Step Forty-One: Get Bruised

Dear Readers,

It never ceases to be less mind blowing the many ways in which God teaches, that He might even use plain black tubes and a rocky river.

Today I went river tubing! Now, if you've ever crossed the threshold of Boulder Creek, you probably know that it is more boulder than it is creek. This creates some flippin' fantastic rapids (no really, flippin' as in you-will-be-flipping-out-of-your-tube) but it also leaves your butt pretty sore at the end of the day. It was a total blast! On my list of crazy fun things, this is definitely one of the top contenders. Somewhere between bruising my tailbone and icing it, God illustrated something He has been attempting to teach me for the past two months: bruises can be good.

I hate bruises. I think they are probably one of the worst minor injuries a person can get. For starters, they take forever to heal, then every time you touch it, bump it, brush it, you get this added sharp pain to remind you that it is there, and to make things worse they almost always look worse than they really are. But today as rock after rock added to my collection of bruises, I realized that river tubing was totally worth it! These were good bruises.

The truth is, not all bruises are physical. We have all sorts of emotional, mental, and spiritual bruises and as nice as it would be to go through life bruise free, we cannot. When Jesus said I came to give you life to the full, that included bruises. It included jumping into tubes, tubing down rapids, bruising your butt and hiking back up to do it again. So if you want to live bold, here is my advice: get bruised. Scream COW-A-BUNGA, and just go for it. Chances are it's worth the bruises, and it might even help you grow.

Step Forty: Shameless

Dear Readers,

Like most cutters, I have scars that crawl over my arms and legs. They are a testament to what I have done to myself. The older ones are nothing but thin white lines that disappear in the movement of my skin, these can only be found when you are searching for them. The newer ones, though, stand out as ugly, dark blemishes – tainting my flesh. From time to time, I find myself tracing my scars. Sometimes it is in desire and still others it is in disgust. Sometimes I am so ashamed of them, I want to cover them in foundation, hide them away from the world, so that no one will see what I have done to myself, so that no one will see what I have done to God. It is not easy baring your greatest weakness upon your arm, like a bright yellow post-it note inviting any and all who see to judge. It isn't easy to witness the looks of shock, pity, and disgust when people realize those scars are self-inflicted, or to look in the mirror and realize that you have marred your own beauty. 

Recently, I was holding my "adopted" baby brother. Watching him sleep in my scarred arms, the comparison was surreal. Here was new life, new hope, and a beautiful creation... cradled by death. In that moment, God spoke. He asked me if I liked our love story. Did I like that He had been my prince, swooped in and saved me from death's embrace? In the world of fairy tales, it doesn't get more awesome or romantic than that... white horsed princes riding in to save the day. Of course, I responded, how could I not? Then why are you ashamed? Those are not just scars, not just mistakes, they are our beginning. Our tale would not be the same without them. Our tale would not be OURS without them. 

My scars are ugly, but they tell the tale of my life and my love, like words etched into a page. I will (try to) have no shame. They were mistakes, every single one, and I am in no way condoning cutting. But all of us have mistakes, be they easily visible upon our arm, or hidden in the depths of our past. Too many of us are living in shame of those mistakes. That stops here and now. Each screw up, each mistake, is another chapter of our love story. It is another time the Lord was generous and merciful and continued to love, even in our lowliest state. There is no point in living in shame, not when we could be allowing that same mistake to bring glory to our Father. 

"... and she'll pray 'I want to fall in love with you.'" Jars of Clay "Love Song For a Savior" 

Step Thirty-Nine: Mentor

Dear Readers,

One of the most life fulfilling things I have ever had the opportunity to do is mentor young girls. Aside from being amazed and blessed by the girls, I have also found that in mentoring I have become a better mentee and disciple. 

Tonight I was talking to one of my mentees. I was telling her that sometimes there just aren't any words to be had, but that you have trust that everything is in God's very capable hands. As I said this, my heart flashed to my own life and the many circumstances that make me feel so...  unsteady. From sweet babies, to friends moving, to sad brothers... I want so badly to "help", "fix" or "protect" these things. In fact, I get so fixated on doing something that I forget that I am a how-to-for-dummies to God's Ph.D. Imagine, for instance you have a burst pipe in your plumbing causing a leaky faucet (by the way I don't claim any plumbing accuracy here). I can come along and replace the leaky faucet, but that won't fix the plumbing. But I get so fixated on that faucet, I keep God from replacing the burst pipe. Anyways thats a whole separate  blog on trusting God, the point of the story is that God uses us to communicate to us. I am a firm believer that those we mentor have as much to learn from us as we do from them. And, often times, in the process of loving and teaching them, we teach ourselves too. The truth is, God doesn't create parasitic relationships. Every person who comes into our lives has something to offer us. Even (and perhaps, especially) those we least expect it from. When we befriend, walk alongside, and mentor those people we open our hearts to what they have to say, what God wants to say through them. 

