Wyzerland

Hey, I started a new blog, to change things up a bit, plus this one is getting full. And I thought of a new name, a new theme, so please check it out:

http://wyzerland.blogspot.com

Thanks!

Made Perfect

"...God...[made] the author of their salvation perfect through suffering." Hebrews 2:10b.

Perhaps He is trying to work the same miracle on us. We can only pray we are so lucky and blessed and loved enough that He would want to shape us to be more like Christ. That is why you should thank God for your sufferings. He is molding you!

Eternal Value

St. Augustine talks about Truth that has eternal value in Confessions. Tozer talks about being a seeker, a finder, and a seeker still in Keys To The Deeper Life. Put the two together with Romans 1:28-

"Furthermore, since they did not think it worthwhile to retain the knowledge of God, he gave them over to a depraved mind, to do what ought not to be done."

and remember, seek truth, that has eternal value, find it, seek it still, and hold on to the truth. Don't just read something to say that you read it! Memorize it. Print it onto your heart, mind and soul. Retain the Knowledge of God, it has eternal value...and earthly value.

Piece of Truth

I'm gonna repeat a statement I made below and claim it to be truth until proven wrong:

You cannot know Christ and depression at the same time.

Still Walking

I've dealt with my fair amount of depression. I've had dark winters that I thought I might never escape. I've dealt with inner turmoil that stuck to my soul like oil. I have been to therapy, taken anti-depressants--

"And in all the sorrows of our worldly lives through with Your mercy led us, we looked to see Your purposes for suffering and only saw darkness. We averted our eyes and groaned, 'How long shall these things be?' We often made such complaints and stuck with seeking the answers, since no certain responses had yet dawned on us. We looked for something that we forsaken souls might embrace" (The Confessions of St. Augustine, Friends)--

but that was then. This is now: three and a half years later. Three and a half years of walking toward God, toward Christ. Three and a half years of seeking wisdom that has eternal value, to paraphrase Augustine again.

That is why it pains me when so many think I am so depressed. How can I know the love of Christ, how can I trust God's will and purposes, how can I feel blessed to share in my Bridegroom's sufferings and still be as depressed as you think I am? How can I read the bible, read what Paul and Peter tell us, read what Moses tells us, realistically in Job, and complain, be depressed? You all are crazy....and I worry that YOU are the ones who don't know the love of Christ. How can you know the bible and believe that depression could last that long? Surely I know God's hands are molding me. Surely I know the life I led before fell to pieces because it was in my hands, and now my life is safely in His. His plan is putting mine to shame.

"Years ago He was a swinging speck in the distance; now He is close enough that I can hear His singing. Soon I will see the lines on His face" (Blue Like Jazz, Donald Miller, page 1).

Don't get me wrong, I still cry. Augustine made me cry tonight with the verse I quoted because I used to be like that so much, and now I am only like that a few times a year. But those few times, when I fall into fetal position it isn't so much depression, but finally realizing the yoke I made for myself is too heavy and it's time to hand some of the weight over to Christ, to give it to God to handle. After I am done balling for a minute or two I stand up refreshed, glad God has given me the ability to hand so much turmoil of human affairs over to Him.

I understand your initial concern, your emotionalism worrying about me, but if you logically think about my faith, know that one cannot know depression and Christ at the same time. Not really. Not for a long period of time. It is just impossible. His love is bigger than that, and I hope to God you understand that, for yourselves and for me.

"With the words 'That I may know Him' Paul answered the whining claims of the flesh and raced on toward perfection. All gain he counted loss for the excellency of the knowledge of Christ Jesus the Lord, and if to know Him better meant suffering or even death it was all one to Paul. To him conformity to Christ was cheap at any price" (Keys To The Deeper Life, Tozer, pages 29-30).

Keep walking.

Leaves of Summer

The leaf on the patio is propelled--
lifted by its partner,
the clear swirling, graceful breeze
into a dance--
a few short steps here
a few long steps there.
What lines they flutter!

I'm inside, looking out,
and though I hear silence with my ears,
my mind and eyes listen deeply through the panes of glass
to the fragile, seared rasping
of the dancing summer leaf.

The End

It never used to hurt like this.
I never used to squint my eyes--
clenching them shut like this--
when I closed the cover of a book.

I just read the last poem in a Billy Collins collection--
my first of his,
of many,
to tell you the truth,
and it hurt.

It is like having a conversational relationship with someone
and then you shut them out of your life.
You weren't done talking to them.

It is like listening to your Grandmother's stories
and then she stops talking to reach for another task.
You weren't done listening to her.

There were such melodious hymns sung from those pages
and now I am filled with silence--
sharp, painful, stabbing silence.

I feel so empty,
so lonely,
so quiet.

It never used to hurt like this.

Don't Fall In Love With The World

I have a sticky note on my cork board in my room that reminds me, "Don't fall in love with the world." I was never taught this in Sunday school. I was never taught it at home. In all reality the world actually taught me the opposite, especially in America, with the American Dream and all. And I have been wondering where I learned it...why I felt these words were so important.

I was reading Tozer right now and he quoted a verse in 1 John. Here is what I found first, highlighted in four different colors (not even kidding about that one):

Do Not Love the World

"Do not love the world or anything in the world. If anyone loves the world, the love of the Father is not in him. For everything in the world--the cravings of sinful man, the lust of his eyes and the boasting of what he has and does--comes not from the Father but from the world. The world and its desires pass away, but the man who does the will of God lives forever." (vs. 15-17)

Not loving the world is a simple idea at first, but the lives we are supposed to live based on these words are deep, very deep. It is hard to swim that far under water for long periods of time. But if I have learned anything from God, as He tested me and my desires, it is that this world and its stuff won't last too much longer, but your seeking God, knowing God, and loving God will.

Chasing your dreams is one thing. Chasing God's will is another. One is of the world. One is of God. Wanting a big house and the car and the big screen tv are one thing. Trusting God to provide you with what you need is another. There's the worldly way of life, loving the world. And there's a godly way of life, loving God.

Not falling in love with this world is definitely hard for us, but not impossible. Just don't be like me and not learn this until God makes you learn this with Him intervening in your life, like with disease and loss of worldly things. Don't wait for Him to take worldly things away for you to learn you don't need them. Give them up now. It could be the difference between passing away and lasting forever.

Letting Go and Letting God

So sometimes I break from Christian thoughts a bit and talk about my disease. Well, my disease is part of the way, or the main way the Devil tries to confuse me. It is also however, the way God tests me and who I am.

I think it is Rick Warren who says that to God life is a test and a trust. He tests us to see how much or well we trust Him to take care of everything. And if AOSD isn't a test then I am not sure what else is.

I want to say that it was and is this disease that taught and teaches me to trust God. Without it I would not know what trusting God is really about, and I suppose I still don't, but I know more than I did before October 2004, and that is what this life is about, growing toward who God wants us to be, or be like, Jesus.

I just want to take this opportunity tonight to really just let go of some of the trials I have been facing lately. Just to see if they drift off into cyber world and leave my head and my heart. Just as a means of trying to let go and let God.

I want to let go of the pain. I want to let go of the fatigue. I want to let go of trying to be validated by Kaiser. I want to let go of worries of the future with this disease (like fused bones and surgeries, joint replacements, dying young). I want to let go of what happened tonight (I was so tired when we went out to dinner I couldn't cut my meat. My mom did it for me. People watched. I felt embarrassed and upset inside. And then I was too tired to eat and I felt bad just in case the waitress felt bad). I want to let go of trying to impress people all the time, making it look like I feel good when I don't.

Thanks for listening whomever you are who do. I appreciate it more than I ever let you know. May you trust God when He tests you.

Little Leaguer

The following poem in influenced by Billy Collins' style of poetry and is a subject born close to my heart. The subject has lived as a part of the living, beating, beast of a thing inside my chest for so long I am not sure it can ever be completely removed, or should be. Thanks for reading; I hope it paints a picture of memories for you.


It's so hard for me to remember
being so early in life,
so far left at the beginning,

so small standing next to coach,
having such a tiny head in such a large cap,
even though it was snapped as tiny as it could snap,

having a giant's sized mitt barely stay on my hand--
thank God for sticky combo of sweat and dirt and leather
or that thing would have fallen off mid trot for the ball,
like the helmets often do--

that there were four outfielders
instead of the more adult three
out on the grassy part of the field.

It is hard for me to remember
the game being a means
of developing an attention span,

of demanding a couple hours of my
young, short days meant for play,
when the sun always fell down--
dropping like the shiny ball at the end of the year on tv--
far too quickly.

Do you remember when,
when it was frowned upon to
stop, bend, and pick the daisies,
or white puff balls that exploded with a blow from the lips--
or a strong gusty breeze,
or a kick from a cleat as you pretended it was a soccer ball--

when you weren't allowed to pause for that grab, that fistful of grass,
where you ripped it from the earth,
but it never had any roots,
only to let it spill back to the sea of green at gravital speed
one living thin blade at a time
before you reached for another fistful

when your name was called--in the bad way--
when you would take your miniature, pudgy pointer finger
and plunge it into the dirt,
drawing stars or other symbols,
like a heart,
or maybe a stick figure,
or your name that you can proudly spell,
or a simple, "Hi!" or "Hello"--

that was when you weren't just plopping, pushing, planting
your whole hand print into a pile of dirt you made
so it would stand out among rocks and dead grass
and chalk and sunflower seed shells?

