"Like a Waterfall..."

I am absolutely overwhelmed tonight. Our world and our lives may be broken and entropic, but God makes Himself present somehow in every circumstance and situation. And at times, He doesn't just gently intertwine Himself in our lives; sometimes He comes like a raging flood, tearing away our insecurities and inhibitions.

Watching hundreds of people get baptized in one night is one of those times.

How can I begin to describe the awe-filled joy that seeing that inspires in me? I have no idea to respond to the way that God is moving in and through the community of my church. It's like I'm watching Acts unfold in front of my face -- literally hundreds of people coming to Jesus, not for only their own sake, but for their desire to be completely sold out to Him because of who He is. It's the most beautiful, whole-hearted form of dedication that I can imagine, and I feel so privileged to be a witness to this unfolding of events. There's nothing better than watching people jump wholeheartedly into either the beginning or the continuation of their adventure with Jesus.

It forces me to reflect, too, on the journey God's been taking me on over the last few years...

Two years ago around this time, I was a shattered shell of a person. I was absolutely overwhelmed by depression and brokenness; I'm continuing to realize just how broken I was and how much I have healed (and how much I need to continue to heal) from that. In the back of my head, I don't think I ever really thought I would be myself again; I never dared to think that I would be genuinely happy again.

I've said before that happiness isn't everything, and I'll say it again a thousand times. Having deep-seated peace and joy in and with Christ regardless of circumstances outweighs any happiness I could ever have. I'll also say, though, that peace and joy that bubble up and manifest themselves in happiness make life really fun and really enjoyable. I've often overrated and under-appreciated happiness, I think, but it's something that I'll have a hard time taking for granted again.

In any case, I'm left absolutely speechless when I think about how far God has brought me in the last two years. He pursued me. He actually accepted my halfhearted surrender and ran away with it -- ran away with me. He convinced me that I was still worth something, even (and especially) in the moments that I felt worthless and empty and wanted to die. He slammed into me like a brick wall and left me breathless with the impact of His love. He gently made me realize how silly I had been to think that my circumstances had changed Him.

And now... beyond anything I had ever hoped and dreamed, I'm in a place of more joy and true happiness than I knew existed. I'm falling more in love with Jesus every day, and that's the foundation of it all; this happiness, though, also stems from being at the school and the church He's led me to be a part of. I didn't know that these sorts of communities and friendships could actually be a part of my life, especially in the remainder of my college experience. I had entirely given up on that hope, honestly. Knowing that God took my messy, even somewhat defiant surrender (seriously-- I think my exact words were, "FINE! But only because I don't really have another option..."), lovingly wooed me back to Himself, pulled me in the direction He wanted me to go, and eventually led me exactly to the point and place where I am now is beyond my comprehension. I'm not who I was six months ago, never mind two or three years ago (thank GOD!).

I guess I've made the decisions that have gotten me here, but I can't even take credit for those. He's the one who's told me what to do every step of the way; all I've done was follow. And honestly, I wouldn't trade a step of the journey for anything, even the messiest, ugliest, most difficult parts. I wouldn't appreciate the light so much if I weren't so intimately acquainted with darkness; and God has redeemed even the darkest of moments: I wouldn't be at CCU now if I hadn't first been at CU and then FRCC.

This is perhaps a long post to make a simple single point, but we all know that simplicity isn't nearly as simple as it might first appear to be. When I say then, that I am absolutely overwhelmed by God's goodness, you might understand a little better not only why I'm left with tears streaming down my face. And, I must say, these tears of joy are wonderfully sweet compared to those of hopelessness and despair...

 Like a waterfall of honey
Let Your love be poured out on me
Overcome me
Overcome me
 ~United Pursuit Band~

This waterfall of love is inundating me, and it's more wonderful than I can say. I know this feeling won't last forever, but I'm definitely relishing this happiness and contentment while I have it.

God is so good.

