I Paint A Cynical World.

I grew up a dreamer. A visionary of all things good. Of the great person I could be come, of the things I could accomplish, of the difference I could make. I grew up envisioning the beautiful things that would one day enamor my life, fostering its ability to blossom and give life. I grew up hopeful of the world at its best, believing in the good of people, of systems, of cultures.

Now I see the other me staring back.

Somewhere in the last five years, my idyllic worldview shifted.

When I think of my next teaching job I no longer paint hope, but prepare myself for the hardships of state testing, uncooperative coworkers, low pay, straining parents, and lesson content I'll never be able to know. I can still remember my teaching papers for Taylor... all starting out with "Teaching is not a job for me, its my calling. Its my mission..." and from there rambling on about the great good and hope I had, the love for children, etc. Now I see it as much different. I hate that in me.

I used to grow up praying for a godly man. Envisioning us praying for Rwanda together, chasing and laughing with a four year old in the backyard of our country home, and that feeling of contentment that rests when two people love and care so deeply for each other. I dreamt about cooking beautiful dishes, volunteering in schools, and blessing my children with my collection of children's books. Now instead I warn myself that I'll probably be exhausted from getting groceries, making meals, driving kids, and getting woken up every morning by needy kids. I'll probably be annoyed with my husband, feeling like he doesn't care, Again, this is not me; and I hate this root that grows in me. Deeply choking out everything else.

Its like I've warned myself not to hope for too much, or I will surely be disappointed.

On my bookshelf, I treasure a little blue-binded holder of words called Keeping a Princess Heart in a Not-So-Fairytale-World. I bought it in North Carolina when all this jadedness began. Now and again I pull it off my shelf, line myself with candles and pink and other things feminine. And I try to recapture that innocence that was one in me. But now seems so lost.

The world has fed me spoonful of cynicism, and I swallow(ed) it. I don' t know how to get it out or keep it from choking me. I try to see and say the good things. To capture the beautiful moments. To tell their stories.

But sometimes, in the thick of it all, I see this odd me staring back in the mirror. Instead of the gleaming face of innocence, of Faith Hills "Fairytales" song, of bright eyes ready for adventure and the world and God's blessing... I see this haggard, worn out, leave-me-alone face staring me down.

This other face tells me lies. It tells me marriage will probably end up hurting me so deeply. It tells me good, amazing, godly men don't exist. It tells me jobs can't be fulfilling and beautiful. It tells me children are a bother. It tells me the lines of the nightly news, the jaded women in clusters talking about their families, the worlds measure of success, the comparison games, the woe-is-me... It tells me Satan. And that he is the sin that is choking me through these lies.

I remember the year after Taylor driving with two college friends and having this conversation. Me so strongly resisting this cynical spoon but seeing it so darkly. And them instead remarking that I was too idealistic and a romantic dreamer of life growing up. And that instead of being cynical, I was becoming better because I was becoming more of a realist and it was making me stronger.

In that case, I don't want to be stronger. I want to see the world as God created it to be. I want to live in Eden. I want to hope for a man like David. I want to see the earth sustained. I want to hug children so close their warmth seeps into my chest. I want to teach as if the Holy Spirit flowed from every word and leaked out as a ministry. I want to notice flowers and light candles and wear beautiful sundress'.

Today I paint a cynical world. But as in all things, I ask and pray that God redeems even me, even this.

Somebody Elses

I sat in my car last Thursday, Thanksgiving Day, and watched through the windshield as an elderly woman struggled to balance the bag in her hand.

She was had stopped about 6 inches from my door.

And I didn't move. I pretended to be digging in my purse for something. Because it was too cold and I was early for church and didn't want to go in yet.

The selfishness spews like hot lava from this story, embarrassing and humbling as it is to tell. But it reminds me of the sinful nature inside of me.

As I have grown older, I have taught myself this "its somebody else's" behavior. I grew up a server, a people pleaser, a "yes" girl. But over time, I have needed to [rightly so] develop some boundaries. I can't do everything for everybody. I can't lead every program, clean every room, manage every child, and be everyone's cheerleader. There is a limit to my humanness.

But at the same time, I see this learned behavior at times go way too far over the opposite fence. Where rather than simply setting boundaries, I've chosen to stop serving my neighbor and treating them as Christ. I've chosen to turn a blind eye. To let the yard grow. To draw lines in the sand of "my responsibilities" and someone elses. Again, part of this is healthy... but at times, part it is definitely not.

All I know is, the next time I see an elderly woman struggling with her Thanksgiving gift to the church donation center, I will open my door and smile into the cold with open arms toward her.

Justice & Ignorance.

