That Time I Went to the Gospel Church

I like adventures. Do I like big adventures? Yes. Am I a broke postgrad? Yes. That means that even when I can't have big adventures, I try to make little adventures. Adventures out of exploring new things, new places and new people. Anything can be an adventure, if you put your mind to it.

Once upon a time, I lived in a magical place. Called Grand Rapids, MI. I'm obsessed. I have zero shame about admitting this. Once a week, I would go to my favorite bakery (conveniently located on the edge of the ghetto, so as a teen it was really win-win for my parents and I. I felt rebellious by going to the location, while my parents were satisfied by the fact that their daughter thought going to a bakery was rebellious). Every time, I drove past the same church and saw the same sign "PRAYER TIME. TUESDAYS. 10 AM." So finally, one day, I was like, why not?

Keep in mind, I'm Catholic. My idea of prayer time is that we would enter the sanctuary quietly, kneel, pray as long as needed and then leave. I thought it would just be an excuse to go see the inside of another of Grand Rapids' beautiful, over-looked churches. Boy was I surprised.

It was everything you would imagine an African-American Baptist church prayer circle to be. They raised their hands. Interjected whenever their heart moved them to. And they called me "Sister H***." They were some of the nicest, genuine people I've ever met. And their sincere prayers opened my eyes to the types of things going on in Grand Rapids that I had no idea about.

It made me want to learn more. To dig deeper, and go deeper. I've always had a struggle with that. I want to go to the ghetto, I want to go to the poor, I want to go in the middle of it all. I want to observe and watch and see what their life is like. See how their kids grow up. See success stories. See failures. And in that way, be moved to action. But...then reality hits. I am a SWF. In reality, I shouldn't do any of those things because it is literally not safe. I need to find the balance...

Tips? Thoughts, comments, suggestions? How do you live the big life you always dreamed of as a teenager, once you enter the reality of a post-grad?

I'm a Tree Fairy!

The other day, I was sitting on my ass couch watching TV when a commercial with the typical adorable child came on. Instantly, I started bemoaning "childhood is wasted on children. wouldn't it be great to be a child again...just for one day?" I thought of all the things I would do as a child again for just one day: not pay bills, not complain about whatever my mom cooked for dinner--just be grateful I wasn't cooking it, get a bunch of hugs, spend all day outside just playing. Remember when we were kids and we just went outside without having anything to do? As an adult, I feel like I can't really go outside without something to do. I need to be playing a specific game, taking a specific walk, or reading a specific book. But when I was a kid I would just go outside without any specific activity in mind most times...but four hours later I was dirty, tired, happy and content.

This weekend, winter visited Missouri.

I enjoyed laying on my couch for hours...but around 4 o'clock I wanted to start ramming my head against the wall. I caught myself whining "I can't even go to my gym classes because there's so much snow. Ugh." And then I saw my neighbors outside, building a snowman. My roommate thought they were crazy and I thought they were brilliant. They wanted to be outside, so they did. I wanted to be outside, so I did. At first, I took a walk. But that can only last so long. And then...I spied it. We had already had one tree fall, and my roommate and I were waiting for others to snap from the weight of the snow.

That's cool, I didn't need to get upstairs anyways.

I was desperate for a way to stay outside. And then it came to me. I could be the self-proclaimed tree fairy of my apartment complex. I could prevent other trees from snapping by ridding them of their too-heavy snow! So I ran around and shook all the branches I could find.

It hit me. Literally, and metaphorically. Metaphorically, my wish had come true. I was a little kid for a day. I didn't have a care in the world. I ran from tree to tree to tree, up hill, down hill, across the parking lot. Just shaking branches. Letting it avalanche onto my head. Sometimes pulling the branch back like a sling-shot and using it to hit the snow off the branch ahead. Unburying some branches that were already buried completely under the snow. It was wonderful. I know it sounds simple but--no, no buts. It was simple. And it was beautiful. It was fun and simple and thrilling. Each time I shook it, shrieked, got pelted by snow, and then got to watch the branch swing two feet up in the air, snow free again I felt a huge rush.