Do you remember those days,
when the game had nothing to do with the game?
Do you remember the activities,
that are part of the game
but aren't supposed to be?

Do you remember the parts that are often kids' favorites for a long time--
possibly well into adulthood--

because not every kid does.
For some it is hard to remember.
Do you know the ones,
they tend to grow out of this frequent-free-form-distracted phase
faster than the other fidgety firecrackers...

They often don't even have these memories;
they never experienced this childish version of the game--
not from the first person.

They know about the white puff balls,
and about the daisies,
and the grass,
and the art in the dirt

from watching their teammates in the corners of their eyes,
because they were paying attention to the game.

You know the ones--
kids instilled with a work ethic,
like kids born with blue eyes,
or blond hair--
the ones who would yell at their teammates for acting like children,
instead of ballplayers.

I remember these kids...
I was one of them.

I called out names
a long, many a day ago.
Sometimes in life I still do.
There is a lot of "play" I miss out on.

Those were and are the days...
that I have difficulty remembering:

childhood

it's so hard to remember
when you were born a ballplayer.

Draw Near

"I was raised to believe that the quality of a man's life would greatly increase, not with the gain of status or success, not by his heart's knowing romance or by prosperity in industry or academia, but by his nearness to God."

(page 90 of Through Painted Desserts by Donald Miller)

Identity Theft: I Am Who He Says I Am

In some sense or another we all relate to identity; we all have an identity. Even if we have no specific identity, our lack of an identity in turn becomes who we are, our distinguishing character trait.

Identity: the distinguishing character or personality of an individual : individuality b: the relation established by psychological identification

With this sudden understanding of the importance of identity I am experiencing lately and one that I notice might have been growing for a long time up to this moment, I am about to take a good look at my identities over the years to see which ones lasted or were or were not satisfying, and which ones help define who I am today. I want to know who I am.

Growing up, I suppose an identity I had was that of an only child. I was also a girl. I was also young. I continued on to be a good kid, by the world's definition. I was Lutheran, born and raised. I was loved by my parents and family.

A huge identity in my life, one of the biggest, was that early on I was a good student. I was considered smart and hardworking in my studies. I got practically all A's and the occasional B. I had a C for a little while in AP English senior year, but other than that, I was truly an excellent student, and I was known for it. Zoe, student.

More than student I was also naturally athletic, which was good because I loved sports. So I was an athlete.

The first two things I guarantee people thought of when then thought about me in high school were sports and school. She plays sports and she is smart. That was who I was and I was kinda happy there. I felt like I fit into this world and it accepted me for who I was, what my identities were.

I then decided to kinda continue with the same ideas for college. I was going into sports medicine, otherwise called Athletic Training. My goals were aimed at getting a great GPA in college, getting into one of the best AT programs in the country and then rocking it as a ATC (Certified Athletic Trainer), soon to be my new identity. I was planning who I was going to be, how I would fit into the world. But, God had something to teach me, and not simply by word of mouth--that wouldn't allow Truth to sink into my soul. He decided to teach me through experience.

So I got sick. Deathly sick. (Half way through the first semester of my freshman year.) Then they figured out how to save me by figuring out what was causing the signs and symptoms. Then they could treat the dying.

I was diagnosed with Adult Onset Still's Disease, a rare systemic auto-immune disease. A rare form of juvenile rheumatoid arthritis. It is like Lupus and like RA, but neither. It is its own rare scary thing with its own specific signs and symptoms.

But all that mumbo jumbo I just plugged in there took me about three years to come to barely understand. And it took me about a year after being diagnosed to begin to realize how it would change my life and my identity forever---well, not forever, well, kinda. You'll see; keep reading.

That first year I spent at school fighting for any semblance of my identity that I could hold on to. If I wasn't a student, who was I? If I wasn't striving to be an ATC, who was I striving to be? I had quickly thrown athlete out the window, I wasn't that naive, living with a rare inflammatory disease. Sports just physically weren't an option anymore. So a whole year I fought, and I don't regret it or anything, I am just saying it was a battle of the heart. I knew who I wanted to be, and thought that was who I was, but this disease started telling me otherwise.

You see, the only reason I had energy to fight was because I was on very high doses of steroids. They were giving me false energy. Good, right, is what you are thinking. But no, bad. Very bad.

You see I had a moment of clarity one day, when the world fell on my chest, I finally let sink in what the doctors were telling me: if I stayed on this path of high doses of steroids it would lead to an early death. The meds could cause an early heart attack, at maybe 35.

And I had a moment there one day, a year after being diagnosed, a month into the AT program that I got into and was doing well at, a few weeks into my sophomore year of college, where I realized these two identities were not worth dying for. I knew I had to come off of the steroids now, only to have to drop out of the AT program and drop a few classes.

I finished that fall semester of sophomore year with two classes, and just those two on low doses of steroids were so hard, not mentally, but physically. I went from student extraordinaire, to struggling sicky kinda overnight--which if it was hard for me to understand and accept, imagine how hard it was for friends and family.

I am not sure anyone other than my mother and father and a couple advisers I had really understood how or why I had changed so quickly. I couldn't at the time put it to words, I desperately tried, you can ask my friends who were there when I made the decision; I tried writing it out the best I could. No one understood the emails. I just left everyone more confused. Which is why I write about it a lot now. I still struggle to this day to paint the perfect picture of the situation. How it feels to lose your identity. Why I had to say goodbye to my identities. It is hard to describe to people who haven't experienced it. I mean, they say experience is the best education, but I would never want them to have to experience this. I just want them to understand it so that they can better understand me. And if they truly care about me, then they would read what I was writing so that they could better understand what I was going through, to better understand me, their friend.

There was one night the previous summer, where much Stills research was done after I had been hospitalized for a few days and nights, when I was writing a mini "book" about Stills for friends and family because I was either tired of all the questions or I was frustrated with the lack there of, that I made a joke to my mom. I told her, "Hey, if AT doesn't work out, I can always be a writer." So in the panic of emptiness from not having an identity to strive for I immediately clung to writer, English. I became an English Major, which is completely random considering my pure hatred for the subject for so long. But I was desperate for an identity, don't you see? Desperate to feel like I had a reason to belong. Desperate to know who I was, or could be.

Jan Term rolled around. And I was off campus and there was snow and I am from California, so I thought an independent studies class would be a good idea. Study on my own time and energy and not be expected to feel good at specific times every day. Well, it was too much and too overwhelming and there were too many bad days I was having. I physically couldn't keep up, even with independent study! Even with an English class that was all reading and writing. Without the steroids I could no longer be a student. But...wait! Then what identity did I have? Who was I? Who am I?

I thought I would try my hardest at Spring Semester. I just couldn't not go to school. I was a student, a good one at that...wasn't I?

In my mind I was slowly catching up to the reality that school was physically too much, but I also knew my mind was still sharp. There had to be a way to suck it up just a little bit more and make it through, right?

I lasted about three days and it was already too much, and I was already taking a light course load. It was take one class for a ridiculous amount of money, or it was...I spent the weekend deliberating about dropping out of college.

I talked to God. I talked to mom and dad. I talked to friends. I talked to the Dean of Students who had been there for me for everything, all the school changes I was going through, and then I talked to my advisor.

We met at a coffee shop nearby campus. The first hour was him asking me about the disease, about the short term affects, the long term affects, what a typical day like is for me, the meds I am on, the short term and long term affects of the meds. It was the most thorough ANYONE has ever been with me about the disease, and it was as if I was finally seeing the disease not as what I wanted it to be so that I could hold on to who I thought I was going to grow up to be, but as what the disease really is and who I was going to have to learn to be. We came to the logical conclusion to drop out and focus on taking care of myself, of my health and adding years to my life.

But then he asked me another question, which spread into a 30 minute discussion. He asked me what I would do with all my time (a roundabout way of telling me we all have identifies, what else, other than being sick, is going to be your identity? You need more than Still's Disease as an identity). I told him I wanted to be a writer.

Again, let me emphasize that I jumped so quickly to this identity, too quickly.

We talked about whether or not I could do it. He basically said, yes, from what he had read of what I have written in his classes that I took, I could be a writer, if I really wanted it.

And here's part of my point for now, it's been a couple years since that day in the coffee shop and I think I am finally realizing, that I just don't want it, not badly enough. I like it, but it doesn't define who I am.

I still want for an identity. That I fully admit. I want something that makes me, me--other than the girl who has Still's Disease. Other than the girl who is sick. Other than the girl who quit AT. Other than the college dropout. But I am not so sure writer is what it is going to be, because I am not crazy passionate about it, because I am not in love with it, and because my soul longs for more.

