when you're a child it's easy to look at your dad and think that he is definitively the coolest, strongest, bravest, most successful man alive. you watch him as he fixes the car, builds tree houses, mows the lawn, coaches everything from baseball to soccer and you pretend that he is super. your imagination equates him with the likes of superman, batman, the flash and thor, capable to do all things with the greatest of ease.
as humans we are born to worship. we have the innate desire to idolize something. we find that which is good and make it into something great. this is why we have superheroes and demigods. they have the appearance of regular people, but beneath it all they are different, set apart, super. as children we put our fathers up there with these fictional characters, because these men in our lives are the closest thing we have to "super".
but as we grow up we learn that our dads are flawed, they become less and less super and more and more ordinary. we see that life isn't a sequence of glorified successes, but a journey of daily failures and little victories. we watch them work and hurt and grow and toil and be frustrated and make mistakes; we pull the pedestal out from under them and they fall down to our level. they lose their shine and become just another man, getting by as best as they can in this mixed up world.
then something truly magical happens. we realize that our dads really are super, they have been all along, not in the way we imagined as children, but in a way that makes them worthy of truly being a hero. a real dad is the one who sits in an office for 8+ hours every single day, working for the same companies for decades at a time, who goes through promotions and firings and budget cuts and bonuses, all for the security of his family, of the ones he loves most. a real dad comes home after a long day of work only to mow the lawn and clean the pool and help with homework and answer emails and discipline his kids and fix the sink and pay the bills, and none of that is for him, but all for his wife, for his kids. what makes dads super is not that they are extraordinary but because they are ordinary. they are men who sacrifice their own glory and become selfless for the sake of their families. in one fell swoop dad goes from superman to a super man because of love, the greatest power of all; the selfless kind of love that puts others before self, that sets aside desires and lofty dreams and personal glory in order to be the best father and provider for his family.
instead of worshipping these fathers as if they are super heroes, we aspire to be them because they are normal, they are real.
so, thank you fathers for setting aside your capes everyday and working long and hard for the sake of those you love, rather than yourselves. thank you for teaching us how to love in the ordinary.
xoxo,
abbie.
Monday, June 23, 2014
Monday, March 31, 2014
eleven.
last week i went on a spring break trip to Memphis, Tennessee to hang out with a bunch of sweet kids at an after school program. this is where i met a second grader named Paris Romero. Paris was a little fireball, one of the few people whom i consider more sassy than myself. outgoing, bold, honest and strong-willed are a few of the words that i would use to describe her. as the week went on though it becoming strikingly clear that Paris was also wounded, jaded and afraid. clearly this young girl had seen more hurt and injustice than most 2nd graders and she broke my heart. she didn't just desire attention and affection, she needed it. we were buddies for the first few days of being at the gym, but on wednesday, something changed. the two of us had been playing, when i (as the leader of the group) had to step away and check on one of our students; as i walked away i promised Paris that i would be right back. well apparently i was taking too long, because she came looking for me and what she found shook our new found friendship to its core. when she found me she saw me talking to one boy, with a different little boy on my back, and this simply pushed her over the edge. after yelling at me for not coming back to play with her, she ran away with tears in her eyes.
Eventually i found her under the bleachers and, surprise, she wouldn't talk to me. when i tried to explain to her what had happened, she got up and ran away again, and i, unwilling to let wounds fester, followed. she locked herself in a bathroom stall, so i stood outside and refused to leave until she explained to me why she was angry with me.
i has recently heard a pastor talk about how anytime he met with someone who was angry, he would always ask them what they were fearing, because the root of anger is often fear. with that in mind i deduced that Paris, a sweet, impressionable, wounded, distrusting 8 year old, was afraid that i had moved on from her, that i had left her and that i wasn't going to come back. so as she stood, locked in her stall, paralyzed by her fear and anger and hurt, explained to her the situation and that i loved her and that i hadn't left her and that if i had promised to come back to her, then i would. i tried to affirm her trust in me and promise her that no matter how mad she was at me, that i would be there for her, waiting, ready to be her friend, forsaking all others, i would wait patiently until she was ready, because i wanted her, i wanted to be her friend. and then i waited.
when she finally came out of the bathroom i found her on the bleachers, with a damp paper towel, trying to clean the white rubber bottoms of her shoes. for the next 35 minutes we sat in near silence, scrubbing her shoes. it was then and there that her trust in me and my love was restored and from that point on our friendship strengthened. she trusted me again. and that was enough.
as we were sitting there cleaning her shoes all i could think about was the fact that I am Paris.
