kitsch

"Why spend money on what is not bread, and your labor on what does not satisfy?" Is. 55:2a

This is the question I feel the Spirit pressing in on me lately. I've been living cheaply and cutting corners when God straightforwardly calls me to obedience. Plain and simple. I've come to the realization that I long to be a disciple without having to practice being a disciple.

This is nothing new, really. When I took piano lessons back in the nineties (oh goodness) I used to make my piano teacher play the song for me so I could "just hear what it sounds like" before she assigned it to me. The next week I'd play it for her and it sounded pretty dang good, only she never caught that I was playing by ear and the only way I even looked like I remotely knew what I was doing in front of that sheet music was because I listened to her play it that one time. Sure, she was pleased, I was pleased, I got my silver star next to the song and we moved on. The problem with it all was that I never really learned music. The ends and outs. I learned just enough to get me by. It was a decent situation then, but today I cringed listening to a Dario Marionelli piano piece, wondering if that could have been me if I hadn't been so keen on cutting corners. The frustrating thing about this all was I had no good reason to do this. I did it simply because I could. And it saved me thirty minutes a day that I usually wasted on writing half baked novels that makes twilight look like a masterpiece. I trashed a bunch of them over the summer cleaning out my room at my parent's house. What a waste.

I'm seeing this pattern continue in my daily disciplines with Christ. I want to be on the front lines of the Gospel where all the action is but I'm refusing to keep myself spiritually fit to be qualified for such a place. I want the glory on behalf of God. I like people thinking I have my crap together and have a great relationship with God. I'm all about honesty but when it comes to where I spend my time,  I want to lie and magically re-prioritize my life. God has pressed me and pursued me to seek a more diligent life with Him but it's been messy because I'm a rebel. It's been so hard to admit that over the last year but it's so true; I like being my own independent person who doesn't have to answer to anyone.  Ha. This reminds me of a very wise man I worked with last year. Rick used to say. "Bri, be real. But be dignified." I'm sure I'm being real but I'm not sure if it qualifies as dignified. Sorry, Rick.

I know that I'm not alone in this though, because pride is at the root of each one of us. We all are fighting or losing to the urge to make ourselves the center of our lives, it's just that it looks more obvious in my life than probably most.

The Holy Spirit has encouraged me though in this time of realization and disappointment.
"Each time he said, "My grace is all you need. My power works best in weakness." So now I am glad to boast about my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ can work through me." 2 Cor. 12:9
I am slowly learning what it mean to surrender wholly to Him, even through my seasons of disobedience. I am learning more about Christ's grace when I have moments of obedience and moments of flagrant disobedience. He truly loves me and that fact alone overwhelms me in my darkest times. I'm thankful I've got a Dad who supports me and a King who presses me to pursue holiness for his glory.

"Discipleship is built entirely on the supernatural grace of God. Walking on the water is east to impulsive pluck, but walking on dry land as a disciple of Jesus Christ is a different thing. Peter walked on the water to go to Jesus, but he followed Him afar off on land. We do not need the grace of God to stand crises, human nature and pride are sufficient, we can face the strain magnificently; but it does require the supernatural grace of God to live twenty-four hours in every day as a saint, to go through the drudgery as a disciple, to live an ordinary, unobserved, ignored existence as a disciple of Jesus. It is inbred in us that we have to do exceptional things for God; but we have not. We have to be exceptional in the ordinary things, to be holy in the mean streets, among mean people, and this is not learned in five minutes."
.Oswald Chambers

Here I am saying God,  I want to give you more than my convenient five minutes. I need to be kept by you because I'm prone to wander. Teach me a lesson in humility and what it means to be loved by you in the mundane. I need you to run with me the race that's set before me because I know with no uncertainty that I will fail if you aren't with me.

one of the more difficult parts of being a part of life is how continuous and routine it is. each of us wakes at a designated time and completes tasks set before us, whether it's bringing home the bacon, raising offspring, or getting an education. in some ways, this routine is nice. it gives us purpose to our day, it keeps our destructive sides at bay, and allows us to connect with people on a more consistent level. i mean, turn on the tv and some constipated looking reporter lets you know a whole village in peru has been washed away in floods and a new study shows we're all going to die from using our cell phone; all i have to do is turn it off and go floss my teeth. there.  i've given purpose to my day by keeping plaque at bay.  if i'm really bothered by it, maybe i'll update my facebook status and get it off my chest; this way i'm both being globally minded and fostering open internet relationships. even better. what i'm trying to say is, i like routine and can shelter myself from things out of the ordinary, that is, until it happens to me. and that's when it gets difficult.