I mean, I write every once in a while. And I read a good amount of the time. And I suppose writing fairly frequently makes one a writer, not whether or not one is published or successful or good at it. Writing, plain and simply, makes one a writer. And I read Anne Lammott talk about her family and how they read as a vocation. I don't read that much, but I like the sound of that. I almost fit there. But...more. I want more.

But the lesson I learned from God is that we need identity. We thirst for it. We cling to it. It defines who we are and if we aren't defined then we feel we don't exist. We want to exist for a reason, for a purpose. I am one of the we. I don't deny it at all. It is just that it only seems to be designed into our being. A part of our lives God created. But, wait! If God created this idea of identity, what does that tell us? What identities was God talking about? What is He offering us? Who is He? Who are we in His eyes?

God is I AM.
God is our Father.
God is our King.
God is our Savior.
Jesus is our Teacher.
Our Master.
Our Shepherd.
Our Friend.
Our Bridegroom.

And that is just the beginning. My family has this CD of I AM: The Names of God. It is so long. See, even God has an Identity. He is. It is just that His identities are limitless, but then, what does that make us?

So what does that make me? You? All of us? What does God say our identities are? There seems to be a counterpart between who God is, and who we are....making our identities in Him seemingly limitless as well. So if we live in Him, we are:

We are sons and daughters.
We are a people. Part of the whole; part of the body of Christ.
We are saved.
We are students (a different kind of student, but a student nonetheless).
We are servants.
We are sheep.
We are friends.
We are brides.

And the special thing about God's identities, that all the other identities I have clung desperately and foolishly to don't have, is that His are eternal good. They are the identities that take you into FOREVER and that sets you apart: an Identity Set Apart, as NOTW (Not Of This World Clothing Company) says it, because that is how Jesus said it, "They are not of the world, even as I am not of it" (John 17:16).

God's identities, the lasting ones, the ones that aren't taken away so easily by Him, but given freely, the ones that you never have to say goodbye to, they will set you apart. You will not fit in to the world's ways. They will change your character, your individuality, and your personality.

I for sure believe that the identities by which you define yourself, and by which others define you can and will have eternal consequences.

And God's also give a sense of wholeness, completeness, and sense of belonging that you can enjoy now, just as I am trying to do.

I am trying to not worry so much about the worldly identities, and to realize I can be satisfied and a more whole person if I just focus more on ALL the identities God has planned and created for me. It is hard for me, because I was a worldly student and athlete for so long, and because I live in this world that only accepts worldly identities, but I know that is not who or what I want to be defined as by others, worldly, because that runs the risk or running into forever. Here is how I want to be defined, to be known, to be set apart. Here are the identities I must seek. Here is who I am:

I am a daughter of God Almighty, the Father of us all.
I am a student who has much to learn about what I say I believe, about who God and Christ and the Holy Spirit are, and about how to become more like Christ.
I am a servant to my Master; all that I do I do to serve Him. If writing be the way that I can serve Him, Amen. Vade Mecum.
I am God and Jesus' friend, and the Holy Spirit is our telephone.
I am a part of the Body of Christ.
I am saved.
I am a simple sheep who needs a Shepherd to help keep me on paths of righteousness and keep me safe.
I am a bride, who is madly in love with Jesus Christ, my Bridegroom. I weep in His absence, and long to be united completely with Him someday. I must be loyal to my bridegroom and do my best to not cheat on Him with anyone or anything else.
I am loved wholly.
I am Theirs.
I am who He made me to be and who He continues to shape me to be. Thank God for my identities.

In Conclusion, _______

So I have been here at my desk, talking out loud to myself, to God, to the imaginary people who can hear me and know me well because I talk out loud a lot, and I have some thoughts.

We say Amen at the end of our prayers. And I wonder why. It means basically, "So be it" and "truly." I take this two ways.

First that we are being kids again and asking to get our own way, when we should simply pray, "Lord, may Your will be done," instead of all the tiny details we go into to kindly in a roundabout way simply suggest some things to God. If this is the way to take it though, then I am worried about why we say this. Because Jesus was the one to say it in the Bible. And it makes sense when He says it, He is God. What He speaks comes to be. But when we say it? I just feel like there is something else we should be saying.

Secondly I take it to mean "may we be speaking truth," truthful needs and not selfish motives. And in some ways, especially considering the blog below, the misguided prayers that we sometimes make, maybe we should be more aware of this at the end of our prayers, and at the beginning possibly for that matter.

But then also, I have some thoughts about what else we could say. My thought, no one be offended by one person's thoughts, is Vade Mecum.

Vade Mecum is one of my favorite poems, by newcomer into my life Billy Collins, but more than that it is Latin, for...get this...."go with me." Doesn't that make more sense at the end of prayer?

I mean no disrespect to our longtime tradition, I am just trying to communicate with God in the best possible way, and I think this is something I want to incorporate into my conversations with Him, and I hope someone else finds the beauty in Vade Mecum.

Lord,
Thanks for this insight, I hope it is pleasing to You. And remember, Vade Mecum.


P.S. Anyone know the Latin for "go with us"?
And BTW, it is pronounced vay-dee-mee-cum.

Careful What You Eat: Words, Wishes, and Whines

There were a couple of opportunities for making wishes, or prayers as I treated them, in March and April, and because I was suffering the affects of a flare of my disease, I took those opportunities to ask God for something: I asked God for no more flare.

And the thing about asking God for things, is that unfortunately sometimes He gives them to you. I say unfortunately because one of the metaphors states that God is my Father, and I His child. And spiritually, let me tell you, I am still a kid. I don't see into the future, I only see now, and I don't think ahead to what I could learn or how I could grow from my experiences, I just want to feel better now. And my ignorance reminds me very much of kids you see in a grocery store crying because their parents won't put a toy or candy into the cart for them.

I mean, they are sobbing, screaming, yelling horrible things to their parents in public about how they must not really love them. And the poor parents' hearts are getting thick with tears they are bottling up inside, and they just want to end the scene their spoiled kid is creating, so they put the candy in the cart. And the second the kid gets in the car they eat the all the candy and then they feel sick, very very sick.

Guess what? I feel sick. Not to my tummy, well yeah, but that is from the disease and meds. You see, to a doctor, especially at Kaiser, a flare is only determined by my blood work. It has no correspondence to how I am feeling or what joints or muscles hurt or how exhausted I am. So they give me a ton of meds to calm my blood work down so that they can push me out the door and not have to listen to me any more, because they have a bunch of other people they still have to push out the door for the day. And so now, according to them, I am no longer flaring, I am supposed to be doing well and feeling good. The thing about blood work though is that it often, if not 99% of the time, has absolutely no reflection of how I feel. And I am not the only one, I know a support group of hundreds of people who have all said the same thing. All the meds do is hide the problem; the disease never goes away.

So here I am, I got what I asked for. On Kaiser's paperwork I am no longer suffering from a flare. And they look at me like, "why are you still complaining?" And I am home, going from bed to couch, couch to bed, too exhausted and in too much pain to even read, still suffering-wishing, I hadn't had wished what I wished, praying to God saying I'm sorry. Telling Him He needs to see all of Time at once and know what is best for me. He needs to ignore my selfish cries for a quick fix candy bar and see the whole picture for me, because I am still just a spoiled kid who needs some great parenting. I need to hear no, so that I am not the whiny kid in the grocery store that everyone is staring at wishing they would just shut up, stop causing a scene. And I am sorry that I put God in the terrible position of being the the parent of that kid, otherwise known as me.

So God, I got what I asked for, and it turns out it isn't what I really wanted. In reality all I want is You. And I feel You drawing me back to You from this experience. Help me carry that out. Help me stop wishing for my will, and trust Your will. Because You are the best parent we could ever have, and that is saying a lot because You blessed me with the best parents a kid could have here on earth. Thank you for them Lord, while I think of it on screen. If I let the whole world know via the Internet (now if only more read this blog), hopefully that can be a way they feel how grateful I am. I am not sure I could do it without them. You really give us what we need Lord, and may we keep it at that because I am guessing more often than not what we think we want will, if you give in, turn out to be something we really don't want. More often than not I am guessing what we want now will not be what we want later, we are fickle kids I've noticed, and our tummies get upset pretty quickly. You, the best parent ever, I believe truly know what is best for us, Your beloved children. So please keep parenting us Father.

1 Peter 4:1-2
"Since Jesus went through everything you are going through and more, learn to think like Him. Think of you sufferings as a weaning from that old sinful habit of always expecting to get your own way." (The Message)

Even Imperfectly

Idol Gives Back was on tonight. On average it was a good show for a great cause. There was a moment, just before the absolute end that grabbed my heart: the final 8 sang Shout To The Lord.

My parents and I had mixed comments about it. As Christians we were extremely shocked they sang a Christian song on National Television, and we were very pleased that they sang it, but saddened that they took Jesus' name out of it. I guess we need someone else's wise words to capture what happened:

"It is more than possible that God is even now imparting the gifts of the Spirit to whomever He can and in whatever measure He can as His conditions are met even imperfectly. Otherwise the torch of truth would flicker out and die" (Keys To The Deeper Life by A. W. Tozer, page 46).