i have had a rough year. probably the worst year of my life to date. you see, 2 1/2 years ago i got really sick and never really stopped being sick. because i was sick, i then got depressed. and then i was broken up with and then i graduated from college and my cell group girls whom i had poured 7 years of my life and heart into graduated high school and moved on and i moved out of fayetteville and back to rogers and i got more sick and i was tired and scared and sad. really sad. major parts of my identity ended all at the same time and i couldn't cope. so i got more depressed. and when i say i depressed i mean, never want to get out of bed, "what's the point?" depressed. and then in the depth of my depression i had a flashback to a traumatic event that i had so skillfully suppressed, that i didn't even know had happened. on a random night in October, as i was trying to hold myself and my life together, to no avail, i remembered that when i was 11 years old i was sexually abused by my neighbor. the memory of that event shook me to my core. i had been so scared and confused and ashamed that i had hidden it not only from the world, my family and my friends, but from myself. for the next 5 months, that memory ruined me. i was angry. angry at the guy who did that to me, angry at the world, angry that it made me believe that i was dirty, that i was unworthy of love, that i wasn't valuable, that i had no worth to men aside from my physical being. i was angry that this abuse was now part of my story, part of making me into the person that i am today. i was angry that i now had a laundry list of issues and insecurities and baggage that i had never asked for. i was angry because of the injustice that was inflicted upon me when i was a helpless, innocent child. i was angry at God. and i was scared that i was too dirty and broken for Him to love me anymore. i was scared and i realized that i had spent my life from that moment when i was 11 trying make myself worthy of His love. it was never really about what had happened to me, but it was all about the lies that event had made me believe about myself, and the fact that i felt powerless to fight back against them, because i had believed them as truth for over a decade of my life. i was mad. more mad than i have ever been and ever hope to be again.
i went through a phase where i was so wounded and broken that i no longer trusted God, no longer trusted that He loved me or wanted me or cared for me. i thought he had left me and wasn't interested in coming back. i was angry. i was scared that He didn't love me anymore, that He had never really loved me. i know it all sounds ridiculous, but it's true, i lost my trust in Jesus' love and didn't know if it would ever return. but over time, as i kept myself locked in that bathroom stall, Jesus stood outside and whispered to me over and over again, that forsaking all others, He would wait for me. that He wanted me. that He would never leave me or forsake me. He wasn't giving up on me or walking away from me, even though at the time i didn't want Him at all, even though i wanted to be mad at Him and blame all of it on Him. He wanted to be my friend. He wanted to love me. and then the unimaginable happened. he sat there with me on those bleachers, in silence as i contemplated my willingness to trust again, and washed my dirty, gross shoes. He wasn't sitting there waiting for me to apologize for not trusting Him or do something to regain His love. He simply sat down and served me. even after i had yelled at Him and walked away and hid and tried to resist His attempts to communicate His love. No, He showed His love by serving me. like when He washed the disciples feet. He humbled me and loved me and showed His heart, by humbling Himself. and it was those moments that restored my trust. restored my certainty. restored my ability to see through the hurt that He loved me, that He was true and that He loved me no matter how wounded and dirty and broken i was. He reminded me that after the pain, He was there, waiting to sit down and help me clean myself back up again. sure there were marks that could never be removed, but He made them shine again. He made me shine again, when shining was something i never thought would be possible. "i can do all things through Christ who strengthens me" means that i can shine even when the world has done all it can to make me dull. He restores.
so, thank you paris for letting me wash your shoes.
xoxo. abbie.
Eventually i found her under the bleachers and, surprise, she wouldn't talk to me. when i tried to explain to her what had happened, she got up and ran away again, and i, unwilling to let wounds fester, followed. she locked herself in a bathroom stall, so i stood outside and refused to leave until she explained to me why she was angry with me.
i has recently heard a pastor talk about how anytime he met with someone who was angry, he would always ask them what they were fearing, because the root of anger is often fear. with that in mind i deduced that Paris, a sweet, impressionable, wounded, distrusting 8 year old, was afraid that i had moved on from her, that i had left her and that i wasn't going to come back. so as she stood, locked in her stall, paralyzed by her fear and anger and hurt, explained to her the situation and that i loved her and that i hadn't left her and that if i had promised to come back to her, then i would. i tried to affirm her trust in me and promise her that no matter how mad she was at me, that i would be there for her, waiting, ready to be her friend, forsaking all others, i would wait patiently until she was ready, because i wanted her, i wanted to be her friend. and then i waited.
when she finally came out of the bathroom i found her on the bleachers, with a damp paper towel, trying to clean the white rubber bottoms of her shoes. for the next 35 minutes we sat in near silence, scrubbing her shoes. it was then and there that her trust in me and my love was restored and from that point on our friendship strengthened. she trusted me again. and that was enough.
as we were sitting there cleaning her shoes all i could think about was the fact that I am Paris.
