Finger Fangs

My goodness! I have wanted to write another blog like five times since last week. The unfortunate event keeping me from doing so is the fact that my computer is sick and is hopefully getting repaired... who's to know the truth? The repair people haven't called yet to give any diagnosis.

Anyway, Wednesday evening has arrived. I am quite quite glad for it. Tomorrow is a sleep in day, because I don't have class until 11:00 a.m.! So I can allow myself a bit more irresponsibility with how late I stay up. And now my stories begin...

A few years ago I went to a Gospel Music Association weekend in Dallas with my dad. Someone mentioned a little piece of wisdom about inspiration that weekend that stuck with me. "It's either a song, or a sermon," Dan Dean of Philips Craig and Dean shared his experience with this idea, as he is a pastor as well as a songwriter. So, for me, it's either a song or a blog. Things float through my head as I listen to people around me. In sermons I take the little nuggets with me and they either find their way into my journals, blogs, or songs. Usually I'm inspired to the point that the inspiration will not rest until it's put to music, or in the least, written about.

And so, this past weekend the choir toured a few churches in Southern IL. It was completely fantastic. I just love singing with the choir. The many rehearsals and long hours in preparation can be less than exciting, and sometimes quite the opposite. But it all makes sense once we're surrounding the congregations singing our benediction song. It can be moving time and time again, even though I've done it several times.

One of the seniors gave a devotional while we were on the bus Sunday afternoon, heading to our next place to sing. He told a story and read from the Bible, and gave little thoughts. In my typical fashion, I heard what struck me, and just started chewing on that. I'm not sure what else he said. But he told a story about a mother walking with her young son, and suddenly, her little boy was bit by an alligator. They were in an area where there were many, and one came up behind them, and got a hold of her son by the leg. The mother was frantic trying to free her son, and held on to him so tightly that her nails dug deeply into his skin. Luckily there were people around, and they helped him get loosed from the mouth of the stinkin' gator.

Later in the hospital, family and friends came to see the little boy. He recovered well. Once he was healed up and living normally again, someone asked this child if he could see the boy's scars. So the boy held up his arms. "I thought the alligator bit your leg," the inquirer commented. "These are from my mom when she wouldn't let me go." Said the boy.

That struck me hard and good. It astounded me actually. It struck me of course in the obvious sense that it was just so sweet that the first thing he thought of was not the alligator, but of his mother and the way she fought for him. But then, that wasn't exactly the moral of the true story. We have scars too. We have scars from the mouth of the enemy. But we also have scars from the hands of a Father who refuses to let us go.

I find it peculiar that so many feel the need to constantly remind others of the scars they have from the mouth of the enemy. To an extent, I understand. I am no exception. I do it. I remember the scars I possess. I get frustrated when others fail to see them. It's pretty lame. But it's true. When I'm offended by something, be it legitimate or entirely not, I get frustrated that others around me couldn't see to my "enemy scars" easily enough to know not to do or say something that will hurt me. So then I draw attention to the fact of those scars.

A few months ago, I sat at a table with some people I knew on campus. I didn't know them well. I more just saw them around, and knew a few names. I will never forget it. I felt it so urgent to finish my meal to get out of there. It was so depressing. The people just went around back and forth discussing their experiences with depression. It was a pity party to the point that it would make someone feet guilty if he had not experienced such a dark time. I am not one to say to someone, "Quit it, depression is just your mind fooling with you." That is complete and absolute crap, and if I ever heard someone say that, I might kick 'em in the stomach. And then while they were down, I slap 'em the upside of the head. Maybe:) But I know depression hurts. It's a real thing. But even still, sitting at that table was so gloomy. It was all about showing enemy scars. I couldn't wait to leave.

In a Paramore song, one of the lines is, "Why do we like to hurt so much?" What a line... it's uncalled for that we love to feel pain. It's disgusting, and so truthful. We love to show our enemy scars.

