falling short - my strength in life.

At the beginning of the semester, I was confident that I could change the world. 

Now, I'm not so sure. 

I've worked and worked and worked only to be looked over. 
My thoughts don't matter. My opinions don't matter. 

I'm not smart enough, wise enough, generous enough, loving enough, kind enough, charismatic enough, joyful enough, peaceful enough, patient enough, gentle enough.

Good enough.

How could *I* change the world, when I can't get a single person to truly *hear* me. 

When I don't get A+ on my finals. 
When she's the most generous person in the world. 
When he is wiser. 
When everyone likes him, and she's always so friendly and kind. 

I snapped this week. 

I let my heart open up and let in self doubt, jealousy, resentment...

But how can I change the world like that? Obviously I can't.

Teach me, Father.

Teach me to be generous. Teach me to love. Help me be kind. 
If You want me to use my voice, give me a platform so I can shout Your name to the world. 
Give me patience. Give me joy. Show me how to be gentle. Grant me wisdom.

I can't be smart, wise, generous, loving, kind, charismatic, joyful, peaceful, patient or gentle. Not on my own. 

But then I remember. And it's like a weight is lifted off my shoulders and the sun breaks through my storm cloud. 

I am *not* those things. 
But *HE* is. 

My strength in life is that *I am His*. 

He's the one who gives wisdom, joy and peace. He is the perfect example of love, patience and gentleness. 

And my soul delights, because *I am His*. 

"And this is the secret: Christ lives in you. This gives you assurance of sharing his glory."
Colossians 1:27

He lives in me and because of that, I can be wiser. I can love. I can be patient. I can have peace. I can be generous. I can be kind. I can have joy. I can be gentle. 

I'm alive to bring Him glory. His will on earth is all I'm living for. 

All I have to do is let go of myself and let Him work through me. I can change the world.

Because He's good

I couldn't take my eyes off of her. I tried at first. After all, I was leading a group of about forty kids... Looking away from one for a moment shouldn't be too hard.
And then I got to my second last song.

A song about the goodness of God.

I started playing, queuing my brother who was drumming along, laughing at my friends and sisters dancing... and just as I started singing, she caught my eye again.
"I sing because You are good"

Her face broke into the biggest smile you can imagine as she threw her arms in the air, motioning the sound of song being projected from her mouth.
I smiled at her enthusiasm. As a worship leader, I try to create that excitement, and "success" is sweet every time.

"And I dance because You are good"

The smile I thought couldn't get any bigger expands as she spins and stomps her feet waving her hands with abandon.

"I shout because You are good; You are good to me"

Her shout of "yeah!" Is interrupted by the laughter that bubbles up and spills out and I don't try to take my eyes off of her anymore. My fingers are familiar with the chord pattern and the lyrics are ingrained into my mind... so my lyrics and chord sheet sit, unwatched on the music stand as I turn all my attention on her with interest.

When I get to the bridge, my voice chokes as I sing, and she sings with me, "with a cry of praise my heart will proclaim that You are good, You are good. In the sun or rain my life celebrates that You are good."

How many of us truly live our lives as a celebration of Gods goodness?

I saw an article the other day titled, "God may not have a wonderful plan for your life".
And I beg to differ.

God is good. All the time.

And He has a wonderful, yes wonderful, plan for your life.

Even if the wonderful plan doesn't mean a constantly wonderful existence.

We teach in Sunday school nearly every week about a "big picture".

I think we do that because life sucks sometimes, but there's always a wonderful "big picture".

And little P, she has a much less than wonderful existence a lot of the time. I've seen her frustrated because I didn't know what she wanted and she can't communicate with me the way she wants to. Countless doctors appointments...
That's not wonderful.

But still, in that moment, her life was a celebration of His goodness in a way I only hope mine is.

Healing

"Healing is a journey, rather than a destination, and it is a process more than an epiphany. .... characterize healing by contrasting it with wounding. On a quality-of-life continuum, being in a healed state is at a pole marked by an experience of wholeness and personal integrity. Being wounded is situated at the opposite pole and represents an experience of suffering and anguish. Healing is associated with the following perspectives: a sense of connection to self, others, and a phenomenal world (ie, a world experienced through the senses); an ability to derive meaning in the context of suffering; a capacity to find peace in the present moment; a nonadversarial connection to the disease process; and the ability to relinquish the need for control. Wounding is a movement in opposite directions. Suffering is fundamentally a sense of one’s own disintegration, of loss of control to prevent that, and an experience of meaninglessness. By counteracting those perceptions, a person can be helped on a healing trajectory, even as death approaches. Healing interventions are always possible. One can die healed. As a consequence, the phrase, “There is nothing more that I can do for you,” has no place in medicine."
(Boudreau and Somerville, 2014)

The only time I want to be the pessimistic character.