i have had a rough year. probably the worst year of my life to date. you see, 2 1/2 years ago i got really sick and never really stopped being sick. because i was sick, i then got depressed. and then i was broken up with and then i graduated from college and my cell group girls whom i had poured 7 years of my life and heart into graduated high school and moved on and i moved out of fayetteville and back to rogers and i got more sick and i was tired and scared and sad. really sad. major parts of my identity ended all at the same time and i couldn't cope. so i got more depressed. and when i say i depressed i mean, never want to get out of bed, "what's the point?" depressed. and then in the depth of my depression i had a flashback to a traumatic event that i had so skillfully suppressed, that i didn't even know had happened. on a random night in October, as i was trying to hold myself and my life together, to no avail, i remembered that when i was 11 years old i was sexually abused by my neighbor. the memory of that event shook me to my core. i had been so scared and confused and ashamed that i had hidden it not only from the world, my family and my friends, but from myself. for the next 5 months, that memory ruined me. i was angry. angry at the guy who did that to me, angry at the world, angry that it made me believe that i was dirty, that i was unworthy of love, that i wasn't valuable, that i had no worth to men aside from my physical being. i was angry that this abuse was now part of my story, part of making me into the person that i am today. i was angry that i now had a laundry list of issues and insecurities and baggage that i had never asked for. i was angry because of the injustice that was inflicted upon me when i was a helpless, innocent child. i was angry at God. and i was scared that i was too dirty and broken for Him to love me anymore. i was scared and i realized that i had spent my life from that moment when i was 11 trying make myself worthy of His love. it was never really about what had happened to me, but it was all about the lies that event had made me believe about myself, and the fact that i felt powerless to fight back against them, because i had believed them as truth for over a decade of my life. i was mad. more mad than i have ever been and ever hope to be again.
i went through a phase where i was so wounded and broken that i no longer trusted God, no longer trusted that He loved me or wanted me or cared for me. i thought he had left me and wasn't interested in coming back. i was angry. i was scared that He didn't love me anymore, that He had never really loved me. i know it all sounds ridiculous, but it's true, i lost my trust in Jesus' love and didn't know if it would ever return. but over time, as i kept myself locked in that bathroom stall, Jesus stood outside and whispered to me over and over again, that forsaking all others, He would wait for me. that He wanted me. that He would never leave me or forsake me. He wasn't giving up on me or walking away from me, even though at the time i didn't want Him at all, even though i wanted to be mad at Him and blame all of it on Him. He wanted to be my friend. He wanted to love me. and then the unimaginable happened. he sat there with me on those bleachers, in silence as i contemplated my willingness to trust again, and washed my dirty, gross shoes. He wasn't sitting there waiting for me to apologize for not trusting Him or do something to regain His love. He simply sat down and served me. even after i had yelled at Him and walked away and hid and tried to resist His attempts to communicate His love. No, He showed His love by serving me. like when He washed the disciples feet. He humbled me and loved me and showed His heart, by humbling Himself. and it was those moments that restored my trust. restored my certainty. restored my ability to see through the hurt that He loved me, that He was true and that He loved me no matter how wounded and dirty and broken i was. He reminded me that after the pain, He was there, waiting to sit down and help me clean myself back up again. sure there were marks that could never be removed, but He made them shine again. He made me shine again, when shining was something i never thought would be possible. "i can do all things through Christ who strengthens me" means that i can shine even when the world has done all it can to make me dull. He restores.
so, thank you paris for letting me wash your shoes.
xoxo. abbie.
Sunday, October 27, 2013
glittering eyes.
as i sit here in my bed, laptop sitting on my stomach, fingers resting on the keyboard, brain scampering down roughly 15 side streets; i find myself in the same place i've been about 100 times in the last 16 months. searching. not so much searching. wandering.
and then just like that. a light. a moment. a glimmer. a thought.
you see, my mind and heart have been on a journey together; a journey of endless night. wandering down moonlit alleys, checking every last crevice for some semblance of light. of life. traveling through miles of unfamiliar territory with what few stars remain guiding the way. and yet the wandering has been aimless and the findings have been few, leaving behind nothing but two tired shells of knowledge and emotion. but all is not lost. if the heart wants what the heart wants, then a heart set upon freedom will not quietly submit to schackles. not without a fight. and when the heart and mind set themselves upon the same goal, they make a nearly unstoppable team.
people are always quick to remind that the decisions you make today will affect the rest of your life. i am always quick to dismiss this.
and yet the niggling in the pit of my stomach demands i examine further the truth lying beneath the cliche. this is one of the darkened alleys that heart and mind wander down. and there, in a corner or a crack or a crevice or at the bottom of a barrel, smoldering, lies an ember. that glimmer. that thought.
the reminder that the thoughts, attitudes and actions that heart and mind choose today will indeed, for better or worse, affect tomorrow and the next day and everyday that follows.
a fork. a choice. the difference between hope and tears. the difference between angst and perspective.
the choice being glaringly simple and yet arduously puzzling. the two cannot meet.
thus leaving heart and mind, standing silently, with glittering eyes, over a single ember, attempting to make sense of it all, of that little glimmer. the glimmer which tells them that they must choose.
a choice is made, a thought is born, an ember burns on.
whether the today is good or bad, the day will not break any sooner because of an acceptance of the dark.
thus heart and mind press on, through the endless night, with a simple ember to remind of the joy found in the light. no matter how the light comes, be it a wildfire or the blinding beams from the sun, it will come. the wandering is not in vain, weak heart and mind. hold fast.
the smallest spark can start the largest flame. so burn on you fervent ember.
