Haven: noun. any place of shelter and safety; refuge; asylum.

my new room= my new haven.

I’ve never been more excited about moving.  I guess now that I’m a senior (senior?! surely not so…) I’ve accumulated the perfect furniture, decorations, and a well stocked bookshelf (one of my not-so-secret goals in life), that moving was inexpensive and rewarding.

Yesterday Clayton asked me what was going to make this year successful, and it got my thinking about how many practical things can genuinely affect how we feel about daily tasks and stresses.  Here are just a few:

-keep a clean room– organization, knowing where things are, order.  I honestly think my haven is going to aid this year immensely!

example: I bought a second desk that is going to be called my focus desk (and yes, I realize it sounds a bit like a time-out chair for kindergartners).  The desk is to remain empty– clutter is a killer of all productivity for me.

-exercise– the rumor is true.  It makes you feel better.  Spinning classes here I come!
-live on a budget– it is written and ready to begin.  Whenever I spend money, guilt from sits on my shoulders like a heavy box.  Why carry needless guilt? Oh Dave Ramsey, you make sense.

but here’s the kicker: while I can do these practical things, the foundational truth is this: how I am spiritually affects everything –attitudes, motivation, kindness, desire for growth in other areas, etc all go down the drain when I don’t daily commune with the Lord  (doesn’t this point to how we’re wired? We are created by God and for God, right?)

I find myself dancing in a circle; I’m stoked about my room and motivated more than ever to stay organized, exercise, eat right, spend right, study right, and I could go on… and on… But just like that list, those “successes” can only take me so far.  Take my room:  It offers a home, a place to study and rest, a place to grow, but it’s still just a thing. It can only do so much.

My heart’s haven must be in the presence of the Lord, or my little room will just be a place of escape.

For you are my hiding place; you protect me from trouble. You surround me with songs of victory. Psalm 32:7

My goal:  that my little haven and new personal growth “kicks” might help my heart find and remain in the haven the Lord created in his presence.  That, I think, might be what it takes to have a successful year.

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My sweet mother has been in the hospital since last Wednesday.  She’s never been the one to take the easy path, and thus, she perseveres as woman of strength– a warrior, soldier, and champion.   I’m so proud of her.

500 hundred miles from home has been challenging despite the fact that I am at my so-called peak– I’m in perfect health (I haven’t given up on bear cycle!); I just watched a dear friend get married; I practiced my expertise (shopping) in one of my favorite cities, and I even took my Sunday nap.  Still yet, my mind constantly wanders back to my mom and how I’d trade just about anything to be down right bored next to her in that poorly decorated hospital room with depressing soap operas.

Updates from Springfield are scattered– at 5:30 a.m. my mom sent me this message: “Overnight alert. My arm just blew up. Literally. Humor helps.”  Is that humor? I beg to say it’s not.  Describing her inflated arm as a blow up bat, she detailed how the arm with the IV expanded and raised itself off of her side.  We’ll reevaluate the humor in a few years, but now I’ll maintain a heart of thankfulness that Nurse Joe was within earshot and could remove the IV.

My mom has fought this infection several times and come out victorious, so I didn’t mention her hospitalization to many.  An IV, few hours, and some hospital food would send her on her way by Thursday morning.  I misjudged.  The scattered updates from this past week have been somewhat bipolar in nature.  One is encouraging and my heart is full of praise.  The next is nothing but scary, and I catch myself dropping whatever I’m doing to pray.  So, here’s what I’ve learned: Trust in the Lord with the big and the small, because really, who are we to determine what is big and what is small in light of eternity?  All matters should be matters of utter dependence and prayer.

In my car alone, with my Common Grounds coffee in hand and confident ambition for a productive afternoon, is when said lesson started to unfold in my heart.  My family practically pays rent at the hospital and has its fair share of tearful moments of frustration and pain, and yet, my family has stood with its chin up with a triumphant fortitude.  With a backward glance I say with confidence that was only the Lord’s masterful craftsmanship that can claim victory.  Such victories, however, should never dismiss my desperate need– at all times– for his strength in the present.   It was there in my car, I realized my tendency to compartmentalize my need for the Lord, and it was there I stayed for a while.

All matters beckon submission through prayer.  Whereas we cannot even articulate exactly what eternity means, the One we pray to sees it all, makes sense of it all, and holds it all.

Now THAT brings peace.

My mom is doing better; she’s recovering, and she’s currently “planning her escape.”  But that in no way should decrease my need for the Lord– I treasure those “I need You” moments.  If we really saw our condition as mere humans meandering across the earth, we’d face plant constantly before the Almighty God.

Tomorrow is Face Plant Practice day.  Let’s Celebrate. FPP.

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too many verbs.

I attend meetings. constantly.

I work.

I listen.

I worry.

I study.

I run (sometimes).

I stress.

I try.

I fix (or try).

I lead.

I micromanage.

I send way too many emails.

I play.

I over-commit and then commit not to ever again.

all verbs aren’t bad though, thus

I will nap.

I will relax.

I will read.

I will be still.

I will smile.

I will keep going.

I will enjoy and savor it all.

And crash sometimes next week with a sense of gratitude.

Praying doesn’t make your schedule less busy.

It makes your heart less busy.

My friend told me that.  My God is using that.

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I just finished reading about prisons. I caught myself slightly depressed, and it didn’t help that I was in the airport and watching it rain.

I read about Marion Prison in Illinois—previously one of the highest security penitentiaries in the United States— and one that is regularly visiting the courts because its measures are questionably unconstitutional.

I read about how to make alcohol in the toilet with cornflakes and about a guard watching his father being stabbed to death.

I read about how inmates would kill just so they could go to court.  Court meant seeing the outdoors and remembering what grass looked like.

I tried to imagine living in a cell with no windows for 23 hours a day.
Being deprived of family and friends.
of communication.

Of light and colors.

And sanity.

…Essentially being deprived of all freedom and hope and that freedom being replaced with monotony, yelling, beatings, and violence.

Right now I’m some 27,000 feet in the air, watching the sun set, sitting next to one of those 25 year olds that still plays with Pokemon cards.  Though I’m slightly tense because he’s wearing a hood and sunglasses, his obsession which his cards relieve me.  I’m well on my way to visit my buddy Sarah in Phoenix.  I’m stoked.

The prison keeps popping into my head though, and with all of the other deprivations I’m then led to wonder what these people did to get transferred in severe solitude, surrounded by hatred and emitting the darkest bitterness, violence, and trapped in… hell.

The essay ended with a prisoner admitting he deserved his newfound hell.  He said,

“would I try to escape? of course.”

He knew he deserved it and yet it changed nothing.  He was stuck there.

I don’t like captivity, but I was doomed to be just like the prisoner.  Until, knowing the Truth I was set free (John 8:32).

I am merely a college student, striving to do what is right, and though I have never murdered anyone and my gun experience is limited to shooting cans with bb gun, my sins damn me to hell.  Hell is worse than the prison.  And I deserve it.

Freedom tastes so much more real when you consider the alternative.

I’m going to stare out the window more and thank my Jesus for his death and resurrection which conquer ALL sin.

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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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