 start time. When everyone arrived we moved to the back porch to sit in the shade so the kiddos could play outside in the sun. Pastor Brian asked that we all get a pen and paper (or an iPad) to write down a letter-formatted prayer to Jesus. I don’t think I was the only one who was uncomfortable with this idea as it took a few minutes for each of us to actually start the activity. For fifteen minutes I wrote, trying to stay disciplined in my attempt to pray rather than guard my written thoughts with my hand so no one else could read what I had to say. I hadn’t needed to scribble those thoughts for too long to realize the foreign feeling of acutally praying. I felt much conviction coming before Jesus to admit that my motivation for being in a good place does not measure up with my desire to obey and glorify Him. Instead, I’ve fought to be in community for the sole reason of proving that I can house sit without spiritually regressing. Psh I’m dumb, for reals. That very intention of my heart is that which enables my spiritual regression. My efforts have been prayerless, obviously, and I’ve relied on what I consider to be my own power to do a good job of honoring my roommates while house sittin' in order to appear more selfless than last time. The nature of my heart is so willingly blinded.

Contrary to that which I considered beforehand, I’m so thankful that I had to write the letter. The Holy Spirit brought me to light of my foolishness and rememberance of the wonderful intimacy of relationship with Him. I was also able to grown in understanding of and affection for the people around me by hearing them read their letters. I had been pretty ashamed and annoyed when Brian told me to read my letter aloud but was quickly relieved when I finished and got to hear the honest words of my Doxa Family. Since planting Doxa Community Church we've been exposed to much pain, encouragement, and vulnerability unto the benefit of others and I’m overwhelmed by God’s grace in allowing me to take part, even as I so consistently choose the fatal allure of my sin.

Here’s’ to hoping for reliance on Christ through the people God has blessed me with next time there is an opportunity to house sit…

Overusing Parenthesis

Oh my goodness it’s so nice to sit down! My last twenty four hours (minus the eight of sleeping) have been quite busy. A good work shift, some exciting girl talk with my favorite lady Tayler Little, a morning of bridal shower gift shopping at the magical place that is Target, lunch with my siblings, a tiring trip to Bell Square and a drive out to Snoqualmie and back are the things that compile into my day thus far. When returning home I got to spend lots of time in the kitchen with Morgan, preparing snacks and readying our home for Ashley Hitchcock’s bridal shower. So now I sit to catch a quick break before the ladies show up.

I think I’m prone to be more pooped, if you will, since my weekend has been full of bad food and work out-less-ness. Since I started exercising a few months ago to lose some weight for the “Wedding in June!!” (my roommates will confirm my annoying pursuit of love handle lowering) as I was to be a bridesmaid, my energy levels have been kickin’ and I’ve been more eager to endure my day without a noontime nap. I’ve not found time this past week, though, to work out and/or go to Boot Camp, a twice-weekly hour long group work out session, so those levels have lessened and the double chin has grown.

Earlier today we went to lunch at Panera Bread to celebrate sister Caylene’s return from Alaska where she cared for my uncle who has been diagnosed with Lou Gehrig’s Disease

(she’s the gem of the family, I’m the bible-college-drop-out). Caylene wanted to drive to our next destination since she hadn’t driven her little Volkswagen for almost a year. Opal is the name of that Jetta and she’s rather high maintenance. Cay turned the key to unlock the doors (she’s an old vehicle and doesn’t have that high tech car remote); sure, the doors unlocked but also came an unwanted surprise: the windows rolled down. This seems normal for any given Jetta – they proudly advertise the random feature. But Opal’s windows haven’t obediently rolled down for me for months. The buttons tease me as I’d attempt to roll down the glass to appreciate the summer time breeze to flow through her leathery interior but instead she forces me to waste my fuel on raunchy air conditioning. This has happened once before and is detrimental because Opal remains unwilling to allow the windows to roll up. She has an electrical problem with the fuses (is it obvious that I know what I’m talking about?). And because Caylene found it necessary to go to the mall to get a new iPod, we had to drive, hair flyin’, to Bellevue and then on the freeway out to Snoqualmie. It made for quite a few photo ops and many laughs – Carina liked to reawaken her toddler tradition of pretending to be a dog by sticking her head out the window to keep the hair out of her face. There may or may not be  embarassing Facebook pictures to prove the unique adventure. I’m glad my sisters had fun spending the afternoon with me, but I had to drive back in that possessed car alone and my sweater was much too light to support a comfortable body temperature. I’m hopeful that one of my handy roommate fellas will remember how to rewire the car so I won’t freeze every time I drive. Until then I’ll be praying hard for rainless days.  

