It is amazing at how quickly the panic sets in... it seems just yesterday, (oh wait, it was) when I was writing about how everything is starting to make sense, and now, I guess, it is only natural for the overwhelming feelings of panic to flood in.
It isn't like I didn't see this coming. It's just that I started thinking about it on the way home from work today. I suppose thinking is what the problem really is, because I don't worry if I don't think.
But then, while I was driving home, something made me realize that I'd probably only be doing this for two or three more weeks. And after that, I don't know where I'll be driving. It's possible that I won't have my own "home" to go to.
Thoughts of the verse, Matthew 8:19 and 20, when a teacher of the law came to Jesus and said, "Teacher, I will follow you wherever you go."
Jesus replied, "Foxes have holes and birds of the air have nests, but the Son of Man has no place to lay his head."
"No place to lay his head."
The cost of following Jesus. Is this the true cost?
I started thinking about what it would be like to live out of my car. Having to get a P.O. box because I wouldn't have a real mailbox. Having to take showers at the four seasons locker room because I don't have my own shower. I wondered what it would be like if a cop woke me up in the middle of the night because I was sleeping in my driver's seat in a parking lot somewhere.
That's when I started to panic. It's not that I don't think I couldn't do it. Millions of people sleep in a cardboard box at night. At least I have a car.
I am able to make plans with the rest of them. But then I wonder how my plans tie in to God's will. I tell myself, "He wouldn't make me do that. He wouldn't make me live on the street."
And I wonder, why wouldn't He? He could do whatever He darn well pleases.
And I am slowly learning to be ok with that. I think that might be one of the other things that scares me. How easy it is for me to simply accept his will, or at least what I attempt to pass off as his will.
Monday, August 10, 2009
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Coincidencs are not without a sense of irony.
Coincidences. I find that I don't believe in them so much. Not anymore.
Coming back from Bolivia has been interesting, to say the least. I can't lie, and say that this summer was as amazing as I would have liked. No, this summer was torture. So many things happened to me that left me writhing in a sort of "spiritual pain", if I can say it like that.
I realize now, that this whole year has been a sort of spiritual pregnancy, as an idea has been growing inside my head that only recently has been birthed.
Conceived about a year ago, I attended a church service where John Hernandez (the founder of CIN) preached about "Nailing whatever is holding you back from Christ to the Cross."
I didn't understand much of the sermon, because it was mostly in spanish, but what I do remember, was how John challenged us to write down on a piece of paper whatever it was that was holding us back from following Christ. Then we were to walk to the front of the church, where he had multiple wooden crosses and nails. He asked us to nail what was on that paper to the cross.
Cliche, I thought. But then I started thinking about what that actually meant. What was it that was holding ME back from serving Christ? It wasn't my sin, though sin does keep us from God. I realized what was holding me back was my life. I had been keeping my life neatly compartmentalized, tucked away in the corners of my mind, free from God's control. I wanted to have my "Christianity Cake" and eat it too.
Sure, I was a Christian. I was doing everything that God could ask of any Christian. I was living the life any true North American Christian would. And I know, that it was okay to do so. I wasn't committing any sin by living this life.
But I suspected, that there may be more to it. And I knew, that this "life", as I called it, was what was holding me back. From what, I couldn't tell you at the time. I just knew that it was holding me back from what God truly had in store for me. So I had the choice. Continue my "life", and live in the shadow of God's Glory. Or give my "life" away, and potentially bask in the fullness of it.
So I scribbled "Mi Vida" on the paper, and I walked up to the front. I nailed my life to the cross.
In Spanish.
I didn't know what that meant for a very long time. I tried "giving up" my life after that, sacrificing what I thought anyone who had done such a thing should. Like sleep to read my bible. But eventually, I forgot and resumed life as normal. Every now and then, God would casually remind me of how I nailed my life to the cross, but I never really understood what it meant so I ignored it.
And this year was hard. So hard that there were times I just wanted to die. I would cry myself to sleep almost every night, feeling so alone, hurting so badly. Not wanting to live here, but not wanting to live anywhere. Even this summer in Bolivia, I had nights of "I just don't want to be here, God," running through my skull until the thoughts leaked out of the cracked glass of my soul. "I don't want to be anywhere."
Satan has pushed so hard, this year. He has lurked in every shadow, every corner. Every time I looked in the mirror, he was there. Scratching at my arms, feeding on my thoughts. Satan has been a punk this year. And I have fought back. Tooth and nail, I have pushed back. I keep seeing images in my head of a lone warrior with nothing but a shield, pushing against the hordes of hell. That scene in 300? Where they are pushing the army off the cliff? That is me, and Satan is going over.
