Bieber & Jesus

A few weeks ago, I was in Minneapolis trying to kill time before boarding my flight home. Someone had suggested I spend my extra hours at the Mall of America, and without a lot of other ideas, I plugged it into my GPS, turned up the radio, and started driving. What I failed to take into consideration was the possibility of Justin Bieber coming on the radio as I tried to follow directions. I used to think multi-tasking was a strength of mine, but after having gone in 3 giant circles that day, I'm forced to admit this strength gets cancelled out if I'm singing at the top of my lungs while daydreaming of being a teenage popstar heartthrob. But it's a talent I'm willing to work on.

Needless to say, Mall of America was not going to happen. Instead I stumbled upon the entrance to Minnehaha Falls, a ridiculously beautiful park that runs along the Mississippi and is home to millions of colorful trees. It was October 1st, and in true fall fashion, every tree in that park knew what to do. Even the ferns were bright hues of orange and red, waving in the Autumn breeze. Lost never felt so good. It had been a long week, and my heart hadn't been able to shake a certain anxious feeling. I parked my rental car and hoped maybe a stroll around this place would cure my anxiety.

As I walked through those trails, I tried to soak up as much as I could. Every step was more breathtaking than the one before it, but I still didn't feel any better. Without Justin Bieber to drown my thoughts or get me lost, all I could hear were questions I didn't want to think about.  Eventually, I found myself sitting on a wall facing the Mississippi River and in a last ditch effort, I got out my Bible. I didnt know what I wanted to read that morning, but I decided to start in Psalms. King David was like the Dr Doolittle of plants. He somehow knew when even the rocks were praising God, and I figured his insights might be fitting while I sat among some of fall's best fashion. I opened my Bible right in the middle unsure where to begin. My only plan was to search for the words "plant" or "tree" and go from there. Instead, the first words my eyes landed on were Psalms 116:7: 

"Be at rest once more, O my soul, for the LORD has been good to you." 

That anxious feeling was wide awake as I stared at the page.  I just kept reading those words, first to myself, then out loud, over and over again.  Then I went back to the beginning of the chapter and read it start to finish. My mind starting flooding with memories of times in my life God has been good to me. I mean when He really, truly showed up for me in a way I couldnt do for myself, and even in ways others couldn't do for me. I started thinking of all the sweet ways he's loved me through people who were never "supposed" to love me. People who I never biologically belonged to, but who loved me better than they loved themselves.

Then I started thinking about pain I've experienced and about dumb decisions I've made, and what it means that God never, ever left me. As I started remembering each example, I kept picturing myself back in those moments, only I also tried to picture Jesus standing next to me in each one. I saw Him hugging me when my heart was broken, when my parents divorced, when my grandma died. I saw Him bending down to pick me back up when I had disobeyed and dug myself into a hole. In each instance, I was acutely aware of how God never left me. Even when I was being an idiot. Even when at the time I felt alone or scared or sad beyond measure.

And then I started thinking about joyful times. I pictured Him celebrating with me when I was jumping up and down in the kitchen cause I was accepted into Vanguard (you'd think it was Yale). Then I imagined Him singing Happy Birthday to me, and cheering me on in moments I was brave, and I saw Him delighting in the good friendships He's generously given me. I even started to recognize how laughter has found me almost every day of my life and wondered how often Jesus must be laughing too. 

I've always loved this verse from Zephaniah, but I've never actually tried picturing God doing these things for me personally:

"The LORD your God is in your midst,

a mighty one who will save;

he will rejoice over you with gladness;

he will quiet you by his love;

he will exult over you with loud singing."

Have you tried that lately? Recalling specific times when God has been good to you? If you're like me, you might take them for granted and the instant something goes wrong in the present forget every way He's come through for you so far. We're so quick to feel forsaken when we're in pain.

Turns out, instead of searching for an instant fix to my circumstances, what I needed was to focus my thoughts on Jesus. So Justin Bieber, if you're out there, thanks. Bieber Fever made me forego Mall of America, and instead I had a chance to realize the Psalmist was right: My soul found rest as I remembered the Lord's goodness.

2016 Gold or Bust

I've never been able to do the splits, run very fast, or sport a swim cap well, but last night, over a bottle of wine, my roommate and I both decided we were gonna start training for the 2016 Olympics. Best I can tell, Olympians need several key components to go all the way. Let's review my long list of athletic qualifications: 

1) Must Be Team Player: 9 years of little league softball. BOOM.

2) Must Be Bad Ass: Ran an entire 1/2 marathon once and thought hard about maybe doing it again.

3) Must Have Passion: I can be found in my living room at least 3x a year cursing loudly at Jillian Michaels.

4) Must Be Willing To Sacrifice: A thing I definitely know about. One summer, when I was 12 years old, my friend and I hosted a diving contest in my backyard. We were the only competitors, (okay, and the only judges) but it was fierce. The final dive was on me, and I had to make it count. I brought out the big guns and prepared to perfectly execute the ever inspirational "Pocahontas Dive". With a running start, I flew off the diving board, arms spread eagle, and finished in perfect form with no splash. It was flawless. Only problem was, upon hitting the water, I lost my 2 front teeth to the bottom of the pool. But... I still won.

(See? Both of them are fake. The teeth, people, just the teeth.)

5) Must Possess Natural Talent: Cartwheels. Need I say more?

 

If that's not something to work with, I don't know what is. Here I come, America.