While I was swinging away, I was reminded of this quote.

I couldn't be a kid for a day then, but I could be a kid for today. When I wanted it, the answer was "not now." As a human, I oh so often assume that means "not ever." But today was a great reminder that our God is an awesome God, and he never forgets His children--down to their littlest desire. How beautiful.  Think of everything the Lord has to keep track of. Politicians, starving children, single moms, Pope Francis running away from his body guards (again) to go bless some homeless people. All these people and burdens and prayers...and yet He remembers me, a little ol' girl in Missourah, under a tree full of snow. Out of all of the requests and prayers and petitions He gets every single day, He remembered my one, thirty-second thought, "I want to be a kid again" and He made it happen.

Some of you are probably rolling your eyes. It was frickin' snow, get over it you may say. But to me, it was more. It was a reminder that "not now" doesn't mean "not ever." And I needed this reminder, desperately.  I've been stressing over everything--money, job, Missourah. And today, I got my answer. Not now. That doesn't mean He's forgotten me or that my life is over and I just have to deal with where I am. I'll get where I need to be, when I need to be. And along the way, I'll learn some cool things. Like today, I learned the coolest way to enjoy snow as an adult. And hopefully, I saved a branch or two.

Love,
The Tree Fairy

Now that's a rosy-pink shade of exertion that even my Bar Method teacher would approve of. Brought to you for free from the great outdoors.

You're bored? Do something. You want to get off your ass?  Get up.
You want to go outside? Go outside. Is it hard? You bet. Worth it? Absolutely.

I ran from tree to tree like a total moron. Do my neighbors think I'm crazy?
Who cares. I'm fabulous.

The Ultimate Man Cave: Conclave 2013

I. Love. Conclaves. If the conclave had it's own equivalent of CSPAN, I would take off work to watch it. In my pajamas. Probably drinking wine. Which would be slightly sacrilegious. Maybe. Or just...communion? Anyways...here's the deal...I was texting my Dad and this revelation occurred to me...

I was like HEY...why DOESN'T the conclave have CSPAN-ROMA? And then I was like God, I really hope some Cardinal just loses it when he turns 80 and publishes a scandalous memoir about everything that actually gets said during the conclave (at which point my dad stopped texting me back).

And then I was like...

...doesn't the fact that no Cardinal has ever done that yet kind of make you believe in a higher power? Think about it. At each conclave, roughly 120 Cardinals are locked inside one building, top secret. This is the 75th conclave. Let's say even 20 of those (I'm low-balling it, but I have zero desire to look up when the printing press was invented and compare it to Papal history) were during a time when publishing memoirs would have been possible. That means that 2,400 men (approx.) had the chance to gain fortune and fame by publishing the most scandalous, sought-after story of all time and NOT A SINGLE ONE DID. Doesn't that speak to what an immense God they believe they're serving? That they are so dedicated to His service and His will and their belief in His everlasting goodness that not a single one has every strayed from their promise to keep the secrets of the conclave? It just blows my mind.

...plus, isn't it equally mind-blowing/awe-inspiring that 115 men can come to a 75% consensus WITHOUT TALKING? (Because further research revealed that maybe the book wouldn't be that scandalous because rumor has it all they do inside all day is kneel, pray, and vote twice a day. But then again it's secret...so we would never know if they prayed...or spoke...) And within 5 days (on average, most conclaves since the 1800s have been five or less days)?!?! That is a MIRACLE. Is there any other word for it?

These are just my random thoughts on the conclave. Personally, I can't wait. Commence the day of watching twitter for live updates work!

(This fine assortment of randomness and love brought to you by Random Wednesdays with Shanna and What I'm Lovin' Wednesday with Little Miss Daisy)

Overwrite the Lies

Today I'm linking up with the women of the Overwrite the Lies project--a week-long social media campaign to help combat the young lies women listen to in their heads, so they might hear the truth written in their heart.