I've hated my friends this year, and learned to love them again. I've committed sins that I had promised God many years ago that I'd never do again, and have fresh scars to show from it. This year has been so tough, and I didn't know why. But it's all starting to make sense. This summer was nothing but contractions in the birthing process as the idea began to free itself from my mind.
I guess all the poetic wording is to make this one statement: Everything makes sense now. All of it. Or at least the parts that matter.
From learning how to depend on friends, to having none at all. From realizing that sin isn't something you can completely free yourself from, it has to be understood to be conquered. (And only Christ can do that.) From getting to Bolivia, and realizing that wasn't enough to make me happy. To praying for a clear vision of my life, knowing I wasn't meant to be a clown forever. Having John Hernandez tell me this year how when Levi was called, (by Jesus) that he "Got up. Left all. And followed Him." To learning I had a love for Hispanic and Latin culture and people, to remembering that I had nailed my LIFE to the CROSS. IN SPANISH. To panicking because God revealed to me what that meant. Getting home, realizing I was losing my job (at least, the job in the way that I know it.) Reading Matthew and getting stuck on the part about the rich young ruler. Having the words, "This one thing you lack, sell all your possessions, give that money to the poor, and Follow Me."
Follow Me. Follow Me. Follow Me.
I can't shake the words from my head. Follow Me.
I keep telling myself I'm making thing up. This isn't a burning bush, but it's pretty hot.
That, and realizing now, how the whole time in Bolivia, I had a pair of Jeans that had (what I thought was a Venezuelan flag) stitched into the seam. Those jeans were a size 34, a size that I was just able to fit into this summer. Come to find out, it was a Colombian Flag. The very place I've had rolling around in my mind lately. "Colombia just fits so nice."
Coincidences are not without a sense of irony. And that irony has not been lost on me. That final piece of the puzzle isn't there yet, but it is in my hands, waiting for a very crucial conversation. But I know that the puzzle will never be complete until I put that piece in. It is only a matter of time before I decide to complete it.
Prayers are always helpful.
Coming back from Bolivia has been interesting, to say the least. I can't lie, and say that this summer was as amazing as I would have liked. No, this summer was torture. So many things happened to me that left me writhing in a sort of "spiritual pain", if I can say it like that.
I realize now, that this whole year has been a sort of spiritual pregnancy, as an idea has been growing inside my head that only recently has been birthed.
Conceived about a year ago, I attended a church service where John Hernandez (the founder of CIN) preached about "Nailing whatever is holding you back from Christ to the Cross."
I didn't understand much of the sermon, because it was mostly in spanish, but what I do remember, was how John challenged us to write down on a piece of paper whatever it was that was holding us back from following Christ. Then we were to walk to the front of the church, where he had multiple wooden crosses and nails. He asked us to nail what was on that paper to the cross.
Cliche, I thought. But then I started thinking about what that actually meant. What was it that was holding ME back from serving Christ? It wasn't my sin, though sin does keep us from God. I realized what was holding me back was my life. I had been keeping my life neatly compartmentalized, tucked away in the corners of my mind, free from God's control. I wanted to have my "Christianity Cake" and eat it too.
Sure, I was a Christian. I was doing everything that God could ask of any Christian. I was living the life any true North American Christian would. And I know, that it was okay to do so. I wasn't committing any sin by living this life.
But I suspected, that there may be more to it. And I knew, that this "life", as I called it, was what was holding me back. From what, I couldn't tell you at the time. I just knew that it was holding me back from what God truly had in store for me. So I had the choice. Continue my "life", and live in the shadow of God's Glory. Or give my "life" away, and potentially bask in the fullness of it.
So I scribbled "Mi Vida" on the paper, and I walked up to the front. I nailed my life to the cross.
In Spanish.
I didn't know what that meant for a very long time. I tried "giving up" my life after that, sacrificing what I thought anyone who had done such a thing should. Like sleep to read my bible. But eventually, I forgot and resumed life as normal. Every now and then, God would casually remind me of how I nailed my life to the cross, but I never really understood what it meant so I ignored it.
And this year was hard. So hard that there were times I just wanted to die. I would cry myself to sleep almost every night, feeling so alone, hurting so badly. Not wanting to live here, but not wanting to live anywhere. Even this summer in Bolivia, I had nights of "I just don't want to be here, God," running through my skull until the thoughts leaked out of the cracked glass of my soul. "I don't want to be anywhere."
Satan has pushed so hard, this year. He has lurked in every shadow, every corner. Every time I looked in the mirror, he was there. Scratching at my arms, feeding on my thoughts. Satan has been a punk this year. And I have fought back. Tooth and nail, I have pushed back. I keep seeing images in my head of a lone warrior with nothing but a shield, pushing against the hordes of hell. That scene in 300? Where they are pushing the army off the cliff? That is me, and Satan is going over.