Sometimes I write. 
And other times I realize that someone else has already written, and done a better job than I could have, what my heart feels. 
It's no secret that I love C.S Lewis. 
Enjoy this excerpt that randomly popped into my head and nearly made me cry on the bus this afternoon. (Taken from chapter 12 of The Silver Chair)

I want to be a Puddleglum.

"I'm on Aslan's side even if there isn't any Aslan to lead it. I'm going to live as like a Narnian as I can even if there isn't any Narnia"
----------------------------------

"Madam," said the Prince sternly, "I have already told your Grace that I am the King's son of Narnia." 

"And shalt be, dear friend," said the Witch in a soothing voice, as if she was humouring a child, "shalt be king of many imagined lands in thy fancies." 

"We've been there, too," snapped Jill. She was very angry because she could feel enchantment getting hold of her every moment. But of course the very fact that she could still feel it, showed that it had not yet fully worked. 

....

"No. I suppose that other world must be all a dream." 

"Yes. It is all a dream," said the Witch, always thrumming. 

"Yes, all a dream," said Jill. 

"There never was such a world," said the Witch. 

"No," said Jill and Scrubb, "never was such a world." 

"There never was any world but mine," said the Witch. 

"There never was any world but yours," said they. 

Puddleglum was still fighting hard. "I don't know rightly what you all mean by a world," he said, talking like a man who hasn't enough air. "But you can play that fiddle till your fingers drop off, and still you won't make me forget Narnia; and the whole Overworld too. We'll never see it again, I shouldn't wonder. You may have blotted it out and turned it dark like this, for all I know. Nothing more likely. But I know I was there once. I've seen the sky full of stars. I've seen the sun coming up out of the sea of a morning and sinking behind the mountains at night. And I've seen him up in the midday sky when I couldn't look at him for brightness." 

Puddleglum's words had a very rousing effect. The other three all breathed again and looked at one another like people newly awaked. 

"Why, there it is!" cried the Prince. "Of course! The blessing of Aslan upon this honest Marsh-wiggle. We have all been dreaming, these last few minutes. How could we have forgotten it? Of course we've all seen the sun." 

"By Jove, so we have!" said Scrubb. "Good for you, Puddleglum! You're the only one of us with any sense, I do believe." 

Then came the Witch's voice, cooing softly like the voice of a wood-pigeon from the high elms in an old garden at three o'clock in the middle of a sleepy, summer afternoon; and it said: 

"What is this sun that you all speak of? Do you mean anything by the word?" 

"Yes, we jolly well do," said Scrubb. 

"Can you tell me what it's like?" asked the Witch (thrum, thrum, thrum, went the strings). 

"Please it your Grace," said the Prince, very coldly and politely. "You see that lamp. It is round and yellow and gives light to the whole room; and hangeth moreover from the roof. Now that thing which we call the sun is like the lamp, only far greater and brighter. It giveth light to the whole Overworld and hangeth in the sky." 

"Hangeth from what, my lord?" asked the Witch; and then, while they were all still thinking how to answer her, she added, with another of her soft, silver laughs: "You see? When you try to think out clearly what this sun must be, you cannot tell me. You can only tell me it is like the lamp. Your sun is a dream; and there is nothing in that dream that was not copied from the lamp. The lamp is the real thing; the sun is but a tale, a children's story." 

"Yes, I see now," said Jill in a heavy, hopeless tone. "It must be so." And while she said this, it seemed to her to be very good sense. 

Slowly and gravely the Witch repeated, "There is no sun." And they all said nothing. She repeated, in a softer and deeper voice. "There is no sun." After a pause, and after a struggle in their minds, all four of them said together. "You are right. There is no sun." It was such a relief to give in and say it. 

"There never was a sun," said the Witch. 

"No. There never was a sun," said the Prince, and the Marsh-wiggle, and the children. 

For the last few minutes Jill had been feeling that there was something she must remember at all costs. And now she did. But it was dreadfully hard to say it. She felt as if huge weights were laid on her lips. At last, with an effort that seemed to take all the good out of her, she said: 

"There's Aslan." 

"Aslan?" said the Witch, quickening ever so slightly the pace of her thrumming. "What a pretty name! What does it mean?" 

"He is the great Lion who called us out of our own world," said Scrubb, "and sent us into this to find Prince Rilian." 

"What is a lion?" asked the Witch. 

"Oh, hang it all!" said Scrubb. "Don't you know? How can we describe it to her? Have you ever seen a cat?" 

"Surely," said the Queen. "I love cats." 

"Well, a lion is a little bit - only a little bit, mind you like a huge cat - with a mane. At least, it's not like a horse's mane, you know, it's more like a judge's wig. And it's yellow. And terrifically strong." 

