hypocrite.

Will all the real hypocrites please stand up?

 

…it’s me. Yes, I am a hypocrite. And these next few paragraphs will be disgustingly oxymoronic and, well, hypocritical.

Our modern age is ridiculous at times. I mean, the upcoming generation electronically records every monotonous event in their day.

10:21 am: Just woke up. Shower time.

10:24am: Omg I have a huge zit. fml

10:25am: Popped the zit, now there’s huge red mark.

10:46am: Boyfriend isn’t answering on the first ring, wtf?

 

Okay, okay, so this is an exaggeration, (in some cases not), but what is it that draws us to sharing each and every painstaking moment that passes? And of course, this is the hypocrity of the whole thing, because here I am, type-type-typing down my musings about people who do exactly the same thing.

 

Maybe we all just want to know that what we think, or even who we are is worthwhile.

 

haircut.

Today I will get my hair cut. This may seem like a rather insignificant occurrence, but to me, it’s a beautiful reminder that God has paired with the best possible match for me. I often have the unhealthy tendency of pushing myself just a little too hard, resulting in my soul being in an unhealthy state. So, today, husband shoved my out the door with Starbucks giftcard, Bible, and haircut appointment in hand, and told me not to come back for at least 3 hours.

There are these moments as a mother that you wonder if your Bible is collecting dust and cobweb due to its severe lack of use. You think, “will it always just be an ornamental piece sitting on my bookshelf? Am I doomed to the long and dark of diapers and spit-up and potty trips and snack time and dinner prepping and spills and sticky fingers FOREVER?” But no. This, like any other, is just a season. And a joyful, hilarious season at that. But sometimes, a patience-trying, tiring season. One that leaves my soul hungry for food and adult conversation.

I do know that one day it will be over and I will miss these days.

Haircut time.

 

Thank you, my God for my beautiful children that you have blessed me with, for your words that bring me comfort, for your love that is never-ending, and for the man that you have given me. I am so thankful.

transition.

I’d like to say that it’s some inspiration of my own that has caused me to resume writing, but alas, the truth is that my husband is literally forcing me to blog. Yep, at this exact moment what I would really love to be doing is ordering some deliciously greasy onion rings off of grubHub, but instead I find myself plodding down my ridiculous and hardly worthwhile thoughts. This may seem like a sharp contrast from my previous entries, and the most pointed explanation is that, well, it is.

It’s time for a transition.

This blog originally began as a way to record the spiritual happenings that were the overarching theme of my life earlier this year. Though, this is not to say that my spiritual life has dropped to a degree of lesser importance, because, it has not. The simple truth is that the changing of seasons is a fairly regular occurrence. And while I make myself out to be the golden ring- deprived victim here, my husband truly does have my best interest at heart. His hope is that each night I will steal away a sliver of time to electronically scribble some event or interesting story of the day. He also adds that I will thank him at some point, a debate which will be shelved until a later date.

So, the sum of all this nonsense is that once again I will develop this webtronic record of my life. It will be mostly for me (and my dear hubby, i suppose), but if by chance along the way you happen to enjoy some smattering of silliness, I will not object.

goodnight.

i don’t fit.

Jesus is doing a work of transformation inside of me. He is revealing the deep insecurities that I’ve tried to keep buried, and showing me just how broken I am.

I am constantly putting up this “i have it all together” front. Well, let the truth be known. I don’t. I am broken.

Throughout my entire life I have always been told that as long as I did my best, it was enough. But the problem is, I don’t have a best. When I decide to do something, I throw myself at it. I give it everything I have. I sweat, and bleed, and fight, and push against resistance. And when it’s over, when I meet failure…I play the whole thing over in my head. Piece by piece, slide by slide, every scenario. What could I have done different? Where could I have given more? What didn’t I do that kept me from succeeding?

Internally, I begin shredding myself up– pushing insults inward, beating and chastising myself to no end. Then, I resolve to do better; to be better– to start fresh. And the cycle starts all over again, pushing myself into exhaustion.