"The right thing to do, according to Jesus, is never the easy thing. It's never the most convenient of expedient thing; it's always a little more difficult. Christianity demands something that the world would never ask of you." -- Matthew Sleeth, Serve God, Save the Planet, as referenced in Relevent Magazine "Trade In The Lies", Nov/Dec 08


I know this will be a running blog post, which I will make much more clear and fix at other dates.... but the convinction in me calls me now to start writing it.

Ignorance is one thing. And yes, I do believe at many times, ignorance is bliss.

But when you are not ignorance any more, I believe you are held accountable and responsible for the things that you know.


When you are not ignorant to slave labor, when you are not ignorant to trade practices, when you are not ignorant to abuse, when you are not ignorant to poverty, when you are not ignorant to the injustices in this world... you are held accountable.


One day, we will meet Jesus and be accountable for the life we lived on this earth. And in that day, we need to be able to stand free of the convictions that have compelled us on this earth. We need to be able to stand with our Bible planted firmly against us, quoting the words of Isaiah and the prophets and Jesus alike, demanding that we speak up for injustices.


It is one thing to be ignorant, it is another to know.


To know the facts, the faces, the statistics, the stories. And still turn a blind eye to them. To still shop at that store, to still carry a racists tune, to still turn a deaf ear, to still gorge ourselves in ourselves.


To know is to be held accountable. To stand knowing you are the face of justice, you are the wall which speaks. The voice which calls and beckons, or the face of righteaous anger. You are the justice which is held accountable for righting the wrongs in this world.


To be ignorant is one thing.

To be aware and unashamed or live without conviction and still make the choices is another.

Snapshot.

Thank you, my friends Bekah & Kate, for a snapshot of all things good tonight. :) Of flatbread speckled with cajun chicken, garlic, cheeses, and spreads. Of laughter about mall dressing rooms, blog-stalking, and our obsession with lotions. Of giving into our Dutch cheapness while craving Coldstone, which comes especially funny after a decently elegent dinner with wine. :) Of sharing your lives with me ~ the sincere, the funny, the prayful, the playful, the warmth under lights, the cold blustery snow. Thank you for the goodness you bring to my life all year round. And the snapshot of that tonight. You bless me.

Incarnate The Truth.

Tonight on my drive home I heard Chuck Swindoll preaching on three words. Three words that he said he heard as a young lad and that have continued to topple around in his mind many days. "Incarnate the Truth." He spoke about these words, giving depth to their language and adding Biblical background for the phrase. That you can talk about love, faith, etc. all you want, but until you see it in the flesh, it has no meaning. That we speak of faith, but when it is played out in the biography of Abraham, that faith becomes a living being who then has the opening to speak into our lives. And the same with lust and Samson, warrior and Braveheart, obediance and Ruth. And so tonight as I tuck away for bed, these words now ring in my head. Do I 'incrarnate the Truth'? What does it look like to do this? How do I 'incarnate the Truth' as I know it: Jesus Christ, the living gospel? Do I incarnate Truth to my students, to my friends, to my family? With these thoughts, I tuck away....

Greater Is He.

"I'll rise
Out of these ashes
I'll rise...
Greater is He
Who is in Me..."
~Shawn McDonald "Rise"

These words washed over me tonight. Shawn talked about them, explaining them with far more precision, depth, meaning, and understanding than I can attempt to bring in my monologue, his husky voice protruding far past the lyrics and through the hallowed out crevices in his soul where the Holy Spirit has carved out space and moves within.

But to me the words were awash with a reminder. That greater is he who is in me. That the things I toil after and feel so tired from, the things that exhort all energy and enthusiasm, the things that lure me and lurk after my soul, the things which chase me down until I am crumpled at his feet... These are the things that are the human of me. The things that are woman, are feminine, are the points of my life in which I am not physically able to exhurt more than I have offered.

But he who is in me is greater. He who is in me pulls from the depths and comes up triumphant. He who is in me is the constant Creator, the orchestrator of lessons. He who is in me holds control of every classroom he has materialized. He who is in me is the justice that fights for the inferiations, the passion that pours forth like colors erupting, the tender heart who snuggles ones close. He who is in me is the greatest goods. The greatest things that are in me which could ever be shown to mankind. These great things that I think I possess at some points, are him. It is he who is in me who shows himself in these forms!

And when I am dry, when I am weary, when I emptied of all passion, fight, and tenderness... He is still in me. He is my rest. He is my place of quiet, of solitude, of arms held wide. He is in me in my emptiness. He who is in me will use this vessel of emptied me in the world. And he will come forth, once again, like the dawn, and spill in full, fluid, flooding motion.

And They'll Wave To You

Put your pretty dress on

It's time for you to go to the dance

Tie your hair in ribbons and lace

And wear pearls 'round your neck

All the pretty princes will see you

All the pretty princes will see you

Someday, someday...

And they'll wave to you

And they'll wave to you

~ Rosie Thomas "Pretty Dress"