My thoughts after hearing Jay's devotion on Sunday kept reeling. I kept trying to make sense of it. I don't even remember what he said after he told the story. It was like God hit me in the head with a softball and caused me to be unconscious to the other things around me, aside from the unforgiving fact that I drank waaaay too much water before getting on the bus while we still had a while yet to travel. Yup. I won't forget that. Painful.

So, what if the boy had responded to everyone in the way they all expected-- showing them the scars from the mouth of the alligator? No one would have been surprised. That's what they were expecting. It's comparable to how we are with the people around us. We show the scars we have. It's to the point where it's expected. We share the things we've "been through." I'm not saying that's bad. It's precious to be able to share the things that are deep inside of us. It's relationship. Relating to others. Relating in a bonding way. It's great. But what if we were to constantly show the scars from the hands that wouldn't and won't let us go just as often, if not more than the scars of the mouth that tries to constantly swallow us up? What if we were to act upon the scars that gave us life, just like the scars of the little boy that saved him from even more serious injury, and depending on the seriousness of the situation, possibly death? What if we lived astoundingly shocking lives that surprise everyone around us by declaring the saving scars rather than the deadly ones?

The scars of the enemy are part of the story. They cannot be left out. It'd be a pretty bad story if the boy's mom just simply grabbed onto him so tightly that she left scars from her finger fangs if there was no reason to actually do so. People might say she's abusive. I'd try to stay clear of her. The fact of what she was saving her son from is the issue. Our scars from the enemy are important too. But they are not the ones that give life. They aren't the ones to boast about.

So these thoughts may be kind of jumbled and some what incomplete... it's just something I've been pondering.

So! I suppose that is all for now. Hopefully my computer will be home safe and sound so I can use it whenever I feel like it and not beg Katie to use hers. Thanks Katie:) Fare well all!

But When We're Way Up Here, It's Crystal Clear

Thursday night! The best part of the week. Why? Well... it is the anticipatory segment of the week. Right before the weekend officially hits. For me, it hits at 12:20 Friday afternoon-- the end of my last class! I have a pretty awesome weekend schedule this semester. Anyway, my Friday morning class is COR which I'm really enjoying this semester a lot. And even though I have been studying for an exam for it tomorrow, I'm still in such a good mood.

I tend to look ahead so much more than I look behind. I look behind for comparison, not because I'm stuck in the past usually. I'm also a memory person... I hold memories as conveniently as a shopping cart holds groceries. But the way I look ahead is constantly striving forward. Obviously there are good sides to this and sides I need to keep a tighter rein on, but I like moving forward. And because I like moving forward, often times I realize the best times are right before the waves actually crash, right before the sun actually sets, right before the first bite of the best meals. The anticipation. To me, anticipation is a cherished asset to my moving forward. It's the building excitement, and the chance to breathe before your breath is taken again. It's kinda sad when you realize what you waited for is over.

Anticipation only happens when you know something else is about to happen. For example, I can't anticipate in the same way I can when I have expectations, when I have no expectations at all. If I didn't know class would be canceled one day, I can't anticipate free time. If I know I'm about to experience freedom (you can tell I'm ready for a weekend....) I can anticipate it. The anticipation builds up. Time is so fleeting... sometimes for me, just knowing how I allow time to move through my hands like soft lace being pulled gently from my grasp, the time of expectation and anticipation is the most relieving. 

In the movie Aladdin, there's a scene where he and Abu step across these stones that float above flaming lava. The steps are perfect to hold a foot! That's sometimes how I visualize the way I operate with time. I take each step. With one step at a time. As long as there's a step there, I usually take it. The Reliant K song Forward Motion is only true of me at times. "I struggle with forward motion." Nah, usually I'm pretty ok with forward motion. As long as there's a step there to hold my weigh above that lava. 

So I guess I ride the Magic Carpet across the shining shimmering splendid splashes of time. It can be effortless. I'm capable of liking time when it keeps going, and moves over crystal water so I can separate the cool surface with my finger to feel the freshness on my skin. (Aladdin is my favorite Disney movie... I'm practically repeating the Magic Carpet Ride song right now...)