The Witch shook her head. "I see," she said, "that we should do no better with your lion, as you call it, than we did with your sun. You have seen lamps, and so you imagined a bigger and better lamp and called it the sun. You've seen cats, and now you want a bigger and better cat, and it's to be called a lion. Well, 'tis a pretty makebelieve, though, to say truth, it would suit you all better if you were younger. And look how you can put nothing into your make-believe without copying it from the real world, this world of mine, which is the only world. But even you children are too old for such play. As for you, my lord Prince, that art a man full grown, fie upon you! Are you not ashamed of such toys? Come, all of you. Put away these childish tricks. I have work for you all in the real world. There is no Narnia, no Overworld, no sky, no sun, no Aslan. And now, to bed all. And let us begin a wiser life tomorrow. But, first, to bed; to sleep; deep sleep, soft pillows, sleep without foolish dreams." 

The Prince and the two children were standing with their heads hung down, their cheeks flushed, their eyes half closed; the strength all gone from them; the enchantment almost complete. But Puddleglum, desperately gathering all his strength, walked over to the fire. Then he did a very brave thing. He knew it wouldn't hurt him quite as much as it would hurt a human; for his feet (which were bare) were webbed and hard and coldblooded like a duck's. But he knew it would hurt him badly enough; and so it did. With his bare foot he stamped on the fire, grinding a large part of it into ashes on the flat hearth. And three things happened at once. 

First, the sweet heavy smell grew very much less. For though the whole fire had not been put out, a good bit of it had, and what remained smelled very largely of burnt Marsh- wiggle, which is not at all an enchanting smell. This instantly made everyone's brain far clearer. The Prince and the children held up their heads again and opened their eyes. 

Secondly, the Witch, in a loud, terrible voice, utterly different from all the sweet tones she had been using up till now, called out, "What are you doing? Dare to touch my fire again, mud-filth, and I'll turn the blood to fire inside your veins." 

Thirdly, the pain itself made Puddleglum's head for a moment perfectly clear and he knew exactly what he really thought. There is nothing like a good shock of pain for dissolving certain kinds of magic. 

"One word, Ma'am," he said, coming back from the fire; limping, because of the pain. "One word. All you've been saying is quite right, I shouldn't wonder. I'm a chap who always liked to know the worst and then put the best face I can on it. So I won't deny any of what you said. But there's one thing more to be said, even so. Suppose we have only dreamed, or made up, all those things - trees and grass and sun and moon and stars and Aslan himself. Suppose we have. Then all I can say is that, in that case, the made-up things seem a good deal more important than the real ones. Suppose this black pit of a kingdom of yours is the only world. Well, it strikes me as a pretty poor one. And that's a funny thing, when you come to think of it. We're just babies making up a game, if you're right. But four babies playing a game can make a playworld which licks your real world hollow. That's why I'm going to stand by the play-world. I'm on Aslan's side even if there isn't any Aslan to lead it. I'm going to live as like a Narnian as I can even if there isn't any Narnia. So, thanking you kindly for our supper, if these two gentlemen and the young lady are ready, we're leaving your court at once and setting out in the dark to spend our lives looking for Overland. Not that our lives will be very long, I should think; but that's a small loss if the world's as dull a place as you say." 

Cleanliness.

I'm a student nurse.

There's a lot of pretty strict rules we have to follow in the lab. One of which being that we can't have any visible tattoos. This rule isn't a problem for me, because I don't have any tattoos. But one girl in my foundations class has a full sleeve.

On the first day of labs, the instructor was going over the rules, "and does anyone here have tattoos?"

The girl shyly raises her hand. "Um, I have a sleeve..."

"And I don't care." The instructor says.

There's a flaw in the "no tattoo" rule that I noticed right away, but I was still a bit surprised when the instructor went over it, too.

If you have ink on your arms, which a ton of people do, when you cover your tattoos with long sleeved shirts, bandages, or whatever... You can't properly wash your hands.

Right?!

We're supposed to wash up to our elbows before touching a patient, yet if you have tattoos, they're supposed to be out of sight. Which restricts your hand washing.

Imagine all the bacteria and grossness your bandages and clothes would be covered in! Gross. I'd much rather have a tattooed doctor than a dirty doctor touching me, wouldn't you?

"I'm more concerned with your cleanliness than I am with your tattoos." My instructor said.

I think it's hilarious how so many people get so upset when people have visible tattoos.

In church, pastors (and congregation members) wear long sleeved shirts to cover tattoos, worried about offending someone. But why does church mean you shouldn't show your tattoos? It shouldn't matter, as long as you love Jesus.

"I'm more concerned with your cleanliness than I am with your tattoos."

Shouldn't that be our attitude?


So what if I said this post wasn't actually about tattoos? Cause its really not.

I don't think tattoos are wrong or sinful or "dirty"...