Now if only they hadn't ended with Ben Stiller cussing Ryan out. But hey, God will take what we give Him. If only we gave Him more and in appropriate full ways.

Sleepovers

I like to, but don't always, read every night. Some of the books I have near my bed right now are:

• Billy Collins: Sailing Alone Around The Room
• Donald Miller: Blue Like Jazz, Searching For God Knows What, To Own A Dragon
• T.S. Eliot: The Waste Land and Other Poems
• Rick McKinley: Jesus In The Margins, This Beautiful Mess

And I realized, as I was on my belly in a nest I made on the floor, at 1:00 AM, reading T.S. Eliot under one light in a dark room, that these authors are my friends. We have sleepovers. We stay up late talking and fall asleep in the wee hours of the night or early morning. They are my friends.

Everyone I actually know / that believe they know me / in truth only know what I show / in fact they are blind to the real me

I have many friends / more than I even remember / they may not still live or breathe / but they will be with me forever

Turns out T.S. Eliot knows bits about me really well. He paints portraits of ladies and love songs that sound familiar.

Rick is either going to rescue me from the margins of life or reveal Jesus to me in them.

Billy Collins makes me smile and gives me hope that someday I can write poetry that I don't hate when I am done.

And Donald Miller knows me best and helps me spend time with Jesus.

They are great friends, who are just a reach away. They are always there. Our thoughts snuggle up warmly almost every night, and I feel found. I almost never feel alone. And I love our sleepovers.

Now if only I would spend the night with friends like Paul, Moses, John, and Peter, in no particular order. If only all my time was spent searching for wisdom that has eternal value (St. Augustine). I know those sleepovers are long overdue.

13 Blocks

I just wanted to share that I am 22 now, so I guess I could be down to 13 blocks (read 14 blocks blog).

God may I live the meaning of life You continue to show me, in whatever time You give me.

Roots

I have just been thinking that money isn't the root of all evil, I think that awareness of self is.

yeah, awareness of self

I mean, you could have someone who has millions of dollars and decides to give it all away and live on the street. It isn't the money that was the problem, the problem is that we think only about ourselves 99% of the time. If we only thought about others more than ourselves, money wouldn't be a problem. It wouldn't be evil; it could do great good.

The Dream

So I had this dream the other night, and I am a little afraid it will come true, so in hopes that this was a divine message to me from above, I want to share it.

Donald Miller was reading from his latest book about the Kingdom of God (which doesn't exist, but it could), and there was a group of us, of all ages, sitting in a circle listening to him. He passes the book around and we each read a page or so. When it is my turn I am reading when suddenly there is a line that talks about being active in the Kingdom of God, by working for some purpose for Christ, then it directly addresses me and says,

"Zoe, find a different way to write."

I immediately woke up and looked around the room not really knowing if what had just happened had actually happened. I replayed the dream so I would remember it and rolled over to try to get more sleep. Then I realized that was stupid because I probably wouldn't remember. I got up and wrote it down. There was also something about skateboarding, but it is a blur. But I just want to mention it all in case God really surprises us :)

Maybe He wasn't meaning anything but for me to write more, to blog more like I was, to spend more time with Him. I am not sure. It's good advise though. Thanks God, for whatever this dream means.

A Name And A Conversation To Remember

Spokane often has spring-like weather that I took for granted. This one day started out the same. I was in a rush to get ready for a regular check-up with my primary care physician. And then I was in a rush to get there on time. I pulled into the parking lot behind this old green pickup, that looked almost identical to the one Luke drives on Gilmore Girls.

They pulled into a spot and a woman was slowly, carefully, painfully getting out of the passenger side when I was pulling in to their right. She was making her way to the front door as I was putting my stereo away and rolling up the windows. I kinda watched her in the rear view mirror struggling to make it. I knew immediately that she wasn't healthy, and since most people look at me and think that I am they expect me to do normal things, and since I was feeling okay, and because I genuinely like helping people, doing nice things for them like I hope we all do, I hurried out of the car and tried to "run" up to meet her and hold the doors open for her. She smiled big when I did this. Which made me smile big, and I bet God too. We walked to the elevator and were both staring at the floor waiting for it, when she talked to me. Which is pretty common in Spokane I guess, but I am from California, where people aren't that nice and friendly--but what she asked is what I remember, what I want you to remember; what she asked, in the language that she asked it, isn't something people commonly ask, at least not the people I talk to.

She looked me in the eyes and asked me how I was doing. I was going to just respond instead of truthfully answering her question, you know, like we all do, just go through the motions of that question, but I thought about it for a second, because I realized that she was still staring into me, showing me in a language I often forget about because most don't speak it, that she really wanted a truthful answer. So, I looked at myself, from the feet up, and realized that I was actually dressed, khaki shorts, a nice shirt, my nice Nikes; I had straightened my hair and put a teenie tinie bit of makeup on and everything, and for me, that is a great day, so I told her, "I'm doing pretty well," and here I leaned in and looked her in the eyes gently, speaking the same language of compassion and actual interest in someone other than myself, that she had spoken to me, and I asked her, "How are you doing today?"

Now, her answer is the climax of this story so really pay attention.

I had expected her to tell me she was sick, had the a cold or the flu or something, to which I respond with staying far back from her because I am on imuno-suppressants and a common cold can put me in the hospital, but she didn't. Instead, she just immediately tore down any and all walls that most people live with. She just floated gracefully over my moat that I have around me and my castle walls, she went invisible girl through the front wooden door, and she met me in the middle. She floated right up to me and she reached out her arm and plunged her fist into my heart, grabbing it and squeezing it hard. We suspended in the air together, her lifting me up from my chest. She was all white and glowy, her long wavy brown hair turned silver, blowing in the strong gusts of wind swirling around us. You see, my friends, she told me the truth. The plain painful truth. She told me...she told me she was doing pretty well considering, considering the doctors told her six months ago that she had six months to a year to live.

Just then the elevator dinged and her hand pulled out, and my body fell hard back to earth. I landed on my feet, but had lost the ability to speak.

She went first into the elevator, I followed, stuck staring at the floor having no idea how to respond. I look up at her, and as the doors are about to close, and I was about to find words and remember how to use them, a mom and two kids run in, mom holding one of their hands in each of hers.

We could tell they were running late, they had that energy about them, that fast healthy energy that interrupted our sow sick energy. The soon to be angel standing next to me asks where they had come from, since they looked like they had bathing suites on, and we are in Eastern Washington in spring. The mom tells us they had come from the beach.

"The beach!" the angel exclaims, "but we are in Washington, what beach did you come from?"
"Coeur d' lane," the mom tells her.
"There's a beach there? I love the beach. I am from the bay area in California; my husband and I just moved up here."

Which I could tell in fact she probably was because she had a San Francisco t-shirt on. Sadly I was the only other one in the elevator that knew that she had come up here to die.

But, by now we are to third floor of course, and so we all get off. The mom and kids go left somewhere, which with my understanding of the building didn't lead them anywhere, and the angel and I are left alone again, to go right, towards the same doctors office. She is all smiles when she notices this out loud, "Looks like we are heading to the same place." I politely smile as I hold the door for her again. I still haven't recovered from her abrupt honesty.

She walked in first obviously and I am trailing her like a little kid trailing a hero, looking up and running after them, arms stretched out, but my little steps can't keep up, and all I want to do is pull on the bottom of her t-shirt to get her attention.

I mean, I just wanted to say...something, anything really. Something to tell her I love her and Jesus loves her, and...something you know. But the girl at the front desk shouts my name before I could, to tell me she was checking me in (they know me well at the doctor's office--I'm practically famous).

This new character in my life story sits in a different section from mine. And I sit on the opposite side of the doctor's office, watching her, trying to break down my castle that I safely hide in all the time, so I could just get to know her, let her know she's made a friend here in this new place, but before I did, she got called back to her appointment. I never got to talk to her about our moment, our conversation we didn't really have. I never saw her again.

But I learned something when she got called back; I learned her name! I could put a name to her face and tell this story for her.

This angel, who has changed my life forever, who broke down my castle walls like Jesus did to those He met in the Bible, who got me to slow down my day, to take a look around, to smell spring and look at the clouds and feel the wind on my way home, who got me to appreciate life and pay more attention to all those I may meet who want to talk while they still can, who got me to think more about others whenever I think about her, her name is Pamela. And while I expect her to be in heaven right now, I also expect her to know how much I think about her, and care about her. I expect her to know how much she changed me. How much she changed my heart and my life, and possibly even my castle. She definitely did some damage on those walls that day for sure.

Pamela, my friend I never got to really know, I love you. Say hi to Jesus for me; you two have a lot in common. God bless you up there. And thank you. I hope more can have the pleasure of remembering you.

Which Are You?

Anyone can wear His cross

Not everyone helps Him carry it

Draw Near

It's been some time since I have tapped on this keyboard. I could easily tell you it is because of my health, and that is because it is, but I also realized there was also something deeper going on in my life:

I pulled away from God, and I didn't even realize it.