So now that I’ve discovered the problem…what’s at its root? why do i do this to myself?

That part is simple. Insecurity.

I’ve swallowed this lie– hook, line, and sinker– that if I just do this or that thing then I will be successful, then I will have value, then I will be enough. But it’s all just a big lie.

I cannot continue to live this way.

Chapter 2.

We’re moving forward. The inward changes are starting to manifest into outward actions. I’m excited & i’m nervous. I thought it was appropriate to go back to my roots. Where my most important & life-changing relationship began.

Location: ugly old couch.

Age: 4.

Instigator: Jesus.

I’ve often tried to conjure up my earliest memories from childhood. I see brief snapshots of our one-bedroom apartment, the kiddy-pool, a big, shaggy dog who happened to be named Abigail, and a mean kid called Patrick. But I think the absolute earliest memory I have is of President Clinton. Yep, that guy. I remember him in front of the nation, hand on the Bible, swearing the Presidential Oath for the first time. I was two years old. But what I most distinctly remember is what my Mom said.

“That is a bad, bad man, Abby. A very bad man.”

That’s who my Mom is. A person of absolutes. She deals in black and white; there is no gray. She loves Jesus. The Bible is true. If you don’t believe in Jesus, you are evil. If you don’t read your Bible everyday, you are sinning. Now don’t get me wrong– my Mom is a beautiful person; a compassionate person who does her best to love everyone around her. She is very wise. But she also has some abrasive & legalistic tendencies.

Contrast that with my Dad– a man who is best described as a conundrum. He has always professed to be a Christian, but the fruit is lacking. I won’t pretend to know whether he is or isn’t. I really don’t know, and I don’t feel like it’s my place to know. I do know, however, that throughout my childhood, he was a very angry man. I remember broken chairs, angry words, and sitting up late at night with my ear pressed to the floor, straining to hear whether or not he hit my Mom. As far as I know, he never did. But she wouldn’t tell me anyway. The toughest thing about my dad was that he acted totally different outside our home than he did in it. Nobody saw who he really was, and all my friends told me how “cool” they thought my dad was.

Overall, I count myself blessed to have had the childhood that I did. I had parents who cared for me and loved me, even though they may not have said it very often. And maybe because of the marked difference between my parents, or maybe because my Mom borderline- brainwashed me, but probably because of Jesus’ grace, I came to know Him at four years old.

I have a vague memory or kneeling down by our brown, 70’s couch, and reciting the ABC prayer, but this could just be a memory that’s been conjured up based on what i’ve been told. The only thing that I really know & remember is that I could tell that there was something different about my Mom. Something in the way she acted; something I couldn’t quite understand. Something I wanted too. So I accepted Christ.

In the following years, doubts plagued me about whether or not I had really known what I was doing. About whether or not I was “really” saved. I prayed and re-prayed the prayer. I recommitted my life probably a dozen times– just in case. I hated telling my “salvation story” in a church context because it was just so…typical. Eventually I put this doubt to rest, and came to a peace. I decided to trust that God would honor my little 4-year old commitment to Him, even if I didn’t fully understand it.

It’s hard to compare what my life was like before I met Jesus to now, simply because I don’t remember. I know that in 17 years as a Christian, there have been hills and valleys, but I have steadily grown deeper in my relationship with Him. I have a tendency to fall back to my upbringing– to feel like I’m not doing enough. Not reading my Bible enough, not praying enough, not loving enough. If two or three days pass where I haven’t read my Bible, I start to think that maybe God is mad at me, or that I’m just a bad Christian.

But I know that God is trying to teach me different. He’s slowly teaching me how to rest in Him. He’s been revealing idols in my life, and I’ve been trying to work with Him to rid my life of them. I want to follow Him with everything. I don’t believe that being a Christ-follower is a church service on Sunday. It’s more. I want it to be more. I want my relationship with Jesus to permeate every detail of life. I want to witness to people without ever saying a word. I want to honor God by living for Him. I want my identity to be wrapped up in Him instead of in worldly things. But the truth is, I don’t know what that fully looks like. I struggle to find balance.

