Food for Thought...

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Try saying that five times fast.

Obviously, that’s just a bunch of gibberish, the result of my drumming my fingers over a series of keys as I try to figure out what to write. Or rather, how to begin. I already know basically what I would like to say, but coming up with an interesting, eye-catching, attention-grabbing introduction is always a challenge. And today, it seems pretty clear that I am failing miserably at it. But you are apparently still reading, so I guess I must be doing something right.

You see, I knew when I started this post that I wanted to talk about Thanksgiving. But if you attended a public or private school in the American educational system at any point in your academic career, you’ve already heard all there is to know about Thanksgiving: The Pilgrims held its inaugural celebration in 1621 to show their gratitude and joy at surviving the devastating first year in Massachusetts Bay. The Native Americans brought along deer and other food to the feast; they ate together and enjoyed God’s blessings. Then 142 years later, during the height of the Civil War, President Abraham Lincoln made this tradition into an official American holiday in his Thanksgiving Proclamation on October 3, 1863. Today this holiday is enjoyed across the country as people consume ungodly amounts of turkey, stuffing, and pumpkin pie while watching back-to-back-to-back games of football. Thus, Thanksgiving is a truly American holiday.

All that being said, I really do like Thanksgiving. Although it’s not my favorite holiday by any means (Independence Day holds that honor), I certainly love everything it entails: getting together with family, eating lots of delicious food (and pretending that my dad’s annual “I wave my hand and thereby remove all calories from this food” so-called magic trick actually works), and pausing to reflect on all of life’s blessings. All in all, Thanksgiving is good, and I am thankful for it. Really, I am.

But just like coming up with a creative introduction, figuring out something insightful and meaningful to say about Thanksgiving is rather challenging. Just like all the fun historical facts about Thanksgiving (fun for me as a history major, at least), you already know all the important things about this holiday: being thankful for God’s innumerable, undeserved blessings and reaching out to those who are less fortunate. I could go on and on about how important these are, and though it would be worthwhile and you might gain something from it, I might lose the attention that I worked so hard with my gibberish to gain. And so, I am going to forego the discussion of the usual Thanksgiving themes to try a different approach. I’m not sure how it will turn out, so humor me for a minute. Or a few minutes, rather. You know how I ramble.

Okay, here goes…

How about we thank God for simply being God?

Yes, that seems really basic or maybe even a bit counterintuitive, but work with me here. Have you ever taken a moment and thought about Who God is and what that really means? And if you have ever taken that moment, when was the last time you did? To be entirely honest, this is not an activity that occurs to me often and, when it does, I doubt that I usually act upon it. So how about you and I, right now, on this Thanksgiving holiday, pause for a second to reflect on who God is and then express gratitude for it. Are you with me? Good. Let’s continue.

So we want to thank God for God. But what exactly does that mean? Well, seeing that I am just an amateur, wanna-be theologian, I don’t have an expert strategy or game plan for making that happen. But I do have one possible way to go about it.

I’ve blogged about my mom a few times, but she really doesn’t appear in my writing as often as she deserves. So today is her lucky day. Mama, you are getting your own official shout-out. Hope you like it! :) Among her many admirable—and sometimes slightly idiosyncratic—tendencies is my mother’s propensity for garage-saling. She truly has a knack for finding the best bargains at the lowest prices, all in the neighbor’s front yard. As they say, one man’s trash is another man’s treasure. Or in this case, a “woman’s treasure,” and that woman is my mother.

Last summer (during peak garage-sale season), my mom purchased what I believe to be one of the best investments. For the negligible price of one dollar, she bought a framed collection of the Hebrew names of God with their English translations. Each one is used at least one place in the Bible by God Himself or people writing about Him. Cool, eh?