When I was writing on this site on a regular basis, I was also spending time with God on a regular basis. Most of this time, more recently, I have been down and out and stuck in bed, not writing, I was not with God as much as I would like to be. But I honestly didn't even realize it. I was falling asleep to tv shows and music and non christian writers, instead of talking to Him, writing about Him, playing guitar for Him, reading about Him. And in this process of pulling away from Him, He pulled away from me--not really of course, but kinda. Let me unpack that.

You see, when I spend time with Him, I have things to write about. He tells me what to write about when we are talking or thinking together. That time that I wasn't spending time with Him, these past couple months or whatever they have been, I have really had nothing to write about, nothing to say. He couldn't tell me anything because I wasn't going to Him...

I guess what I am trying to say is that what they say is true, draw near to Him and He will draw near to you. Don't spend time with Him and He can't spend time with you. Talk to Him and He will talk to you. Write about Him and He will give you more to write about.

Enjoy the posts above--enjoy what He has been telling me as I start to spend time with Him again. And get this, I never spend as much time with Him as I should or could. Imagine what He could tell me to write down for all of us if I did.

Lord,
May you remind me, or help me remember to draw near to You so that You can draw near to me. May I use what energy I have, what strength You give me, for You, and You only, not for me. Amen

Thought For Today:
What does God have on His heart that He wants to tell you? Draw near to Him so you can have something to write about, to share with all of us.

Take Me There

My dad and I somehow came upon a quick talk about art, and then he practically blew me out of my seat. He told me why he loved art, why it was beautiful.

Because it takes you somewhere.

Perhaps that is why I love it so much, because I would rather be there, than here.

Trees

Trees are one of my favorite metaphors. The metaphor of trees. One could play with it forever. A lifetime of looking, staring, memorizing tree after tree, limb after limb, size after size, strength, reach, branch, arms, hands, roots....Love it!

And these two I believe are currently my favorite because, of course, of what they mean to me. I literally just went out driving, wherever the car would take me, and I found this back road, that mainly trucks use to avoid the freeways before getting back on the freeways. It is rural and open ( you can tell by the cows that are grazing in between the trees in the distance). Open space to open space. A great break for the eyes and heart from the dirty, crowded, stressful city of Sacramento (after living in the Norwest, Sacramento is all of these things). Open space opens up room inside for relaxation and a sense of freedom.

I didn't notice these now friends of mine at first. It took a couple drives before my eyes could drive straight and look around at the scenery at the same time, but soon I was able to. Soon after that I was able to know where on the long stretch they were so I could stop and take their picture and talk to them and tell them they are noticed, loved, and appreciated and nothing better happen to them so we, or just I, could enjoy them for a lifetime at least. Now I stop whenever I can, and I recently took this picture of them. I knew I wanted the world to love and appreciate them as much as I do. I wanted the world to get lost in the message they had to share with us.

Tree on left is me.

Tree on right is Jesus.

He grows up. I am rooted in Him and kinda grow out, then up, then out. The branches farthest away from Him are the deadest. Closest to Him, the more full of life.

See, metaphors. Beautiful metaphors.

Finity: Cling To The Infinite

In every one's lifetime they experience death, either someone else's or their own. I found out a friend of mine from high school passed away. And though I thought I understood how everything has its allotted time and nothing more here on earth, this friend's very early passing reminded me just how finite we all are.

This computer I am at, is finite. Music I am listening to, as we know it, is finite. I am finite. This earth, as we continue destroying it at rapidly increasing rates, is finite. Surrounded by finitude I catch myself often longing for more, needing more.

Death does that to us. It drops finity into our lives and makes us understand and question reality: Is there something after this life? If so, do we long to be eternal? Or do we want this to be it?

I long for more personally, but I didn't cling to more until I was aware, physically aware that I was finite, till God had me face Death. Now I cling to His infinitude, as Tozer names it. I just wish it wouldn't take us experiencing finite things to cling to the Infinite One. If only we lived for the Infinite without reminders of our finity.

Lord,
May we cling to the Infinite, Your Infinitude without all the reminders. But if it is time for a reminder, may we use it to cling to each other and to You more. I hope Lord my friend is enjoying being Your friend in heaven. I hope he is enjoying Your Infinity.


P.S. Yes I am pretty sure I made up the word "finity," but I like it.

Lovin' and Leavin'

Love can lift you up and carry you through the clouds
The particles of water come in and fill your soul
You plan for forever when you pledge your vows
But not much is left to your control
They start climbing down the stairs
They climb back down to earth
Everything changes despite your tears and prayers
And you ask where is the love, where is the mirth

Fight or flight, your heart's eyes dart around
You want to be with them, but you won't be pulled down
Chasing after them at first, down each stair
But yellow fog creeps in and reveals a beware
Walk away or stay, your heart can't bear that pain again
Why does leaving always feel like a sin

In Tune

My uncle came over tonight and immediately found my guitar standing alone and underplayed like a lost scratched cd. I don't quite take care of it or appreciate it as much as it deserves and I often forget about it. I often don't play it.

It should be my baby; it should be my friend. "It is my therapist," my uncle told me, staring me seriously in the eyes, looking into me to make sure I truly understood what he had just shared with me.

And he started treating it, doctoring it, tenderly showing it some love. And the guitar began to respond he informed me. He could feel it. In the strings, in the wood, in the sound, in the harmony he could feel it. It's energy began to change.

He began to be a kind teacher, one of the young ones you get in school, where they are more your friend, your soul's friend, talking to you and not at you. He taught me about the tune of the guitar.

I terribly simply thought the guitar is either in tune or it isn't. My uncle taught me it is a much deeper experience than that. Grand Canyon deep. Center of the earth, where the axis is, keeping everything moving, spinning, and balanced deep. He taught me that the tune of your guitar carries an energy with it, and that energy can affect you, your room, the whole aesthetic countenance of the room. Like there is an infinite harmony being released from the guitar all the time, and whether or not the guitar is in tune can change how you feel. Like you are either in tune or not. Considering the affects of sound on water, and our bodies are made up of over fifty percent water, the energy thing makes complete sense to me.

My guitar has an energy. The wood, the body of the guitar holds that energy in from the tune of the strings, and emits it into the room and into me. And my energy can be absorbed by others. We are all connected, and I am connected to my guitar. I need to take care of my guitar so that I am really taking care of me, and all those I come into contact with. My guitar is my friend. And our harmonies need to be in tune.

Hunting Response

Donald Miller says that God in fact never closes His eyes, and I suppose in most contexts that is completely comfortingly true. The other night however I imagined God in the room with my mom and me, and I imagined Him flinching at my whole experience because He was feeling my pain, dread, fear, and anxiety.

I started Kineret in November 2004. It is a live protein that needs refrigerated and injected into subcutaneous tissue every single emotional day. The area, either ones buttocks, back of arms, thighs, or stomach (but we don’t do my thighs because I have too many nerve endings, that perceive pain, from all the muscle I kind of still have there from catching for four years), needs iced beforehand, or beforeneedle or beforemedicine I should say because the medicine burns and aches and shoots pain when entering the tissue. Ice numbs the area and makes the shots barely tolerable, but that is from not tolerable at all, so I guess it helps.

But I am lying face down, butt up, with an ice pack on my bottom, eyes closed, waiting to go through Hunting Response—which I learned in Intro to Athletic Training in the section on modalities, is “the cyclic period of vasoconstriction/vasodialation which causes a slight increase in temperature after 15 minutes of cooling.” I looked it up to be honest. But the part I do remember from actual word for word memory are the four stages of Hunting Response: cold, burning, aching, numb—anyway, I am literally lying there counting out each stage as they happen because I need to keep my mind on anything other than the fact that I hate getting these shots, all the while praying to God, and imagining Him squinting at the whole situation. And when my mom finally sticks me, FLINCH! God flinches because He knows I don’t like getting these shots.

Cold:
When I started Kineret I was in the hospital and used to being poked and prodded like a pin cushion, so it was just another medicine to me, and one that they believed would really stop the flare, so I was almost excited about it because I was so excited at the possibility of feeling better than death. It was just a different temperature to an already different life.

Burning/Aching:
Then I was sent home, which was a hotel because we were a thousand miles away from home and there was no way I had energy to fly yet. I couldn't’t even sit at the dinner table to eat; they propped me up in bed. And we are in an unfamiliar place, I just basically almost died, I am physically exhausted and emotionally exhausted, and I hate needles, and the thought finally sank in that I was going to be stuck with one every single day and injected with burning, aching medicine on top of everything else.

Numb:
Well, I don’t think I will every reach numb when emotionally or physically thinking about or experiencing this medicine, but one can hope. One can hope if I wait long enough, whatever the equivalent of 15 minutes is to life…fifteen years maybe? (I hope not, but probably) that the whole thing will get easier. I guess if I am going to be completely honest, I didn’t cry as much about it this time, but it is still early. Usually the tears build up over time until I fall into fetal position and beg God to help me.

