You pay me back in kind and reap just what you sow.

Sometimes, I pretend I have a voice like this. 
Alas, I do not.

I heard this song and I thought, "What an adequate way to express my feelings toward 2010." Now, I don't really care about New Year's, never have. In fact, I'm usually in bed before midnight. However, I've had ample time to sit and ponder everything from my propensity to misinterpret (which has manifested itself in my entire family assuring me Russia is inherently evil...long story) to my latest budgeting scheme. I thought back over this long and short year: divided neatly into two radically different parts. Truly, I can now praise God for all He has done, even though some of it hurt like the dickens. I've realized that I can sing because I'm free in Christ, and I must never allow a human being or idea or passion or a million other things to take His place.
So long 2010! I'm glad you're done.

As for you, 2011...show me what you can do. I ain't never scared.

Littlefield

Upon graduation, I practically ran out of town. One of our fine modern day bards might say I chucked a deuce. At any rate, I felt like my dreams were too big and too lofty for Littlefield. I looked around town and my skin crawled. I held the opinion that Littlefield is a vortex: if you hang around the edge you'll get sucked back in. The only way to avoid a lifetime of gossip and football games was to get the heck out of Dodge and stay out.
Whenever people at college talk about going home or reminisce about the past, I have to stifle my gag reflex. In my head I think, "Oh ho ho. You couldn't pay me to go back to that swirling dust bowl. I'm so much better than that."

Well, I'm here to apologize. I was driving home on Highway 54, a route I could drive with my eyes closed, and I was struck by a thought:
I thought about all the people that loved me.

I thought about how growing up in a small West Texas town instilled values in me that are worth far more than gold: how to work hard, how to look out for your fellow man, how to fear the Lord, and how to give thanks.

I thought about how Littlefield is part of my heritage. No matter where I go I'll always be a small town girl. I'll always be loyal and true and "pledge my might to honor and right".

I thought about the land: so desolate and flat and utterly lonely. Yet each day God displays His splendor with awesome magnificence: streaking the sky with colors so rich and brilliant an artist's palette could never render them justice.

I could continue, but all these sentimental notions are starting to feel sticky. I'll just close with this: I'm glad I grew up where I did. For all my bluster, I won't ever forget where I came from.
That is a promise.

Now to the Lord sing praises, All you within this place!

"God rest you merry, gentlemen,
Let nothing you dismay.
For Jesus Christ our Savior,
Was born on Christmas Day;
To save us all from Satan’s power,
When we were gone astray.


From God our heavenly Father,
A blessed angel came.
And unto certain shepherds,
Brought tidings of the same,
How that in Bethlehem was born,
The Son of God by name:


Fear not, then said the Angel,
Let nothing you affright,
This day is born a Savior,
Of virtue, power, and might;
So frequently to vanquish all,
The friends of Satan quite;


Now to the Lord sing praises,
All you within this place,
And with true love and brotherhood,
Each other now embrace;
This holy tide of Christmas,
Doth bring redeeming grace.


O tidings of comfort and joy!"

Wanting to be caught.

I am not happy with you. I used to be, right up until the point you told me you were throwing me back. You are an expert fisherman: patient, skillful. You reeled me in and whispered that you were a novice. It's all luck, really. I wanted to be your very best catch. I tried to make my scales twinkle in the sunlight. I wanted to make you proud. I did, for a little while.

But then, you frowned. You told me I wasn't the right one. The right one, you said would tug at your line so hard the boat would capsize. The right one for you would be beautiful, her movements graceful. I was just fine, you said, but you could catch better. You told me you were doing me a favor as you flung me back into the sea. I would be happier back in the water, far away from your boat. It's all luck, really. Too bad you caught me.

By the time I broke the surface, my scales were dull. I no longer shined. I looked around, and my sea was unpopulated. No other fishermen were around, the only movement was the gentle wake as you steered your boat away from me.

Now I swim in the seaweed, the day shadowy. I wish I was never brought into the air, where I could touch the sunlight and hear the sound of your boat's gentle rocking.
I've found I've forgotten how to breathe underwater.