So I guess in moments typical of Thursday nights this semester, I can relax just long enough before the ride starts again. Before the ride even begins and slowly fades to Monday. I like being busy usually... but I love Thursday nights. 

This is a hilarious comparison to my last blog. I compared time to a silly monkey... now it's a Magic Carpet. Ahhh the difference between discussing time when the anticipation is over (like my last one) and the refreshing, promising anticipation portion. The waves haven't yet crashed, and the sun has not yet set, and a beautiful banquet of perfect gluten-free food awaits! The suspense is overwhelming. On to the reception! 

Bananas and Bandanas

Ahhh my my, a week has gone by. I am currently sitting on my bed, my common perch, with a  bowl of brown rice with a little salt and enough red pepper to make my tongue bleed. I love it. Oh the life of one on a gluten free diet. I have to say though, I really miss soft pretzels. They are oh so well. 

I've been in a writing mood lately. I kept trying to get around to blogging, but something would get in the way, or my better self would remind me of all the things yet to be done for classes. And now I find myself pleasantly planted on my bed, with time to take my thoughts to a keyboard. Rice beside me with a water bottle ready to extinguish the fire pepper... I am ready.

Today I was extremely tired. I think I am every Monday and Wednesday though. I have 6 classes on those days, sometimes 7 depending on if I have another ensemble practice or not. And it begins much earlier than I feel necessary. After my first class today, I went to chapel. It was preview day today, so there were a lot of people looking at the school. I sat in a row of people I didn't know, some preview students, some not. Anyway, during the message, I kept nodding off. I kept having these bizarre dreams... and I think I jumped twice. I'd quietly look around to make sure I wasn't being written up for snoozing in chapel. I remember one "dream" that lasted about 4 seconds or so. I thought a girl I know was sitting next to me, and was showing me something in her notebook. I leaned over to see what it was in my dream, and then I snapped back awake. I really hope I didn't actually lean over on the girl next to me. I honestly don't know for sure I was just dreaming...  How bout we just conclude just for fun that I actually am capable of controlling myself? Awesome. 

Later today I helped my sister Caleigh edit an essay she was working on. I will unabashedly proclaim I love to write. I even enjoy writing essays much of the time. It's like a journey where you already have an idea of where you're going, but you explore new ways to get there. It's so cool. I am a nerd in many ways. I'm even wearing my glasses right now, so it's completely legitimate. But, as I was helping Caleigh, my mind kept reeling. Like I was fishing and kept tossing my line into the water. I was supposed to be reeling in fish (or suggestions for Caleigh). But I kept bringing in other things too. Ahh the wonderful findings of the sea! I kept thinking of what I could do if I were teaching a writing class. The truth is out! I miss teaching! I miss it so much, it's all I think about sometimes. When I'm in classes here, I analyze the teaching techniques my teachers use. Especially Prof. Weiss. She's my theory teacher, and she is the best theory teacher I've had in college. She comes up with so many ways to explain things, and all of these hilarious (and most certainly memorable) tricks to help us all remember rules. And best of all, her passion is absolutely illuminating. We all adore her. We all hope to please her and make her proud of us. 

So why am I pursuing music and not education? UM DUH! It's music ok? That's the deal, and that's what's up! For now anyway:)

I miss all of my adorable and brilliantly bright students I had last school year. I miss watching the spark catch them into full fires of understanding. It was so rewarding. I was so proud of every one of them. 

Sometimes I wonder if the joy I have in teaching is just a taste of what it will be like to be a mom. I got to have my students with me for only a few hours a week. I got to watch them progress in small areas. It energized me. I excited me. I anticipated being with them again. I couldn't wait to be a source of encouragement to them when they felt discouraged with difficult concepts and demanding challenges. I loved having that opportunity to be someone they could maybe remember when they look back at their early education. But being a mom... you're there all the time. You have no choice but to be remembered. I cannot think of anything more exciting. 