I've hated my friends this year, and learned to love them again. I've committed sins that I had promised God many years ago that I'd never do again, and have fresh scars to show from it. This year has been so tough, and I didn't know why. But it's all starting to make sense. This summer was nothing but contractions in the birthing process as the idea began to free itself from my mind.
I guess all the poetic wording is to make this one statement: Everything makes sense now. All of it. Or at least the parts that matter.
From learning how to depend on friends, to having none at all. From realizing that sin isn't something you can completely free yourself from, it has to be understood to be conquered. (And only Christ can do that.) From getting to Bolivia, and realizing that wasn't enough to make me happy. To praying for a clear vision of my life, knowing I wasn't meant to be a clown forever. Having John Hernandez tell me this year how when Levi was called, (by Jesus) that he "Got up. Left all. And followed Him." To learning I had a love for Hispanic and Latin culture and people, to remembering that I had nailed my LIFE to the CROSS. IN SPANISH. To panicking because God revealed to me what that meant. Getting home, realizing I was losing my job (at least, the job in the way that I know it.) Reading Matthew and getting stuck on the part about the rich young ruler. Having the words, "This one thing you lack, sell all your possessions, give that money to the poor, and Follow Me."
Follow Me. Follow Me. Follow Me.
I can't shake the words from my head. Follow Me.
I keep telling myself I'm making thing up. This isn't a burning bush, but it's pretty hot.
That, and realizing now, how the whole time in Bolivia, I had a pair of Jeans that had (what I thought was a Venezuelan flag) stitched into the seam. Those jeans were a size 34, a size that I was just able to fit into this summer. Come to find out, it was a Colombian Flag. The very place I've had rolling around in my mind lately. "Colombia just fits so nice."
Coincidences are not without a sense of irony. And that irony has not been lost on me. That final piece of the puzzle isn't there yet, but it is in my hands, waiting for a very crucial conversation. But I know that the puzzle will never be complete until I put that piece in. It is only a matter of time before I decide to complete it.
Prayers are always helpful.
Sunday, July 5, 2009
Harder than the first time
This last week went by, pretty well. I thought it would be a fun week, as I learned all of the 27 new team members names in one night, an accomplishment I don´t take lightly.
However, as fun as parts of it were, there were struggles as dark and hard as I have ever faced.
People questioning Jesus as the only way to God is not something I take lightly. And having to be asked to stop defendig my faith is something else I never expected to happen here.
It seems that humility is the name of the game this year, something I´m not entirely sure I expected, but something I´m learning to.
A lot of hard work was done this week, and so the Boy´s home is looking better and better, and we even started clearing the workshop to prepare it for the bakery.
All good things. I just hope I can survive. Please pray for me, as never have I felt closer to God, and yet so alone.
Miss you all.
However, as fun as parts of it were, there were struggles as dark and hard as I have ever faced.
People questioning Jesus as the only way to God is not something I take lightly. And having to be asked to stop defendig my faith is something else I never expected to happen here.
It seems that humility is the name of the game this year, something I´m not entirely sure I expected, but something I´m learning to.
A lot of hard work was done this week, and so the Boy´s home is looking better and better, and we even started clearing the workshop to prepare it for the bakery.
All good things. I just hope I can survive. Please pray for me, as never have I felt closer to God, and yet so alone.
Miss you all.
Sunday, June 28, 2009
First Week
I think that grown men who are moved to tears because they are brokenhearted about leaving something they love says a multitude about this place.
Alex, who has never been to Bolivia before, and Adam, a former host and a dear friend, both cried as they passed through security the other night.
I don´t know what they were thinking, but clearly tears like that only come from a broken heart.
I know those tears well.
Overall, we had an amazing week, filled with lots of hard work involving pickaxes, rocks, and fire. I had a few spiritual conversations, and much internal reflection and struggle. I got to know the other hosts a little better, and had an amazing moment of reconciliation with a close friend, who I was so reluctant to say goodbye to.
Though the team had a good time, I had a difficult week finding my place and determining my purpose. I feel a little alone, as I´m finding it hard to connect to people this time around.
As far as the boys from the center are concerned, they have been amazing. The healing work of Christ has never been more apparent than this year. It makes my heart sing. One of the new team members said it best: ¨You can see God in their smiles.
Please continue to pray for me, as I still struggle with some unseen issue. Whether it is Angel or Demon, I do not know. I love you all.
I miss you Elena. Javier comes looking for his hugs evereday.