Irresponsible Responsibility

The first week of November turned out to be a busy one. My planner overfloweth. It probably did not help matters any that the week started out with some airing out of issues. I had a notion these issues were lurking, but I didn't realize how much potential they had to turn ugly. (Thank goodness they are in relatively early stages.)
All week I felt like something was wrong (I skipped two classes this week. 17 yr old Kaleigh would've flipped out); I just couldn't put a finger on a specific cause. I was talking with my mother and I realized what it was: responsibility. I feel so overwhelmed with responsibility I just want to listen to slow jamz while playing Brick-Breaker in a dark room.

I feel responsible for my relationship with the boy: I finally hit a point where healing has taken a promising turn, but the whole thing still simultaneously hurts and irritates. I get frustrated with the fact that I get to take on the task of moving on, as I seem to be the only one affected. I feel jealous of other people, even ones who are my friends, and I feel like if I were to call Corps Escorts, they would send fish johnson out after me. Yes, that last part is a little dramatic, but I just feel like I was sought after, found to be lacking, then thrown back into the sea. An unpopulated part of the sea.

I feel like I'm doing a mediocre job in school and my job: my drive is gone. I'm actually doing pretty well in my classes, but I'm not putting in the effort I would like. I just do what I have to and go on. Same with RAing. I look at my coworkers and I think, "Wow. I'm the weakest link. Yay." I assisted with RA interviews for spring hiring and that didn't help my feelings of despondency. I observed a group process and thought the entire time that these kids were far better qualified than I...at any rate they were more jazzed about the job than I.

I feel like a crappy friend. There. I said it. My group of friends thinks I'm drifting away when I thought my ship was docked. I was wrapped up in my fog for a long time, and 'fun' just didn't appeal to me. I know for a fact they want the old Kaleigh back. I don't know how to accomplish this. In actuality, it is impossible. I've grown tremendously (for better and for worse) this past year, and I can't just "snap out of it" and go back to how I was before. I feel like I have to rediscover myself and work toward restoring my shattered confidence: naturally those pieces won't fit back together exactly. (This isn't to say I'm a different person or I was not being truthful in who I was this past year. It just means in the battlefield of life and love I was dealt a Boridino-esque blow and I'm having to limp along with dwindling supply lines while reorganizing.)

I just feel like everything is up to me. I know: such is life. I suppose I should invest in a helmet.

His eye is on the sparrow...

During a fitful late afternoon nap, I dreamed I was in a battle between good and evil.
Those fighting on the side of darkness were quick and elusive, with equally dark countenances and
bat-like wings. Those on the side of light were swift and valiant, with blindingly white and majestic wings.

Except for me. My wings were grey and brown, like an ordinary sparrow. I couldn't engage with the enemy; I wasn't strong enough. All I could do was flit around. I was scared, but the more pressing emotion was an overwhelming sense of frustration. My comrades were slaying the creatures with power, while I was using all my strength to stay one step ahead of their greedy clutches.

I didn't think much of this dream until tonight. I've been struggling lately, burdened with loneliness and longing. The thought creeps into my head that I'm invisible, and it's easy to believe. Who is seeking me? It seems as if no one is. I go through the motions of my day and stay up at night until my eyes can't stay open, that way I can fall asleep quickly and avoid those thoughts that only come at bedtime. It isn't true that I am never happy, that the sun never shines upon me. That warmth just seems to be a rarity rather than the norm: it feels like I've lost Kaleigh...that my confidence is gone like a robin in winter.

As a follower of Christ, my identity is supposed to be centered in Him. Sadly, I'm not very good at this. I flit around, trying to please everyone else, trying to get noticed, trying to gain affirmation from people. When all of this fails, as it is prone to do, I come back to Christ, a broken little bird. "'Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground outside your Father's care. And even the very hairs of your head are all numbered. So don't be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows.'" Matthew 10:29-31
I have a tendency to dislike myself, and sometimes I think, "My problems are so silly. They are insignificant."  What a great promise to know that I am worth more than many sparrows. He cares for a common, plain bird: when I fall, He cares. He longs to be gracious to me, and to show me mercy. He cares when His child, a little red-headed bird who stubbornly holds fast to her desires, nurses a broken wing...a broken heart.