Anyone who knows me probably knows my obsession with babies. It's a radar that goes off. Every time I see one, I say, "Baby!" I can't help it. They're a weakness for me. I can't stand seeing one, and not being able to hold that precious bundle of cute in my arms. 

I miss working at Marlton Christian Academy too. All those silly little munchkins.... they were packets of fireworks some days. I loved being with them. Of course there were times I did not feel like going to work at all, but it always turned me around when I'd walk in and they'd surround me with hugs around my legs. They'd only reach my waist, but always got to my heart anyway. Young children can be so willing to love, so willing to be loved. I loved loving them. I loved getting to tell them how proud they made me when they behaved. I loved getting to understand them, even when they weren't obeying and smacked another kid, or spit on someone. They were hilarious, and I felt honored sometimes to be allowed the task of watching over them and influencing them, and disciplining them when necessary, when their parents were unable to. It was so cool to be trusted with that. It was no small thing. 

Anyway, all this to say, I miss teaching. I don't know how long it will be until I can stand at a dry erase board again with a strongly scented marker in my hand. It was so awesome though. 

Whew! The rice is just about finished. I can't believe last week already is. I spent so much time anticipating this last weekend too. I got to visit Aija! Time is such a pesky little punk. Sometimes I imagine Time as a mischievous little primate that looks so cute and cuddly, then as you close your eyes, he steals the banana in your hands and pulls your bandana down in front of your eyes as he runs away through the vines, branches and leaves till he is unseen, untouched. (Imagine a jungle scene) Time can bring you right where you want to be, but still has it's own agenda that somehow we must follow whether we want to or not. 

This weekend was awesome though. Even if the reality is banished to mere memory. Silly Time. 

Well, I suppose I should shower now. I finally have time to do that as well. Time might be a sneaky primate in my head, but I don't wanna smell like one! And so ta ta my friends! May your Bananas and Bandanas stay in place as long as they may! 

Just Thinking

I can't believe how busy this last week has been! It's tiring though nice at the same time. I have a life again. I have things to do. I like having things to do.

My face is burning from new face wash I got last night. It kind of worries me. It was Clean and Clear, and it was only $1.11.... which to me made me wonder if something was wrong with it. Clean and Clear is usually like 4 or 5 bucks... not like, 1. Anyway, I hope my face is still in tact in the morning. 

I'm slightly tired. I've been pretty tired all weekend, and today I even slept for about an hour and a half after church. It was hard to get up. But in about eight hours the string of the week begins again! I suppose that's alright. Once I get going in the swing of the week I'll probably start kicking my legs to go higher as if I'm really on a swing. Right now, I am just so mellow. Not quite tired enough to go to sleep, or more maybe unwilling to let the weekend end. 

Our worship ensemble starts practice tomorrow night! That'll be nice to get back to that. We're playing on Wednesday. 

I am very excited for Friday to come. I'm planning on getting up to Evanston to see Aijalon! I say planning, because I hope snow doesn't mess with those plans. Anyway, it's been over month, and I am so excited to get to see him. 

This morning church was cool.  I like the pastor there, at First Christian Church in Greenville. He was the pastor who spoke in chapel this week that I wrote about a few days ago. He's such an outgoing person, and really easy to listen to. He spoke on the passage in Deuteronomy chapter 6 about parenting and stuff like that. There were a bunch of baby dedications today too. Adorable babies... i wanted to take a few with me:) Anyway, that passage in Deuteronomy has been following me lately. Seems Like I saw it like 3 times this week before this morning. It's all about how the words of the Lord should be spoken about all the time, written everywhere, having to do with everything we do and say. Usually when things like this happen-- as in when I keep seeing the same passage or verse repeatedly--  God's usually up to something in my heart. I guess I'll have to keep seeking this one out. 

So....I'll try to go to bed now... or soon. Sometime. 