As I said, I am not an expert on God, but I believe that if we really want to appreciate Who God is and have true, sincere gratitude for what He has done for us, then we first have to know who He is. That means having a grasp on His character and nature. And I think that God gives us a glimpse of that via His names. Once you read them, you’ll have a better idea of what I mean. Here they are:

Yahweh: LORD Jehovah
El Shaddai: The All-Sufficient One
Jehovah-Nissi: The LORD is my Banner
Jehovah-Jireh: The LORD will Provide
Jehovah-Shalom: The LORD is Peace
El Elyon: The Most High God
Jehovah-Tsidkenu: The LORD our Righteousness
Jehovah-Rapha: The LORD that Healeth
Adonai: Lord
El Olam: The Everlasting God
Jehovah Sabaoth: The LORD of Hosts
Jehovah-Mekod-Dishkem: The LORD who sanctifies
Jehovah-Shammah: The LORD is There
Elohim: Creator
Jehovah-Raah: The LORD is my Shepherd

Wow.

If you’re anything like me, it’s hard to read that list without being blown away. And if you weren’t blown away on the first reading, take a second to read it through one or two more times and really think about it. Or better yet, read it aloud. Then see how you feel.

God is awe-striking. He is so worthy of all the glory, honor, and praise—of everything. Yet in our day-to-day life, it’s so easy to forget about Him, about Who He really is. How do we manage to overlook the most significant Being in the universe? I don’t have an answer to that question because, to tell the truth, I do it the most often. As backwards and confused and messed up as it is, I do it all the time. But right now, starting with today, I am going to try to change that. And what more appropriate day to do that than on Thanksgiving?

I challenge you today to join me. In the midst of all the turkey-eating and general face-stuffing, take a moment and reflect on what God has done for you and, moreover, on who He is. And when that moment of reflection is up, take a second moment and thank Him—truly thank Him from the bottom of your gravy-covered heart—for Who He is. I have a feeling that you’ll be glad you did.

And with that, I wish you a very “Flusavfnjb3e Ghrfunvetuhgveen,” which is gibberish for “Happy Thanksgiving!” God bless. ;)

When in Rome...

I love my parents an awful lot.

They are absolutely amazing, they take such good care of me and my sisters, and they just plain great. I am so grateful for them, and since Thanksgiving is around the corner, I felt that it would be appropriate to express that gratitude in a blog. So, Mama and Papa, here is a shout-out just for you. Thanks for being so incredible.

Although my parents did many sacrificial and loving things for me and my sisters as we were growing up, one major decision of theirs stands out to me, and for it I am truly thankful. Somehow or another, by pinching their pennies (and much larger denominations of cash), they managed to send my sisters and me to a private Christian school to ensure that we would receive the best possible education. Because of their generosity, I am a shamelessly full-fledged nerd. Thanks, Mama and Papa. I mean that.

Now here I need to make a note about the type of education I was so blessed to experience. It wasn’t just any old private Christian school. No, it was a classical Christian school. This had a variety of implications (all of which destined me to my current state of nerddom): grammar training, logic classes, and—most importantly for this story—Latin.

We have already established this multiple times over, but I still feel as if it is worth repeating: I am a nerd. I am 100%, through and through, without a doubt, unashamedly nerdy. And it can be traced back to my elementary school days in my Latin class. For some reason, I fell in love with Latin. Call me a forensic linguist, but I had a blast poking around the carcass of this dead language. In fact, I enjoyed it so much that I even asked for and obtained special permission from the principal to take my Latin textbook home with me over the summer, so I could study more. I spent days on end—no lie—copying down conjugations of verbs. Sick, but true. And so, I developed a bizarre infatuation with Latin. As they say, when in Kansas, do as the Romans do. ;)

But then I went to high school and decided to suspend my pursuit of Latin in order to learn another language. In case you don’t know this, Latin, though unquestionably deceased, left behind several grandchildren. These are the Romance languages (don’t you just love them? Haha), and they are as follows: Spanish, French, Italian, Portuguese, and Romanian. So, having learned Latin for five consecutive years, one of these related languages would have been a logical choice to study, right? One would think.

But no. I decided to take German instead, and I’m pretty sure that the Latin language rolled over in its grave. Haha. Pun very much intended. Anyway, so I took three years worth of high school German and returned to Latin during my senior year (Darn budget cuts took away my school’s German program. Grrr.) Then I came to the university, where I currently study history and German, and I love it.