Dios Te Bendiga
Alex, who has never been to Bolivia before, and Adam, a former host and a dear friend, both cried as they passed through security the other night.
I don´t know what they were thinking, but clearly tears like that only come from a broken heart.
I know those tears well.
Overall, we had an amazing week, filled with lots of hard work involving pickaxes, rocks, and fire. I had a few spiritual conversations, and much internal reflection and struggle. I got to know the other hosts a little better, and had an amazing moment of reconciliation with a close friend, who I was so reluctant to say goodbye to.
Though the team had a good time, I had a difficult week finding my place and determining my purpose. I feel a little alone, as I´m finding it hard to connect to people this time around.
As far as the boys from the center are concerned, they have been amazing. The healing work of Christ has never been more apparent than this year. It makes my heart sing. One of the new team members said it best: ¨You can see God in their smiles.
Please continue to pray for me, as I still struggle with some unseen issue. Whether it is Angel or Demon, I do not know. I love you all.
I miss you Elena. Javier comes looking for his hugs evereday.
Dios Te Bendiga
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Packing
So I'm at about 55 pounds. I think this is my lightest trip yet. I'd like to think that I've gotten a little bit better at leaving stuff behind. But then I go to the store and find that "one item" I simply can't live without.
What is it about our society that makes us believe that we simply can't survive without a new coat? Or some "noise" putty?
I feel like I should be really excited right now. Yet, I'm not. I don't get it. I've never felt like this before. It's almost like this is "supposed" to happen. Do you get excited about something that is inevitable?
It has been such a strange preparation for this trip. Ever since I decided that I would go ahead and go, things have seemed to roll so smoothly that I haven't had much of a say in it.
I got all my money in a week. I have more than enough to pay for my bills while I'm gone. I have managed to juggle a wedding, two graduations, and going out of the country, all within a month. I've worked, painted, plexiglassed... (is that a word?) and even blogged a bit.
I've gotten so much done, but still feel like I'm missing something.
It has got to be God.
Getting to the end of a day, have you ever realized that you haven't talked to God at all?
Is that the most horrible feeling you've ever had? Like you'd forgotten to call someone back that has left you three voicemails, five text messages, and a facebook wall post.
I wonder if God understands our busy-ness? Not to make excuses.. but did Jesus ever forget to get back to someone? And if He did, was there remorse?
I can only think of the situation where Lazarus was ill, and his family sent for Jesus. Jesus didn't get back to them right away. Lazarus died, and THEN Jesus got back to him.
And Jesus wept.
I don't have any clue, (again,) how this is relevant to my packing for Bolivia. Except maybe, that I went through another whole day without seeking him first.
I'd ask Him to understand, but I just feel rude.
So I hope to keep up with this blog a bit while I'm in Bolivia. Hopefully I'll have more interesting stories than the random ones I come up with when I'm really tired.
Blessings to you all. See you stateside in August.
What is it about our society that makes us believe that we simply can't survive without a new coat? Or some "noise" putty?
I feel like I should be really excited right now. Yet, I'm not. I don't get it. I've never felt like this before. It's almost like this is "supposed" to happen. Do you get excited about something that is inevitable?
It has been such a strange preparation for this trip. Ever since I decided that I would go ahead and go, things have seemed to roll so smoothly that I haven't had much of a say in it.
I got all my money in a week. I have more than enough to pay for my bills while I'm gone. I have managed to juggle a wedding, two graduations, and going out of the country, all within a month. I've worked, painted, plexiglassed... (is that a word?) and even blogged a bit.
I've gotten so much done, but still feel like I'm missing something.
It has got to be God.
Getting to the end of a day, have you ever realized that you haven't talked to God at all?
Is that the most horrible feeling you've ever had? Like you'd forgotten to call someone back that has left you three voicemails, five text messages, and a facebook wall post.
I wonder if God understands our busy-ness? Not to make excuses.. but did Jesus ever forget to get back to someone? And if He did, was there remorse?
I can only think of the situation where Lazarus was ill, and his family sent for Jesus. Jesus didn't get back to them right away. Lazarus died, and THEN Jesus got back to him.
And Jesus wept.
I don't have any clue, (again,) how this is relevant to my packing for Bolivia. Except maybe, that I went through another whole day without seeking him first.
I'd ask Him to understand, but I just feel rude.
So I hope to keep up with this blog a bit while I'm in Bolivia. Hopefully I'll have more interesting stories than the random ones I come up with when I'm really tired.
Blessings to you all. See you stateside in August.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Some Random Thoughts
(do you think this is appropriate since I have called myself RandomK?)