i like to think of humans as homemade stuff. like pottery. each piece can be made beautifully and even look a like, but when you trace your fingers over it, you know each one is slightly different. you can feel the patterns of the potters hand moving in a slightly different course and perhaps it's a bit heavier than the others.  i know this isn't a new concept, in fact, it's rather cliche. but it makes too much sense for me to try to think of a wittier analogy. i only bring it up to say, i forget there's nothing wrong with me or my life but i choose to look at the pattern of those lives around me instead of the textures. because we all resemble one another in some fashion, i unconsciously choose to believe we should be experiencing the same things and responding in the same ways. i wrongly believe our textures are identical. to put it bluntly, i'm sitting in a minivan in triple digit heat sipping on a coffee that was supposed to be iced -but the barista forgot that part so i cram a donut in my face for size to see if that makes up for the mix up. i try to memorize one bible verse, ONE verse for the week, and already forgot it over the weekend, plus i have a wonderful six month relationship gone down the drain on my mind. of course i'm  picking up a beautiful fifteen year old kid i nanny who is an AWANA poster child, nibbling on a single whole grain pita chip who already is feeling refreshed from its nutrients, and is gushing about a boy who is pursuing her with more fervor and romance than mr. darcy himself. and then she turns to you and flashes a sickeningly gorgeous smile and says, "bri, sometimes i wish we could switch lives." that's when it hit me in the gut: she's feeling that smooth even part in her texture of life and i'm definitely feeling that grain. or that part where i got dropped and shattered into a trillion pieces that incidentally got stepped on by orphaned babies and accidentally made their feet bleed.

i, probably more than the average person, love things that are different, but somehow that doesn't seem to apply to issues of the heart. i have found in my young 21 years on earth, that i haven't encountered anything more difficult than having your heart broken over things that have happened in your life, and hearing your alarm clock go off in the morning. because as soon as that alarm clock goes off, your feet hit the carpet and you feel your heart chained to your ankles and that's how you start your day. walking around, dragging that beast of emotion behind you and no one else sees it or feels it like you do. their lives carry on and yours does too, which is so bizarre. how it must feel to wake up after your village has been decimated and realize no one but your community cares. or how it feels to know your spouse has three months to live and you have three wedding invitations on your fridge. or how it feels to be utterly depressed and be in the presence of a dear friend who's life is full of happiness.
life is always hit and miss. it seems cruel but i know that i know better than that. i want a pity party, really. but i don't necessarily want to take the time to stop and listen to the pulses of souls placed in my life to bleed with them to hold their hand or hold a punching bag. i want to change that. existing amidst the routine is hard! i want to be with people who  can link arms together and take these days one at a time. 

i express this whole topic often to friends and family who nod in agreement but it makes me more frustrated.  get angry with me man! i can't decide if i'm frustrated at them for being shallow minded dimwits or my inability to clearly express myself. judging by this stream of consciousness, i'm going with the latter. i hope that one day though i'll gripe the usual, "life needs to stop so i can deal with one thing at a time." and that person will unexpectedly punch me in the face and yell back, "YOU'RE RIGHT!"

"oh, we find the christian life so difficult because we seek for god's blessing while we live in our own will. we should be glad to live the christian life according to our own liking. we make our own plans and choose our own work, and then we ask the lord jesus to come in and take care that sin shall not conquer us too much, and that we shall not go too far wrong. we ask him to come in and give us so much of his blessing. but our relationship to jesus ought to be such that we are entirely at his disposal, and every day we ought to come to him humbly and straightforwardly and say: "lord, is there anything in me that is not according to your will, that has not been ordered by you, or that is not entirely given up to you?" oh, if we would wait and wait patiently, i tell you what the result would be. there would spring up a relationship between us and christ so close and so tender that we would afterward be amazed at how we formerly could have lived with the idea: "i am surrendered to christ." we would feel how far distant our relationship with him had previously been, and that he can, and does indeed, come and take actual possession of us, and give unbroken fellowship. the branch calls us to absolute surrender."

.andrew murray

"thanks to the human heart by which we live, thanks to its tenderness, it's joys, and fears, to me the meanest flower that blows can give thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears."

.william wordsworth

i've been confronted with my destructive behavior a lot lately. i've been teetering on self hatred and throwing the towel in. i'm so disappointed by the fact that there are some things that i might always struggle with for the rest of my life. i hate that speak ill of people without giving a second thought. or even worse, catch myself and continue anyway. i hate that i forget to love others they way they need to be loved and not the way i need to be loved. i hate that i lack compassion, understanding, and discipline. i hate that i  emotionally injure myself thinking it's what i need.
i hate that i know all of this and know that i will try to fix these problems, only to realize a few months down the road that they are still present. i hate that god knows all of the above and is okay with it. because i'm not. i want to change. i want people to see me and see god's transforming power in my life. really, i long for perfection, as absurd of a longing that it is. someone close to me recently pointed out that god always uses the broken to pour out his love.

that stuck with me. i want to be that, but the reality is i don't know that i'm brave enough to feel the weight of my sin every day as i carry it on my back, one step behind christ.
maybe i should stop begging god to help me be perfect.
and just ask that he make me a little braver.