What a strange and wonderful and wild thing a life in Christ is! Every day I have two choices: to fly to Him or away from Him. Every day I have to surrender my desire. Every day I present to Him my broken wing, and allow Him to heal it. Of course, this will not be easy: I will see others who seem to have it all together: those who beat the air with brilliant and mighty wings. I will want to escape to the familiar dreariness of my ragged nest of selfishness. However, I know in my heart that He cares for me, and He will make all things beautiful in His time. He will feed me and cover me with His own wings. I know that His eye is on the sparrow...

and I know He watches me.

Road rage in the church parking lot.

I woke up on the wrong side of the bed on Sunday. Thirty minutes after Marillion began squawking "Kayleigh" (Why yes, that is an epic 80's song from which my name is derived) I rolled out of bed and turned on my Christian music playlist to accompany my Sunday morning toilette. However, this morning, Phil Wickham and friends were grating on my nerves. I became more agitated, nearly stabbing myself in the eye with my mascara. I'm sure it was an interesting scene, Shane and Shane harmoninzing away while I threw clothes around, all the while telling God how frustrated I was.

I finally made it to church, ate a delicious donut (it's the small things), and sat with Kendall at our usual table in Sunday School. Normally, when someone pipes up during discussion, all the other people nod their heads in agreement, a sort of unspoken amen. Except when I open my mouth. In response to a question about the relationship between knowing God and serving Him without knowing Him (confusing wording, I know) I answered: "I think it's harder to know God than serve Him. I know a lot of the time I don't want to sit down with Him because He tells me "No.". His plans are different than ours much of the time, and we don't want to hear that no. You can "serve" Him and feel all fuzzy, but it's harder to sit down and listen to the resounding no's." *Crickets chirping* My fellow college students looked at me with an awkwardness that was palpable. "Well, He doesn't always tell me no. Just lately it seems like it and I get irritated with Him..." *More crickets* I pretended to be very interested in the tablecloth.

I sent a text message compactly detailing my ire to my dad. He sent me one back that said, "Sounds like Solomon." I wondered why he said this aloud to Kendall who promptly said, "Well it ain't because your wise!"  She said this jokingly, but she was completely right. Turns out I'm more like the Solomon in Ecclesiastes: "Yet when I surveyed all that my hands had done and what I had toiled to achieve, everything was meaningless, a chasing after the wind; nothing was gained under the sun." Ecc. 2:11

Wishin' on someone else's star

Sad country music is not conducive to academic success. Try memorizing a Russian dialogue while Vince Gill pours out his heart's lament. It's not easy.

"Let's pray." *Oh no. Stay awake. Stay awake. Stay a...zzzzz*

I fell asleep. I couldn't help it. I vainly struggled against the creeping fatigue and heroically fought to keep my eyes open. However, the second the guest speaker said "Let's pray. Then, talk to the Lord and think on meeting with Him intentionally," I was a goner. I even had one of those mini-dreams, where everything has a fuzzy soap opera halo and you feel like you have no bones. I abruptly woke whenever my foot slipped off the seat in front of me. Hence, erratic bird movements while people around me were engrossed in sweet time with the Lord.

My moon.

"Take it slow
Take it easy on me
And shed some light
Shed some light on me please."
My Moon, My Man- Feist


"It's so many miles and so long since I've met you
Don't even know what I'll say when I get to you
But suddenly now, I know where I belong
It's many hundred miles and it won't be long."
Train Song- Cover by Feist and Ben Gibbard
 
 
"So why'd you fill my sorrows
With the words you've borrowed
From the only place you've known?
And why'd ya sing Hallelujah
If it means nothing to you?
Why'd you sing with me at all?"
Delicate- Damien Rice


"She said, 'Leave me alone but just don't leave me here, all right?'"
Arms of a Thief- Iron and Wine

"Hundred years, hundred more
Someday we may see a woman king,
Sword in hand, swing at some evil and bleed."
Woman King- Iron and Wine

The Waiting Place

…for people just waiting.
Waiting for a train to go
or a bus to come, or a plane to go
or the mail to come, or the rain to go
or the phone to ring, or the snow to snow
or waiting around for a Yes or No
or waiting for their hair to grow.
Everyone is just waiting.