The Red Black and Blue Robe

I should be asleep right now. Yes, that is true. But, I have allowed myself to write regardless.I have a bad habit (?) of getting really excited when something makes me excited, to the point that I have a crazy urge to tell someone. Mabe having a blog is the answer to the prayers of those close to me... I take it out on my blog instead of them;) My earliest class tomorrow is at a manageable time. So i shall risk the sleep i might not get anyway. Funny I'm staying up after my previous blog about the aches of not enough sleep! (Even though that was kinda different)

Anyway, my reason for writing again, is what I just read in my devotions. For some reason I really wanted to read the part in 1 Samuel that the Lord calls Samuel. Whenever I think of this story I always go back to the old days-- when Zach and I were basically the only kids in the Williams family. Caleigh was just a baby really, although she was probably a part of this too. We used to do plays and skits for our parents all the time. We would usually do Bible stories. We learned to never do the ones that made us laugh hysterically (i.e. the ones that have us going crazy and pretending to steal candy from the store. We thought it was great, but my mom didn't). My mom didn't usually laugh when we did. She told us once we should do Bible stories. And Lo. I became Mary, complete with Hebrew garb. I delivered baby Jesus, and somehow Zach was Joseph. But hey, inter family marriage was a little more common back then.

So one of our plays later was of the stories of Samuel and Eli. Zach got the glorious role of Samuel. I think my dad might have even helped us and played the voice of God. My voice certainly wasn't deep enough at 5 years of age. Zach sported his red black and blue robe that our Noni (great grandma) had made him, as was the "custom" of the times in our little heads. And so we performed the Bible stories and basked in the glory of our coveted mother's approval.

So tonight, in light of the things I've been thinking of since chapel this morning, I wanted to read something about when God "calls" people. So naturally I thought of Samuel and Eli. 

What made me kinda pause as I was reading, was that Samuel was in bed when God called his name! Literally! What I wrote of in my earlier blog was metaphoric-- us being "asleep and in bed" and God calling us to "wake up" in a way. But this story... Samuel was in bed! First Samuel 3 verse 4 says Samuel was lying down in the temple. And although he did not realize it was actually God calling his name, and not Eli, the Bible says "Samuel answered 'Here I am' and he ran to Eli and said, 'Here I am; you called me." He ran. He didn't even know why he was called. But he ran. 

In reference to my earlier blog... I didn't even tread the area of jumping to the land of the awakened... I simply contemplated the fact of obeying our alarm clocks. But what if we literally jumped out of bed at the sound of our alarm clocks? I'm speaking metaphorically. 

Samuel did not know it was God calling his name. 1 Samuel 3:7 says "Now Samuel did not yet know the Lord. The word of the Lord had not yet been revealed to him." This verse makes me think a little deeper than the fact that Samuel did not KNOW God. In chapel this morning, the pastor talked about the difference between KNOWING God and FOLLOWING God and all that.

Well, isn't it interesting that after three times of going to Eli in response to God's call, and finally realizing it was God and not Eli, Samuel responded right away to his name being called. He did not yet know God, but was willing to follow Him. 

And also, this shows an example of how sometimes it takes us a while to recognize God's voice. Like that nagging thing that won't go away in someone's life... it's seen as an annoyance until that person realizes maybe there's a Godthing happening here that he's missing. So maybe sometimes we don't respond to our "alarm clocks" because we're not sure if it really is our alarm clocks or not. We might still think it's still time to be asleep. We don't always know it really is time to get up! But I guess the point is, once you know it really is time to get up, you gotta get up. And get up fast. Ready to follow. And so good night! 

Sleeping In and an Alarm Clock Named Him

Today started with my alarm going off more than considerably before I was ready for it to go off. I had a very frustrating time trying to sleep last night, even though I felt pretty wiped out from the tasks of the day. I was in a world outside of myself, yet unable to completely detach myself from thinking so I could finally sleep. I refused to look at my phone to see what time it was. That would only stress me out and then I'd have to await rest even longer. At least on an up note, I decided which contemporary songs I wanted to do for my voice lessons this semester:) However, in the end, my eyes had to be cranked open this morning like a wind up toy. Even more accurately, like a crank to keep the car up when changing a tire... not that I have ever in my life done such a thing, I'd need a man for that, and also a car in general would be in the realm of unspeakable blessing... the point is, considerable effort was employed. 