Having studied abroad for six months, I think I really appreciate the importance and value of learning a second (or third) language. There are countless benefits that come with it, including a heightened sense of cultural awareness, the ability to befriend people from different countries, having people think you are cooler than you are…. Haha. But one of the unexpected perks for me has come in my faith walk. Let me explain.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve had a fascination for words. As I have gotten older, I have become increasingly aware of their power. Each word is so intricate and carries with it such weight. How one phrases something and which words one chooses can completely alter a sentence’s meaning. Take for example the sentences “The room is cramped” versus “The room is cozy.” Both convey the image of a small, closed-in space, but the former produces a negative image and the latter a pleasant one.

Having learned two additional languages, I have an even greater appreciation for the power and meaning of words and, moreover, what they can teach us about God. My most recent favorite example can be found with the word “compassion.”

The root of the English word “compassion” comes from the Latin. “Com” is Latin for “together” and “pati” is Latin for suffer. So the English word compassion literally means “to suffer together.” Cool, eh? But wait! It gets cooler! The German word for compassion is “Mitleid”, which translates literally as “with suffering” or “suffering with.”

Whoa.

Let’s stop and dissect that for a moment (Don’t worry, not like the frogs in 7th-grade biology. Bleck). This means that compassion is not a passive emotion, a feeling that you can just shake off and forget about. On the contrary, compassion hurts. It means taking on someone else’s pain as your own and feeling it with them. Yikes. But maybe this is just something that got lost (or gained, rather) in translation. Maybe we aren’t supposed to literally feel the pain of those around us. Let’s see what the Bible says about it.

In the Bible, eight different Hebrew words are used to express compassion. Rather than diving into all of these, though, in the interest of time and space (and your wavering attention span), I will only look at one. And to change things up, I won’t even talk about a Hebrew one; I’ll discuss a Greek word (Betcha didn’t see that one coming, huh?) ;)

This word is Splagchnizomaito. (Try saying that five times fast! Or better yet, say it randomly in public and count how many people say “Gesundheit!” because they thought you sneezed!) All humor aside, this word has a very serious meaning: “to be moved as to one's bowels, hence to be moved with compassion, have compassion (for the bowels were thought to be the seat of love and pity.” This word is used multiple times in the Gospels to describe Jesus’ feeling toward people. For example, “Seeing the people, He felt compassion for them, because they were distressed and dispirited like sheep without a shepherd.” (Matthew 9:36). Or “Moved with compassion, Jesus touched their eyes; and immediately they regained their sight and followed Him.” (Matthew 20:34). Thus, one could also say, “Seeing the people, Jesus had bowels for them” (emphasis added), which means that Jesus felt their pain in the core of his emotional being. Incidentally, the Greeks believed this so-called emotional core was in one’s bowels. Go ahead,; take a moment to laugh about that because I am about to become very serious. Hahahahahaaha. Are you done now? …. Good.

So what can we take away from this brief Greek language lesson? Jesus felt other people’s pain when He walked on the earth, and I believe it’s safe to say that He feels the pain of His people today, right down in the core of his heavenly, immortal gut. But He doesn’t just stop there; He doesn’t merely feel pity in the form of an irritable bowel. Rather, He takes action. In Matthew 9:37-38, He told His disciples to pray for God to send out “workers into His harvest field” in order to reach the lost. In Matthew 20:34, he touches them and heals their blindness. Jesus knew that simply feeling for someone was not enough; He was “moved with compassion” and chose to help.

Even though the Latin-based word compassion and the German word Mitleid don’t sound nearly as cool as the Greek word, the idea remains the same. God calls us to identify with and share in the suffering of others. But He doesn’t want a passive pity; rather, he desires for us to do something about it. This doesn’t have to be earth-shatteringly large. It can be something as small as listening to someone vent after they have had a bad day, or offering a hug to a stranger simply because they looked like they needed one. Or it can be educating yourself on the sufferings of oppressed people around the world and then educating others about human trafficking. Whatever it is, I don’t think it’s something we can do on our own. Luckily, the God of all compassion who actively experiences our pain is here to help us. If we ask Him, He will fill our hearts—and bowels—with more compassion than we will know what to do with. And then He will help us do something with it anyway.

So that’s my prayer for you this week: that God would teach you more about true compassion, and then help you to live it out, whether you’re Oklahoma, Kansas, Paris… or Rome. ;)

Raining (Cats) and Dogs

I’m really thankful that I’m not a dog.