I just got home from a friends house, where me and my roommate had been invited over to chill before we left for Bolivia. We talked about sTREETsLEEPERs, and I expressed my discouragement. But as soon as we were done talking about it, my friend Karen from Delaware texted me a picture of her wearing her sTREETsLEEPERs shirt. I took that as confirmation. My friend told me that I thought too much into things like that. I decided that I didn't want to believe that.
We painted at his house. My roommate made an amazing painting of some trees in front of a gorgeous sky. I tried to make a painting of an angel and a demon. So typical of me.
I wonder if she knows how jealous I am of her painting? It's way nicer than mine. But I guess that's because I didn't have a plan.
I decided to give the painting to Lider, my Godson in Bolivia... because I don't know what else to give him.
We left our friend's house, and I said goodbye to him for 6 weeks. I don't know this guy as well as I'd like, only cause we just met. He's very nice and has introduced me to some amazing people. So times like this, I don't like leaving for long periods of time.. because I would almost rather stay to get to know them better. I guess I feel like I'm going to miss something while I'm gone. I think Adam might appreciate this feeling, seeing as how he's an ISFJ. Maybe I'm wrong.
So we drove home at 10:53pm. My roommate asked me what time it was and I guessed. (But it was an educated guess.)
I complained to her about how, during the summer months, it gets so hot during the day, that even when it gets dark, the heat still lingers. I wore jeans tonight, and regretted it.
I can't wait until I'm in Bolivia, because the low is 33. Awesome.
The Fray came on the radio, with their new song, "Never say never." The chorus made me cry.
Then I thought of an idea for a poem. Some of it would go like this:
Wash my eyes with tears so I may see more clearly
Scream my name so that I may hear your voice loudly
Break my heart, so that I can feel so deeply. . .
That's all I can think of for now. I hope I can get back to it.
When we pulled into the driveway, I noticed how tall the grass was, and it amazed me and angered me. It's amazing how quickly the grass grows after so little rain, but in the morning I will have to mow it when it is hot. I hate the heat.
I took out the garbage, and thought again to myself, "I always take out the garbage." But I chose to not resent that.
Relieved at how cold the house was, I was a little annoyed that the air was running. It is always running. I hope it doesn't break while I'm gone.
I hate not being able to take care of people I love. So when something goes wrong, I get upset for them, probably more than they do. They seem to always get over it before I do. I don't think people realize I put so much thought into my actions.
I get stuck, with that wanting to take care of people, and the annoyed, "why am I always doing everything, and they never notice?" Feeling. I think it has to do with the way I was raised. My parents made me do so much housework, and when I did, they never noticed. They just always made me do more. They were never happy with me.
There is a helicopter circling around my house, it is so loud that it drowns out Conan O'Brien's Late Show. Which annoys me, but doesn't bother me, because i'm not really paying attention to Conan anyway.
There is a jail 10 minutes walking distance away from my house, so when I hear helicopters like this, I wonder if someone escaped the jail, and very well may be hiding in my back yard.
I wonder, if they were to break into the house, would I have the courage to protect my roommates? To the point of death? I secretly hope that I do. I pray that God doesn't let criminals break into my house so that people will never find out how much of a coward I really am.
And one of my roommates is moving out in July (I think, if I get the confirmation from the girl who said she wants to move in.) I don't know if my roommate realizes how much I will miss her.. or how much I'm ignoring those feelings.
I don't even want to think about the other roommate moving out. That will happen in August.
I really do hope the other girl moves in, because she seems so very nice, and I'd really like to get to know her better.. and I hope Karen moves in too. But I can't afford to get my hopes up, because I get disappointed easily.
Willow is sitting with me on the couch. Earlier, she put her head on my knee. Do you think it is strange if I say that I think animals can somehow be a vessel of God's love? Because I feel alone. But I feel loved. It is kinda like God put his hand on my knee, and said, "I may be silent, but I'm here and I love you."
Sometimes that is so hard for me to swallow. I just wish God would talk to me more.
The strangest thing, is that just as I wrote that, the dog, who has been sleeping, woke up and put her head on my knee again.
I take that as another confirmation that what I was thinking was correct. My friend my not think so, but I try to find God in the little things, because I have a hard time seeing him in the Big things.
Gavin Rothsdale (Is that his name?) is performing on Conan now. It is quite possible the worst song/performance/noise I have ever heard.
I guess I should take that as a confirmation to turn the tv off and go to bed. I do have my alarm set for 6:45 am tomorrow.
Is this random enough for you?
I just got home from a friends house, where me and my roommate had been invited over to chill before we left for Bolivia. We talked about sTREETsLEEPERs, and I expressed my discouragement. But as soon as we were done talking about it, my friend Karen from Delaware texted me a picture of her wearing her sTREETsLEEPERs shirt. I took that as confirmation. My friend told me that I thought too much into things like that. I decided that I didn't want to believe that.