.a.
and then just like that. a light. a moment. a glimmer. a thought.
you see, my mind and heart have been on a journey together; a journey of endless night. wandering down moonlit alleys, checking every last crevice for some semblance of light. of life. traveling through miles of unfamiliar territory with what few stars remain guiding the way. and yet the wandering has been aimless and the findings have been few, leaving behind nothing but two tired shells of knowledge and emotion. but all is not lost. if the heart wants what the heart wants, then a heart set upon freedom will not quietly submit to schackles. not without a fight. and when the heart and mind set themselves upon the same goal, they make a nearly unstoppable team.
people are always quick to remind that the decisions you make today will affect the rest of your life. i am always quick to dismiss this.
and yet the niggling in the pit of my stomach demands i examine further the truth lying beneath the cliche. this is one of the darkened alleys that heart and mind wander down. and there, in a corner or a crack or a crevice or at the bottom of a barrel, smoldering, lies an ember. that glimmer. that thought.
the reminder that the thoughts, attitudes and actions that heart and mind choose today will indeed, for better or worse, affect tomorrow and the next day and everyday that follows.
a fork. a choice. the difference between hope and tears. the difference between angst and perspective.
the choice being glaringly simple and yet arduously puzzling. the two cannot meet.
thus leaving heart and mind, standing silently, with glittering eyes, over a single ember, attempting to make sense of it all, of that little glimmer. the glimmer which tells them that they must choose.
a choice is made, a thought is born, an ember burns on.
whether the today is good or bad, the day will not break any sooner because of an acceptance of the dark.
thus heart and mind press on, through the endless night, with a simple ember to remind of the joy found in the light. no matter how the light comes, be it a wildfire or the blinding beams from the sun, it will come. the wandering is not in vain, weak heart and mind. hold fast.
the smallest spark can start the largest flame. so burn on you fervent ember.
.a.
Thursday, April 18, 2013
unknown
When I was young I would pray that God would make me famous.
Now I pray that He makes me anonymous.
Sunday, March 24, 2013
you weren't made for that
roughly a week and a half ago i penned notes to three dear friends who were off on a missions trip toe Belize. though each note was different and specific to the individual, there was one sentence that worked as the string to bind them all together. the words that were in those letters were placed on my heart for reasons unknown by me at the time, but they seemed important and so, i wrote.
those words were:
have no fear, you weren't made for that.
it wasn't until Sunday when i was listening to a sermon from Louie Giglio on freedom that i realized that those words weren't just to my friends, they were to me too.
Jesus is really wonderful because He isn't afraid of anything, not even afraid of loosing our love by giving us challenges...and the thing is it works for Him. He gives me hard things to do, hard obstacles to overcome, hard people to love, hard roads to walk down, and at the end of the day i love Him more than i did before. so i'd basically say that He knows what He's doing.(which is the exact opposite of me, i have no idea what i'm doing. at this very moment i have completely forgotten what i'm writing about because i got sidetracked thinking about how we should never stop trusting Jesus because He seriously always knows what He's doing.)
ok anyway, back to Jesus and the road to sanctification.
so like i said, Jesus gives us hard things to do. the truth is that being a Christian, should be a hard thing to do and i think in the past few months i have seen that come alive. it's not like i'm being persecuted for my faith, i'm not being thrown in jail, but the reality is that everyday i too must pick up my cross and follow after Him.
Lately that has meant leaving behind, well, myself. I have most recently been faced with the wretchedness of my own sin and depravity. Jesus has allowed me to catch a glimpse of just how terrible of a person i am. how selfish, prideful, needy, power/attention hungry and all around messy i am. so, yea, that's been fun.
all of this has required me to face those demons head on.
i would say that for the about 6 months i let myself live in this weird state of fear, denial and panic because i could see the life that Jesus was calling me to, ahead of me, and i could see the life that my sin nature had always dreamed of fading away in the rear view mirror. for months i was doing everything i could to stall, to not necessarily turn the car around and run the other way, but just throw it in reverse to buy a little time before letting go. why? because i'm a creature of fear. i'm scared to throw myself into the abyss, and i know i'm beating a dead horse here, because i've written about fear approx. 1,000 times, but i guess its like, a pretty big part of my journey with Jesus and i think it gives Him glory when we speak freely about the sins that He uproots, piece by piece, overtime. He is faithful.
Anyway. i've been scared. scared of what's ahead and what's behind. scared to tell Jesus that it's ok for my dreams to be void if they don't align with His "good, pleasing and perfect will". scared to let go of my desire to be recognized, respected and successful. scared to live a life that doesn't line up with the expectations and values of society. i never knew that those were things i wanted, and now i see that they became things that i needed. they took the place of my Savior. what's worse is that i simply let myself get there. one fear turned into two fears, which turned into a semester of inward focus on all that i couldn't let go. i know that the future Jesus has called me to is ministry, and most likely church ministry. this realization has caused the longest, most annoying battle between the head and the heart. the head saying "abigail, are you crazy? where will that get you in life? you just spent thousands of dollars on a college education and now you're not even going to use your degree? you've lost it." and my hear saying "but abbie, this is the passion that Jesus has placed in you, for His name, His people, His body. there is no other future for you, this is it. don't walk away from the one thing that brings you true joy. don't walk away from your love."
so obviously the struggle to let go and fall into my post grad identity of college ministry intern at fellowship has been quite the israeli/palestinian conflict. the rational, logical choices for my future have been blitzed by the persistence of Jesus and His great will, and for a solid 6 months, it's safe to say i was doing everything i could shift the course.