So be on the look out, let your heart be open to the messages God is sending you through the people in your life. You might be surprised. 

Step Thirty-Eight: When All Else Fails, Pray

Dear Readers,

You may not have noticed, but I think God is reminding me that I know far too little about prayer. Lately, I have felt beyond frustrated. I feel discouraged, lost... displaced. (Displaced, by the way, meaning obsolete, lacking, or forgotten). My heart is burdened by thoughts and emotions not mine to have. 

On more than one occasion, I have found myself hiding in a corner crying out. Begging for answers, help, miracles. I find myself comforting my screaming nephew, while feeling my own inconsolable heart beat. Even words, the life and blood of my soul, can't quite seem to capture the condition of my heart. Is it grief stricken? Weary? Despondent? My sweet friends have nothing left to offer me besides their prayers. Yes, they can hold me, they can advise me, but at the end of the day it is praying with them that fills my heart with hope as the morning sun fills the dawn sky. 

Prayer is the desperate man's saving grace. It holds more power than money, fame, or skill. It fills the hearts of the helpless, the hopeless, the worthless, and the lost. It offers comfort, solace, hope. It is a promise, a security blanket, a child's lullaby. It is a direct means of communicating with our Heavenly Father. When we pray in our weakness, in our helplessness, we become the crying woman whose tears, hair, and perfume anoint the feet of the Most Holy. So when all else fails, pray. It is the first and last resort. And to be perfectly honest, it is your only hope. 

STep Thirty-Seven: Loving In Action

Dear Readers,

Having recently been in the labor room with my sister and having witnessed the adjusting of two families to a new baby, I have come to an uh-duh realization. Love takes work. A lot of work. Let's start with the whole emotion of love thing. Some people automatically feel love, others need time to develop that bond. But move beyond the whole feeling love thing, I am talking about the act of loving.

After a baby's birth, there exists what I call "baby fever" where, for whatever reason, people are obsessed with this amoeba-like, boring but oddly cute kid. In this fever, people tend to forget the more functional version of humanity, pushing them aside... in other words, they are replaced. Now in a dysfunctional home, this replacing is never fully corrected and resentment and tension builds and builds. This, for the record, is not love to either the baby or the forgotten. In reality, it is a selfish desire to ogle, reminisce, and otherwise daydream without putting in any real time or effort. (That, by the way, is not meant to minimize a mother's exhaustion or to belittle the amount of work a newborn is.) In a healthy home, mom and dad fight for all of their kids. They make it known that all children are loved, cherished, and delighted in. They deliberately seek out time to spend together alone and as a family. Their day does not end until all needs have been met. This is a labor of love, that they wake for hungry babies, scared children, and still have enough energy in the morning to to get going.  In this love, they foster relationships between all and encourage growth as a family without sacrificing the heart of the individual. 

Love is hard work. It just is. Those who love, truly and selflessly love, work harder than any one. Love far exceeds emotions. It is a choice. A choice that must be made over and over. A choice to sacrifice that which is dear for the sake of another. A choice to continue when all others have stopped. Love is a mother's hugs that do not stop and a Father's pride that knows no end. From the dawn of time, from the creation of man, love has always been, and will always be, a choice. Just as God yearns for us to choose Him, we yearn to be chosen. 

So here it is, in simple english: put your love into action. Don't just say "I love you," let your love guide your actions and be your strength to endure. Let your heart grow and overflow with love; let your life be nothing less than a testament to that love you carry.

Step Thirty-Six: The Power of Prayer

Dear Readers, 

I am forever underestimating the power of prayer. I forget sometimes that prayer is anything but passive. Tonight God reminded me that prayer has power and then He blessed me by revealing that power.