We painted at his house. My roommate made an amazing painting of some trees in front of a gorgeous sky. I tried to make a painting of an angel and a demon. So typical of me.
I wonder if she knows how jealous I am of her painting? It's way nicer than mine. But I guess that's because I didn't have a plan.
I decided to give the painting to Lider, my Godson in Bolivia... because I don't know what else to give him.
We left our friend's house, and I said goodbye to him for 6 weeks. I don't know this guy as well as I'd like, only cause we just met. He's very nice and has introduced me to some amazing people. So times like this, I don't like leaving for long periods of time.. because I would almost rather stay to get to know them better. I guess I feel like I'm going to miss something while I'm gone. I think Adam might appreciate this feeling, seeing as how he's an ISFJ. Maybe I'm wrong.
So we drove home at 10:53pm. My roommate asked me what time it was and I guessed. (But it was an educated guess.)
I complained to her about how, during the summer months, it gets so hot during the day, that even when it gets dark, the heat still lingers. I wore jeans tonight, and regretted it.
I can't wait until I'm in Bolivia, because the low is 33. Awesome.
The Fray came on the radio, with their new song, "Never say never." The chorus made me cry.
Then I thought of an idea for a poem. Some of it would go like this:
Wash my eyes with tears so I may see more clearly
Scream my name so that I may hear your voice loudly
Break my heart, so that I can feel so deeply. . .
That's all I can think of for now. I hope I can get back to it.
When we pulled into the driveway, I noticed how tall the grass was, and it amazed me and angered me. It's amazing how quickly the grass grows after so little rain, but in the morning I will have to mow it when it is hot. I hate the heat.
I took out the garbage, and thought again to myself, "I always take out the garbage." But I chose to not resent that.
Relieved at how cold the house was, I was a little annoyed that the air was running. It is always running. I hope it doesn't break while I'm gone.
I hate not being able to take care of people I love. So when something goes wrong, I get upset for them, probably more than they do. They seem to always get over it before I do. I don't think people realize I put so much thought into my actions.
I get stuck, with that wanting to take care of people, and the annoyed, "why am I always doing everything, and they never notice?" Feeling. I think it has to do with the way I was raised. My parents made me do so much housework, and when I did, they never noticed. They just always made me do more. They were never happy with me.
There is a helicopter circling around my house, it is so loud that it drowns out Conan O'Brien's Late Show. Which annoys me, but doesn't bother me, because i'm not really paying attention to Conan anyway.
There is a jail 10 minutes walking distance away from my house, so when I hear helicopters like this, I wonder if someone escaped the jail, and very well may be hiding in my back yard.
I wonder, if they were to break into the house, would I have the courage to protect my roommates? To the point of death? I secretly hope that I do. I pray that God doesn't let criminals break into my house so that people will never find out how much of a coward I really am.
And one of my roommates is moving out in July (I think, if I get the confirmation from the girl who said she wants to move in.) I don't know if my roommate realizes how much I will miss her.. or how much I'm ignoring those feelings.
I don't even want to think about the other roommate moving out. That will happen in August.
I really do hope the other girl moves in, because she seems so very nice, and I'd really like to get to know her better.. and I hope Karen moves in too. But I can't afford to get my hopes up, because I get disappointed easily.
Willow is sitting with me on the couch. Earlier, she put her head on my knee. Do you think it is strange if I say that I think animals can somehow be a vessel of God's love? Because I feel alone. But I feel loved. It is kinda like God put his hand on my knee, and said, "I may be silent, but I'm here and I love you."
Sometimes that is so hard for me to swallow. I just wish God would talk to me more.
The strangest thing, is that just as I wrote that, the dog, who has been sleeping, woke up and put her head on my knee again.
I take that as another confirmation that what I was thinking was correct. My friend my not think so, but I try to find God in the little things, because I have a hard time seeing him in the Big things.
Gavin Rothsdale (Is that his name?) is performing on Conan now. It is quite possible the worst song/performance/noise I have ever heard.
I guess I should take that as a confirmation to turn the tv off and go to bed. I do have my alarm set for 6:45 am tomorrow.
Is this random enough for you?
Sunday, June 14, 2009
You're a curse!
Can I just say that I absolutely LOVE how many plane crashes always seem to happen RIGHT BEFORE I get on a plane to leave the country? Seriously, I've heard about at least two tonight alone.
But that's not the point of this blog, so let me get back to my thoughts.
I worked an evening program tonight, with around 15 kids ranging from 3-12 years of age.
My nametag says "Captain K", and as I was getting to know the kids, I attempted to make it fun as I had them try to guess what the K stood for.
