Painting Patience

I’m another chick who loves life wasting on the wonderful website that is Pinterest. I love the do-it-yourself decoration ideas so much that my room is full of ‘em! My most favorite thing? Turning pallets into shelves. Seriously. Beautiful. A long while ago I snagged one from my dad’s workplace (he works in a rugged, manly trucking company that’s full of ‘em), bought some sand paper and cute colored paint, and made myself the trendiest little shelf. It’s too heavy to hang on my rented home’s walls so it’s still hangin’ out in the corner of my bedroom but at least it’s pretty.

My closest friends rightfully tease me for my quirky affection. But there’s one gentlemanly friend who has gifted me two pallets since learning of my love for them. His workplace, like my Pa’s, is rugged and manly and those pallets need a home (this is why I am likely to die alone). So just like my older pallet, I got to paint the new ones. Today I sanded them down and opened the bucket of cute colored paint, who’s lid was rusted on because of my not having painted in quite some time.

The color of the paint was distorted as the oils had naturally separated. I was afraid I’d have to buy a new can because this one had endured the snow and I don’t know what happens when paint freezes. Inside the can was a musty, rusted color – one that I did not want to color my pallets. I had a nifty stirring stick and was hopeful that the color would obediently return to the favored shade as I mixed. It was cold outside and I hadn’t wanted to stand there for long. It took me forever to find the result I wanted but as I endured the physical labor (it was a big deal) I wanted to give up. Eventually the paint became the cute color I wanted and I painted away. And my cute new shelving units are drying.

I know I’m unlike Jesus in many ways but I couldn’t help but consider God’s character as I tried to remain patient with the becoming of my paint’s pure color. He’s patient and I am not which makes me fall more in love with His grace. I know this imagery is corny, but growing into becoming more like Jesus has taken me so long to get only to this point in my life. Where I’ve grown in many areas there seem to be all the more sins to fight against. Like the paint, it’ll take me what seems to be forever to become something pure and beautiful. As I count the many blessings God has graciously grown me through, I get to grow more in likeness of Him while I continue to grow in patience with His will for my life and others.

There is much expected fruit with being part of a church plant. We are here to see people saved as we grow our Doxa Community. And I wanted to see that fruit two and a half years ago. He’s given much but not as I’d hoped to see it (which has been ultimately beneficial but still incredibly hard). God has made it abundantly clear that this church is His, which I'm understanding to be more than I could ever need. As we continue to preach the gospel in our little building and fight for relational growth,  I hope for a patient heart as God grants his goodness in ways that I’ll still not expect. I hope to push through the hard seasons for I know more than ever that they’ll continue to come, that I might find more Christlikeness in the long run in myself and those around me.

Boxing Gloves

We somehow made it to Starbucks through the iced-over road ways. It sure is nice to get out of that big, lovely house of mine. But I don’t like to be stuck and stuck I’ve been. Because of the ever-exciting, beautiful snow that has interrupted our lives in one way or another I’ve been deterred from making it to work. On Monday I worked all the live long day so because I could not make it out of my driveway I rode the bus to and my truck-owning friend who is the gentlemanliest picked me up. I wasn’t expected to work Tuesday and Wednesday so I’ve enjoyed my white wonderlanded “weekend.” But my work Monday has come and I cannot go because of the ice that used to be snow (see what I did there?). So while it feels like nothing has happened because I’ve stayed in my Renton House (except for when we got donuts from chucks and did donuts in a parking lot – funfunfun) so much has happened in my infant-esque heart.

I am the greatest of hypocrites. I want not to be a day-waster so I encourage others to waste not. But drop 3-5 inches of coldness in my driveway and my justified inability to drive anywhere will be that which fools me into the depths of mind-numbing laziness. But it feels so gooood. And so I want more of that sweat-pants-only kind of a lazy life; and that's because I want to honor myself more so than my Savior.

What I’ve found the Holy Spirit convicting of me most lately is for the things I choose to fight for which are unfortunately things Christ came not to die. Fighting is a consistent theme at Doxa Community Church and I’ve been graciously given a desire to know the things that are worth pursuing hard for and those things that keep me weak, being strengthened to fight against them. Like Pastor Brian regularly says, we want to be a church that is known for fighting for people and things, not against them. And where it is abundantly necessary to fight against sin as we’ve been made able to do, I want to be a gal that fights for passion and truth and love and servant heartedness and all good things that are God-glorifying.

