A Thrill of Hope

I've being following along with She Reads Truth advent devotionals this year. There's a whole thing about me wanting to purchase this beautiful bound book that they put together (with all the advent readings, artwork, scripture, etc.) but just couldn't justify the price, but then a friend reminded me that it is all online for FREE so...here we are. 

The reading today talked about hope and joy. How hoping for things at times seems too painful because of disappointment in the past. Man, I felt that. There have been so many times in my life, past and very recent present, that I have been intensely disappointed. 

Betrayed.

Let down. 

Abandoned.

Hope seems useless when things keep blowing up in your face. Looking forward to good things seems pointless because of that tiny annoying voice (that eventually gets louder than you can bear) that says you don't deserve good things.  

In Luke 1:13, Gabriel appears to Zechariah and tells him such news that Zechariah has trouble believing it: "Do not be afraid,Zechariah, because your prayer has been heard. Your wife Elizabeth will bear you a son, and you will name him John."

The story isn't new to me, but the thing I noticed when I read it this time was that Gabriel said "Your prayer has been heard." Could he be talking about an old prayer from a young Zechariah and a young Elizabeth? That's always been what I thought. But this time...what if it was a prayer that Zechariah became too used to praying that he forgot he was saying the words? Or what if his faith was so strong that he continued praying for a son, even past the age when it should be possible, because he believed that God could do mighty and miraculous things? 

Your prayer has been heard. 

You are not betrayed. You have not been let down. 

You have not been abandoned. 

Later in the story, after we find out Elizabeth is pregnant and has been secluded for five months, she says, "The Lord has done this for me." (Luke 1:25) She knows. This is no small wink from heaven that might have something to do with her story. This is a very personal event that tells her that God heard her prayer, saw her want, and gave her a son. 

A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices. For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn. 

Ya'll I am tired. This year has been exhausting. That tiny thrill of hope in my soul keeps burning out. I'm afraid to let it in because of all the hurt that has happened. In this waiting time of Advent, I keep reading about Emmanuel, God with us. Fulfillment of prophecy. And I keep coming back to that phrase: a thrill of hope the weary world rejoices. This hope, this Jesus--is enough to make the weary rejoice. And from great personal experience, when you are world weary, not a lot makes you rejoice.  

May that thrill of hope be enough for you this season to say that prayer one more time, to ask God that impossible thing that he has put in your heart. Maybe even to pray a prayer for a situation that seems hopeless, one that you can't see a solution for. 

That thrill? I'm not sure it's very big. It's the goosebumps on your arms, the flutter in your stomach. 

But it is enough.

A Tired Faith & Dusty Offerings

There have been at least two times in my life (in recent history) when I knowingly used my gifts when I didn't want to. Both times, I ended up being surprised and amazed by the grace I was rewarded with.
It shouldn't surprise me any more, but it does.

Recently I was asked to sign a song for a good friend of mine. Of course I said yes, but when I first listened to the song I had more misgivings than this song had repeats. And boy, did it have a lot.
The list was long: it wasn't the style I usually signed, the words were so modern, the repeats, etc. I put off looking at it until it was far too late and I spent a week practically kicking and screaming, complaining to anyone who would listen, but begrudgingly learning this song.

I ended up learning all the signs and by Saturday I felt rather confident that things would go well. I mean, as confident as I could be given the amount of time I had left to study (zero) and number of days until the performance (um, again, zero). I ran through it a couple of times before bed and then decided it would have to be enough. I sent at least five alarms, got ready for bed early (for me, of course) and tried to sleep.

I was jolted awake sometime around 3 AM to the shouts and arguments of my downstairs neighbors. I tried to will myself back to sleep, knowing that if I got up to do anything, I would be unable to even think about sleeping. I couldn't tell you how long the noise went on but when my alarm went off at 6 a.m., I was sure I could afford a few more moments of sleep. However, the 4 other alarms I set didn't go off and I found myself waking up 15 minutes before I needed to leave. Things were just not going my way.

I aggressively ignored some of the speed limit signs on my way to church. I prayed that the cops would either all be asleep or at church already and that the people in front of me weren't going to my church. It wasn't just that I had overslept; I was late heading to my first practice and first performance of the song I really wish I hadn't agreed to sign.

Thankfully, I got to church with enough time to run through the song 1.5 times with the rest of the team. Unfortunately, most of the coffee I had hastily made that morning was still in my travel mug. I gulped furiously. As I gulped, our keyboardist prayed for us before the service started. His prayer quieted me and reminded my heart that this thing we were doing was simply enhancing the vocalist's gift. I needed to hear that.

I'm always nervous when I sign. Always. Even if it is a song I choose and like, I get nervous. But here I was, exhausted, under-caffeinated, wishing I was somewhere else. This was more than just normal nerves. 