"I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us. The creation waits in eager expectation for the sons of God to be revealed. For the creation was subjected to frustration, not by its own choice, but by the will of the one who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be liberated from its bondage to decay and brought into the glorious freedom of the children of God. We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time. Not only so, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for our adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies. For in this hope we were saved. But hope that is seen is no hope at all. Who hopes for what he already has? But if we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for it patiently. In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groans that words cannot express. And he who searches our hearts knows the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints in accordance with God’s will. And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose. For those God foreknew he also predestined to be conformed to the likeness of his Son, that he might be the firstborn among many brothers. And those he predestined, he also called; those he called, he also justified; those he justified, he also glorified. What, then, shall we say in response to this? If God is for us, who can be against us? He who did not spare his own Son, but gave him up for us all—how will he not also, along with him, graciously give us all things? Who will bring any charge against those whom God has chosen? It is God who justifies. Who is he that condemns? Christ Jesus, who died—more than that, who was raised to life—is at the right hand of God and is also interceding for us. Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall trouble or hardship or persecution or famine or nakedness or danger or sword? As it is written:

“For your sake we face death all day long;

we are considered as sheep to be slaughtered.”

No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord."

~Romans 8:18-39~

...I have a blog?

Er... Let's try that again, shall we?

Yes, I do indeed have a blog.
Sort of.

Thanks to the limited (AKA virtually nonexistent) time I've spent with it lately, my little bloglet has been left unkempt as a hippie rocker's hairdo. These things don't write themselves, apparently, which makes sense considering the fact that they're inanimate pixelated objects. In any case, I haven't sat down with Mr. Bloglet for almost two months now, and I've missed it.

The last couple of months have been decidedly, wonderfully busy. I moved in with my brother and sister-in-law halfway through August and started school at Colorado Christian University a few days later. Between being a full time music student, a worship team member, a college ministry team leader, and a part-time babysitter and self-employee, I haven't exactly had a lot of time for extra projects and activities! I wouldn't trade it for the world, though: this is the happiest I've been day-to-day in a long time. I'll be the first to say that happiness isn't everything -- peace is worlds better -- but happiness in conjunction with peace is absolutely priceless.

In many ways, it's utterly overwhelming for me to be at a school like CCU. If I'm being honest, I had completely given up the dream, even the idea, of having a truly enjoyable college experience. After the last two years, I just assumed that any college I attended would be nothing but a means to an end: I'd stay in only as long as necessary to get my degree, than get out. The thing that amazes me, then, is this: from the first week that I set foot on CCU campus, I felt like I was a part of something there -- a community, a body of believers, a network of friendships and relationships. I'm still a new face, and I'm still getting to know people and be known by them; but I'm still a part of it all, and that floors me. Finishing college is still a means to an end in some respects, but for once I don't dread and/or regret that means. I'm actually in a place where I am learning rather than being forced to memorize and regurgitate political agendas; I'm surrounded by a community of people who want to run after Jesus with me and build me up rather than try to reshape and redefine the core of my identity.

It's funny... In many ways, being here is forcing me to realize how deeply affected I was by the semester I spent at CU in Boulder. I don't say that to bash the school in any way; my experience there really had little to do with the school. I do know, though, that I was in a terribly broken, dark place emotionally, mentally, and spiritually when I was there (although I was, strangely, at peace). Back then my saving grace was God's making me realize that denying my brokenness, my fear, and my utmost dependence on Him was killing me (and I don't say that lightly); I'm realizing more and more that it doesn't do me any good to deny that the memories and the residue of that experience are still with me and still affect the way I think and live. I don't think it's possible to be in a place of total fear and depression and not be radically changed by it, even if the ultimate change was and is for the better.

I know I'm rambling. All I mean to say through all of that is that I am inexpressibly grateful to be where I am physically, mentally, and emotionally right now. I wouldn't have appreciated the environments I'm in (especially CCU) right after high school nearly as much as I do now. The presence of God in these places is indescribable...

Life is wonderful. Life in the truest sense of the word is utterly joyous.
Regardless of that, though, and regardless of how I'm feeling or not feeling in any given moment,
God is in control. And He hasn't let me go.
He is good.

I think I'm in love...  

Unedited: Truly Alive

Some things are best written unedited.

I know: writers aren't supposed to write without revising. Editing provides the coherence and fluidity that a first draft simply does not contain. First drafts are too choppy, too raw.

Sometimes, though, that rawness is exactly what a writer needs to communicate.

I've been living a lot lately. Not simply "living" in the ordinary workaday sort of way; living in the "I'm climbing 14,000-foot mountains and traipsing all over this beautiful state and its great outdoors" sort of way. It's a sort of living that only summer can provide, and it's the sort of living for which Colorado provides an unsurpassed environment. Breathtaking mountainscapes, rolling valleys, the neverending panoramic views of wild flowers and sedges and pines... I don't think you've really lived until you've looked into this sort of infinity and been brought to your knees. It's been my privilege to do so continuously for the past two weeks.