But pastors and church goers cover up - not just tattoos on their skin, but every sin you can possibly think of.

Why do we feel like we need to hide our dirty, defiled parts as soon as we step into a professional or religious setting?

Don't hide, just because you stepped into a church.

When you're hiding, you can't truly become clean.

Your "cover" gets filthy.

I'd rather have a tattooed doctor than a dirty doctor - I'd rather have a messed up, honest pastor who loves Jesus than a "clean on the surface" pastor who'd hiding his secrets. I'd rather have open friends than friends who hide. Wouldn't you?

I don't care if you have "tattoos". I don't care if you have issues or you're defiled somehow.  Aren't we all?
I'm more concerned with the inside than the surface value.
I'm more concerned with your cleanliness than I am with your tattoos.

I'm for You

Earlier this year before I graduated, I thought God was opening a door for me to go into ministry and pursue it as a vocation.  

At that time, I wasn't sure my biology grade was going to be high enough to get me into the nursing program I had been conditionally accepted to, and it seemed like all the right doors were opening and closing. It was so obvious, I thought.

And then God said no. 

But then my biology mark went up. 

And all the other doors started opening and closing.

Long story short, I'm now a nursing student. And loving every second. It was totally the right thing and everything has worked out so perfectly this far. He is faithful. 

Last night, I was at a worship night at my church and we sang "You are For Me" by Kari Jobe. 

Why is it sometimes so much easier to admit God's love and faithfulness to us than it is for us to say it back? 

I definitely don't think there's anything wrong with reminding ourselves of Him... "Well, of course He loves me despite my failures... He's *God*."

But at some point, we need to return the devotion. 

I came home from the church and left again to go pick up my sister from work. 

I get in the car and turn on the radio and Tobymac* is playing. 

*I would not classify myself as a Tobymac fan, but he does sometimes have really awesome themes and he loves Jesus. Loving Jesus is always a good thing.


"Whatever I've got to be, I'll be for You..."

On the first day of my program orientation, we were asked to make a list of three reasons why we were going into the program we chose. 
"And," the director told us, "hold onto this list. Not just for the next 16 months of your schooling, but for the rest of your life. Chances are, you'll still be a nurse in 30, 40, or even 50 years. Don't forget what made you want to do it when you first started."

And so, my notebook from that day contains my class schedule, my budget for the next season of life and schooling, and a page titled "Why I Want To Be A Nurse". Funny enough, the first one is ministry, the very thing I thought nursing school had taken from me. 

"1. Ministry. Being a nurse gives me the opportunity to speak into the lives of people who are at their weakest most vulnerable moments."

Pastor Tim has been speaking a series about "Divine Guidance" the past few weeks. 

He made one point that, maybe if we focused less on finding "God's will" for our lives and focused more on following His *ways*, we would naturally begin to do His will. 

At one point, I was so convinced that God's plan was for me to go into vocational ministry, I thought maybe there had been a "mess up". And my bio improvement was just because of studying habits and nothing to do with God's plan for me. 

There was no mistake. And if I would have failed biology and went into ministry, there would have been no mistake. And who knows, maybe I'll get my nursing licence and work my way through a couple theology courses. 
But God is God whether I'm a nurse or a pastor or ___.

God is God, and whatever I've gotta be, I'll be for Him. 

Deserving.

"I need to fall in love with Jesus again. 

The kind of love where nothing else matters. 

The kind of love where, if everyone I loved began to hate me, I could continue dancing because I. Am. Loved. 

I know I'm loved. 

I know know know know it in my very core.

And in the deepest part of me, I know nothing can touch me.

But there are layers above and around that little middle bit of me. 

Layers that make me bitter towards people and layers that make me jealous and layers that make me want... To be perfect.

And layers that are addicted to earning and deserving. 

Sometimes, I think I deserve love - or rather - actions and displays of love. 

Not always by any means, but sometimes, it feels like I do.

When I'm nice, they'll be nice back. Right?

There's a demon inside of me, and the layers are his home. He loves getting what he deserves, so long as he deserves affection. 

This little demon will create and say things to get approval.

And the approval is sweet.

He doesn't know that I'm always approved of. I'm always loved.

And the love that loves me always? Is never deserved.

But this little demon living inside of me doesn't care for the love that's given. 

He craves a love that's earned.

So he works in my mind. Convincing me to try harder, work faster... Earn, earn, earn.

And as long as I earn, we live at peace, my demon and me.

But when I fail...

"Disappointed."

He turns on me with a vengeance.

And, hungry, he begins to devour me. 

I need to fall in love with Jesus again.

The kind of love where nothing else matters.

The kind of love that casts out fear. 

The kind of love I don't need to earn. 

The kind of love that gives me the ability to truly love and be loved in return. "