Overnight Success

Have you ever wished to wake up in someone else's life?  Have you ever been so bogged down with trying to do the right thing over and over again only to wind up doing everything all wrong?  Have you purposed to live your life for God, but don't see Him moving or changing anything?  "Well, this God stuff just isn't for me," you quickly decide after a month of "trying it out."  You've seen turtles move faster.  Well, I'm inspired because someone I love and for whom I care very much has recently offered her life to God.  Beaten down by life and her own bad decisions, she was finally in a position of having nowhere else to turn. "God, I surrender to Your will," is what I imagine she said as tears streamed down her cheeks.  At last, the barriers came down and God started to move, but in our pain we want instant change and a speedy new life, gift-wrapped and all.  Basically, we want an overnight success that just doesn't come with our new, budding relationship with God.

What to Pray

At a time when the length of my prayer list leaves me wondering where to start, I try to organize people and events into order of most immediate need.  "God, I pray first for this and second for that," is something along the lines of where my thoughts try to go.  Well, I often find that when I've organized items, people, and situations into some semblance of order, I'm left sitting in wonder over what to pray.  For instance, do I ask God to end this person's suffering, turn that person's circumstances around, and completely wipe away the pain felt by all parties involved over there? What about Lonnie, the homeless man I met today?  Do I ask God to change his circumstances and get him off the streets? Sure.  But in all things prayed for we should pray that God's will, and not our own, be done. 

Hope In This Moment

When I was a sophomore in college, I remember being told I had a deadline of a certain date to declare my major, at which time was undecided.  Whatever I majored in would set the course for my remaining time at school, thus marking a starting point on my future's map.  Not only did I find the decision distressing, but I felt completely backed into a corner.  "But, I don't know for sure what I want to do for the rest of my life!" I thought in panic as those around me settled comfortably in to their own pre-determined major.  Many, if not all, of my friends at that time knew exactly where they were going, how they were going to get there, and the exact road they were going to take to reach their goals.  Whether or not they've all reached sophomore year's marked destination point, I don't know.  I, for one, did not.  I didn't know it at the time, but I know now that life isn't about knowing what we're going to be doing ten years from now.  It's about having hope in this one moment. 

Crazy, Beautiful - You Know Who You Are

As my 31st birthday rapidly approaches, I'm reminded of how much life has changed over the last 10 years. It has been a decade filled with pain and sorrow, but also happiness and love.  My early twenties were wrought with drunken partying, sexual promiscuity, and social drug experimentation, none of which were abandoned during the loud proclamations of my own togetherness.  The pain that ensued from this lifestyle could actually have been foreseen if only my own eyes hadn't been shut, but hey - what's that infamous saying about hindsight being 20/20? Truth be told, I can't stand that saying yet I find it irksomely appropriate. Well, my middle twenties marked a time of new beginnings and growth.  My beautiful son was born and I met the man I now call "husband." As I climbed out from the tar pit of early twenty-something mistakes, I developed a new set of proclamations about my own togetherness.  I was living the American Dream as my husband and I purchased our first home and I planned my bright future.  Life was good.  Or, so I thought.  By 27, life took a new turn and my late twenties turned out to be the worst yet.  Based on things that happened to me, one might think my early twenties should wear that crown, but it was my late twenties that placed me in a room face to face with the girl of my early twenties.  She was broken, hurting, and totally dependant upon the girl of my late twenties to bring her healing. It was a long road, but as I reflect back now I can see the face of one crazy, beautiful friend who stood by me through this entire last decade - you know who you are.

A Story in Your Eyes

As I left for a bike ride not long ago, I turned my iPod to "shuffle" and asked God to order the songs in whatever way He thought best.  Shortly into the ride, I heard "there's a story in my eyes" from the voice of Survior singing in my ears.  It got me thinking about the story in my own eyes.  What did it say and how does it read?  Do I notice the story in others' eyes when I look at them?  What do any of us really see when we look into someone else's eyes, or do we not look long enough to see even the color? Can our eyes really speak a thousand words? Or, are they just a pretty shade of blue, brown, or green? The truth is - yes, they can speak a thousand words and many more, but how do we read one's story?  More importantly, what is the story in your own eyes, and is it still being written or have you signed off on it as finished?

A Ramen Noodle Kind of Day

I woke up this morning completely unable to breathe through my left nostril, and as I groggily reached for tissue that was as at my bedside, I vowed to make sure my equally ill husband took care of me rather than the other way around.  I remembered last night when we were drifting off to sleep, I playfully whispered "I think you need to just suck it up and feel better so you can take care of us both."  Through his guileful laughter that followed I was able to discern an impending challenge - who would be more sickly by morning?  With an added sniffle and exaggerated cough, I turned out the light and drifted off to sleep.

A Quarter Pounder? Yes, Please - I'll Take Three...And a Pizza Too

Well, readers - it's that time again where my mood swings are at skyscraper height and my tears are mixed with angry spit.  "What did you say to me?" I say with squinted eyes and a low tone in my voice as my husband says he loves me.  "Just what do you mean by that?" I angrily retort to his naturally fake words of kindness.  "Would you like me to rub your back?" he again tries with fear in his eyes.  Through a cold stare and piercing eyes I'm able to bring him to his knees in prayer - "God, just get me through this one week," I can hear him beg.  Does this make me proud? No, but I have to admit that it's comical (comical at a later time of course) when I try to imagine what he must be thinking while he watches me morph from a loving wife into an evil shrew .  Or, is it? Maybe I shouldn't let my mind wander to what I know must be his thoughts of tying me up, throwing me in a closet, and duct taping my mouth for a week, but I guess as long as he brought me food and water, I would actually be okay with that, which brings me to the topic of my gluttonous ability to transform PMS into a temporarily happy time.