Looking over my past few posts, I realized that each had to do with my family.  At first I was bummed– so much for diversity and interesting content (I mean, can family really compete with the yellow backpack?)

When everyone links arms, you don’t end up with a line; you end up in a circle with everyone looking right back into the eyes everyone else.  I think that’s where my family is and probably why my posts (as does my time) follow the same mentality.

My precious grandmother has been in the hospital for several weeks.  We’re praying like crazy, determined to beat the unexplainable blood disease, and in the process, our circle is being knit a bit tighter.

Seeing my family tag-team and rally around my grandmother, taking turns having “sleep-overs” and story time, makes me know that I am loved.  I am so blessed to be part of such a team.

That is family.  That is love.

What greater thing is there for human souls than to feel that they are joined for life – to be with each other in silent unspeakable memories.  ~George Eliot

1 Comment | In: Family, Resources, Uncategorized | tags: Family, love. | #

I write often.

Mostly about silly things– yellow backpacks and coffee and Christmas.  It helps keep writing fun, because research and theology papers have the ability to suck all life out of writing.

Also, I kind of want to prove to my grandchildren that I lived an entertaining life and didn’t merely sit around and knit (though I’m realizing more and more that my life is becoming one of a grandmother: my body shuts down with the Sun, I swear by Denny’s, and I do knit and like books).

Lots of things are fun and lack purpose though, so I don’t ever want to dismiss my purpose in writing (or going to class or serving or being in Pi Phi or whatever else my scattered schedule holds this week).

I write to bring glory to the God Most High.

Whether I’ve made it clear or not, it cannot be overstated or understated, repeated too many times, shouted too loudly or whispered more sweetly or with more force.

I desire to live for Christ.

I deserved hell and still do, but by dying an excruciating death with nothing but a perfect, yes perfect, record, his hands were pierced on my behalf.

And yours.

Blood flowed, tears fell, and payment was paid.  A giant payment that makes grace impossible to comprehend.  If I ever claim to understand it, it’ll only be when I’m standing before the throne of God and He’s personally explaining it.

Knowing this God is my goal.

I fail often- so often that when I see glimpses of Him I want to smack myself on the face and then am taken back to the classroom of grace.

I’m learning.
Learn with me.
I promise you it’ll blow your mind.

and heart.

1 Comment | In: Uncategorized | tags: Christmas, coffee, Simple Joys, spiritual musings, yellow backpack. | #

You know I love my yellow backpack (with its coffee stains and all).  The backpack is bright; it’s cheery; it’s always nearby, and it’s needed.

For Christmas I got my first winter coat in years, and living in Missouri we can all admit it was needed.  It’s yellow.  As is the single purse I’ve begun to carry everywhere.

Never were all together.  It wasn’t until I was travelling with all 3—purse, coat, and backpack— that a harsh reality struck: Yellow overload. Maybe when you’re 4 being Miss Missymatchy is cute.  But not 21. Definitely not.

I’m not commenting on fashion (because I know absolute nothing of the sorts) nor am I endorsing my favorite color (YELLOW ALL OF THE WAY!!! Uhh… no).  I have too much of it myself.

Way too much yellow this year.

Like yellow, I have lots of goals for this year:  live on a budget, start a scrapbook, keep my room clean, go to sleep early, watch more TV (I’m culturally aloof at the moment), exercise, read more, and the list could continue…

I am The Queen of goals to a fault—some  goals accomplished but very many left forgotten in some deserted journal.

Too much yellow is overwhelming.  However, one at a time is – bright, cheery, always nearby and needed.

Keep it simple.

And here is the goal that is complexly simple, unattainably sought after, refreshingly impossible, and what makes me perfectly imperfect to reach:  To know Jesus.

Goal for 2010:  follow hard after Jesus.

The New Year seems welcoming and inviting as Jesus beckons us to come and rest and to come and simply follow.

I’m excited.  Happy New Year.

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A while ago I wrote about my new yellow backpack.  At the the time, the bright yellow backpack put a little skip in my step, but inevitably the backpack got old.  My organization failed; stray papers found themselves crumpled in the bottom, my many coffee spills dulled the yellow, and for about a week I even aimlessly carried around a hole punch without knowing it.  Little circle cutouts filled the bottom like an unwanted snow accompanied by crumbs, sticky-ness, and homework.  Newness completely gone.  Meh.

Growing up I would always buy my new school shoes during the summer and yearn for orientation when I was allowed to wear them.  The anticipation built so much that on the first day of school I would run home and clean the white soles.  However, we all knew by week 3 they would have been through puddles and mud and by Christmas I would be asking for/probably even needing another pair.

This weekend my mom and I went shopping.  We bought a new shirt and when I wore it, I got that little skip again.  No one knew it was new, but I certainly did.  However, every shirt in my closet was once new.

I’ve been reading through all of the Jane Austen novels, and as the narrative plays in my head, I some times have to chuckle about their society.  Idle women?  surely not! Oh the old times.

The new 2009 penny is only proud until 2010 comes.  And the video game my brother camped outside for will be a thing of the past next month.

I just pulled my backpack out of the washer.  It’s yellow once again, but I cannot trick myself into thinking it is new again.  I wish I could.  In a shallow human way, I like new things.

Things grow old. Sometimes they go out of style or they might break.  But most of the time they just lose their newness. lose excitement. lose priority.

There is only one thing that is new every day.  Yesterday I woke to it.  Today I did too, even before my feet hit the ground.  As will happen tomorrow.   :: His Mercies::

The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases;
his mercies never come to an end;
they are new every morning;
great is your faithfulness.

God’s love is always an unread email in my inbox.  Sure, I can read it, but there will always be a new one when I get back.

My alarm clock ushers in these new mercies.  AND that, my friend, might be the only redeeming aspect of my alarm clock.

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[I can justify writing now because dinner is simmering on the stove.  However, don’t be deceived.  Simmering does much more justice than my dumping of the Voila! bag from the frozen aisle deserves.  I say simmering, but it’s more like waiting while magic happens.]

Chapter 9

Spills are my thing.

This morning I knocked my cup of water all over the table right after I made oatmeal in a bowl that I quickly learned had a crack.  I dropped baby Robert’s 1^st birthday cake in the line at Chuck E. Cheese.  Thankfully he was the age where it’s still cute to let the baby touch the cake, so no one ate it anyway.  I was humiliated around age ten when I dropped a plate at a buffet and then freshman year my tray went flying in Penland dining hall.  The only positive was a few boys were able to practice their chivalry.  Here’s why I tell you this:  Today I spilt my coffee in my yellow (but now browning) backpack.  Yes, again. Third time.  And the last time.

My coffee really just wanted a final kick because tomorrow my coffee will not longer be acquainted with my backpack.  My friend Kyle came up with a contraption that is a cup holder for my bike.  Details to come and a lack of disasters to follow.

The only time I justify a spill is when there simply isn’t enough room to hold everything in.  I think of a waterfall spilling over a cliff with power because the river cannot just simply stop at the edge.  This summer I climbed a waterfall in Costa Rica, and the water crashing down was like a giant spill covering me.  Or, maybe a justified spill is when a surprise has to burst out because of built up excitement.  Or, a spill can be the smile seeps out when you know it’s not appropriate to laugh.  Spills happen.

I want to spill over Jesus.  Overflow.  With intention, yes, but also with unguarded passion that spills forth without thought.  Like a waterfall that cannot be stopped.

May my lips overflow with praise, for you teach me your decrees. Psalm 119:171

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