I signed twice on Sunday, first service and second service. In between services, I talked with friends. I've written about these friends before, the ones who ask "How are you?" and "Are you safe?" and "Do you need anything?" and expect an honest and real answer. The ones who can see the tears in my eyes before I really know they are there. They could see I was exhausted on all levels and made sure to ask me about it. I started waking up. Not just in the way you do when the coffee kicks in, but in that way you do when your soul has been run down for so long that you think you are alone in the universe and you finally start seeing a way out.

It wasn't until I started signing in the second service that it all really hit me. I was signing about tired faith and a vast feeling of hopelessness and I didn't realize I was signing about me until that moment. I might have been asked to sign the song to help spread the message of God's love and grace to the congregation, but in that moment, the message of the song was for me.

I wasn't on my best form. It was the first song I've signed in ages, probably since Easter. My gift that morning was a halfhearted dusty offering. But in all of that, I left church that morning with a tear in my eye and the echoes of hope in my heart.

Growing Up

When I was your age, I used to think “When I’m grown up I’ll know what I’ll want, I’ll be sorted.” But you never really know what you want, you never feel grown up, not really, you never sort it all out.

--Sarah Jane Smith

I ran across this quote on the Internet a few months ago and fell in love with it. It seemed to sum up all of my feelings on growing up and how I always hoped I would just *know* what I wanted to do, what I wanted in general and that I would, indeed, be sorted. It was a reminder that it is okay to not always know what you want, that it's okay if you never really sort it all out. Sarah Jane IS a grown up when she says this, so it must be okay to not feel grown up if a grown up is the one saying the words. 

I found it again a few weeks ago and instead of it being inspirational, I found it rather depressing! "You never sort it all out." How did I ever think that was an encouraging thought about growing up and adulthood things?

I have since printed this quote out and taped it to my monitor at work. I look at it almost every day and you know what? It stopped being encouraging. It stopped being depressing. It simply became a truth. Too often, I think, we place this grand emphasis on "growing up" and becoming some glorified version of every adult we ever wanted to be like. It doesn't happen like that. "You never really know what you want, you never feel grown up, not really..." You know what? I'm glad. I think we grow up with this vision that actual grown ups are boring and sad and have to pay bills all of the time. Which, in part, is true. But if that is really all that being grown up is, I don't want to be that person. And if you never really know what you want, it doesn't mean you don't try to find it.   

In the movie Anna and the King, Anna comments about her life taking her down roads that lead absolutely no where. In reference to their on-going discussion about the differences in their religions, she jokingly asks the king, "What would Buddha say of that?" The king answers with a knowing smile, "That roads are for journeys, ma'am, not destinations."

Looking for a job like it's my job...just without the paycheck

It's been a crazy few weeks (or has it been almost a month?? Oops. Sorry about that.)!

To sum things up: I moved back home.

The End.

(No seriously. The end.)
The move went really well. There were four of us, one Uhaul thing on the back of my parent's car, my Jetta, and my friend's van. And yes, all of my possessions fit. I either have a sad pathetic life ... or I need to get rid of stuff so I can prep for living out of my car. Because, let's face it. If I don't get a job soon, that might be where I end up.
Trust me when I say that you, my readers, benefited from me NOT blogging during the past few weeks. It would have sounded like this, "Blah blah blah, Woe is me. I don't have a job. Waaaa waaaa. Blah blah blah." (Plus or minus a few rain clouds, tears and a few not safe for work outbursts. Trust me on this one. You are welcome.)
Last night was an uncommon low point for me, so I had it out with God.
Which is big talk for the chicken that I am.

Because what I actually did was beg.

I pleaded with Him to show me what to do. I asked questions. And then, I begged some more.
Most times, I feel like I missed His plan. Like He showed me this great big dream and I just forgot about it or ignored it. But even if I did (because sometimes I am dense...), isn't he the God of second chances? Would he really say, "Yeah....you are about five years off "The Plan" I had for you. You really buggered that one up. Good luck trying to find a way to make things work." I am clinging to the hope that he doesn't do that.
I've been seeing so many Tweets over the past few days that, even to my depressed mind, have been encouraging. Things that said reminded me that there are different seasons in life, that rain and drought have their time, that God loves even when we are unlovable. I read them all saying in my head, "Yes, I hear that. But how? Why? It can't be true for me."
But then I realized something. I have to look past the doubt and believe it anyway. It is hard, oh so hard for me to do that. But it is the only thing that makes sense right now.

So today, I'm looking for a job. Not just looking, but promising myself to actually APPLY for something. Big or small. And I'm choosing to believe that God's plan for me is still in place. Choosing to believe that I am here, in this moment, for a reason. Even if I haven't the foggiest idea what that reason is.
I'm choosing joy.
I'm choosing hope.