As my name is pretty rare, of course they couldn't, so I told them. "My name is Kirsten." (Pronounced curse-ten).
Immediately, like, five of the kids tell me, "Oh, your name is Kirsten? You're a CURSE."
To which I responded, "Oh I feel like I'm in second grade again."
Which was true.
When I was younger, kids used to tease me all the time about my name, saying the very same thing.
Kids are so mean. I was so mean. When kids used to tell me I was a curse, I promptly used my superior height and strength to promptly pound them into the dirt. Yes, I was a bully. I lacked the quick wit of the "intelligent" kids, and so I retaliated the only way I knew how. I can tell you that most bullies are insecure. I certainly was. And it didn't help any that those insecurities were reinforced by kids calling me a curse. This continued all the way into my middle school years, every time I met new kids, almost immediately there would be some joke about how "I'm a curse cause my name is Kirsten." The teasing tapered off around ninth grade, in high school, because somehow, we all had grown up enough to realize that kind of teasing was beneath us.
Of course, I've said some pretty stupid things in my life, but I always wondered if kids REALLY understood what they were saying to me. Do they really grasp what it means to be called a curse? Did they understand the prophecies they were speaking into my life? Once something like that is put into your head, you don't forget it. Especially when people say your name. Somewhere, in the back of your mind, you think, "Oh, my name is Kirsten. I'm a curse."
Of course, I'm not expecting seven to ten year olds to truly be able to evaluate the weight of their words. It is just interesting to me how we all claim to be "good natured" but, we never had anyone "teach" us to be mean. It just comes so naturally.
Anyway, it is really amazing how deep emotional scars run. Over the years, I've attempted to get past those biting words by ignoring them, or even embracing them. I've found myself introducing my name to people by telling them, "Yes, my name is pronounced Kirsten, not Kristen. Just think of a curse ten times."
Yet, tonight, when those kids called me a "Curse" again, all those feelings came back. The feeling of wanting to hit someone for calling me a curse. The feeling of "how can they say that to me when they don't even know me?" The feeling of wanting to just run away. The feeling of tightness in my chest because I couldn't stop them from saying it over and over again, as they laughed about it.
I thought, for sure, that at age 30 I would have been over that by now. But no. It still hurts.
Every time.
In my house, I have a picture frame that one of my amazing roommates made that has pictures of us and our names with meanings. Kirsten Lynn apparently means, "Beautiful Anointed Christ-Bearer."
What?
When I first saw that, I was overwhelmed. All these years, people had called me a curse, but this is what my name really means? Pretty cool.
Have you ever given thought to the significance of names? We are named by our parents. When I was born, my father picked my name because he had heard it on TV. It was the name of some newscaster, or something like that.
Do you think he put any thought into what my name actually meant? No. He thought it sounded pretty, and so he named me Kirsten.
Yet, I look at my life, and what I'm doing now, with traveling all over the world, spreading the gospel. It absolutely fits.
My dad may not of known what my name meant, but God knew. The irony, however much it may seem like coincidence, is not lost on me.
Names are so important. Look at the bible. Two times (that I know of,) God changed the name of Bible characters, right after they had gone through something important. Jacob (which means deceiver) had his name changed to Israel (which means prince) after he wrestled with God all night. Jesus changed Simon's name to Peter, (which means rock, which, consequently, is my father's name) after Jesus met him.
We are also told, that there is no other name above the name of Jesus, Or Yeshua.(In Hebrew Yeshua means both "Salvation," and the concatenated form of Yahoshua, is "Lord who is Salvation.") We are told there is power in his name. There are also numerous occasions where God told people to name their children VERY specific things. (like John the baptist. Zechariah was John's father, and God told him to name him John. When it came time to name the baby, since Zechariah couldn't talk, the family was going to name the baby after the father, but the baby's mother protested and said, "No! His name is to be John" The family had an argument about naming the baby John, saying, "there is no one in the family by that name." You can read about it in the book of Luke, Chapter 1, starting at verse 5. Click Here
The fact that God (and later Jesus) would change the names of two very pivotal people in the Bible story is significant in itself. They prove, that God, has the power to change names. Think about Jacob, the deceiver. He lived up to his namesake. When God changed his name to Israel, a prince, he became a prince of a nation.
So, I guess, that is my revelation for tonight. It may seem silly to you, but I think it is a big thing. Find out what your name means. And don't make fun of others who's names may seem a little dumber than yours.
And please.. never call anyone a curse. Words are powerful too.. just maybe not as powerful as names.
But that's not the point of this blog, so let me get back to my thoughts.
I worked an evening program tonight, with around 15 kids ranging from 3-12 years of age.