Unfortunately, it’s not such a noble fight to waste my day, even when the snow falls. It’s a fight in my brain against that laziness, to find ways to explore the seemingly lesser freedoms of not driving. But God is still good even when I can’t drive my Opal Car (which happens more often than a yearly freeze out…) and I can still choose to fervently serve Him.

God has been gracious to give me the people he has, allowing their insights to be catalysts of the conviction that the Holy Spirit brings to remind me of sin and weakness, which is freakin’ everywhere in here. But since back tracking the few days of my past, I want not to remain in that weakness and instead remember it is Christ’s strength that motivates my fight. Because otherwise I’d still be dead in my sin, hopeless and desperate to nothing worth being desperate for, ignorant to the true realities.

Psalm 144:1

Blessed is theLord, my rock, who trains my hands for war, and my fingers for battle.

Pride's Poison

It’s been quite some time since I posted what goes on in my heart. And that’s because an "old friend" briefly taunted me about those published thoughts just like he did when I was in middle school – he used to mispronounce my name to get me to cry to expose my excessively ridiculous sensitivity. Looking back to that era of embarrassing moments that is middle school I consider my over-emotional reaction to be that which brings upon the shame more so than the mispronunciation. And I guess I haven’t changed much because I feel embarrassed just the same, knowing that someone is insensitively critical of my blog posts.

And so I’m feeling the conviction that comes from my attempts to protect my image, the pride that is my insecurity. I considered ending my blog because of some not-so-harsh teases that I over exaggerate in my brain and am trying to fight against it.

Because Jesus saved me and because I go to Doxa Community Church I’ve been given the strength to admit and fight against my sin. I wasn’t saved for it; I wasn’t bought with the heightiest price to continue in it. I was saved by grace to be freed from it.

My spirituality has been quite dry lately. I’ve had not much affection for the God who miraculously saved me from hell’s depths. I’ve tried to remind myself of his incredible goodness to inspire feeling better but my little, baby heart has barely budged from her apathetic futility. Graciously, God made me aware of my desire for him, that I missed his infectious dwelling in my soul, that I want Him back. I keep thinking of John Piper's words; "God is most glorified in me when I am most satisfied in Him" and I have a weighty fear of falsely portraying the gospel to thsoe who don't know Him because of my current funk of being not so satisfied. I want to be not in this funk.

In my honest efforts to fix this painful problem I prayed for last night’s community group to be good and convicting; I’d missed the conviction to remind me of my relationship with Jesus. Fortunately and unfortunately, God granted my request. I’m trying not to resent Him for it and if that doesn’t sound as awful as it is, you’re as crazy as I am. Pastor Brian carefully and pastorally challenged us to do a better job of growing in relationship with one another; we currently suck at being friends. I can’t say that this is untrue of myself for I’m the poorest friend. I am okay with the comfort that is shallow relationships; I don’t like to dive deeper than preferred. The recent times I’ve attempted to honor Christ through my friendships haven’t gone well and I’ve door a poor job, too, of reconciling. Detrimentally, I’m okay with that. I’m okay with maintaining the brokenness, with pretending my friendships are not broken. When Brian asked us to be intimate with one another by asking each other ways we’ve committed sin, my heart practically stopped and I had to try hard to not let the waterfalls pour out of my eye balls.

I get anxious and overwhelmed about many things but this is the most overwhelming thing that has ever happened to me (I'm also alittle dramatic...). I don’t want to anyone to ask me ways they’ve sinned against me. I don’t want to ask anyone how I’ve hurt them. And this is because I want to protect that blasted image. I want to continue to believe that I'm pretty great, which puts a thick veil between me and Jesus. On one hand I want to know and care for people better and be aware of my sin that I might better fight against it. On the other larger, fatter-fingered hand I want to avoid that pain. Much of my selfish heart doesn’t want to grow in those relationships because I know how painful relationships are. I am afraid of the amount of sin that truly dominates my being; my pride would rather steadily dwell. Instead of continuing each exchange with my friends with, “Please don’t ask me any questions right now,” to avoid the good growth I think I might pray to be better, to honor Christ more obediently instead of choosing wrongfully the ways I might bring him glory. Because this whole time I’ve been trying to glorify myself more so than the God who is so loving to bring me to and through these trials. Because I am weak and worldly without him; living to be good is no good without his goodness, that which is truly good.

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.