Venturing home from these adventures was bittersweet at first: sweet because home is, after two weeks of being away, more welcoming than any other destination could be. It was bitter, not because I had to leave behind a baseball tournament in Steamboat, along with the neighboring mountain towns and views; but because we were forced to creep towards home in what we considered an ungodly standstill of a traffic jam.

Amazing how quickly perspectives can change, isn't it? One moment I'm humbled and awed by the blade of a leaf, almost brought to tears by the intricate network of life in the forest; the next moment, I forget to notice the obvious beauty all around me because of a line of cars. In fact, my family decided to pull over for dinner in Georgetown, typically a 1 1/2 to 2 hour drive from home, to avoid becoming a permanent part of the parking lot on the road. (This decision was probably best for everyone's sanity and stress levels, in all honesty!)

About an hour later, we left the European restaurant we discovered to face the roads once more. The traffic, though lesser, was still present. Needless to say, we were still a little impatient. Getting home at a decent hour is of utmost importance, after all.

We drove for about an hour before reaching Golden at dusk. Yet again, the line of traffic started to slow. This time, though, our countenances shifted quickly from annoyance to concern. On the left shoulder of the road, a dented car faced the wrong direction, its bumper torn away and left to embellish the pavement. My dad slowed our truck to talk to the seemingly uninjured passengers standing next to the vehicle, urgency and immediacy in his voice.

"I used to be an EMT. Does anyone need any medical help?"

The man's face twitched in a moment of realization before he responded,
"...Uh...check the car up ahead."

A few yards ahead on the right side of the road, a mass of twisted steel and glass balanced on what I suppose you could call tires. Nothing about the object seemed like a car, not when the front of the once-vehicle was only a tangle of wires and metal shards. The screaming woman trapped in the driver's seat was engulfed in the wreckage, surrounded by strangers whose greatest desire was to see her stay safe and alive.

My dad whipped his truck into park behind the accident, then jumped to the scene. My mom and I could only stay in the car, praying for his and the other aids' wisdom and the injured woman's safety.

Time dragged by as we all waited for emergency personnel to arrive. After an eon of seconds, the lights appeared on the horizon, soon followed by the sound of wailing sirens. As soon as they had moved into position, taking over where the good Samaritans had left off, my dad came back to the car and once again pulled onto the winding highway.

The rest of our journey was broken between conversation about the occurrence and a heavy silence. Our sentiments, though, united our thoughts for the duration of the ride. The things we spoke and thought revolved around a central question, though:

Were we stuck in traffic just long enough to be at the scene of the accident at exactly that time?

None of us knows what is happening in that situation right now, nor what the woman's life will look like tomorrow or a year from now. What we do know is that we were in exactly the right place at the right time. My dad was the only one at that place for a while who knew anything about medicine, who knew that he needed to get her head immobilized to prevent any further injury to her possibly broken neck. He'd be the first to say that the situation was and is not about him; he'd also be the first to say, though, that such a use of his EMT experience and training is not accidental, and that it still affects him (in more ways than one) to be a part of it.

Amazing how quickly perspectives can change, isn't it? One moment we were growing weary of a traffic-packed highway, counting down the minutes until we pulled into our own driveway; the next, we were begging the seconds to slow, praying that the woman's moans and blood-stained face signified her life more than her pain.

My family and I finally arrived home, and we are more than grateful to be here safely. Tonight was (and still is, really) one of those slap-in-the-face realizations: I take so much for granted. Tonight was a reminder that I am alive, and that I have much to live for. It was a reminder that I don't have a clue about how big God is, and that I'll never really comprehend it. It was a reminder that I wasn't meant to "live" my life by wishing that I were in a different moment than I'm currently in. It was a reminder that every moment is sacred, that every second is to be LIVED and cherished.

I'm humbled tonight. More than anything, though, I'm grateful. My heart is raw, but it's raw once again with the realization that I'm alive. (And oh, how I wish that I didn't forget that so easily...) Whether I'm writing or reading or eating or drinking or sleeping or changing the world in one of a million ways... I'm alive, and I intend to LIVE my life in that realization.