Tonight was a worship night at church. Low key and understated. It truly was a night meant to connect and glorify the Lord. Somewhere between songs I took notice of my brother. He was laying on the floor, eyes open staring at the ceiling. Junior High and High School are tough, but when you look at my family's circumstances... well my brother he has it really tough. Lately he has grown more and more despondent. Watching my brother struggle with similar issues that I struggled with... I wanted to save him. I wanted to step between him and those struggles, to protect him. But this time, I could not. I could only sit back and bite my nails, hoping he would be okay. Watching him, I realized I had to let go, to step back. I had to move aside and entrust that God would take care of my little brother. I struggled with this idea. That is when one of my kind friends took note of me, she sat beside me and we talked. Her mantra was "all you can do is pray." She reminded me that prayer is not passive. It is the most powerful weapon in our arsenal. Together we prayed that my brother would have the desire to seek after the Lord, we prayed that the Lord would put a hedge of protection around him, that God would draw my brother in and show him the love he so desperately needs. We had no idea that God would be stirring in my brother's heart as well! Tonight my brother was saved!!!! He owned his faith and his flaws. His journey has only just begun, but it is beginning! 

It is human nature that we want to save those we love or fix what is going wrong. We get so caught up in physical action we forget to acknowledge two very important facts: 

1. We never had the ability to save or fix in the first place. If we did, we'd have no need for a Savior or a God. In fact, we were designed with the distinct inability to save so that we might fall on our knees, begging Him to come to us, to dwell within us. 
2. God does not hold out on us, or on our friends. Ever. I wrote this to my friend last night, I think it captures this point so perfectly:

   He does not hold out on us. He did not tell Eve she could not eat of the tree because He feared her becoming something great, He did not forbid her as a means of with-holding. He did it because He had better plans. He forbade her, not with the intention of making her miserable but with the idea of walking beside her in the Garden, flowers in bloom magnifying her beauty. His plan is for perfection. He is not holding out on you, He has held nothing back, but instead offered you everything He had. He created you, shaping you tenderly. When you were born he pursued you and protected you. Even as time after time after time, you slapped him, you walked away from him. He wooed you, He wrote you love letters, poetry – recording each moment within one of His most sacred offerings, His word. And when you betrayed Him and fell captive into enemy hands, He exchanged His own flesh and blood as a sacrifice so that you could once more sit at His side. He filled your heart and soul to the brim with His spirit, so that the two of you would never be apart again. He has offered you every aspect of His creation. The world is yours to enjoy, life is yours to enjoy. He has offered you direction and guidance, that you might not wonder into death's grasp. And now He is offering you His heart. Every tangible and intangible part of it. The part of it that tenderly grooms and clothes for each wild flower, the part of it that chases after you relentlessly, the part of it that adores orphans and widows, every part of it is yours.

   God loves us. He loves my brother more than I could ever even imagine loving someone. He shaped him, each muscle, tendon and nerve was carefully crafted. He has pursued my brother from before he was born. My desire to "save" my brother is child's play compared to the elaborate scheme the Lord has planned! 

Tonight I was reminded that prayer is powerful. It is a chance to speak to the Lord. We have authority in our prayers. No longer will I underestimate it. 

Step Thirty-Five: Just Go For It

Dear Readers,

In the aforementioned box of sentimental things, I found a small yellow piece of scrap paper. Scrawled in almost legible print is the number of one of my three mama bears, given to me by her husband at what attendees affectionately called "Dirt Camp." I had mentioned to him how I didn't like how sunshine and lollipops my mama bear was, realizing that I had the wrong impression of her, he urged me to call or email her. When I showed the two of them this piece of paper, my papa bear made a remark that got me thinking, he said "I had no idea what that would turn in to." What he meant by that was 5 years earlier he could not imagine that I would have become their adopted daughter, lived with them for a month, or, on that particular night, be celebrating Father's Day with and for him. 

The more I think about my life, the more I realize that it is one "I had no idea it would turn into this" after another. My life is composed with a tiny million yellow slips of paper – opportunity. Some lost, some fully taken advantage of, and still others undetermined, as of yet. For example, who knew that in deciding to look at a website I'd end up at the school of my dreams ? Or that in telling one semi-stranger in an email that I like her for her lack of professional signature and her use of "lots o' love" that I would find one quirky mentor and two adorable princesses? Or that in saying yes to an invitation to attend a church my entire life would change? I certainly didn't. God is quirky that way. His timing is His entirely. He uses yellow scrap paper, elevator hokey pokies, old folk's nail polish and McDonald's to build our lives. Puzzle piece by puzzle piece, it is chaos randomly colliding. Pieced together, though, they play the harmony of our life and there is no sweeter tune! 

So here's my borderline cliche advice: you only live life once, so just go for it. Worst comes to worst, you chalk it up as a failed attempt and use it to plan your next adventure. But if it works, you could find yourself saying "I had no idea it would turn into this!" God's handed you more yellow slips than you could possibly imagine, but it's up to you to dial the number.