Beautiful

     So I've been MIA for quite a while--more than just from this blog, but also from everything else that doesn't have to do with Leo Tolstoy or 1880s Russia (Lit Analysis, ftw). But I'm here now, and just wanted to share something with you.

     

     If you've never experienced worship through music at Cedarville University, let me just tell you that you're missing out. Pastor Rohm used to say that he believed the angels in heaven would praise and rejoice with those who did on earth, but, sometimes, when Cedarville sang, they'd stop and say, "Shhh. Cedarville's singing; listen." I've always thought that had to be true. I'm convinced that worship at the 'Ville is just a glimmer into what worship in Paradise will be like.

     What's great is that, since there are so many people from so many places, the methods of praise vary exponentially from person to person. Clapping, hands raised, kneeling, silent prayer--so many different and beautiful expressions of passionate love for the God Who not only created us, but loved us and led us to such a fantastic place as Cedarville University.

     There's one song we sing, which I absolutely adore, called "You're Beautiful" by Phil Wickham (seriously, go listen to it right now). The song is about seeing God throughout creation, and expressing how beautiful He is. Whenever we sing it, I can't help the smile that dominates my face--no matter what kind of day I'm having. Anyway, that song inspired a sort of love letter I wrote to God, which follows.

Dear God,

     I saw You today. I saw You in the faces of Your people. You had long hair, short hair, black, blonde, red, and brown hair—straight and curly. You had pale skin, dark skin, and freckley skin. I saw You lifted up by the small, big, and worn hands of Your children. I saw You in big blue, green, and small brown eyes. From some flowed sweet salty tears of joy, and others were closed in awe of Your glory. I saw You in the wide grins of those who were incapable of containing the shining felicity of Who You are. I saw Your wounds reflected in the battered knees of grateful sinners as they collapsed before Your throne.

     I heard You in the alto, soprano, bass, tenor, and off-key voices singing Your praises, which are all pleasing to Your ears. I heard You in the staccato burst of hands clapping together—Your majesty bleeding through each beat. The drums, keyboards, and strings echoed Your name. Your presence was made known in the sounds of shuffling, stomping feet as the energy of Your love moved Your servants.

     I felt You in the thrum of the bass. It vibrated my heart as it cried out for You. I felt You in the embrace of my brothers and sisters—Your children. My body burst with the joy I felt as I moved nearer to You, for You are always there. Your love, joy, power, and holiness filled that place and were tangible to all.

     I saw Your face in Your beloved, and                     You’re beautiful.

Losing Control

"You are stronger, You are stronger. Sin is broken; You have saved me. It is written--Christ is risen! Jesus, You are Lord of all." --Hillsong, "Stronger"

So many times in my life, I panic at my lack of control. Things happen--or don't happen--all around without my say-so. At times--like tonight--I feel helpless, broken, and afraid. Papers, exams, quizzes, readings put me on edge. Let me tell you, that Lit Analysis paper I'm supposed to be getting back tomorrow is destroying my sanity.

Things so far in the future, some of which, may never even happen--marriage, a job--consume my mind. I've become so juvenile in my pursuit of things that I don't need. In reality, these are such small things to be concerned about, especially when put into perspective with God.

He is stronger than anything and everything in my life. He is stronger than me. I get tired and weak as I am now. This angst is so easily ignited by simply staying up too late or missing a meal. My body is frail--I have no great strength physically or emotionally. I can't even come close to measuring up to the "youth" in Isaiah 40. That guy could probably run circles around me for months, and I'd just collapse in a wheezing fit, clutching my inhaler. My emotions are as easily controlled--have you seen me watch Tangled? It's not pretty.

I am so weak and He is so strong. Why I insist on grasping to the phantom that is control is beyond me. I've never had it, and I never will. The key is not letting this helplessness overwhelm me, for I have a God Who has saved me--and He is stronger.

It's time for me to step aside and let Him do His job. This is where, like James, I need to prove my faith by my works.

So this is it. I find myself at the Red Sea once again, praying to God that when I take that step, the waters will part. What's the best thing? I know what will happen because I know my God.

Spoiler alert: they do.

Bleeding Words

There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.

-Ernest Hemingway

     Something most folks don't understand about me is that I am quite introverted. Those who know me are probably thinking, "Really? I never thought of you as an introvert. You're so...outspoken all the time!" or "But you're so loud and talk to so many people!" 

     If either of those things, or something similar, came to your mind, you'd be correct. Being from New England (I could compose a whole other entry on the personality traits of New Englanders, but for now, just go with me here.), I'm rather opinionated, loud, firm, harsh--whatever word you wish to use. I thoroughly enjoy getting to know people--talking with them. I even enjoy blathering on and on about random nonsense.

     However, where my true passion lies is in quiet analysis. Of art, literature, music, people, anything. And, contrary to what I thought before, I internally process most of the information I receive.

     For example. One of my biggest joys is listening to human beings describe their passions. There's nothing quite like it--you could even talk for hours about differential equations (That's a thing, right? I feel like I may have made that up...), and I would be enraptured if you were, for some reason, passionate about such a thing. Sure, I loathe mathematics as a general rule, but if it excites you, tell me about it! 

     It is through your passions that I am better able to understand you. Through understanding you, I can better understand the human race around me, and maybe, someday, I'll understand myself. Because, if I'm honest, I understand my own thoughts the least of all. But most importantly, I'll be able to help those around me, which is what I desire most of all.

     This is why I often am exhausted in large groups of people. There's so much to see, hear, smell (especially in the university cafeteria, if you know what I mean), and process. I enjoy being there if the time is right (and relatively short), but, as a hobbit's heart lies in the Shire (yes, I went there), so mine lies in the quietness and reflection of a book or a pen and paper where I can internally review everything I have just experienced.

     My introverted tendencies are something that I've recently discovered about--or rather, admitted to--myself. I'm still much louder than I often intend to be, and words have a tendency to flood out of my mouth without my say-so, but these are more defensive rather than core qualities of myself.

     I've been rambling incessantly, but my point in sharing this is that you may be able to understand why I'm opening up this blog. Writing is something I love passionately with my entire being. Therefore, it is through words--whether they appear as font on a screen or scrawling on a spare sheet of paper--that my truest thoughts are revealed. It is so cliche, but writing is putting my heart on paper. Because of this, it physically pains me to think of other people reading any words I put together. 

     Which is exactly why I'm starting this blog.

     I want to write. It's a passion God has given me--whether I'm any good is debatable, but my passion remains nonetheless. Hoarding this passion for myself would go against God's desires. I'm convinced of that fact. It is my desire that as I struggle to understand exactly who I am in Him, and what my purpose is, maybe I can touch somebody else--even one soul. And if I can't, at least I have an avenue through which I can process my thoughts.

     After all, the only reason I exist is to serve Him and His kingdom with everything I have. And, I assure you, my writing is everything I have.