Don’t get me wrong; I have nothing personal against dogs. I have no bone to pick with them, so to speak (Pun intended). I just think that if I were a dog, life would be a little less enjoyable in some crucial ways. For instance, I wouldn’t be able to eat chocolate. How tragic! Or even if I could eat chocolate, I wouldn’t have the opposing thumbs to be able to open the wrapper. Also, if I were a dog, I would have to wear a collar. And with my luck, my so-called "best friend" wouldn't give me any old collar; no, I'd probably be stuck with an electric collar. Based on my slow learning curve as a human being, I am fairly certain that I would be shocked a lot--and I mean A LOT--of times before I would finally learn my lesson. I may not be an old dog, but it can still be hard to teach me new tricks.

But the absolute worst part—hands down, no question—of dogdom, in my opinion is simple: colorblindness. Call me strange, but I really love colors. Specifically, bright colors. Lots and lots of bright colors. And if I were a dog, I wouldn’t be able to distinguish between or appreciate those bright colors, or any colors at all. That would be very, very sad. I mean, have you ever heard of an exciting shade of gray? Or have you ever pondered what it would be like to sit at an OSU football game and shout “GRAY!!!!... POWER!!!”? It doesn’t have quite the same ring to it, does it? No, not at all. Why? Because gray is lame, gray is boring, gray needs to go away and hide because gray doesn’t have any friends. Except for dogs. Which is why I don’t want to be one.

And missing out on sea of orange at Oklahoma State football game, though terrible, pales in comparison to this: Colorblind dogs can’t see rainbows. Awful, isn’t it? As you probably know, dogs have super sensitive auditory faculties, which means that they hear things really, really well. Although I’ve never personally owned a dog (my dad is allergic), dog owners have told me stories of their canine best friends hiding under the bed for dear life because they are mortally afraid of thunderstorms.

Now, I haven’t seen too many rainbows in my life, but they tend to come after violent storms. But if I were a dog, I wouldn’t be able to enjoy—let alone see—the rainbow. I would just remember whimpering in a corner, praying that heaven is one gigantic leash-free park.

All that to say, rainbows are awesome, and I am sad that dogs don’t get to enjoy them. During my semester in Graz, I developed a special appreciation for rainbows. Let me tell you why.

If you read any of my blogs from Austria (or even some of them I have written since coming back), you will notice right away that I loved it. LOVED IT. As in, I quite literally had the time of my life, at least thus far. It was amazing, incredible, wonderful, exciting, and packed chock full of new experiences and adventures that I will remember as long as I live. But the best part was, without a doubt, all the new friends that I made—friendships I will truly cherish forever with people whom I dearly miss.

But Austria wasn’t all sunshine and roses; no, it had a few storms—both literal and figurative. At the end of May, I went through one of the worst. I had just returned from the ESN (Exchange Student Network) Summer Event, during which a group Erasmus students from all over Austria spent a weekend at a mountain lake, swimming, playing volleyball and doing what Erasmus students do best: partying. Overall, the weekend was a blast, I met some cool new people, and I got to know my close friends even better. However, as I pedaled from the train station back to my apartment, the storm clouds began to gather, both in the sky and inside my heart. I had barely made it into my third-story flat when the thunderstorm hit and the lightning started splitting the sky. As if on cue, the clouds in my heavy heart suddenly broke, and tears fell in perfect cadence with the raindrops on the roof. But why—heave—was—heave—I crying—heave? My heart, I soon realized, was breaking out of love for my friends. My soul physically hurt because I wanted them to find the hope that I have—the kind that comes only from Christ. And so, in that moment, in the midst of the overwhelming pain like nothing I had ever felt before, I started to pray, to pray from the bottom of my heart.

Gradually during this time, the storm had been dying down. As I neared the end of my praying, I felt the weirdest urge to check my Facebook. Strange, I know. When I did, I saw half a dozen updates on my news feed from my friends in Graz saying stuff like, “Check out the rainbow!” and “Wow! The rainbow is so beautiful!” When I looked out my window, which faced the city, no rainbow was in sight. Grabbing my keys, I hurried to the back of the building, which faced the other direction. And sure enough, above the Schlossberg in vibrant, untainted, breathtaking beauty were not one but TWO perfect rainbows. Two undeniable reminders of God’s unending faithfulness.