But boom, just like that, the veil was torn and the Son of Man arose from the grave, putting death to death, wiping away the tears from every eye, and putting fear to rest. He came to save me not only from the fear of death, but from the fear of life. Not the fear of living, but the fear of a life lived FOR HIM. you see, i know that i'm never truly living unless i'm living in total obedience to Him, but satan tells me to fear that life. guys. that life is the only life.
i don't want my life to make sense to the world, i want the love of Christ to be the only explanation.
i want my life to be 100% His, today, tomorrow, forever.
for as long as i am on this dry and cracked earth i want my every step to glisten with the light of the Son. i don't want to dampen it's glow with my fears and insecurities.
i want to be insignificant for His namesake, never fearing a life without recognition, because my reality is the glory that is to come.
i want to live a life of reckless abandon, never giving this world a second glance.
and as for fear? well, i will choose every single day to have no fear, because i wasn't made for that.
neither were you, dear reader.
freedom is a choice.
choose wisely.
abbie.
those words were:
have no fear, you weren't made for that.
it wasn't until Sunday when i was listening to a sermon from Louie Giglio on freedom that i realized that those words weren't just to my friends, they were to me too.
Jesus is really wonderful because He isn't afraid of anything, not even afraid of loosing our love by giving us challenges...and the thing is it works for Him. He gives me hard things to do, hard obstacles to overcome, hard people to love, hard roads to walk down, and at the end of the day i love Him more than i did before. so i'd basically say that He knows what He's doing.(which is the exact opposite of me, i have no idea what i'm doing. at this very moment i have completely forgotten what i'm writing about because i got sidetracked thinking about how we should never stop trusting Jesus because He seriously always knows what He's doing.)
ok anyway, back to Jesus and the road to sanctification.
so like i said, Jesus gives us hard things to do. the truth is that being a Christian, should be a hard thing to do and i think in the past few months i have seen that come alive. it's not like i'm being persecuted for my faith, i'm not being thrown in jail, but the reality is that everyday i too must pick up my cross and follow after Him.
Lately that has meant leaving behind, well, myself. I have most recently been faced with the wretchedness of my own sin and depravity. Jesus has allowed me to catch a glimpse of just how terrible of a person i am. how selfish, prideful, needy, power/attention hungry and all around messy i am. so, yea, that's been fun.
all of this has required me to face those demons head on.
i would say that for the about 6 months i let myself live in this weird state of fear, denial and panic because i could see the life that Jesus was calling me to, ahead of me, and i could see the life that my sin nature had always dreamed of fading away in the rear view mirror. for months i was doing everything i could to stall, to not necessarily turn the car around and run the other way, but just throw it in reverse to buy a little time before letting go. why? because i'm a creature of fear. i'm scared to throw myself into the abyss, and i know i'm beating a dead horse here, because i've written about fear approx. 1,000 times, but i guess its like, a pretty big part of my journey with Jesus and i think it gives Him glory when we speak freely about the sins that He uproots, piece by piece, overtime. He is faithful.
Anyway. i've been scared. scared of what's ahead and what's behind. scared to tell Jesus that it's ok for my dreams to be void if they don't align with His "good, pleasing and perfect will". scared to let go of my desire to be recognized, respected and successful. scared to live a life that doesn't line up with the expectations and values of society. i never knew that those were things i wanted, and now i see that they became things that i needed. they took the place of my Savior. what's worse is that i simply let myself get there. one fear turned into two fears, which turned into a semester of inward focus on all that i couldn't let go. i know that the future Jesus has called me to is ministry, and most likely church ministry. this realization has caused the longest, most annoying battle between the head and the heart. the head saying "abigail, are you crazy? where will that get you in life? you just spent thousands of dollars on a college education and now you're not even going to use your degree? you've lost it." and my hear saying "but abbie, this is the passion that Jesus has placed in you, for His name, His people, His body. there is no other future for you, this is it. don't walk away from the one thing that brings you true joy. don't walk away from your love."
so obviously the struggle to let go and fall into my post grad identity of college ministry intern at fellowship has been quite the israeli/palestinian conflict. the rational, logical choices for my future have been blitzed by the persistence of Jesus and His great will, and for a solid 6 months, it's safe to say i was doing everything i could shift the course.
