What the?!

When I was a kid, I remember going to a homeschool co-op one day, and realizing what I wanted to be when I grew up: an archaeologist. I'm not sure what it was that convinced me this was the greatest thing I could possibly do with my life. But I was decided. I would do it.

That day at co-op, we went sorting through sandboxes and piles of dirt, and retrieved what the teachers called "bones." We collected them, examined them, dusted them off. These were incredible pieces of history! It was up to us to find where they came from. It was our job to hold on to the pieces so we could put them all together in the end to build something.

It was serious business. I was inspired.

It would have been a very different experience if I found a "bone" and tossed it out into the street saying, "What the?! This is just dried up play dough!"

But I didn't. I walked away from that day, remembering it some 15 years later. Even though I ended up (so far) just a music major, I never forgot that day.

There are times I examine my heart. Sometimes I find pieces. Broken pieces. Sometimes I toss them out into the "street," out of my mind, because they're just dried up pieces of past dreams.

Sometimes I find things I didn't look for. Sometimes I find myself holding on to something I wish would let go of me so I can move on. I try to maintain the spaces in my heart the same way I do my dorm room. I want to keep it clean. When I look for a textbook, I want to know where to find it. When I search my heart to make a decision, I want to know what's even going on in there. I don't want distractions. I don't want paintings of past hurts or frustrations to decorate the walls. I want it clean, pure.

So what do I do when I find something I can't seem to get rid of? What if I get frustrated because I feel there is no place for this "bone" in the project at hand? Sometimes I decide I couldn't possibly use a certain piece to build something. I figure that out right away, and get rid of it.

You know, I could do that. I don't have to inspect the pieces I find. I don't need to dust them off, and examine what they are, where they've been, and where they'll go. I could do that. But I don't think that's what God intends for us to do. For some reason, I think God made humans and dogs very differently. Dogs are the ones that bury bones. We're the ones who build with them.

I mean, let's face it. Some dogs are doggone cute. But we need to stop burying the bones.

I've been questioning God about some things. I keep going back to Him with a few bones and saying, "Hahhh, cheeyeah. Don't know why I'm still holding these..." I say it apologetically. As if when I come before the Lord and He sees what's in my hands and says, "What the?!" I get shy about it. I joke about it. It's like I touch a piece of paper and it sticks to my hand. I hide it accordingly behind my back, and then someone reaches out to shake my hand. Busted.

I read Romans 12 earlier this week. Verse 12 says,

"Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer."

I was convicted. When I find another stinkin' bone from the dirt floors of my heart, it's ok. And it's ok I'm not a dog. I don't have to go dig up a hole and hide it in the backyard so the squirrels don't get their filthy little hands on it. And more importantly, it's ok to dust it off. Examine it. Inspect it. And hold on. Hold on and be joyful in hope that it will fit into the grand scheme of things God has not given up on in my life. Hold on and be patient in affliction, even when I try time and time again to put the pieces together when the brilliant wall I tried to build looks more like a walrus. Hold on and be faithful in prayer, even when it makes me cry myself to sleep, and hate the mere breath I breathe.

So I've decided something. I might still want to be an archeologist after all.