"it remains a startling story to those who never understand that the men and women who are truly filled with light are those who have gazed deeply into the darkness of their imperfect existence... my deepest awareness of myself is that i am deeply loved by jesus christ and i have done nothing to earn it or deserve it." .brennan manning

Grace strikes us when we are in great pain and restlessness. It strikes us when we walk through the dark valley of a meaningless and empty life. It strikes us when we feel that our separation is deeper than usual, because we have violated another life, a life which we loved, or from which we were estranged. It strikes us when our disgust for our own being, our indifference, our weakness, our hostility, and our lack of direction and composure have become intolerable to us. It strikes us when year, after year, the longed for perfection of life does not appear, when the old compulsion reign within us as they have for decades, when despair destroys all joy and courage. Sometimes at that moment a wave of light breaks into our darkness. If that happens to us, we experience grace. After such an experience, we may not be better than before, and we may not believe more than before. But everything is transformed." .paul tillich

 

I’ve been told everything changes when you fall in love. I have always thought that was a crappy way of expressing that you’re just a sucker. My cynical shoulder angel pacifies and tells me that such phrases are simply ill phrased and used to try to impress the blasé, kind of like the time when my friend Mollie reenacted her favorite scene from The Patriot one afternoon while I puked my guts out from a bad migraine in the seventh grade. I picked up The Odyssey the other day and felt like I was force fed this lie yet again as I rolled my eyes to the fact that Odysseus feels the need to feign his love for Penelope by fighting off Cyclops and having adventures with his men, floating the ocean on a magical veil, feasting with kings, and sleeping with total babes. Homer romantically reinforces Odysseus’ love for Penelope by remembering to tack on the idea that Odysseus only thinks of Penelope when he sleeps with them, of course. What a dedicated hubby –if any literary character has mastered the challenge of taking thoughts captive, he is my gold medalist. I have trouble deciding who I feel sorrier for though: Odysseus for being so blind to his true desires or Penelope, with her angst-y offspring, waiting around for her sly fox of a husband who is suffering a major identity crisis.

I was struck the other day at how much Penelope reminded me of my brother. John is thirteen and stuck at home with our obnoxiously emotional younger sister who fights for attention with Henry, the family poodle. John called me last weekend while I was on a date to complain that our sister had been practicing her cheerleading routines over a dozen times right across from his room and had been picking Henry’s eye boogers and leaving the clouded Kleenexes on top of his freshly laundered clothes. His voice sounded strained and he ended his call by asking when I would be coming home. He always does this, as if I can magically melt his problems away. While I find it somewhat annoying, it does help build anticipation to upcoming breaks from the college grind. I clutter my life at school with enough binge socializing and academia that there is rarely enough space in my slowly frying brain for thoughts of home. But I always tell them I miss them, which isn’t entirely true. I want it to be though. I convince myself I am needed at home and guilt myself with John’s pubescent voice in my head and find myself making a surprise trip home, just me and five loads of laundry.

In my mind, going home is a refreshing idea but John’s behavior is appalling. I make a three and a half hour drive to appease this sympathy drainer and I come home to a house riddled with gaming systems, online social networking, a basketball hoop, and a chubby neighborhood kid we call Beans. I’m lucky to get an afternoon with John, not without fighting Beans for his attention though. The emotional roller coaster I go through to see the guy who guilts me into coming to see him, only then to toy with my affections while being ruled by these agents of separation. I curse them all -except Beans.

I’m frustrated that I let it all bother me. In years past, it wouldn’t have hurt me in the slightest. Like Odysseus with the goddess Calypso on her private island of paradise, I know I would be happier back up at school stuffing my face with cheap Mexican food on the weekends, enjoying the company of my sleep deprived friends. That’s what I should want. Sure, I’m not exactly eating forbidden beef while planning on how I destroy each suitor of John’s attention, yet every semester I find myself tearing my bed sheets off, stuffing them in my laundry basket and taking them home for my annual washing, hoping my dorky little brother will distract me from washing them. But you see in years past, there wasn’t John. It was just my five sisters and me. As much I hate to admit it, when John was born I might have fallen a little bit in love. And begrudgingly I submit to you he might have changed everything in my life. While he and Penelope share a romantic connection and John and I just a platonic one, I can’t help but cry out with Odysseus when I spy John logging onto Facebook and unconsciously signing off his whipped older sister, “by heaven you’ve stung me now!”

What can I say? I suppose I’m a sucker.