But boom, just like that, the veil was torn and the Son of Man arose from the grave, putting death to death, wiping away the tears from every eye, and putting fear to rest. He came to save me not only from the fear of death, but from the fear of life. Not the fear of living, but the fear of a life lived FOR HIM. you see, i know that i'm never truly living unless i'm living in total obedience to Him, but satan tells me to fear that life. guys. that life is the only life.
i don't want my life to make sense to the world, i want the love of Christ to be the only explanation.
i want my life to be 100% His, today, tomorrow, forever.
for as long as i am on this dry and cracked earth i want my every step to glisten with the light of the Son. i don't want to dampen it's glow with my fears and insecurities.
i want to be insignificant for His namesake, never fearing a life without recognition, because my reality is the glory that is to come.
i want to live a life of reckless abandon, never giving this world a second glance.
and as for fear? well, i will choose every single day to have no fear, because i wasn't made for that.
neither were you, dear reader.
freedom is a choice.
choose wisely.
abbie.
Sunday, January 6, 2013
Exhibition
so i have this little brother, and let me tell you he is truly a gem, and also not that little, he is in fact 18 years old and 4 inches taller than me. size aside, he is quite possibly the greatest little brother that a girl could ask for. of course we've had our fights, and then more fights, and probably a few more sprinkled here and there, but what siblings don't? Zach is so wonderful and has grown into an amazing man, who loves the Lord so much and pursues Him daily. He is an amazing individual and i love seeing the talents and abilities that the Lord has given Him, ones that are so different from anyone else in the family, and are so fantastic. He is wise and kind and genuine and funny and has really good taste in music. i cannot imagine life without him living it with me.
Yet as i think about my dear, sweet brother there is one childhood memory that resonates. Actually it still makes me laugh so hard that i get watery eyed. Zach if you're reading this i hope you don't mind me sharing this story. it's just too good.
so when Zach was about 2 years old, making me 5 and Michael 8, our mother would occasionally leave us at home alone when she would run errands. This one time Michael and I decided it would be funny if we trapped Zach on the balcony, stole his clothes(he was quite the exhibitionist anyway), and played a sort of monkey in the middle, where Zach is on the balcony, naked, while Michael and i were on the first floor below tossing his clothes back and forth to each other over the balcony. Obviously this was a mean game. totally unfair to the naked two year trying to hold to a shred of his dignity. The first time we played this game Michael and I laughed, hard, while Zach cried. But the next we played the game something changed, instead of getting angry and crying, naked Zach decided to make the most of the situation. This came in the form of him pretending like the balcony was a runway, and his little body strutted up and down that hall. He owned it and that image is the one that lives in my memory as one of the funniest moments of my childhood. Zach took a fairly unfortunate situation and made it new. He could have screamed(we wouldn't have listened), he could have tried to fight back(in vain), he could have told on us(only making us want to get back at him), but no, he took the moment and made it his own. The memory is no longer about what Michael and I did, even though our part was the initial joke, it is now about what Zach did, which is infinitely more funny than what his conniving older siblings did.
the more i think about this memory though the more i realize that Zach taught me something that day. you see there is a really extraordinary quality that naked baby Zach embodied in those moments of our childhood. in a big way zach chose joy in a situation which he had no control over. i have this tendency to be a control freak. i love plans. i tend to think that my way of doing things is best and my ideas and plans are superior to others. i especially love for things to go according to plan, but God in His great graces rarely allows that to happen to me, actually i think i can safely say that things never go according to plan in my life. It's taken me years to realize that this is a display of God's grace and love and even more years to begin to release my anaconda squeeze on my agenda.
Things don't go the way that i want them to very often and every time i lose control of a situation i have two options, self pity or joy.
knee jerk reaction? self pity. grovelling. giving up. storming out. fighting God.
what zach taught me? own it.
My little brother has no idea that he taught me this, but he showed me that even though it's hard, when we are faced with circumstances beyond our control, we can choose joy. we can choose to make the most. we can choose to change our reality. Sure he was still naked on a balcony, but this time his brother and sister weren't laughing at him, we were laughing with him. he made it new.
That being said, in case no one noticed it's a new year. a time for change and resolutions.
this year i want to try something new. Instead of approaching life with a vice grip on my plans and struggling everyday to "let go and let God", i want to spend my year as an exhibitionist of the heart, stripped down with open hands ready for the Lord to send whatever He wants my way. Somethings will be good, somethings will be hard, but all of them can be joyful if i choose joy. i want to be that toddler on the balcony laughing at the days to come, embracing that which i have no control over. turning the difficult into the beautiful, the joyful, the memorable.
this year i resolve to choose joy.
this year i resolve to be an exhibitionist.
thank you zach.
thank you for choosing Jesus.
-abigail.