Some mornings I decide hitting the snooze button is definitely worth the extra time to stay in bed, even though it's 5 less minutes to wake up. The extra moments you serve yourself those sleepy mornings are moments of sweet ecstasy, warm bliss. You've never appreciated sleep as you do in that moment it's about to be taken from you. Sleep practically has to be shaken from you when you're really tired. People slap themselves, yawn much louder than seems necessary... ask my roommate... I've done that... meaning I've yawned much higher and louder than one might appreciate in the morning... I don't think I've ever slapped myself very hard, although I might deserve one due to the annoyance I may cause those around me. In the midst of truth however, that is not my point. 

My point is, sleep is a coveted prize by those who fail in achieving it. For example, this morning I was jealous of those sleepless hours I did nothing with only hours before that I would have given so much to put them to work at allowing me to sleep longer when I wanted it. And then my alarm... it has no respect for me. None whatsoever. It cares not at all for my emotions, and not at all for my well-being. Stupid alarm...

So I carried on and got ready for class at 8:30, for which I got there a minute late, but still in time to take my exam. Got through the exam seemingly painlessly, and went on my way. Chapel was at 9:30. I sat down, kept my blue jacket on in esteem for my shivery body. And sang a few hymns, and got ready to try to pay attention to the message. Not as many people come to Wednesday chapels because they're traditional. I don't really mind though, and I was already there in the same building from my previous class. As the speaker began to speak, I paid attention, but it wasn't what he said at the beginning that stuck with me this morning. It was at the end. He said he had three questions for us, one of which was, "Do you follow Jesus?" He mentioned how it is not asking if we "believe" in Jesus, or know "who" He is, but do we "follow" Him. I understood what this pastor was saying, and it's a question I've heard many times in my Christian home and upbringing. Following Christ is not passive, it is active... etc. I've heard the same message too many times to count really. But then. He had to go and use an illustration that was all too familiar. A little too recent in my memory. A little sensitive to the sleepy ache still just getting oiled out of my system. Recall my eyes still cranked open, even though they were beginning to work more on their own strength to stay open. 

The alarm clock. He had to use an alarm clock as his illustration! He must know college students well, although I don't think I'm mislead to assume it is not only college students who don't always appreciate an alarm in the morning when they'd rather be sleeping soundly. The pastor mentioned how when God speaks to us, the more we ignore Him, the harder it is to hear Him the next time. And when we treat God like an alarm clock snooze button, we're kicking ourselves in the butt. We say we follow Christ. But. Only when we feel we've had enough sleep. 

We're sleeping soundly. The noses of the air hum us a ceaseless lullaby as we hum back our even breathing. Cocooned in our blankets, at complete ease. And then the alarm clock goes off. Just like when we're in perfect comfort in our lives, we're unbothered by the things around us. We have not a care to confront the easiness with. No extra effort needs to be put out. We need only live. Until following Him takes a little more energy. 

So, again I've gone over his little stories and illustrations since then... and ask myself again. "Do I follow Christ?" This question is not just implying when it is easy to follow Christ. For example, it is not saying "Is it easy to get up once you've slept the desired amount of hours?" Obviously there are certainly times I've woken up in the morning so alert it feels like someone shot me with a bullet of sunshine. Others... not so much! And similarly, there are times I feel so ready and excited to follow the Lord I don't even care what opposition I may face. So now... what about the mornings I feel shot with a literal bullet? The mornings or times I feel like I could die if I arose from my bed? Dramatic I know... but my mom told me I was dramatic when I was young so I figure why not use full reign of my dramatics whenever necessary? 

The bottom line is this: If we follow Christ, we follow Him. Hands down. No further explanation necessary. Right? If God requires us to follow even when we have to wake up from a deprived sleep to an aching reality, we do it. We follow Him. 

When I gave my life to God, I gave Him my life. So if He calls me to get out of bed already, how can I say I follow Him if I continually sleep in? 

I want to follow.