Fancy Flirtin'

I feel like sacrifice to some extent is vital for executing one’s dreams. For me, I dream of being married and serving my family, of waking up early on Saturday to make my husband breakfast in bed after his long week of working hard, of having lemonade stands with all the kids in the neighborhood, of going on long runs with the family dog, of kissing cute kiddos to bed after checking under their bunk to confirm the absence of imagined monsters. But because I am married not, nor am I close to the day of the wedding that opens the door to said marriage, these fantasies are yet to become realities. I’m not saying I have to sacrifice the husband part because that obviously negates much of the dream… kind of the whole thing. But I do have to make sacrifices to the person I am and to the things that I love in order to be able to step into a marriage with a man that I will already butt heads with because of natural differences. I fear most that I must let go of my comfortable character. You see, I am least overwhelmed in my personhood of being a people pleaser. I'm a waitress and still I shy away from taking earned money from the table that it lies on in fear of offending those who still sit there. Sure I’m off the clock and need to go home but I want those people I've served to enjoy their ability to visit without my fat fingers interrupting the flow of their conversation. To my dismay I drive my life with much effort of avoiding an offensive experience. I can't imagine I'd be faultless in my attempts within marriage; that reality makes me quite uneasy.

I’m sitting here at Starbucks, the place where most ideas come together in a more organized fashion, thinking about where my life is and where I’d like for it to be. For the most part they’re one in the same. Someday soon, though, I want to be a nice married lady. I am slightly convinced, however, that I’ll endure this life without a spouse and am joyfully readying my heart as it’s stayed single since the day after the last day I had a boyfriend. Alex Bolves was his name and he was a true gem of a fella. It’s been over 3 years since we parted and I’ve come to understand God’s sovereignty in the blessing of not pulling him down into the darkness of my life but instead breaking off the courtship so he could run free from lifelong sorrow with the young woman I was. By no means do I doubt that much goodness would have come into my life if we continued dating as he brought me much happiness throughout our relationship. But I think that much good has worked out for the both of us in having broken up.

Watching the many families come through the popular coffee stop seems to make my head tilt slightly to the left and my eyes get all puppy dog-like with the heartfelt notion of, “I want that.” But here's the thing, alongside God's inevitable control over every aspect of my future, I’m much too cowardly to get it. When a foxy gentleman catches my eye I'm virtually incapable of putting myself in his way. I think it very necessary for the fella to do the ultimate effort in pursuing a lady as an expression of winning the most lovely prize but I completely agree with women "putting themselves out there" in order to communicate, “I’m alittle interested, dummy.” When it comes down to it, I do not want to do that. While I’m rather flirtatious in common exchanges with guy friends, any ounce of playful conversation escapes me when I’m attracted to a gent (by attracted I mean I can picture our wedding in my brain). It’s as though my insides get all frozen. Hopefully survival mode will turn on when “The One” makes his grand entrance into my life and I'll be the best flirt in all the land. Until then, I’ll sit at Starbucks with my back turned to anyone who comes through the door, unknowing of any foxy fellas.  

Lil Bow Wow

There is something that must be known in order to begin to understand the workings of the madness in my brain: movies were quite cardinal throughout my childhood and early adulthood. Those who are completing their adolescence as young Castagnos still watch many movies. I still watch a fair share even though the place of my residence is no longer in Snoqualmie with my quirky parents. My dad considers sitting in front of the television an ideal bonding experience. Even when I drive out to visit, he gets feisty when we play cribbage because of the noise interruption. When new movies (and by new I do not mean recently released. For example, we had an infatuation with “3 Ninjas” when I was fifteen. I think that movie was made before my birth.) would come about we would watch them innumerably. And those movies are what we call Castagno Movies. I won’t ever forget the Slumdog Millionaire Christmas. We watched the film three times within the twenty four hours of the holiday.

With that being said, a few of us play basketball every Monday night. We play pretty competitively and I enjoy it very much. And every time I hear the word “basketball” I think of Lil Bow Wow’s song featured on “Like Mike;” you know, the movie about the orphan who gets magic shoes that give him professional skills.  “Like Mike” was a Castagno Movie. In fact, I have a sudden urge to snuggle up with my sisters and joyfully endure the entirety of that genius work of American entertainment.