Reminiscing

I had a dream once I owned a pet baby elephant. As with most dreams, this didn't seem at all strange. But at some point, it occurred to me my baby elephant was going to grow into a giant, adult elephant and I would not have room for him. Suddenly, my sweet little dream turned into a terrible nightmare as I panicked over finding a new home for him. Naturally, I did what anyone would do in my position and visited the San Diego Wild Animal Park, pleading with them to make a new home for him. They must get requests like this all the time, because their policy was very strict. They demanded I show his official "African Lineage" papers. You can picture my horror when I couldn't remember where I put them. The baby elephant and I tried our luck at several other zoos, but we quickly realized we were blackballed without those papers. I woke up somewhere between soliciting Jason Bourne for his help and thrifting for Baby Elephant clothes. Relieved, I started my day knowing no baby elephants were in danger on account of me. 

As you might imagine, that dream was pretty traumatic for me. Being a bad caretaker of a baby elephant is a textbook recipe for years of counseling, so I try not to recall the dream too often. Until this morning... You see, I was searching for this:

But sooomehow, I found this:

All the repressed memories of my pet baby elephant came rushing back. I sure miss that little guy. 

(It should also go without saying how pissed I was at DirecTV when I found out this wasn't real:

)

Moral of the story: If being on drugs resembles my dreams in the slightest, I'm starting to really regret that D.A.R.E. pledge I signed in 6th grade.

Hot or Cold

Did you ever play the game Hot or Cold when you were little? One person has their eyes closed trying to find something in the room, and as they move about, their only clues are given by someone whose eyes are open, telling them when they're near or far from the object they're trying to reach. The object is considered "hot." So you usually hear something to the effect of "You're getting warmer. Warmer. Uh-oh colder. Very cold. Waaarm. That's it. Hot! You're about to burn up!" You get the idea. Not sure why this game was so fun when I was young, but it was.

These days, not so much. But lately I've felt like that's the exact game God & I are playing. It's been a long and frustrating season for me of trying to decipher what I want in life; particularly, what I want to be when I grow up. Yeah, yeah. I just turned 28. I didn't think it'd take this long either.

I think it's rare God has specific plans for a persons life, but I do think He is purposeful in how He created us and what He's equipped us with. God cares about the details because He cares about us, but I also believe the majority of life decisions aren't right or wrong ones. More like right or left ones. My old pastor used to say, "God doesn't steer parked cars." I agree, but sometimes I wish I could just be chauffeured around.

I've heard it said when you're not sure what you love, think about what you hate, and find a way to work against it. That's landed me in several amazing jobs over the past few years, but I still feel a bit like I'm floating around these things I've become passionate about, as though my feet have yet to land. 

While I feel free to leave this world I've been floating in, and settle into a big girl job with a comfy, risk-free life, I'm convinced a small piece of me would die inside. Instead, I've started praying for imagination and courage. In the last few weeks, my frustration has shifted into a sense excitement. Don't get me wrong, I'm still fumbling around in the dark, but it's like I can almost hear God whispering, "Warmer. Warmer. Don't give up. Warmer."  

Do you think God is specific about this sort of thing? How do you navigate your freedom?

Adagio

I heard a story once about a famous cellist that's always stuck with me. I should confess I'm not great at pulling history off my fingertips, but this story captivated me so much it deserved some digging into. The cellist lived in the town of Sarajevo when it came under attack by Yugoslavia in the 90s. (I say that like I remember when it happened. Don't be fooled. All I remember about the 90s are the giant glasses I wore and ruling at recess handball.) What I learned about the siege of Sarajevo is that it lasted almost 4 years, during which the city was surrounded by violent military and was continually assaulted by tanks, bombs, rocket launchers, machine guns - you name it. Needless to say, those who did survive spent those 4 years living in constant fear of death. 

And so the story goes, during this terrible warfare, this cellist would bravely go into ruined buildings around his city, dressed in his finest attire, and offer what he could to his countrymen - music. In the midst of these demolished buildings, he would sit and play his cello. There's something beautiful about that, right? From the center of the despair, music was born that would echo through the streets and into the hearts of those who could hear.  It's said hungry people, so hungry they were prepared to starve rather than leave their homes in search of food, began to gather just to listen to him play. Perhaps their instinct kicked in and they realized their hunger for what he was offering was worth the risk more than actual food. 

Can you imagine what it must have been like to be a Sarajevan during this nightmare? I've tried to picture it and can only assume I would've done the same as my fellow citizens:  hid in my home, while hungry and fearful, unsure of the future, surrounded by reminders of tragedy. But what if I also had the chance to hear him play? Certainly his music wouldn't rescue me or my family, yet I have a feeling I would've been desperate to hear it. Desperate to find something beautiful in the midst of the devastation. Something to keep me going. A shred of hope in the darkness. 

Upon hearing the story, I searched for what song he played and found out the most notable one was titled Adagio by Albini. The Italian word "adagio" is translated several ways, most notably as a slowly moving grace. Another is the English word, adage or proverb, what we know to be a small piece of truth.

I loved that! It seems this song was filled with truth, slowly winding it's way through the city, in form of a gracious, hope-filled melody.

This is a theme I constantly find myself running into, the idea of searching for beauty in the midst of pain. I'm never one to think everything happens for a reason. In fact, I HATE it when people say that. Sometimes terrible things just happen, and they're painful and awful and there's no way to understand them, especially not justify them. But I will also say, I've seen beautiful things born from terrible things. I've seen people find hope in the most unlikely places. And not the false kind. The true stuff, the real stuff. The kind of Hope that doesn't disappoint.

Maybe that's why this story gets me. It's like he's hinting at the idea that this pain isn't all there is. 

So here's to you, Vedran Smailovic. Thank you for playing.