Yet as i think about my dear, sweet brother there is one childhood memory that resonates. Actually it still makes me laugh so hard that i get watery eyed. Zach if you're reading this i hope you don't mind me sharing this story. it's just too good.
so when Zach was about 2 years old, making me 5 and Michael 8, our mother would occasionally leave us at home alone when she would run errands. This one time Michael and I decided it would be funny if we trapped Zach on the balcony, stole his clothes(he was quite the exhibitionist anyway), and played a sort of monkey in the middle, where Zach is on the balcony, naked, while Michael and i were on the first floor below tossing his clothes back and forth to each other over the balcony. Obviously this was a mean game. totally unfair to the naked two year trying to hold to a shred of his dignity. The first time we played this game Michael and I laughed, hard, while Zach cried. But the next we played the game something changed, instead of getting angry and crying, naked Zach decided to make the most of the situation. This came in the form of him pretending like the balcony was a runway, and his little body strutted up and down that hall. He owned it and that image is the one that lives in my memory as one of the funniest moments of my childhood. Zach took a fairly unfortunate situation and made it new. He could have screamed(we wouldn't have listened), he could have tried to fight back(in vain), he could have told on us(only making us want to get back at him), but no, he took the moment and made it his own. The memory is no longer about what Michael and I did, even though our part was the initial joke, it is now about what Zach did, which is infinitely more funny than what his conniving older siblings did.
the more i think about this memory though the more i realize that Zach taught me something that day. you see there is a really extraordinary quality that naked baby Zach embodied in those moments of our childhood. in a big way zach chose joy in a situation which he had no control over. i have this tendency to be a control freak. i love plans. i tend to think that my way of doing things is best and my ideas and plans are superior to others. i especially love for things to go according to plan, but God in His great graces rarely allows that to happen to me, actually i think i can safely say that things never go according to plan in my life. It's taken me years to realize that this is a display of God's grace and love and even more years to begin to release my anaconda squeeze on my agenda.
Things don't go the way that i want them to very often and every time i lose control of a situation i have two options, self pity or joy.
knee jerk reaction? self pity. grovelling. giving up. storming out. fighting God.
what zach taught me? own it.
My little brother has no idea that he taught me this, but he showed me that even though it's hard, when we are faced with circumstances beyond our control, we can choose joy. we can choose to make the most. we can choose to change our reality. Sure he was still naked on a balcony, but this time his brother and sister weren't laughing at him, we were laughing with him. he made it new.
That being said, in case no one noticed it's a new year. a time for change and resolutions.
this year i want to try something new. Instead of approaching life with a vice grip on my plans and struggling everyday to "let go and let God", i want to spend my year as an exhibitionist of the heart, stripped down with open hands ready for the Lord to send whatever He wants my way. Somethings will be good, somethings will be hard, but all of them can be joyful if i choose joy. i want to be that toddler on the balcony laughing at the days to come, embracing that which i have no control over. turning the difficult into the beautiful, the joyful, the memorable.
this year i resolve to choose joy.
this year i resolve to be an exhibitionist.
thank you zach.
thank you for choosing Jesus.
-abigail.
 |
| the goals of 2013 |
Wednesday, December 5, 2012
smashed fingers
When i was 8 years old my thumb got smashed in a door. really smashed. over the next weeks my thumbnail proceeded to go through all shades of bruising and eventually, to my dismay, it fell off.
now this whole, smashing my finger in the door thing was not at all the worst pain that i have felt, in comparison to the various breaks and sprains and surgeries i've had over the years, the smash was minor, but what it did was major.
you better believe that after that one smashed thumb, my awareness of hand placement on doors and door frames was raised exponentially. Since then i can only think of two other times that i have smashed my finger(s) in a door...and its been 13 years.
well one of those times was just the other day. i was leaving my house to run some errands and obviously rather than grabbing the door knob to shut the door i decided that it would be better to just grab the door itself. this resulted in my not being able to get my hand out of the way fast enough and smashing my pointer finger, hard, between the door and frame. the moral is that i am an idiot. do not do as i do. there is a good reason that some genius invented door knobs, but i didn't get the memo.
the point to all of this is that my smashed finger got me thinking. when i was just a kid, something as small as the pain of a smashed finger drastically changed my actions. i stopped placing my hands in a position where they could potentially be injured. to dramatize it, that smashed finger changed my life, but it wasn't even a big deal.
then i thought about Jesus.
once we are justified and in the midst of progressive sanctification Jesus doesn't want every refinement of our sin to cause us to hit rock bottom. Sure, we are going to sin, cause we're foolish and selfish and prideful, but Jesus is trying to pull us further up and further in. He is a gentle Savior who loves us and doesn't want us to suffer from severed limbs as we travel the straight and narrow, but He has to mold us somehow.
In my social psychology class my professor always talks about how the best form of discipline is moderate, enough to make an impact but not enough to cause rebellion or terror.
This is just like a smashed finger. As we strive to live for Jesus in a world of muck, we are sometimes going to chose our nature rather than our Savior. And Jesus in His great graces allows us to smash our fingers in our sin and walk away virtually unscathed, but with a new perspective of ourselves and His Deliverance. Jesus is made great through smashed fingers because we get to see His grace in the process of making us look less like us and more like Him. from a human perspective, we sin we should be instantly condemned, or at least badly maimed. But instead Jesus covers the sin and allows us to feel the sting without the lasting pain.