Broken Umbrellas, Spilled Coffee, Blind Spots - and a little hope

Today was better than yesterday. And for that I am thankful.
Yesterday started with a broken umbrella, spilled coffee, and, well -- let's just say a failure to comprehend labels on my clothing. Yeah. Good day.
This morning, I stuck my mascara brush in my eye, resulting in a big black blob on my contact lens. Not a brilliant thing to do, but truly a much better boo-boo for my morning than yesterday.
But back to the problem of not being able to see out of one eye. What do I do? All of of the rest of my eye make up was already applied and removing the contact to clean it, well that would just ruin that work! I tried to cry, attempted to put eye drops in and eventually got all the mascara out of my eye ball. Phew. I will be so glad to get this contact out and cleaned properly tonight!
I stumbled on something today from The Village Church. Before you run away, assuming I will once again be singing the praises of Matt Chandler, this isn't about him. (But he DID just finish up a sermon series on Habakkuk that is AWESOME and there is a short Q&A video he did here. Oops. I guess that was...well, never mind.)
I found this video testimony from a guy called Nick Stevens.
(One of these days, I will learn how to embed a video. Today is not that day.)
I don't know Nick. He doesn't know me. But it seems we are close to the same part of the path of Christian living. Here is something he says at the end of the video that spoke to my heart today.

Not really knowing whats ahead of me. Not knowing what God has in store. And even some days, just not feeling his presence in my day to day life. But I am thankful for ... the right understanding of God so I can press into Him in times where, even tomorrow, I'm not sure what's next, or even what's in store.

~ Nick Stevens

Maybe this will bless you. Maybe it won't. But for me, knowing that another believer miles away is struggling with this but has found a way to, as Matt says at The Village, "press into God" even on the days of doubt? It gives me hope.

Rain boots & Umbrellas

Today, it is raining.

As a rule, I don't like rainy days. But today, I actually feel like living. And that realization makes me happy to be alive. Today doesn't make me feel guilty or bad about yesterday's post. I write from the places where I live. Yesterday was a hard not-so-good day. I wish I could bring you happy posts about my wonderful life all of the time. But the reality is life is hard. I'm a messy Christian on a good day, and I'll be the first to tell you I don't have it all together.
But days like yesterday make me glad for days like today. Yesterday reminded me of the pain and loss that living in a fallen world can bring. Today? Well today I'm glad that sorrow last for the night but joy comes in the morning.
I don't "do" the nice Christianese. Or at least, I try not to. I'm not bubbling over with happiness today. However, I'm no Puddleglum either. The fine line between the two? That's me. I'm not slinging Bible verses to prove that I know them. I'm just sharing with you. Pretend we are chatting over coffee. Or tea, since it's raining today. I'm glad that this particular promise is in the Bible. And today, I'm claiming it. So I'll pull on my rain boots so I can walk through the puddles, and grab my umbrella so I can walk through the rain.

Because, as one of my friends on Facebook posted today [from Eeyore], the nice thing about rain is that it always stops eventually.

(And like it says in Daniel, even if the rain doesn't stop, God is still God and I won't bow to another. [That was totally a paraphrase, tailored to my situation. Don't tell.])

(P.S. As a total side note, I have another anniversary today! Last year on this day, I received my first phone call from Gettysburg to schedule my interview! And with that in mind, I cling to the promise that He will provide for me this year too...even if I have no idea what that will look like.)

(P.P.S. I wasn't sure how I made it through yesterday. Today, I know how. Apart from the grace of God, I had friends cheering for me. I had people who knew the day was going to be hard, who knew I was suffering. They wanted me to make it through the day. Today when I talked with one of them she told me I looked good, that I looked better. That she was glad today was better. And in that moment I knew that she was one of the reasons I made it.)

One year later...

Today was hard. I knew it would be, but I didn't think it would be this hard. Lewis said grief sometimes felt like an imaginary blanket between him and the world. Like he couldn't understand what others were saying, or maybe, he didn't want to understand. "It is," he said, "so uninteresting."
And that, in a nut shell, was my day. I muddled through, hardly taking notice of others around me. My only purpose today was to stay busy. I didn't realize it until now, but the day, and everything in it, was exactly that--uninteresting. I know it is the way of things, but I couldn't understand how everyone else was going about their life as if everything was normal. For me, things weren't normal. I wonder if they ever will be.
It wasn't until I was walking home today that I realized (or more like remembered): death isn't the end! J. isn't lost--he is more found now then he ever was! I KNOW where he is! Should that not be cause for celebration and not tears? Perhaps so.
It is funny how much goes by in a year. Jobs come and go. Birthdays, workdays, holidays. So many anniversaries, too. I look forward to the coming years when this day doesn't send me images of raw grieving. When I don't see faces and bodies wracked with sobs. When my heart doesn't break. When I can remember the life that was lived, the joy that he brought, and the hope of the redeemed.

J. I can't wait to see you again!