I know I can't do it by myself. I also know that I'll forget that. I know that I'll slip and fall and make horrendous mistakes because I'm human... but that's all the more reason for me to try. It's not my strength that allows me to live, after all. The Spirit of God is ALIVE and well, and He's living in me.

And that is the most humbling thing of all...

A Few Thoughts...

"So, what do you want to be when you grow up?"

Sound familiar?

To high school and college students, of course, the question has metamorphosed into "What are you going to major in?" or "What are you going to do with your degree?" but the sentiment remains the same: we should all know exactly what our lives are going to look like by the time we turn eighteen. If you don't, you're certainly not on top of the ball, and the horrendous, unforgiving  job market will swallow you whole.

Aforementioned high school and college students, please feel free to scream in frustration.

I would never argue that we shouldn't have aspirations. Having high hopes is a good thing, a necessary thing. I would even argue that running into life with no dreams, expectations, or goals is wrong. I think the problem, though, is that we allow our goals to become our dictators. We weren't created to live under dictatorships, even (and especially) if we are the sole rulers and recipients of our individualized, totalitarian ten-year plans.

The truth is that not many (if any) of us really know who we are or what we're going to do for the rest of our lives. And why should we? I'm becoming more and more convinced that the plans I make for myself are considerably less than the plans that God has for me. I still have to play an active role in following him and listening to him, yes, but that certainly does not mean that I should dictate every element of my own future. 

My mind was traipsing through these thoughts as I was walking the other day, and I suddenly felt like a control freak caught in the headlights of reality. I've learned an incredible amount about surrender and trust over the past few years and months, but I still try to grasp at the straws of my own back-up plans. In other words, I try to settle for infinitely less than what God can and will do with me if I allow him to.

Ironic, then, that this weekend of all weekends, the pastor at my church spoke about the Israelites' childish lack of trust after God led them out of Egypt. ("You rained down bread from heaven for us when we complained about being hungry? Awesome! We'll just hoard as much as we can in case you don't do it again like you promised you would...")

And it truly is childish, isn't it? I stare at the God of the universe and dare to tell him that I can see into the future better than he can, then attempt to pull myself up by my own bootstraps when I trip over my ideas and ideals shortly thereafter. ("You did what you promised like you said you would? Awesome! I can do the rest of my life on my terms, though, because still I don't trust your competency and ability more than my own...") How long will it take me to really realize that I'm incapable of doing any of this on my own? How long will I doubt that what He says -- all of it -- is true and good? Above all, why on earth do I second-guess his love for me and his motives for doing so? I suppose it all shows how fickle and broken my own heart and soul are...

But I digress.

I was out walking the other day, thinking through all of these things and more when it hit me: I am created in God's image. It's a simple truth that I've known for as long as I can remember, but it's a truth that carries such astounding weight...

Above all things that he does, God simply is. He is love, he is the Creator, he is just, and he is so many other things... but he is. He exists, and he takes such joy and carries incomprehensible value and glory for nothing other than being. It is out of that being that he loves, creates, gives, and acts. It was out of that being that we were created, and we were created in the image of the God who is. I think, then, that before we become anything in particular, we have to learn how to simply be. God takes joy in us for who we are and how we glorify him, and I don't think that we necessarily have to do anything to glorify him. Taking joy in existing, realizing his majesty in the simplicity of merely living: I'm starting to see how much joy and value these things bring to life, and how much joy and value they bring to him.

When I do become something or do something, then, I want it to be a reflection and extension of my joy of merely living. I unashamedly admit that I want to live an incredibly full, world-changing life; I also admit that I have no idea what that means or how it will come to fruition. I have no doubt, though, that it will come to fruition, even though my life will almost certainly unfold much differently from how I imagine that it might. In any case, though, I think that what I ultimately do will be much more impacting and God-glorifying if I am aware of how glorious it is to just be alive.

I do not know much, but I know these things to be true:

1. God is nowhere near finished with me. He's already done incredible things with me, but I know that He's not done yet. I'm hanging on to him as tightly as I can, but trying to remember that I can't even do that on my own...
2. I was created first to be, then to become a creator and artist. (After all, every aspect of life requires artistry and creativity of some sort, doesn't it?) I don't know exactly what that looks like yet, but I am being stretched (unwillingly, at times) to continue writing and to pursue music...
3. I'll have to continue my thoughts on the last sentence in my next post, because this one is already fairly lengthy! 