After the great flood that destroyed all of mankind except Noah and his family, God made the first rainbow, saying, “This is the sign of the covenant I am making between me and you and every living creature with you, a covenant for all generations to come: I have set my rainbow in the clouds, and it will be the sign of the covenant between me and the earth. Whenever I bring clouds over the earth and the rainbow appears in the clouds, I will remember my covenant between me and you.” (Genesis 9:12-14a).

Whenever a rainbow appears for all generations to come, God remembers His promise to us. So whenever a rainbow appears, God shows us his faithfulness. That means every single rainbow that has ever been and ever will be—including the perfectly-timed double rainbow over the Schlossberg that evening in May.

So wherever you are and whatever you are going through, whether you’re in a sunshiny meadow or just praying to survive the storm, know that God hasn’t forgotten you. Even if you can’t feel Him now, He is still with you, and He will never leave you. He has a way of turning even the darkest, rainiest, most seemingly hopeless moments into unforgettable, unbelievable, awe-inspiring rainbows.

And that, even if you’re a colorblind dog, is something to bark home about. ;)

Confessions of A Grammar Nerd

It started way back in second grade. It was love at first sight, a moment of truth, of joy, of excitement as hopes I didn’t even realize I had hoped and dreams I didn’t know I had dreamed finally, instantaneously, suddenly, out-of-the-bluedly came true.

I had discovered English grammar.

Yes, this description may be prone to hyperbole, but the heart of my message is true: I love grammar. Ever since I learned the basics of nouns, verbs, and complete sentences, I have been enjoying a long-term relationship with grammar. And I have loved just about every minute of it.

Adjectives are splendid; adverbs happily dress up the sentence. Verbs say what is being done, and nouns relay who is doing it. But I have always had—and always will have—a soft spot and a special place in my heart for prepositions.

To all of you non-grammar nuts out there, those of you whose lives are rife with comma splices and your thoughts amok with run-on sentences, let me enlighten you. Though not essential, prepositions are integral to the health of the sentence. If nouns are the dots, prepositions connect them, transforming them into a beautiful picture. Take for example the sentence “The dog eats with the cat.” What a lovely image. In this sentence, “with” is the preposition. If you take out the preposition, observe what happens: “The dog eats the cat.” You see? Two distinctly different possibilities, one the epitome of natural harmony, the other… well, goodbye Fluffy.

Also, prepositions need to be treated with respect and not abused. They are not to be left dangling haplessly at the end, like a bit of stringy pizza cheese. No, they belong in the middle of the sentence, the heart of the action.

Obviously, I am a tad partial to this particular part of speech. And with good reason, for prepositions, though they don’t make “the world go round”, they do let you go “around the world.” ;)

Though I am rather fond of prepositions, they tend to be forgotten and ignored. People gravitate toward the flashier parts of speech, like the adverbs and adjectives. They prefer to know who is important and what they are doing. In the gossip magazine of grammar, the prepositions are left without paparazzi.

But that’s okay! Why? Because I haven’t forgotten them! And neither has God! Why? Simple:

Our God is a God of prepositions. And God can use even the most overlooked parts of speech to reveal His glory. Let me show you how.

The English language has 54 prepositions. And almost every single one of them describes God. He is above and beyond (all of creation, time, the world), among and around (our world in which we live), before and behind (everywhere we go), beneath and below (even the deepest places to which we fall), before and after (every moment of our lives), beside and by (us every step of the way), between (us and our fears), beyond and despite (everything we do to hurt Him), in and inside (our hearts where He dwells), during (our darkest hours and purest joys). He is for and from, near and outside, over and past, through and throughout, in and into, with, within and without.

So next time you see a preposition, pause a moment and ponder the God who made them and who, just like that preposition, holds everything together.

God bless.

Split Seconds

Sometimes a split second makes all the difference.

