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.