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.