Sunday October 10th around 9 p.m. was the time of one such split second. Jake Henry, 21, and his girlfriend of 8+ years Stephanie Conn, 22, were driving back to the University of Kansas after a day visiting their families. But they never made it to Lawrence. Instead, they were in a head-on collision with a vehicle attempting to pass from the other direction on the undivided, two-lane highway. And in a split second, three precious lives disappeared from this earth forever.

On Friday morning, I attended Jake and Stephanie’s funeral. Mrs. Henry, Jake’s mother, was my sisters’ and my high school Latin teacher, and as such is very dear to our family. Although I had never met Jake, Mrs. Henry had entertained us with enough stories about him that I knew all about him. But when we entered the church for the funeral, I didn’t know what to expect. I knew beyond all shadow of doubt that I would cry, but I didn’t realize that my life would be so impacted. Forever.

You see, Stephanie and Jake may have seemed like typical college seniors. But they were so much more than that. As middle- and high-school sweethearts, they planned to marry shortly after graduation and enjoy happily-ever-after together. They loved and honored each other, putting the other before themselves. Frugal, they were good stewards of the money they worked so hard to earn. They cared greatly for their families, putting them before everything else. Firm believers in the value of doing the right thing, they lived morally and set an example for those around them. Funny, compassionate, joyful, and kind, Stephanie and Jake were the sort of people you would want for your best friend, knowing you could always, always count on them.

But most of all, what made Jake and Stephanie so special—what made them stand out from the rest—was simple: their faith in Jesus as their Savior. And their desire to live every day for Him.

God called these two stellar young people home. Too soon, it would seem, especially to their families who are still reeling from the loss. Even in the epicenter of sorrow, their Heavenly Father has a purpose, and His timing is perfect. And He catches every tear that falls for Jake and Stephanie, and holds their families’ breaking hearts.

I’m sorry to be so serious. It’s hard to be upbeat when thinking about this subject. But even in the midst of this darkness, God leaves a lesson, and with it a bright ray of hope.

Stephanie and Jake have passed on to heaven, but their legacy remains. Together, they touched countless people, many of whom came to their joint visitation and funeral. They lived well, laughed often, loved much—and most importantly, pointed others to their Savior. God used their lives to make the world a better place, and His plan continues even with their deaths. Though it’s impossible to understand such a tragedy, though we can’t grasp why God would call them home so soon, He remains faithful, and He will fulfill His purpose. Because God is good, all the time. And all the time, God is good.

All that being said, I did a great deal of thinking this weekend. And my mind kept returning to the same question: What kind of legacy am I leaving?

You see, this life doesn’t last forever, as last Sunday’s accident clearly demonstrates. When we are no longer here, people will remember us for what we did, both good and bad. Our life is made up of myriad different legacies; we leave an impact wherever we are: at school, in our living situation, with our friends, with random strangers who cross our paths—in everything. Each experience is an opportunity to leave a footprint, a mark on this world. We shouldn’t just worry about a legacy when thinking about our eulogy one day; rather, we should strive every day to make a difference in the world and lives around us.

Nicole Nordeman, a Christian artist, expresses this notion well, in her song titled “Legacy”:

“I want to leave a legacy. How will they remember me? Did I choose to love? Did I point to You enough to make a mark on things? I want to leave an offering. Child of mercy and grace who blessed Your name unapologetically—to leave that kind of legacy.”

So that’s my challenge and prayer for you—and for me—today. Decide what sort of legacy you want to leave, and then start living like it. Now. Because you never know what the next split second might bring.

God bless. And please keep the Conn and Henry families in your prayers.

Let's "Face" It...

Before we go any further in this “blog-lationship” (like relationship, but only pertaining to blogs), there is something I need to share with you. Are you ready? Here it is:

I really like washing my face.

Yeah, I know it’s weird. Weird that I would like washing my face, and equally if not even weirder that I would take the time to notice the emotion I feel towards it. But despite its apparent and undeniable weirdness, the truth doesn’t change: I really enjoy washing my face.

This affinity toward facial cleansing is odd, I admit, but it’s not without reason. In fact, I have some very good reasons for feeling this way. For instance, washing my face is incredibly refreshing; after washing it, my day can get off to a good start. And it’s also the perfect end to my day, since it lets me rinse away all the grunge and dirt and stress that accumulates without fail. I love how the water temperature affects how I feel: if I want to relax, I use warm water; if I need to wake up, cool water does the trick. Like Orbit gum gives your mouth that “good clean feeling,” an old-fashioned face washing does the same for my skin. And, boy, does it feel lovely!