The way that Jesus does this the most in my life is by allowing me to be embarrassed by my sin, especially by my pride. He knows me well enough to know that i don't respond well to criticism, but i do respond well to humiliation. nothing makes me want to crawl under a rock and die like being humiliated. Therefore Jesus lets me think i'm all that for just a little bit and then BAM the door slams right on the fingers of my pride. and it stings. a lot. the sting is bad enough to drive me back to Him, and significant enough to cause me to never want to act in that particular area of my pride ever again. Yet it is never bad enough to make me grovel in pity and become more selfish, or become angry from the pain. The smashed finger just sends me running back to Jesus, with a moderately painful lesson learned.
Jesus is really good like that. He has been so kind to allow me to learn from little mistakes and shortcomings, rather than hitting rock bottom. But the job is ours, we must be willing to learn from the little things in order to avoid the big things. We are called to flee from temptation, not constantly flirt with the boundaries, because the farther you push the boundary of sin, will only result in being further away from the Healer, leading to a painful journey back. Jesus is waiting with open arms to comfort us either way, but how much better is to spend a day healing a smashed finger, than spend weeks or months or years healing a broken back? And how much more beautiful to have just the memory of pain rather than the scars to remind us of everyday of our sin? Certainly we all have scars from our lives before Christ, but once we have received our Savior, why continue inflicting such pain? Jesus is ready to teach and heal and renew. He is ready to refine, but we must be willing to suffer the temporary sting for the eternal joy of being more like Him.
next time Jesus let's a particular door close on your fingers, let it be the last time. Feel the sting. Learn the lesson. Look to Him. He is good.
abbie.
now this whole, smashing my finger in the door thing was not at all the worst pain that i have felt, in comparison to the various breaks and sprains and surgeries i've had over the years, the smash was minor, but what it did was major.
you better believe that after that one smashed thumb, my awareness of hand placement on doors and door frames was raised exponentially. Since then i can only think of two other times that i have smashed my finger(s) in a door...and its been 13 years.
well one of those times was just the other day. i was leaving my house to run some errands and obviously rather than grabbing the door knob to shut the door i decided that it would be better to just grab the door itself. this resulted in my not being able to get my hand out of the way fast enough and smashing my pointer finger, hard, between the door and frame. the moral is that i am an idiot. do not do as i do. there is a good reason that some genius invented door knobs, but i didn't get the memo.
the point to all of this is that my smashed finger got me thinking. when i was just a kid, something as small as the pain of a smashed finger drastically changed my actions. i stopped placing my hands in a position where they could potentially be injured. to dramatize it, that smashed finger changed my life, but it wasn't even a big deal.
then i thought about Jesus.
once we are justified and in the midst of progressive sanctification Jesus doesn't want every refinement of our sin to cause us to hit rock bottom. Sure, we are going to sin, cause we're foolish and selfish and prideful, but Jesus is trying to pull us further up and further in. He is a gentle Savior who loves us and doesn't want us to suffer from severed limbs as we travel the straight and narrow, but He has to mold us somehow.
In my social psychology class my professor always talks about how the best form of discipline is moderate, enough to make an impact but not enough to cause rebellion or terror.
This is just like a smashed finger. As we strive to live for Jesus in a world of muck, we are sometimes going to chose our nature rather than our Savior. And Jesus in His great graces allows us to smash our fingers in our sin and walk away virtually unscathed, but with a new perspective of ourselves and His Deliverance. Jesus is made great through smashed fingers because we get to see His grace in the process of making us look less like us and more like Him. from a human perspective, we sin we should be instantly condemned, or at least badly maimed. But instead Jesus covers the sin and allows us to feel the sting without the lasting pain.
The way that Jesus does this the most in my life is by allowing me to be embarrassed by my sin, especially by my pride. He knows me well enough to know that i don't respond well to criticism, but i do respond well to humiliation. nothing makes me want to crawl under a rock and die like being humiliated. Therefore Jesus lets me think i'm all that for just a little bit and then BAM the door slams right on the fingers of my pride. and it stings. a lot. the sting is bad enough to drive me back to Him, and significant enough to cause me to never want to act in that particular area of my pride ever again. Yet it is never bad enough to make me grovel in pity and become more selfish, or become angry from the pain. The smashed finger just sends me running back to Jesus, with a moderately painful lesson learned.
Jesus is really good like that. He has been so kind to allow me to learn from little mistakes and shortcomings, rather than hitting rock bottom. But the job is ours, we must be willing to learn from the little things in order to avoid the big things. We are called to flee from temptation, not constantly flirt with the boundaries, because the farther you push the boundary of sin, will only result in being further away from the Healer, leading to a painful journey back. Jesus is waiting with open arms to comfort us either way, but how much better is to spend a day healing a smashed finger, than spend weeks or months or years healing a broken back? And how much more beautiful to have just the memory of pain rather than the scars to remind us of everyday of our sin? Certainly we all have scars from our lives before Christ, but once we have received our Savior, why continue inflicting such pain? Jesus is ready to teach and heal and renew. He is ready to refine, but we must be willing to suffer the temporary sting for the eternal joy of being more like Him.
next time Jesus let's a particular door close on your fingers, let it be the last time. Feel the sting. Learn the lesson. Look to Him. He is good.
abbie.
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