I hope not to communicate that I’d prefer not to play basketball as it is a rich source of happiness in my life but there is a smidgen little part of me that has an itty-bitty amount of push back. First of all, my legs are so sore after having played tonight. I’ve not ever taken ibuprofen for achy muscles but the anti-inflammatory suddenly sounds delicious. Next, my back sweats like a dude's. And I am embarassed. Also, the intensity and competitiveness of the event takes a toll on my pursuit of femininity. I grew up being rather boyish because the tomboy phase was in (that’s what my mother told me). As I’ve learned to understand the gospel a bit more I’ve desired to leave the lifestyle of attempting masculinity and be a real lady as scripture tells me what beautiful womanhood looks like. It’s not as though the sport of basketball, in itself, makes me manly but the aggression and vitality to be victorious affects the weight of my questioning. Jake, one of my fellow basketballers, made a comment that Tayler, another lady player, and I could kill each other out there on that court. We do accidentally scratch one another sometimes since we're usually guarding each other. His remark sits at the bottom of my soul, chewing its way into my heart, making me cringe at the regard of the memory because oh, how I want to be attractive in my feminine appeal!
I suppose, however, that playing ball is not the ultimate guide of being a biblical woman. And we do all grow in understanding of each other as much is learned about each person because of reactions caused by the intense energy. Okay, bball is redeemed; I can keep playing. And because I love the intense work out with my friends I will certainly do so. Maybe if I get married one day I'll stop because it's weird when husband and wife play recreationally together. I'll hang out in the kitchen and have cookies ready when he comes home J  

Shark Week

I don’t like coffee and I wouldn’t choose to garnish my treats with whipped cream but buy me a Coconut Mocha Frappuccino and I’ll consider your marriage proposal. The taste of coffee is usually bitter and awful, but when blended with the likely abundance of sugar and mixed and topped with the delectably toasted coconut I could drink the tall size (I keep it small to keep the love handles from excitedly leaping out the top of my jeans) in a quick jiffy! It’s that delicious and worthy of my praise.

I am surprised at myself. I came to Starbucks to get out of the house before my 3 o’clock shift. I was feeling pretty dry, not too excited about life. This was made evident by a wasted morning. I sat on the couch for two hours; I watched two roommates ready and leave for work, one go on a 3 mile run, and another feed her family the first meal of their day then entertain them with her sweet motherly affection – all while I sat watching a couple episodes from Shark Week and of Wilfred, a new series the fellas have found. Okay seriously, Wilfred is freaking preposterous but mysteriously intriguing and I can’t help but laugh so very hard. Maybe the morning wasn’t a complete waste since I got to laugh with some roommates throughout the two hours, but my zeal for enduring the day has been slothful, my spirit has been all but fervent. And I come to this nice little coffee shop and be passionate about a drink – a drink whose quick entrance into my insides has caused me an instant ache. I’m going to read through the first chapter of Romans with a hope that the Holy Spirit will awaken my passion for Christ so that I don’t run to other things that are coffee drinks when I feel convicted about my lack-luster attitude. I don’t even like coffee. Get it together, Cor.

The First

I have been seriously considering the starting of writing my own blog for alittle while. I enjoy writing, don't hate the attention I get from others who read it and love Jesus more for granting me repentance in response to the Holy Spirit convicting me of my excessive pride. I do have to prayerfully avoid sin and desire to have a humble, feminine heart to praise Jesus that I love to write and sometimes write well, and I hope to avoid stupidity in so doing.  

My cute wedded friend, Sarah, recently started one and her sweet, new life has much to offer the people she knows; she therefore tells us about her wonderful adventures via blog. I am slightly hesitant. Not only do I not have a witty name available for publication but I’m not the brightest. I fear that I will be incapable to convey the passions of my heart to others. I suppose, then, that the goal of said published thoughts would be in hope of compelling others unto Christ; that the passion He has given me would motivate others to worship and live obediently in love for Him. I want so badly for the friends I have to know Jesus as I do and would desire for God to use my heart to call more people to Himself. I trust that He will in one way or another but fear that I’ll fail.