Waiting for the fish to bite
or waiting for wind to fly a kite
or waiting around for Friday night
or waiting, perhaps, for their Uncle Jake
or a pot to boil, or a Better Break
or a string of pearls, or a pair of pants
or a wig with curls, or Another Chance.
Everyone is just waiting

"Oh the Places You'll Go!" by Dr. Seuss

Venturing from my cave *blinks in the sunlight*

In Sunday School this past Sunday, we discussed community. I was sitting at my table with my Bible cracked open to Acts 2 and I chuckled slightly to myself. Oh ho ho. Community? Really? I've got friends, I tell people my stuff, I'm not an antisocial shut-in (though this is debatable at times). Anywho, I was listening to the minister talk and he made some good points, but then he made a great point. He was talking about how this generation, my generation, is more connected than any of our predecessors...but we're also the loneliest. Like one of those perky, yappy dogs, my ears pricked up.

I gripe alot about pseudo-country. Many of the people who proclaim they detest country music have only been subjected to the odd hybrid that drives the cursed phrase "Need you now" into your skull and then hammers it mercilessly until you run screaming into the night. As Aaron Watson said, "Nashville is making music that sounds like a dadgum disco." Well, ladies and gents, we have on our hands a pseudo-community. Texting, twitter, blogging, the morning glory that is facebook, and the list continues. Through these venues, I can successfully talk to people without ever seeing their face, heck, without leaving my cave. I am as guilty as anyone about perpetrating false community. A prime example comes from this morning in my Eastern European government class: I was sitting next to a girl I had seen Sunday morning. I thought, "I should ask her how she liked Central!" In the next moment, I dismissed this thought and decided to find her on facebook and friend her. It's easier to ask virtually. As the prof babbled on about Hungary's bitterness from being the little bro in the Austro-Hungarian Empire, I chastised myself. Why shouldn't I just turn to her after class and ask her how she liked church? What is so hard about that? She'd probably appreciate it more if I asked in person. Besides, by the time I found her and friended her on the almighty FB, the moment would have passed and it would just be plain weird. As a result, I would never ask.
So, I put satan on notice and talked to her after class. It was nothing life changing, but it was a step in the right direction. The direction where I touch people and they touch me. The one where I experience.

If you'll excuse me, I'm going to go get some Vitamin D. I hear it makes you happy.

I'm coming with what I do not have.

Alright Father. I'm going to be real. I've been hanging on to this ache. I keep it, I nurture it, I treasure it. This is completely and utterly...WRONG. I pick it up, because I think You won't relieve me of it. I clutch it to my chest because in some weird way it validates me. I can't do it anymore. You've brought me to the precipice and I can linger no longer. I trust You. I trust You. I trust You. No matter where I look, I can feel you tugging on my heart. No matter how much I question, all I can hear is Your quietness. "But I said, 'I have labored in vain; I have spent all my strength for nothing at all. Yet what is due me is in the Lord's hand, and my reward is with my God.'" Isaiah 49:4 I'm done with this toil, this vain struggle. I trust that my reward is with You and You alone: not in men.
I've prayed for You to free me of my burden and save me from my pain. Even if You don't, consume me. I want to go deeper with You.

Burn me up.

I realized I was doing it again. I was pushing. I was trying to make things happen, trying to garner attention, telling myself that if other people noticed me and wanted to be around me, I would feel better. I would be on top again, an I-n-d-e-p-e-n-d-e-n-t woman, brushin' the dust off my shoulders.
Wrong-o. When I try to do things on my own strength, I usually end up letting the haters hate, rather than walking by them with my head held high. The key to my failure is "my own strength". I can't do things on my own strength, no one can. It amazes me that I continually fail spectacularly at this concept, constantly giving God my problems, then picking them back up, saying "Well, God, I just deal with them since they aren't really important enough for You to deal with."
Gentle readers, allow me to share a few of the concepts I have been dwelling on lately.
First, the future. Thinking about the future has always produced mixed feelings, with the far future bright and full of wonder, and the near future full of toil. Oh, Kaleigh girl. You serve a God much bigger than such an attitude:
"But I said, 'I have labored in vain; I have spent all my strength for nothing at all. Yet what is due me is in the Lord's hand, and my reward is with my God.'" Isaiah 49:4
I'm not sure about you, but that is a relief. I labor and work and exert myself and much of the time I come up empty. Despite that, it is not fruitless. My reward is with God. He sees all my struggle, however feeble, but He doesn't disregard it.
"As surely as God lives, who has denied me justice, the Almighty, who has made my life bitter, as long as I have life within me, the breath of God in my nostrils, my lips will not say anything wicked, and my tongue will not utter lies." Job 27:2-4

to be continued...