Thanks for stumbling through my random musings with me, prestigious readers! I don't know who all of you are, but I truly do thank you for reading my less-than-consistent posts and giving greater purpose to my writing. It's encouraging to think that my thoughts are considered worth reading by anyone other than myself... =)

Snapshots

Yet again, it's been too long since I've spent some quality time with Mr. Bloglet. So sorry to inconvenience you, esteemed readers. After all, upon reading my whopping half-dozen posts or so, you must be absolutely in love with my writing, captivated by my rambling thoughts, and gripping the edges of your ergonomic office chair seats in anticipation of my next post, right?

*crickets*

...Or maybe not... Moving on!

I've actually attempted to blog a handful of times during the last couple of weeks, but the ability to decide on a particular subject has evaded me. Thoughts end up bouncing around in my brain like a few dozen rogue pinballs, ricocheting off of each other (and, I'm convinced, making small dents in my frontal lobes) until my mentation has successfully woven itself into a grade-A Celtic knot.

Houston, we've lost the ability to type coherent sentences. 


In order to preserve my sanity (and yours, too), I've decided that limiting myself to one subject simply won't do for this blog post. Instead, I introduce to you the mini-blog: a blog within a blog, if you will!


Introduction: In Which We Discover that Lizzie May Still Have Sanity to Preserve (or, "I Get to Tell You What I'm Actually Going to Write About.")


Indeed. As I've suggested, I haven't had a hard time writing over the past two and a half weeks due to lack of writing material; on the contrary, there's a lot that's been going through this little brain of mine. I simply don't always know how to put it into words...

The things I've wanted to (and am going to) write about, however briefly:

• Africa
• ESL
• A lot of other stuff

There's always "a lot of other stuff," of course, so the first two subjects will suffice for the moment.


Mini-Blog #1: In Which I Quote Myself


I can't tell you how strange it is to know that I left Cameroon almost a year ago. I also can't describe how much I miss it, "it" being not just the country, but the simplicity of living, the people (both the natives and my team members), and the joy of just existing in such a beautiful place. And the stars...

Imagine stepping off of a grey concrete ledge onto packed red dirt, the colors hiding behind the night's warm, velvety robe of darkness. The sounds of footsteps on the road and children laughing waft through the stillness which no electric illumination can pierce. And then, as your gaze moves up beyond the impenetrable darkness, past the shadows of faintly illumined jungle, the beams of light begin to reflect off of your wide, smiling eyes. The universe expands as you stare, captivated by infinity, until you're too dizzy with wonder and light and beauty to look at the heavens any longer. It's indescribable, really.

The stars: definitely one of my favorite, most treasured memories from the trip. Another excellent memory (and a more humorous one, at that) I will borrow in part from my journal.

This day last year, my team arrived back in Yaounde, the capital of Cameroon, where we stayed in a hotel to debrief for a few days. We got to the hotel in the early afternoon, which left us some time to explore before dinner. Thus, the following adventure ensued:

"Cathy and I decided to wander around the hotel for a while to pass the time, so we walked to the end of our hallway in search of something interesting. We were in luck, too. Through a clear glass door, we saw an old, slightly rusty spiral staircase snaking its way from our floor to the ground and to the highest floor level.

Now, I ask you, have you ever seen a spiral staircase leading to who knows where and NOT wanted to investigate? I think not. The only thing that we did, naturally, was open the door and climb the staircase to its peak. There were doors that led into every floor of the building, but we weren't interested in any door but the one at the top of the stairs. (After all, you don't just climb a spiral staircase PARTIALLY and then abandon the thing. You have to keep following it until it reaches its final destination. Anyone who has ever climbed a spiral staircase knows these things.)

Only when we reached the top level did we realize that the doors at every floor could be opened only from the INSIDE, not from the spiral stairs. That wasn't much of an issue, though, since stairs DO go both upward AND downward. We went all the way back down to the ground floor, opened the one-way-openable door at the bottom, and circled back to the hotel entrance."

Little did we realize (until we'd taken our classic tourist photos in front of the hotel) that our going out that door had set off the hotel's obnoxiously obvious, flashing alarm system (sirens included).

Whoops. 

But hey, have you ever set off a security alarm in 4-star African hotel?