In addition to these benefits of facial cleansing, there is an even more important aspect for which we should account: pimples. Ever since middle school, this red-dotted, white-headed nuisances have taken up residence on my face, and—despite regular eviction notices and constant threats—refuse to leave. No, on the contrary, these “squatters” regularly rise up as if to stage a coup and take over my entire face. The nerve! But luckily, though, I have my trusty arsenal, my facial cleanser hit squad, that unleashes a counter attack two times a day. And, thus, by washing my face, these arch nemeses of every teenager’s life are kept at bay. (Nevermind that I am no longer a teenager. My skin seems to have missed the memo that I’m not 13 anymore. Grrr.)

Okay, I know I am being goofy, and I admit that I get carried away sometimes. But I really do enjoy washing my face. And really do wish I didn’t have acne…

But the point of this blog isn’t just for me to ramble on and on about how my facewash completes my life. I’m supposed to tie it into a deep thought or lesson about life. I know what you’re thinking right now: “How could she possibly have a deep life lesson about facewash?” (Or alternatively, you are thinking about how badly you need to go to the bathroom. If this is the case, you have my permission to leave. Just come right back. And don’t forget to wash your hands.) Oh, trust me, I do. Just you wait.

The other day, I didn’t have time to wash my face before heading to my first class. I had gone to the gym and was running late, and I really need to make it to my class on time. Something had to give, and it was washing my face. All during the class, I couldn’t help thinking about how gross I felt and how I couldn’t wait to get back to finish my facial cleansing ritual. The minute that the lecture was finished, I skedaddled back home to do just that. As I splashed the cool water over my skin and lathered the face wash all over it and rinsed it off, I felt a wave a sweet relief. It was as if by washing my face, my whole body felt cleaner and my day suddenly became brighter. (This sounds cheesy, I know, but it was a very moving moment). And then also in that moment, I realized something else. Something far more important than the “Hallelujah Chorus” being sung on my face.

You see, I would never skip washing my face in the morning or evening. And when I was forced to postpone it, I jumped at the chance to fix it. My twice-daily facial cleansing ritual is important to me. I do whatever I can to make it happen. It’s one of my top priorities, and without it, my day is incomplete and wholly thrown off.

Is the same true for my daily time spent with Jesus?

No, as much as I hate to admit it, it’s not. When I get in a rush, time with Him is the first thing to be cut and the last to be made up for later—if at all. Day after day, I come to the end before I realize that I forgot about Him. I washed my face twice. But I didn’t talk to or listen to my Savior once. Huh. There is something fundamentally wrong with that. Very, very wrong. And yet, day after day, I make the same mistake again. And night after night, I lay down to sleep before I remember that I should have read my Bible or prayed.

It’s not like I don’t have reminders to change this. “Spiritual acne” pops up, and it’s impossible to miss: When I don’t spend time with Jesus, my mind is full of selfish desires and pride, my mouth becomes contaminated with unkind and thoughtless words, and my heart is weighed down by sorrow and guilt. I know I’m not supposed to feel or act this way, and I understand that my daily “soul cleansing” ritual, so to speak, can help me overcome and avoid this. I realize that Jesus is my Refresher and my Comforter, leading my soul beside quiet waters and making me lie down in His green pastures. He calls Himself the “Living Water”; this is no coincidence. And yet, day in and day out, I live in perpetual dehydration, with grime and grease and dead skin cells covering the pores of my heart.

It makes no sense to live this way; I know that sure as anything. So why do I do it anyway?

I don’t have a good answer for that question, as much as I have wrestled with it. The only conclusion to which I have come is simple: I’m human. In fact, we all are. And as a result, we tend to doing things we know are wrong and shy away from things we know are right. Just as greasy skin is prone to breaking out with pimples, so our hearts are prone to wandering away from our Savior and doing what hurts Him.