My nametag says "Captain K", and as I was getting to know the kids, I attempted to make it fun as I had them try to guess what the K stood for.
As my name is pretty rare, of course they couldn't, so I told them. "My name is Kirsten." (Pronounced curse-ten).
Immediately, like, five of the kids tell me, "Oh, your name is Kirsten? You're a CURSE."
To which I responded, "Oh I feel like I'm in second grade again."
Which was true.
When I was younger, kids used to tease me all the time about my name, saying the very same thing.
Kids are so mean. I was so mean. When kids used to tell me I was a curse, I promptly used my superior height and strength to promptly pound them into the dirt. Yes, I was a bully. I lacked the quick wit of the "intelligent" kids, and so I retaliated the only way I knew how. I can tell you that most bullies are insecure. I certainly was. And it didn't help any that those insecurities were reinforced by kids calling me a curse. This continued all the way into my middle school years, every time I met new kids, almost immediately there would be some joke about how "I'm a curse cause my name is Kirsten." The teasing tapered off around ninth grade, in high school, because somehow, we all had grown up enough to realize that kind of teasing was beneath us.
Of course, I've said some pretty stupid things in my life, but I always wondered if kids REALLY understood what they were saying to me. Do they really grasp what it means to be called a curse? Did they understand the prophecies they were speaking into my life? Once something like that is put into your head, you don't forget it. Especially when people say your name. Somewhere, in the back of your mind, you think, "Oh, my name is Kirsten. I'm a curse."
Of course, I'm not expecting seven to ten year olds to truly be able to evaluate the weight of their words. It is just interesting to me how we all claim to be "good natured" but, we never had anyone "teach" us to be mean. It just comes so naturally.
Anyway, it is really amazing how deep emotional scars run. Over the years, I've attempted to get past those biting words by ignoring them, or even embracing them. I've found myself introducing my name to people by telling them, "Yes, my name is pronounced Kirsten, not Kristen. Just think of a curse ten times."
Yet, tonight, when those kids called me a "Curse" again, all those feelings came back. The feeling of wanting to hit someone for calling me a curse. The feeling of "how can they say that to me when they don't even know me?" The feeling of wanting to just run away. The feeling of tightness in my chest because I couldn't stop them from saying it over and over again, as they laughed about it.
I thought, for sure, that at age 30 I would have been over that by now. But no. It still hurts.
Every time.
In my house, I have a picture frame that one of my amazing roommates made that has pictures of us and our names with meanings. Kirsten Lynn apparently means, "Beautiful Anointed Christ-Bearer."
What?
When I first saw that, I was overwhelmed. All these years, people had called me a curse, but this is what my name really means? Pretty cool.
Have you ever given thought to the significance of names? We are named by our parents. When I was born, my father picked my name because he had heard it on TV. It was the name of some newscaster, or something like that.
Do you think he put any thought into what my name actually meant? No. He thought it sounded pretty, and so he named me Kirsten.
Yet, I look at my life, and what I'm doing now, with traveling all over the world, spreading the gospel. It absolutely fits.
My dad may not of known what my name meant, but God knew. The irony, however much it may seem like coincidence, is not lost on me.
Names are so important. Look at the bible. Two times (that I know of,) God changed the name of Bible characters, right after they had gone through something important. Jacob (which means deceiver) had his name changed to Israel (which means prince) after he wrestled with God all night. Jesus changed Simon's name to Peter, (which means rock, which, consequently, is my father's name) after Jesus met him.
We are also told, that there is no other name above the name of Jesus, Or Yeshua.(In Hebrew Yeshua means both "Salvation," and the concatenated form of Yahoshua, is "Lord who is Salvation.") We are told there is power in his name. There are also numerous occasions where God told people to name their children VERY specific things. (like John the baptist. Zechariah was John's father, and God told him to name him John. When it came time to name the baby, since Zechariah couldn't talk, the family was going to name the baby after the father, but the baby's mother protested and said, "No! His name is to be John" The family had an argument about naming the baby John, saying, "there is no one in the family by that name." You can read about it in the book of Luke, Chapter 1, starting at verse 5. Click Here
The fact that God (and later Jesus) would change the names of two very pivotal people in the Bible story is significant in itself. They prove, that God, has the power to change names. Think about Jacob, the deceiver. He lived up to his namesake. When God changed his name to Israel, a prince, he became a prince of a nation.
So, I guess, that is my revelation for tonight. It may seem silly to you, but I think it is a big thing. Find out what your name means. And don't make fun of others who's names may seem a little dumber than yours.
And please.. never call anyone a curse. Words are powerful too.. just maybe not as powerful as names.
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