I abruptly stopped the shots January 2006, and I didn't tell a soul that I had. I am not even sure that I admitted to myself yet what I had done. I had begun to risk a flare by stopping Kineret. I stopped however because I was just sick of it. I was angry at that part of my routine. Every day, every single day, never a day off, I had to ice, inject, ice, be sore. And it suddenly wasn't worth it anymore. The burning and aching feelings inside became too much. I couldn't wait any longer for the numb stage to suddenly arrive. And a part of me knew that it probably wasn't coming so I quit. Maybe a month later I finally told someone, or they found me out, or something. Everyone pretty much was so stunned at what I had done, and realized the emotional and psychological wear the shot experience had obviously had be doing to me that they just kinda looked at me with shocked and concerned eyes and said something along the lines of, "Okay." And that was that. I figured I could do anything and everything else, other meds, and not really have to go back on shots till it was absolutely necessary.

Guess what, it is necessary. Life got more challenging than usually. I am flaring, and if I want to feel better I had to start this up again. So February 2008, two year later, I am back in emotional warfare or hell, or a roller coaster or skydiving, or something of the kind.

I am wondering something though. Usually when writing an essay of some sort there is some conclusion one is supposed to get to. And I think I have one. I think Hunting Response is often what we experience in life. Maybe with the death of a loved one, or an ended relationship, a friendship maybe. We usually experience it with loss. I know I have in my life living with this disease.

There is that cold, empty feeling at first, and then it burns your soul, a sudden change in life’s temperature, and then the heart aches, and over time the pain begins to ease. I don’t know. Maybe I am stretching. Maybe you can come up with something on your own. When do you need to count out Hunting Response just to get through the moment, to keep your mind on anything else but the pain and the image of God flinching at your suffering?

Say My Name

Lord, what did You say when You spoke me into existence?

God, what do You call me?

What name do You have for me?

What's in a name?

What's in my name, the name You gave me?

My parents of my flesh named my flesh, what did the Father of my soul name my soul?

Do You call out to me?

Do You have more than one name for me Lord, as we do for You?

I know these You have for me: child, sheep, bride, daughter, beloved, student, servant, friend.

But is there another?

Are there more?

Is there a name like Zoe that You have for me?

Father, what do You call me when You call out my soul?

What is my eternal name?

Tell me my name, Father.

Say my name, speak it into forever, and speak it loudly enough for me to hear, to know, to be able to specifically thank You for.

Oh God, say my name...again and again.

Worth Repeating

In another blog, the Greek one, I mentioned the end of Time and what is going to happen. I think it is worth repeating in it's own blog because Revelations makes so much more sense to me now.

Two veils will be lifted in the end of earth.
First there will be the time in this world where we are absolutely living in a world without God. Satan will be in complete control. Then the second veil will be lifted and we will see the world without the Devil; it will be in complete control of God again and for forever.

Windshields

In Through Painted Deserts by my beloved Don Miller he starts a paragraph saying "Light reflects in sharp points off windshields in motion." I spent hours tearing this sentence apart, looking up every single word and wondering what the hidden message was in this sentence. I just knew there was one. I felt it. I was captivated by this sentence...And there is one. God revealed it to me sure enough, like He does if we pay attention and keep at it. And though I labored over this, I will give it to you for nothing more than the cost of you reading this quickly, because I love you, and this is what I do.

Light is a metaphor.
We are the windshields.
Another word for reflect can be rebuke.
Sharp, we need an abrupt or extreme change from the way we are living.
His Light shines into windshields who are still.

That is called Revelation. Hope you had a head in hands moment. I have had many with it.

Composure: It's Ok Eve

Occasionally I get frustrated with Eve and just wish we all lived in Paradise. But you have to understand some things about Eve and Adam's situation. One example is Devil's Confusion.

Confuse: to disturb the composure of

Composure: cool-headed resistance to disturbance; the ability to calmly do the right thing in a social situation

It's ok Eve. Besides Donald Miller proposes a question: Did they know there was such thing as a lie? If you grow up with only God, or are new to the world, an infant technically, such as Eve, would you know what a lie or a liar are? Probably not. Kids are pretty gullible. And pretty innocent.

You were new to the world Eve and the Devil confused you, just like he continues to do to the rest of us, to this entire world. We live in a world of confusion. At least we know it won't last.

Besides God gives us a remedy. He always gives us a remedy.

Composure also means calm. So if the Devil disturbs our calm, how to we get it back?

"Be still and know that I am God." -Psalm 46:10

Still- motionless, silent
Calm- to reduce fear or anxiety

If you know who God is, you know He is bigger than Satan beyond our wildest dreams. And if you get lost in who God is for a while, truly focus on Him and only Him, and are motionless and feel Him in the breeze on your face and can finally hear Him in the silence, you will begin to feel more calm, feel less tempting pressure, and practice this concept on a regular basis you will forget the temptation, guaranteed. It will be challenging. You will still mess up. But maybe it would be less if we really knew how to do this.

Socical Health

Physical health + Social Health = Socical Health

I used to spend all my days connecting my physical health limitations and problems to why I am not normal socially, but I have strayed from connecting these for a while. I am going to revisit this idea (that all aspects of our personal health are connected and affect/effect the others).

And for those who would argue that I am normal socially, I am really not, because I am not normal physically. The circular reasoning should come around if you keep reading. Besides, the definition of disease is that it prevents normal functioning. It is. Look it up.

Quick review: Some of the aspects of our personal health:

• Physical
• Mental/Emotional
• Intellectual
• Social
• Spiritual
• Aesthetic

There are more, such as economic and sexual, but the bulleted ones are the ones I pay attention to. Guess what? They are all connected. I took a class on it. Called Personal Health. And if one is having a bad day, then chances are others will be having bad days too. If one is having a good day, chances are the others will have a good day too. This isn't an absolute, but it tends toward true more often then not.

Think about it, when you are depressed you are often physically not feeling good. When you are in the hospital physically not feeling good then family and friends come and visit you often suddenly feel better. The aspects of our personal health affect/effect each other. This can be good and it can be bad.

So lets say I feel like crap physically every day of my life, practically literally? How will this effect everything else? Well, that depends...Lets look at socially. Lets look at talking on the phone. Here are a combination of thoughts from my aunt and me about talking on the phone:

• I am a slow thinker, and a deep thinker. It takes me a while to trudge through all the thoughts. Talking on the phone tends to be a quicker thinking game, which I am not very good at. I spend all day lost in thought, and it may take me weeks to perfect one sentence as a writer. The thinking involved in conversation isn't something I do well. It really isn't. I process slowly and carefully, and thus don't really like something I am not that good at. It isn't my fault I think differently, is it?
• Thinking is exhausting, especially the quick thinking. Can't we just think silently and infrequently and slowly for a while? Be alone together, that kind of thing. I am tired. 32 flavors of tired. Formulating thoughts is exhausting and that is what I labor over all day as a reader and a writer. The brain is a muscle right... or something.
• What I want to say never comes out quickly, and if I force it quickly, it comes out wrong and then I have to explain what I was really trying to say. When I write quickly or am talking quickly the words that come out never sound right. They are close but not exactly what I was trying to say. And then, more thinking is involved when I try to correct what I just said. Exhausting.
• My skin hurts. My hair hurts. The glasses on my nose hurt. Being in one position for too long, more than five minutes, hurts. My body cramps up, tightens up, and aches. I hold the phone, cell phone, with my pointer finger kinda holding the weight of the phone, and I don't realize it hurts when I am holding it, until half an hour later when we hang up, and then I have to splint my finger because it is killing me. My hand hurts too. My wrist. My arm. Holding the phone is so hard for me to do. 32 flavors of pain.
• So then to have to put a limit on how long we can talk, for like only five minutes or so, is rude and I just don't sound friendly if I do that. Or in the middle of them pouring their heart out to me or telling me a story I am like, "I'm sorry my finger is broken, I have to go. Call in a couple weeks when I have recuperated." I am not sure how nice that really is, or if I will still have friends.

These are just a few thoughts. And the talking on the phone thing can easily with your brains be imagined with similar communicating situations, like typing on the computer or writing a letter--oh my, writing a letter....my hands can't open a bottle of water, and you want me to write a letter...I'm sorry, but try again.

So yeah, there are realistically aspects of communicating and being social that I can control, but if you take a good look at how I feel physically, I think a lot of it isn't in my control. Imagine having the flu. You are sucked of life, of energy. You are achy all over. You have a bit of a sore throat. You haven't eaten much or drank much. You haven't showered in days. You haven't slept because of all of this. Feel icky yet? Good. Because now you know how I feel almost every day.

When you have the flu do you want to pick up the phone and call all your friends? No you don't. You want to lounge around, mainly because that is all you can do. Do you want to go out to dinner? No you physically can't. Do you want to sit at your computer and check all your emails? No you don't. That is my life. I have a disease. This disease prevents me from functioning normally. My physical health situation affects/effects my social health situation. End of lesson.

Hide And...

I have one question for you:

What do you seek?

But don't give me the answer. Answer yourself honestly so that you know what your answer to God is. I would bet that the answer will scare you. My answer usually scares me. Remember, our answer can determine our forever.

Are You Sure?

Tozer, still in Keys To The Deeper Life, page 52 asks us if we are sure we want to experience being filled with the Spirit of God. Here is what he tells us will happen, in summated bullet points, if we do:

Are You Sure?