Collected my belongings and I left the jail.

It's been a LONG time since I've been able to say I've had a good time, but last night I had a good time. I was able to fellowship with some old friends and make some new ones. It was really nice. Of course, the minute I got back home, to my quiet, dark room, that familiar lonliness enveloped me. I have a feeling that I am going to be combatting these weighty feelings for a long time, especially because I live in such close proximity to the source of them. However, I read something recently that convicted me. A friend of mine wrote on her own blog about the problem of navel-gazing. This is a problem akin to pity-parties: the focus is solely on self. Introspection is wonderful, and even neccessary, but not all the time. By burying your head in the sand and thinking, "I need to focus on me, and my problems." You completely miss the bigger picture. Not to mention, your problems can't be solved when your head is stuck in the ground! My focus should be on Jesus, because He is a Savior who loves to heal the broken. So, I'm taking my head out of the sand.
I'll keep you posted on my progress.

Oh, the lonely sound of my voice calling is driving me insane.

I'm so tired. I haven't had a completely smooth day in what seems like eons. Perhaps it is just the thespian in me, but it seems like every night I find myself alone, wrestling with thoughts that are as tangled as Christmas lights hid away in the basement. I talk to other people, but I get the uneasy feeling that they are weary of my same story being told again and again. I wonder what is wrong with me that I can't just wake up and decide to be happy. Or, maybe I'm more afraid that I can.

I'll go ahead and admit it: I'm still not over the event that has planted a garden of thistle and weeds in my life. I look in the mirror and I think, "Why am I not desired?" I walk outside and all my senses are operating on the highest frequency possible, attuned to a familiar voice or watching for a face. I've tried every humanly way possible to figure out why my love, given so freely and readily, was not returned. Worse, why it was carelessly discarded like it didn't even matter. Like my feelings and my efforts and my perceptions were insignificant and foolish. I suppose even I underestimated the depth of my feeling and the strength of my intimacy. I planned on being really upset for a couple of weeks, and then magically God would open my eyes, give me peace, and allow me to be able to look that boy in the eye and feel nothing but friendly love.

Alas, that is not my reality. Rather, it is a slow process, one that seems to be frustratingly regressive. When I was alone, it was easy to meditate on God's word and become less sad. Everyone told me to wait until school started, because then I would be busy and everyone would be back. Much to my dismay, the arrival of people and routine has turned out to weigh heavily on me. The more people I'm around, the more alone I feel. The more people that tell me how sweet I am, the more I wonder why a specific person didn't find me worthy enough to be with. I hear the sound of boots, and all I can think about are plans I had excitedly waited for withering like a flower in a frost. I can't wrap my mind around the idea that I was cared for, but in a matter of minutes reduced to little more than an acquaintance. I feel so strange. In the excruciating minute that it took to terminate a relationship, all the people I met over the course of several months turned into ghosts. Now, I'm not even a blip on their radar and their eyes slide over me as if I were invisible. I suppose this just comes with the territory, after all, I came in after the fact and now I am gone.

I know I send a vibe of "Woe is me" and sometimes it is true. However, I feel that more of what I'm doing is wading through a knee deep pile of muddy emotion. I'm just trying to sort everything out, not complain. Certainly, I have had many conversations with God, most of them beginning with me lying on the floor, hot tears streaking my face with mascara and rolling into my hair: "For sighing has become my daily food; my groans pour out like water. What I feared has come upon me; what I dreaded has happened to me. I have no peace, no quietness; I have no rest, but only turmoil." Job 3:24-26 I don't think that my turmoil stems only from the painful rejection I've experienced, but rather an issue far deeper. Deep down, I'm not completely trusting God. I'm fearful He will bless me, but take it away soon after. I'm afraid it is wrong for me to be happy. I'm jealous of others. I'm insecure. I'm doubtful of my own abilities. I'm hesitant to trust anybody else. You see, I don't want to let this go. I don't want to accept the fact that someone I love doesn't love me. I don't want to go back to the way I was before I met him, wandering and waiting and wondering.