But luckily, there is a solution. Spending time with God and getting into His Word is the best defense against “greasy spiritual skin.” Rather than defensive, though, think of it as a proactive approach (pun very much intended). Whenever we consciously make and/or take time to be with our Savior, He cleanses us anew from the dirt and grime of our sin. Just like a daily or twice-daily facial cleansing, He refreshes and renews us and makes us pure again.

So that’s my hope and prayer for you—and for me—today: That we would prioritize Jesus, the Living Water, and the One who makes us clean. And while I’m at it, I might pray for some clearer skin too. ;)

In Theory

(This is something I wrote a while back, but thought was worth sharing. Enjoy.) :)

In theory.

These two words make up a tiny little phrase, but it packs a pretty powerful punch.

When added to a sentence, these two words add an entirely different dimension and can completely change the meaning.

Don’t believe me? Well, then let’s try these examples on for size. And don’t worry; they’re preshrunk, so they won’t disappear when you stick them in the dryer.

Example #1: I like kids… in theory.

(This is true. Children are wonderful little critters… as long as you can return them to their parents when they start crying.)

Example #2: Your outfit is cute… in theory.

(This can be applied to a variety of different outfit choices; if you need more specific visuals, please reference my yearbook photos. Yuck.)

Example #3: I like celery… in theory.

(Yes, I realize that celery is good for me. Yes, I understand that celery has negative calories, meaning that the act of chewing celery burns more calories than the celery actually contains. But that doesn’t change the fact that I have never been able—and will never be able—to stomach celery. Not even as disguised as “ants on a log” with the peanut butter and raisins on top. Blech.)

Example #4: Riding full-speed downhill on a bike and making a sharp ninety-degree turn into your driveway is a great idea… in theory.

(It’s all fun and games until you become blood-brothers with the concrete. Don’t ask me how I know.)

Example #5: The Grand Canyon is an amazing vacation destination… in theory.

(I’m from Kansas. I hate heights. The Grand Canyon is very high. Let’s just say that when I looked over the edge, I wish I had invested in Depends. Enough said.)

Example #6: A Calculus 2 class at 7:30 a.m. Monday, Wednesday, Friday your first semester of college is the perfect addition to the history major’s schedule… in theory. Or not even in theory. That’s just a terrible idea all around. Who in their right mind would do something that absurd? … Ummm… No comment.

Anyway, you get the point. Lots of things sound fantastic as ideas, but the reality can be a different story.

That’s how I feel about Jesus sometimes. I want to obey Him and do His will for my life. I want to count the cost and take up my cross daily and follow Him. I want to surrender everything—my whole life, all my gifts and talents, and my very being—to Him alone…

In theory.

Reality complicates things, doesn’t it? It muddles everything up. It gets in the way. I want all these qualities, I desire this wholehearted devotion to Jesus, but sometimes—the vast majority of the time, really—it seems too overwhelming and too impossible. I’m good at loving Jesus when it’s comfortable, when there’s nothing at stake, no risk involved. But when the going gets tough, I’m too weak to get going. This fair-weather, “theoretical” Christianity is so tempting, and, at the same time, so disgusting. No wonder Jesus says He’ll spit the lukewarm out of His mouth. Yuck.

So, then, what can I do? How do I overcome this dichotomy, this barrier, this wall between living safely and cautiously—daintily dipping my toes into the water—and living adventurously, out of faith—doing a running leap into a cannon ball with a splash big enough to soak the lifeguard? I don’t know about you, but sitting on the edge of the pool can be pretty boring. Sure, you may improve your tan a tad (or completely fry), but the real fun happens in the pool. They call it a “swimming pool” and not a “get UV radiation pool” for a reason. I don’t want to sunburn; I want to dive in! But how?

Fortunately for me—and for you too—God isn’t theoretical. He doesn’t say, “I love you… in theory” and “I’m with you… in theory” or “I’ll help you… in theory.” On the contrary! God loves us, is with us, and helps us—in reality. He sent Jesus to show us the reality of His love and concern for us. And after Jesus ascended into heaven, He gave us His Holy Spirit to fulfill that role in each of our lives. He promises to help us through everything, whatever comes our way. And, if we let Him, He’ll even help us overcome our own lukewarm nature and become the Christ-followers that He created us to be.

And He might even help me like celery. You just never know… in theory. :)