• Are you sure you want to be possessed by a Spirit who will insist upon being Lord of your life?
• Are you sure you want your personality to be take over by One who will require obedience to the written Word?
• Are you sure you are ready to be filled with Someone who won't tolerate any of the self-sins in your life?
• Are you sure you are ready to stop strutting your stuff or boasting, showing off to this world, to friends, to family?
• Are you ready to give the direction of your life completely over to Him?
• Are you ready to be tested and disciplined?
• Are you ready to have many loved objects (that secretly harm your soul) stripped away from you?

Well, are you? Are you ready? Sounds like a lot to me. Sounds like being Christian costs something. Sounds like a complete band and choir are involved. Sounds big and loud...

Sounds familiar to my ears...but never familiar enough.

If Only We Knew And Cared (What God Was Thinking)

From Webster.com

Confuse:

1. To destroy the self-possession or self-confidence of: abash
2. To bring to ruin
3. To make indistinct: blur
4. To mix indiscriminately: jumble
5. To fail to differentiate from an often similar or related other (confuse money with comfort)

From Beloved by Toni Morrison (page 7)

"You looking good."

"Devil's confusion. He lets me look good as long as I feel bad." He looked at her and the word "bad" took on another meaning.

From Hamlet (Act 3, Scene 1 lines 45-50)

"Read on this book (of prayers) that show of an exercise may color your loneliness. --We are oft to blame in this, 'tis too much proved, that with devotion's visage and pious action we do sugar o'er the devil himself."

From Keys To The Deeper Life by A.W. Tozer (page 50)

"A world of confusion has surrounded this truth...like a mist [that] lies upon a mountain in stormy weather...This confusion has not come by accident. An enemy has done this. Satan knows that Spiritless evangelicalism (or faith) is as deadly as Modernism or heresy, and he has done everything in his power to prevent us from enjoying our true Christian heritage."

What else do we confuse? I think we confuse looking Christian from being Christian. Tozer says something like we confuse theology with an actual relationship with God, the Person (page 31, Keys...). Knowing about God and knowing God are two different things. We confuse looking good with being good. We sugar over evil with appearances. Christian looking people and Christian people are confused all the time. Jesus would call us white-washed tombs. Clean on the outside, dirty on the inside. Like cleaning the outside of the cup before we clean the inside. I want to clean the inside. I am now, I guess. Well, trying anyways. It's quite dirty in here to tell you the truth. Years of muck stuck to the underneath of my skin.

I was confused to tell you the truth. I thought I was Christian because I called myself Christian. Because I was raised in a Christian home. Because I had a bunch of stuff memorized about God, because I ownded a Bible, had a fish sticker thing on my car, whatever...but I didn't know God personally. I am not sure I really do now actually. I try, which is different from the old me. But I am really not quite sure I know Him all that well personally, from experience with Him every day.

I still am confused I guess. And I am not sure I am confused because I am not who God wants me to be, because I am not experiencing a relationship with Him (you know, like every other relationship, like with my parents, is that the kind of relationship I have with Him), or if the Devil is successful here, or a little of both. Am I cleaning myself out, at all? If so, it is taking a really long time. I don't think I will ever feel clean on the inside, not while living on earth, in Satan's world. And then I wonder, am I clean, it is just the Devil who won't let me feel this way. Is trying to confuse how I feel about my relationship with God, with Christ? Am I dirty, or is he just making me feel that way? I am cleaner, I really am, but will he ever let me feel clean. If not, that may not be bad, persay, but I do feel like it limits how I approach God...somehow. It changes our relationship, somehow, the confusion. And that is horrible.

At least I know I wasn't necessarily Christian before. At least I know that and am trying to do something about it. At least I know that I didn't know Him and I want to spend all my days knowing Him. Seeking Him. Being who He wants me to be. Being Christian instead of it just looking like I am. Cleaning out the muck under my skin and not giving a crap, or trying to, about the outside. All that matters is the inside that God can see.

Shakespeare says we are to blame though, for getting lost in and following the confusion. Where we care what the world thinks more than we care what God thinks. And we do; you have to admit it. You have to admit you care what the world thinks more than you care what God thinks. If you didn't you wouldn't be wearing certain clothes, or look in a mirror, or brush or style your hair, or wear makeup or perfume or buy certain brands, or any of it. If we really cared what God thinks more than the world, we would not be who we are, we would be Godly. We would be monks or nuns or something. We would have so many Mother Theresa's we wouldn't know all of their names. We totally care more about what the world thinks about us; looking at my actions I know I do. And that is scary. Deadly scary. Terrifying. And it has infinite consequences.

This really is the prince of darkness's world. It really is. He does well to confuse us. We would do well to be still, quiet, away from people, this world, away from mirrors of any kind, away from tv and magazines, away from the media; we would do well to be with God; we would do well to experience Him and not just know about Him; we would do well to hang out with Him, to seek Him; we would do well to remember who is God. We would do well to know and care what God was thinking more than anything else.

What's The Song?

Someone came up to me, asked me how I was. I looked into them and was silent. They looked into me. I clicked on a song to play it. Closed my eyes, held my heart, and said, "Snowflakes."

Music is how I am. Just depends on the song.

Morality and Love

Mark 14:21, 24 is where most clearly morality is taken out of the normal do's and don'ts and is made personal, connected to a relationship, where morality is connected to Christ and God. And this is precisely what morality should be, a way of showing God you love Him, showing Christ you love Him.

"Whoever has my commands and obeys them, he is the one who loves me...He who does not love me will not obey my teaching."

I am not sure about you, but I am not even sure I know all of His commands, all of His teachings. Scratch that. I know I don't. So if I don't even know all of them, how can I obey all of them? Even if I did know all of them, I know I wouldn't obey all of them. No wonder He asks me 70 times a day if I love Him. I am not showing Him!

How Greek Could Save Your Life

There are two words I fully know and remember in greek. The first is apokalypsis.

I learned about that in Intro to Bible with Doctor Karen Heller. If you ever get a chance to meet her or take a class with her, do it. It should be on your "To Do" list for sure. Love her!

Apo I believe I remember correctly is veil. Kalypsis is to take away. Thus to take away the veil. The word may sound familiar, is sounds like apocalypse. Good job. It is really the word for Revelation though. So when thinking of Revelation, the book, the times, think less like connotations associated with the end of the world, and think more like the veil will be lifted and we will see life as it really is without God's help, and then another veil will be lifted when Christ arrives we will see life as it was supposed to be, in heaven with only God, with no more evil...finally and thankfully. But how do we for sure know that second veil will be lifted? If we know Him and love Him right?

I did a Beth Moore Bible Study and remember one word in Greek from it: agape. I used to think it was simply love, if love is simple? I guess I am saying that in my mind I didn't think deeply about it until tonight. Example: ask yourself, what is love? How do I know if I love someone? How do I know if someone loves me? And the toughest questions of all: does God think I love Him? And do I love Christ? I mean, do I, do I really? If I don't know what love is, if I can't define it, how do I know if I love Him the way He wants me to love Him?

At the end of John he writes a painful story about Peter being asked THREE TIMES IN ONE CONVERSATION IF PETER LOVES JESUS, and he was asked this question by Christ Himself! I mean, can you imagine Christ coming up to you and asking you face to face, "Do you love me?"

Peter was offended of course, saying, "Lord of course I love you." I would be offended of course, saying, "Yes, Lord, I do. You know I do." But if He already knows, then why would He ask?

And if Peter, who was there, hanging out with Christ, witnessing all of the miracles and getting to be with Him, getting to be with the proof that we don't have, and he was still asked this painful question, I for sure have to have Christ asking me this at the very least 70 times a day. I have to.

Donald Miller says perhaps "...the sum of our faith is a kind of constant dialogue with Jesus about whether or not we love Him" in Searching For God Knows What, page 52. And I read a quick little interview and article with the duo Shane and Shane and one of them said their new album had to do with him "being confronted with the Lord asking me if I love Him."

And all this, all this makes me tremble a bit inside. My heart is vibrating in fear. Here are some of the most obviously Christian men one could meet and they feel confronted by the Lord asking them if they love Him. What does this mean for me? Seriously, the answer, my truthful answer could be infinitely fatal. So what am I going to do about it? Do I love Him? Do I even know what love is? Can I love Him if I don't even think I could define love?

So I looked up love from Wikipedia. That was one of the most important things I could have done today--no it was the most important thing I did today--no one of the most important decisions of my life, including my eternal life. You need to Google love, go to Wikipedia and spend the rest of your days learning what love is to make sure you know what your answer to Christ is. Be 100% certain.

If you know what love is, you can know if you really love Him, right?. Makes some sort of sense. Because He is asking us this question at least 70 times a day. I don't know where the number 70 came from, but it sounds reasonable, doesn't it? Biblical almost. But feel free to use whatever number will scare some action into you.