I don't want to wake up and be happy because that would mean letting go of something I desire so, so much. A friend of mine remarked how well I'm handling everything because I'm leaning on God. This makes me want to weep, because it is hardly the truth. I keep picking my sorrows back up, because all I see is inaction. I beg and plead and cry out to God, but I don't hear anything in response. I'm broken inside and even the process of being fixed despairs me.
I know I can't do it on my own. For all His seeming inaction, I know He is calling me to Him. He is reminding me who He is and that I am His beloved. I know He records my tears on His scroll and He remembers I am but dust. I'm standing at a precipice, wanting so badly to take that leap of faith, but clawing my way back from the edge.

Elisabeth Eliot said it nicely, "Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me."

Call me. Beep me. More than whenever you need me, baby.

My new year starts on Move-In Day. My residents move onto the 2nd floor of Briggs, bringing with them a veritable Pandora's box of problems, joys, questions, and growth.
This year, I'm facing Move-In Day armed with an RA's familiar: the pager. The pager in SBK is a lovable dinosaur of a pager. Most of the time, he's content to ride on my hip silently, taking in the sights as I walk the hallways with purpose. However, this little clunker isn't always quiet. At times his small face lights up with a neon blue and he squawks out a sound that raises the hair on the back of your neck.
I was thinking about my loyal little friend when I had a thought: I treat God like a pager. Absurd, you say? I say nay, my friend.

You see, whenever the pager goes off, I start to sweat a little. My quiet duty night all of the sudden has a problem, and it is one that can't be ignored. In my walk with God, too often (i.e. almost all the time) I'm going along, reading my Bible, obeying the Ten Commandments, saying please and thank-you, etc. etc. when all of the sudden a problem arises. My little pager labelled God starts making a racket, and my plans are instantly altered. On the other hand, I page God only when something's amiss. I have a problem and my fingers are mashing the pound button in a heartbeat. I want Him to answer my problem with an answer RIGHT NOW.

This may be a little scandalous to say, but God is the bad RA they warn us about. Instead of answering my page and producing a solution right away, He doesn't call me back. I'm not saying He ignores my page. He's well aware of my problem but, doesn't immediately call me back and say, "Oh Kaleigh! Here is a quick and easy solution to your problem! Just call me anytime you have a problem." God doesn't want me to only call on Him when I have a problem, He wants me to call on Him all the time.

Hey you, wanna buy a watch?

Hello, my name is Kaleigh and I have trust issues. It's funny, but until recently (i.e. this afternoon in a parking garage) I thought of myself as very trusting individual, always willing to give people the benefit of the doubt. That is, everyone except God. He formed me in my mother's womb, knows the number of hairs on my head, and records my tears on a scroll...but I treat Him like some shady person in a trench coat. "What is He hiding? He could be fixin to offer me some blessings, but more than likely He's going to mug me for my happiness and leave me with some trials. I better not make eye contact." I feel ridiculous just typing that, but I'm ashamed to say it's true.  You see, I've had this notion that it's easy to trust in the Lord. "The Lord works for the good of those who love Him..." (Romans 8:28) That's a pretty solid promise! However, in my impatience I think, "I love God. I'm doing what I'm supposed to. Where is all this good stuff?" Oh dear. I'm definitely going to work on this.

GARGYLES! SLYKICKS! DARK-SIDED STUFF!

Having spent copious amounts of time alone this summer has proven to be both enlightening and frustrating: a great big tornado of thoughts that stirs up both sand and mineral-rich soil. Some splendid soil I have discovered is the Stuff Christians Like blog. (I know, I'm woefully behind the times. In 2008 I was busy being 'scene' rather than tech-saavy or in the interweb know.) I'm currently playing catch up and have made it the middle of the 600's. One post in that range was about recognizing sin in our lives. #659 particularly struck me because earlier this week, I did a little bit of what I love to tell others to do: soul-searchin'. I had a come to Jesus meeting, party of two.