Sarah just got married. Her life is new and exciting and she has fun things to tell others about. So people follow her blog. When I quickly consider my own life I wouldn’t think it’s exciting enough to tell people about. When people ask me how I’m doing and what I’m up to, I always say, “Still involved at Doxa, still working at Red Robin. It’s plain and I love it.” The wonderful reality of that “simplicity” is completely beautiful. I’m a true fan of being the plainest of all Janes. I don’t even put sauces on my sandwiches when I order a delicious 6-inch sub at Subway; “plain and dry,” I tell them. It took me 21 years to start dressing more confidently (I didn’t ever used to wear blouses, but now have lovely pairs of boots to accent their niceness.) in fear of standing out too much. I’m simple; simplicity brings me comfort and joy. What I don’t convey, though, in the small talk of quick response to the common question is that the life I live is extravagantly exciting. Moving to Renton to see Doxa Community Church grow into a real community of people is the craziest thing I’ve done and the effects have been quite revealing. Finding a job at South Center Red Robin, Home of the Smiling Burger is the place that I entered in hopes of seeing my friends there come to know Christ. Through the incredible pain that has been endured throughout, I’ve gained an ever growing understanding of my utter dependence on Christ, which has enhanced most other avenues of my growth. And, to seal the deal of convincing you that I’ve grown, I let Melina Dennis color my hair bleachy blonde (self-conscious ladies don’t do that) I lost some of the baby weight that seemed to reappear after I graduated high school. I’ve come to praise Jesus as the levels of confidence that I’ve not ever experienced have come upon me because of His goodness to me. Much of the slavery to self-hatred has lessened and I desire to glorify Him with the body He’s blessed me with. Still, I think I’m too pudgy to be attractive, but we’re getting close to true self-confidence because of true confidence in God the Father. (Funny how me, a lady, has spoken of love for simplicity as this last paragraph is the most confusing, complex expression of thought. Girls are complex and confusing, I’ll admit it. Oh, the irony…)

Through all that rubbish that is my life I hope to communicate that because of the sovereign will of God, I live in Renton to tell people about Him and I’ve been blessed with Doxa as a people to help me endure the challenge it is. Through this new blog of mine I want to tell people of the adventure as a chance to express what living according to the Scriptures is like. I want to struggle through this life, encouraging others unto Him because of Him and to express the gospel; that even when I fail in the many ways that I will (I’ll tell when I do), the redeeming work of Jesus on the cross will portray the beautiful grace of God abundantly.

Movie Thoughts

Pride; grace; pride and grace; God’s graciousness according to my pride and expressed, in essence, because of my pride. I don’t entirely understand. By my comprehension and particular weakness in the effort of imparting my character on Christ rather than God’s character unto me, I don’t think it to be necessary for God to be so good to me as I so willingly choose sin.

On a level of simplicity and usual mindlessness, I’m only watching “What Women Want” with Brian, Ryan and Tayler. We finished watching Russell Brand’s “Arthur” and continue to enjoy the laziness of our post-Ezelle’s Famous Chicken dinner outing. It’s likely that I’m the only one suffering a mass food-baby as I consumed an abundance of peanut M&Ms for my movie-time snack. While many laughable comments made throughout any experience with our particular bunch are shallow and plain (but most usually thoughtful and good), the fellas’ having commented on their thankfulness of not knowing what women secretively think made me, well, secretively (and productively think as I’ve committed said thoughts to prayer) think about what it is that I secretively think about. When I considered what they’d hear upon listening to my thoughts I obviously felt shame as there are many undisciplined ideas that make way through the foolishness of my brain having come from the darkness of my heart: much lust in that I’m not as pure as I like to lead on - I fear for the day that I’m tempted by an attractive boy who shows interest in me; excessive selfishness as I feel entitled to things of which I am incredibly undeserving; but mostly I’ve been thinking of the God’s grace to me. I live in a house full of people whose sin I often weigh more heavily than I should and in a twisted scheme of considering myself more highly than they I selfishly elevate myself in my heart and thus sin against them. I hurt these people I love and react to their expressions of kindness in hurtful manners and am therefore deemed to be an unfair and poor friend in return to their generosity of care. And by the blood of Christ, they are nothing but patient and compassionate toward me. Through these roommates with whom I’ve been allowed to live God has been incredibly patient and compassionate and it just doesn’t sit well, I guess. I do understand that I am very weak and won’t understand God’s beautiful mysteriousness, but I’d be much more comfortable wish harsh discipline. I deserve to be spit out of this house but am instead cared for more softly. It’s as though He anticipated and knows of the reaction I’d experience and gave me His grace because of it as it’d be most effective in my desire and fear for Him.