God is currently teaching me to let go of what other people think; to let Him justify me. He is teaching me to be patient– to wait on Him, to trust. To stop trying to make my own way and my own plans. But we’re still working on that. I know His plans are better, but they’re scary.

english has its limits.

How deep & how wide is the Father’s love for us. & I am so glad.

It’s been a bit of a rough patch; a lull. In Richard Foster’s Celebration of Discipline, he talks about “the dark night of the soul.” The way God sometimes draws away from us in order to teach us– to see if we will follow Him even when we don’t feel anything.

I didn’t feel a whole lot this past week. And it’s tough. I made some decisions. I chose to be obedient, to follow God, to drop out of school. And he gave me a certain peace, and encouragement, and support. That was last week. This week was the temptation. The small whispers that tell me how close I am, how it will look to other people, what everyone will think. It stings.

God is teaching me that His yoke is light, but that does not mean there won’t be suffering.

At points, this journey will get really tough. I won’t always feel happy. I will feel weary. I will feel tired. I will feel overwhelmed, stressed, hurt, ineffective, inadequate. The light will seem to go out, and in those times I will have the greatest opportunity to put God on display. To really allow Him to be the source of my joy. God knows that Abby can’t do this, but He can.

Even so, I’ve found myself mourning His calling often this week. The city is ugly. People can be ugly… I can be ugly. But He is love. He is lovely. And He chose to love me. He chose to die for me while I was still ugly. Before He ever knew that I would choose Him;  would ever love Him. He died for me. Died. I absolutely hate how cliché this has become in Christian culture. But it has been so profound to me this week. Try to de-cliché it, if you can. His love is…

 

 

real faith.

i’d like to submit that little children are, in reality, probably the most mature Christians of us all.

clarity again.

yep. i need some clarity. i don’t really care how. i just do.

For the last couple of days every attempt to study results in the feeling of just being overwhelmed with thoughts and doubts and confusion. I just can’t get through it all. Maybe because I’m such a visual person, I don’t know. Maybe I just need a map. Or a list. Or something.

God made me. God loves me. God died for me. Therefore, I love God. I want to serve him. I need to love the people He loves& that He made.

See? I got it all, but in my head it’s still just a mess.

I think my problem comes even before the God made me part. Why did God make me? Yes, I know the answer. But seriously, why? God, why did you make me? It seems very strange sometimes. If we brought that same idea down to an earthly level, and I said, “I created this robot to worship me”, people would just say I’m selfish and egotistical. But God isn’t either of those things.

And, we do buy pets, dogs especially, probably for that exact purpose. To make us feel good– to love us, to love them.

But that still doesn’t help very much. I’m still confused.

idol.

coming to the realization that my idols (plural) really stem from one major idol that manifests itself in my life in a number of ways.

>>the way that others perceive me<<

i am letting that die today. but, you know, i’ll probably have to decide that again tomorrow. and the next day. and the next day. but i trust that God’s strength is enough to let it die.

i surrender that idol to you, God. My affirmation comes from You.

 

glory.

God speaks. In nature, in scripture, in music, in stillness.

=

God is teaching & reminding me just how much I cannot do this on my own. Anything I have– strength, success, all of it…is his. not mine. I know it’s good to know & accept this, but it stings sometimes, and can be a little disheartening.

I am coming to the realization more. and more. and more. and more…that i don’t and i can’t understand God and all that He is doing. My mind is not big enough. I don’t get it.

but…it’s okay.

i was really struggling with the concept of God’s glory this morning. in some ways i still am. that’s where that whole trust thing comes in. I’m learning to trust. and to really learn what that even means. It’s scary. Nobody likes to say the words “i don’t know.” but i don’t.

i.don’t.know.

i.don’t.know.

i….trust.

[right?]