You see, I tend to sit on a high unicorn (not a horse, because that is what other people sit on. I think you might see part of my problem...) and think, "They really need to check themselves before they wreck themselves. They have some nerve to treat me like that." Then, I throw a pity-party. If pity-parties were a TARDIS, you can just call me the Doctor. If they were measured on a scale on outright craziness, call me Kim Jong-il ("License to il" if you will...shout out to Dr. Freeman!) or Benny Hinn (2 Timothy 4:3 as to how I hold the "prosperity gospel" and all that nonsense). Put simply, I can roll with the best of them when it comes to feeling sorry for myself. This is not a good thing. Anyway, during my soul searchin' I began to take frank look at my heart and the sins that I most often struggle with. Here's where the post on SCL (click it!) comes in.

To summarize, there exists a three car method drug-traffickers use when shuttling their goods around. The first car, "the smoker", barrels down the highway ostentatiously breaking the law in order to draw the attention of the lawmen. The actual mule, "the disguised" car, appears unassuming and normal and goes down the road nonchalantly. The last car, "the popper", only has a mission to protect the mule. If the police start to go after the mule, the popper races in front of them and causes a collision, disabling the police. The author points out how sin can be similar to this rather clever method:
The smoker = really obvious sins. Ones easy to go on a crusade against.
The diguised = more subtle, easier for me to justify or fail to recognize
The popper = once you spot the mule, these sins pull in front to disable your police car, Batmobile,  etc.
I read that post and I thought back to my soul searching. I decided to fill in the blanks with my very own cartel of sins. These are the sins that I continually fall into in various ways, shapes, and forms.

1. My smoker car... harsh words/thoughts and gossip. Impatience. Worry. These sins clothe themselves as if they were Fish Camp counselors: neon, tutus, crazy hair, flippers, and tiny jorts. I totally recognize them and set out to eradicate them with an attitude similar to this owl.

2. My disguised car...pessimism, cynicism, being distrustful. Envy. You would think I have enough sense to see these coming. Nope. These sins are like the mono I had earlier this year: "My throat kinda itches. No big." Fast forward one week: "My throat is burning like a thousand angry suns. I haven't taken a shower in three days because I can barely crawl to my minifridge to vainly pour myself some more oj." I ignore their symptoms in favor of my crusade against my smoker sins or I make up a reason to justify them. These sins are similar, but I put envy in bold because it is my own personal Beutal: it amplifies my sickness. "Why can't I have a boyfriend like that girl? Why can't I have more money like this yahoo driving a Lexus? She's so pretty which makes me feel inferior. I hope it rains on her."

3. My popper car...self-pity. Selfishness. Pride. When I finally recognize my disguised sins and set about to repent of them, these three appear on the scene like the flying monkeys from the Wizard of Oz. Instead of repentance, I flop down and throw a pity-party, sulking around vacillating between saying "Not fair!", "Woe is me!", and "Excuse me, God. I'm doing better than that person. Why can't You do what I want?"

Looking at these various sins, which include a fair amount of the 7 Deadlies, I'm appalled. I'm also very thankful and humbled. I mean, God loves me enough He sent His Sacrificial Lamb to atone for my blackness. He loves me enough to lower His staff and pull this silly sheep out of the pit. He loves me enough not to answer my endless barage of questions. (This is still working itself out in my mind.) Let me wrap up my musing with this verse:
"My mouth will tell of your righteous deeds, of your saving acts all day long - though I know not how to relate them all." (Psalm 71:15)  I totally did a double-take of biblical proportions when I read this. The last part of the verse (which I took the liberty of italicizing) seemed to whisper and shout off the page. I don't know why things happen the way they do. I may not get how to relate all the things God does, but I do know they are righteous and good.
So, I'll keep telling of them...all day long.
  

Happy Birthday Blog!

I realize that I am pathetically behind the Interwebs curve. (Creating a blog in 2010? How quaint! Are you going to go play bingo later?) Oh well. I'm not even sure if anyone is going to ever follow me, or if this attempt at blogging will fizzle out like my previous attempt. Hmm. At any rate, it's Saturday, I'm by myself (no surprise there), there's nothing on the TV, and swarms of splashing children flock to the pool on the weekends. There you have it.