When I was in high school, girls went through a phase of calling each other a lot of negative words 'playfully' disguised as nicknames. Slut. Whore. Bitch. Anyone who has been a girl knows what I'm talking about. Girls try to say it as a joke or a passive-agressive commentary, but it still stings. It's not true. It's a lie, but it gets in your head. And your heart.

Especially mine. When I was in sixth grade, I learned that I was what I like to affectionately call a doorstep baby. My birthmom had left me on my dad's doorstep without so much as a see you later. I grew up in a loving home with devoted parents and four beautiful sisters. I was never treated any differently than any of them, and the circumstances of my birth were never dwelled on. But in high school, doubt, fear and evil crept into my mind. I started to wonder. What was the role of my birthmom in my life? Did I inherit anything from her? Would parts of my life be out of my control, simply because they were her genes? The names girls threw around carelessly in highschool--slut, whore, bitch, tease--they were all things I had once heard said of my birthmom. Was I destined to turn out like her--a bitch?

Through the grace of God, it was at this time that my junior english class was reading John Steinbeck's East of Eden. The story works its way through two brother's internal struggle after they learn their mother is a prostitute. One fears that much like the Old Testament says in stories of generations of offspring being cursed due to one ancestor's sin against God, he is condemned to be a sinner like his mother. The other finds his answer in the grace of Jesus and one word: timshel. This is the original word in the Bible, located in Genesis, that gives the first sign of the most defining characteristic of our relationship with God in comparison to other deities: free will. I've posted a short clip of the passage below:

Samuel said, “[...]Why is this word so important?”

Lee’s hand shook as he filled the delicate cups. He drank his down in one gulp. “Don’t you see?” he cried. “The American Standard translation orders men to triumph over sin, and you can call sin ignorance. The King James translation makes a promise in ‘Thou shalt,’ meaning that men will surely triumph over sin. But the Hebrew word, the word timshel—‘Thou mayest’— that gives a choice. It might be the most important word in the world. That says the way is open. That throws it right back on a man. For if ‘Thou mayest’—it is also true that ‘Thou mayest not.’ Don’t you see?”

“Yes, I see. I do see. But you do not believe this is divine law. Why do you feel its importance?”

“Ah!” said Lee. “I’ve wanted to tell you this for a long time. I even anticipated your questions and I am well prepared. Any writing which has influenced the thinking and the lives of innumerable people is important. Now, there are many millions in their sects and churches who feel the order, ‘Do thou,’ and throw their weight into obedience. And there are millions more who feel predestination in ‘Thou shalt.’ Nothing they may do can interfere with what will be. But ‘Thou mayest’! Why, that makes a man great, that gives him stature with the gods, for in his weakness and his filth and his murder of his brother he has still the great choice. He can choose his course and fight it through and win.”

(For a longer snippet of the novel, please click here).

And in those paragraphs, in the words of the Lord, I found the truth over the lies. Because our God loves us, trusts us, and wants the best for us: He has given us free will. The choice is ours. Jesus died to break the rules of the Old Testament and continue this free will. We can be great, or we can fall. But we are not predestined to either one.

The beauty of the Lord is this: He doesn't just take your sins away. He takes whatever shame, sin and ugliness you may have in your past and turns it into something beautiful--something for His glory. I never in a million years would have thought I would have once been a camp counselor using the story of my birthmom for His glory, or blogging about it to strangers on the internet. But that's what the love and forgiveness of Christ can do. I no longer feel trapped, scared, hopeless, helpless, abandoned or ashamed. Because I have found the truth.

So, since this week is focusing on overwriting the lies we hear, let me wrap up with this:

I am my mother. 

I am my father.

My path is set. 

Once I've fallen, count me down.

The choice is yours: timshel.