Anyways, agape:
Agape (ἀγάπη agápē) means love in modern day Greek. The term s'agapo means I love you in Greek. The word agapo is the verb I love. It generally refers to a "pure", ideal type of love rather than the physical attraction suggested by eros. However, there are some examples of agape used to mean the same as eros. It has also been translated as "love of the soul".
Eros (ἔρως érōs) is passionate love...
Agape - In the New Testament, agapē is charitable, selfless, altruistic, and unconditional. It is parental love seen as creating goodness in the world, it is the way God is seen to love humanity, and it is seen as the kind of love that Christians aspire to have for one another.

More reading and answers and definitions:

• Mark 12:28-34
• 1 Corinthians 13:4-7
• 1 John 4:7-8
• John 14:21, 24

Anne Lamotte says the two most important prayers she knows are: "Help me, help me, help me" and "Thank you, thank you, thank you." One of the most important prayers I now know, to add to these is:

Lord,

S'agapo. S'agapo. S'agapo.

Searching?

If you truly knew and felt what it meant to be loved by God would you go searching for love from anywhere or anyone else?

I bet not.

Yet we do, go searching elsewhere that is. I do. What does that mean?

Who Needs Defense Anyway?

I don't know if you realize it, but we are constantly defending ourselves to others. It isn't a conscious decision anymore, it is instinctive, habitual. It is what we do, and I feel and actually notice myself doing it endlessly.

I defend my disease. I defend my life. I defend myself. I defend my clothes, my car, the fact that I live at home, why I don't go to school, why I don't have a job. I defend everything to everyone. And as I realize I do this I realize I feel completely misunderstood. I feel like no one knows the real me or "gets" the real me. They know who they think I am, or rather who I used to be, but I am not her anymore. They don't know me. They don't understand why I am different. They don't understand how I could be different. They don't understand why I do what I do or don't do what everyone else does. Actually no one knows what I do anymore. They have no idea.

I feel I am personally unable to completely relate to anyone else. I feel I spiritually am unable to relate to anyone else. I don't know anyone, I literally can't think of anyone, besides a few Christian authors, who think like me. I don't know anyone personally, directly, a family member or a friend, who lives and thinks like me, and thus I defend my actions and who I am because I feel attacked by those of a different mind or lifestyle than me. Don't you feel that? Don't you feel attacked?

You too, you do defend yourself too; I am just not sure you realize it yet. Since I am fully, painfully, terribly aware of it however, I have been laboring my thoughts over whether or not defending my Christian life is necessary, or wondering what does this mean. There are just two quotes playing past the eyes of my mind and heart:

"They steadfastly believe that they will share His triumph, and for this reason they are perfectly willing to share His rejection by a society that does not understand them." -Keys To The Deeper Life, A.W. Tozer page 43

"You have already put in your time in that God-ignorant way of life...Now it's time to be done with it for good. Of course, your old friends don't understand why you don't join in with the old gang anymore. But you don't have to give an account to them." -1 Peter 4:3-5, The Message

We defend ourselves like we are playing a game, like we truly do live the Lifeboat Theory that Donald Miller talks about, like we are trying to win. But there is nothing to win. There really isn't. If there is, please tell me what it is, I would love to know. Seriously, what are you trying to win? Love, friends, happiness, money, security, fame, success? What do you want to win? Are those things you need, need from this world? Is that where they come from? Do you think you will ever win them...and hold on to them, keep them? Or can you lose them again?

I don't have to win you over. Over to my side or whatever. There is no logic behind defending myself and my way of living. There is just living. Life is just this, living. Nothing more. We aren't arguing. You are not attacking me. You are not on the offensive, are you? I mean if there is no offense, if life isn't a game, who needs defense anyway? Devil's Confusion. Man he's good. We are so busy defending ourselves we forget to just live life, game free, winning free, offense free, defense free. Life is just life. Life is just living. Are you living, or are you playing a game? Which do you think life really is or is supposed to be? Have you even asked yourself these questions and labored over a truthful answer?

I have. And I honestly believe life isn't a game. There is nothing to win. Among people there are not teams, no one is or should be on the offensive or on the defensive. If you are going to look at someone or something on the offensive fighting against you, it isn't your fellow man, it is the devil. And maybe if for five seconds we stopped gaming with each other, waring with each other, with other flesh and bone, and started fighting the devil, this world would feel less like a game, and more like life, the gift of life, like living.

"For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms." -Ephesians 6:12

Devil's Confusion

Confusion

1. a state of mental uncertainty
2. distraction
3. a state in which everything is out of order
4. the emotional state of being made self-conscioulsy uncomfortable

Confuse

1. to throw into a state of mental uncertainty
2. disorient
3. muddy
4. deceive
5. misguide
6. mislead
7. to make something unclear to the understanding
8. to throw into a state of self-conscious distress
9. to undo the proper order of arrangement of

Confused

1. lacking in order, neatness, and often cleanliness

Self-Conscious

1. From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
   
   Self-consciousness is an acute sense of self-awareness. It is a preoccupation with oneself, rather than the philosophical state of self-awareness, which is the awareness that one exists as an individual being.

We are intensely aware of ourselves aren't we? Too aware most of the time if you ask me. We can't go five seconds without thinking of ourselves and our well-being before others'. Well, I can't. Me, me, me. The sound of myself is defening. I can't hear anyone else. The Devil does well to distract us from God. We would do well to be less self-conscious and more God-conscious, people-conscious.

Ever wonder why we wonder and worry about what people think of us? How we are constantly trying to fit in and defend ourselves to this world, be redeemed by this world. It is because we care how the world sees us because we see ourselves through the world's eyes. Devil's confusion. Imagine if we only saw ourselves through God's eyes. If we did we wouldn't care if we had a nice house, a cool car, fashionable clothes, the latest ipod. All we would care about was having God.

I hate being so self aware. It is distressing, distracting, misleading, deceiving, disorienting, confusing. In this state there is no composure to do the right thing, to make the right decisions with or for my life, or the lives of others, or for God. I am lost. I feel lonely. I feel like I don't fit in. And I feel like if I don't fit in--it feels like I can't breathe. There is no calm. There is no still. There feels like no God.

Trying to fit in is an endless battle you will never win. It is an infinitely fatal game to play. We would do well to stop playing. We would do well to be still and know that He is God, and we need nothing else. We need to be aware and conscious of nothing else. That is the only prescription for the Devil's confusion. The only way for peace and order. God is the only solution. Have Him and all is calm. Know Him and all is good. All makes sense again, and sense has a more pleasing harmony.

Feelings

I feel angry, frustrated, emotional. I feel like I shouldn't get the short end of the stick. I feel like I should get more than 14 blocks. I feel like no one else feels the weight of Death sitting on my chest. I feel like no one really understands anything about my life or my disease. I feel!

I feel like I am supposed to be upset at all of this, but I wonder, am I really upset, or do I just feel upset? Logic and emotions are bleeding together, hidden under various degrees of darkness. Were I to shine God's Light on this, would I still be mad? I don't think so. I think I feel mad simply because I am supposed to. But I can't actually be mad, can I?

What will I miss, painfully miss about life? I will miss going for drives, and sunrises and sunsets, and the moon and stars, and music, and snuggling and hugging and holding hands with someone you love, and stretching out in bed as I get a feel for clean sheets, and that after shower clean feel, and puppies and being alone with people, really feeling loved by people. I will miss food and snow cones and chocolate, and the smell of good food, home cooked food. I will miss laughing with friends and family, laughing about inside jokes or happy memories. I will miss playing games and watching rain or snow. I will miss clouds lighting up. I will miss the living blue coolness of the earth the 45 minutes before sunrise (I think that is my favorite time of day). But then I think about heaven...

I mean seriously think about heaven and how I know for fact that it is better than all of that. That I will be there and not want a thing. That heaven is a forever suspension of the living blue time of day and that is the best forever I can think of. I know I will be in God's presence and never want or long to be loved ever again. I will never be hungry, or thirsty. I will never be lonely. The angels' music is better than any other music. I will be sitting above the stars and clouds or dancing around them or something. I will see where rain and snow are made and live and dwell and are created or fashioned. God and I will play Apples to Apples, and He will let me win. The scene below us will be like this infinite puzzle we are putting together. Jesus and I will sit by a campfire being alone together, roasting marshmallows and drawing in the dirt with our fingers. They will never again ask me if I love them. They will know that it is true, because it will be.

I think of this and I am not angry anymore. I am excited. In a strange way, I am excited to die. I am glad I probably won't have to wait a lifetime to experience all of this. So what is this anger and frustration? What is this irritability? Where does it come from?

Devil's Confusion.

I feel angry. But logic tells me I am not really angry. I just feel angry because the world tells me I am supposed to feel angry. But I know that God just wants me to be with Him a little sooner than normal...

I know that God wants me. And that makes me happy....

He wants me. He really wants me.

Donald Miller in Searching For God Knows What talks about John and his book, his gospel, about how at the end of it John tells everyone he is going to die, unlike the popular belief at the time that he wasn't.

"And it makes you wonder if John sat and wrote that he was going to die knowing within a few days, a few weeks, a month (or 14 blocks) of gentle good-byes, he was going to go home and leave all of his friends, and he didn't want any of them to be surprised or scared" (page 52).