Mini-Blog #2: In Which I Don't Have an Appropriate Picture Yet

TESL.
Extended: Teaching English as a Second Language.
AKA: My life for the past six months.

I finished the TESL certification programs through FRCC this past semester, and I am now officially certified in ESL for both K-12 and Adult/Abroad environments. That doesn't mean much yet as far as finding a job goes, but my certificates will help to open up a lot of doors once I have my bachelor's!

As part of my practicum, I volunteered to teach a High Beginning/Low Intermediate English class through Intercambio, a local non-profit organization, from mid-April to June 15th. I started teaching to get my certificates; I finished teaching because I had a commitment to fulfill, yes, but more importantly: I fell in love with it. I've had six students: Juana, Patricia, Judith, and Susana (the women in the class) are all from different parts of Mexico; Rufino is from Guatemala, and Htun is a refugee from Burma.

I'm astounded that time flies so quickly. I'm also a bit taken aback by how much I miss teaching already... In some ways, I'm glad that the semester is over: I need to give myself a break from doing too much. At the same time, though, I'll miss seeing, teaching, and laughing with my students every Monday and Wednesday night. I have so much respect for them, especially for the two men, who showed up without fail. Would you be willing to come to a 90 minute language class twice a week after working a full-time, labor intensive job all day, sacrificing time with your family to do so? I don't know if I would, honestly. They're committed, though, and they're actually forming an awesome friendship along the way. It sounds like the beginning of a joke, honestly: "So, there's this guy from Guatemala and this guy from Burma..."   But it's not a joke. They're two of the best friends I've ever seen, and I've gotten to be a part of helping them communicate with each other and the rest of the world.

And I'm only 19. How does this happen? How am I so privileged?

Thank you, Jesus...


Mini-Blog #3: In Which I Finally Wrap Up This Eternally Long Blog Post

Well... I guess that's about it for today. I could keep writing for hours about other various topics, but that would be pointless for two reasons:

1. I'd end up with carpal tunnel.
2. You would simply stop reading, bored with the deluge of my never-ending blah-blah-blah.

Mini-Blog #4: In Which You Get Annoyed That I'm Still Typing

I lied. Sort of.

My only excuse for writing this fourth and final mini-blog is to ask for suggestions. I can write about anything and/or everything that pops into the labyrinth of my mental regions, but I'd like it to be enjoyable for people other than yours truly.

So... what would you like to read about? Simply post a little comment below with a few ideas!Type out random words for me to ponder and expound upon! Start a lively discussion about penguins on my facebook wall! Really... anything will do. Nothing's off-limits: spiritual, humorous, wacky, thought-provoking, or entirely random... I'm just in the mood to be spontaneous and creative and hone my writing skills in the process!


Thanks for sticking with me through this novel of a post! Hopefully it was interesting enough to keep you from chewing on your socks out of boredom... =)

 

It's all about the context...

Laughter is such a beautiful, quirky thing.

It's strange, really, the way we react to humorous situations. Think about it: something funny, odd, or unexpected happens, and all we can do is emit a series of body-shaking grunts, snorts, and other (shall we say "unique"?) sounds.  It doesn't help matters any that we don't even have to know what we're laughing about to join in. One person's laughter is typically enough to get me started - or to at least bring a huge smile to my face!

The times that we do understand what we're laughing about, though, are absolutely priceless. Inside jokes, misspoken (or misheard) statements, strange (and often somewhat unfortunate) events: they help make up the hilarity of this life. Trying to convey that hilarity to someone who wasn't present for the perfect moment, though... well, let's just say that it's often somewhat less than successful. How many times have you tried to relay a day's laughter-inducing events to somebody, expecting to coax a few giggles out of them, only to be returned with a blank, glassy-eyed stare?


Awkward...


"You just had to be there," right?
It's all about the context.

Today happens to be the one-year anniversary of the day that I boarded a plane in Dallas with my GET Global Cameroon team. A little over 24 hours later, we'd arrive in Yaounde, our (first) destination. So many excellent memories...

As we know, though, memories fade. It was for this reason, among others, that I dutifully kept a journal for the duration of my trip. Almost every day, I'd write down the day's events, my thoughts about what I was seeing and feeling, and any other random bits of information I found journal-worthy.

Including trip quotes.
(Oh, you know this is going to be good!)

One of my favorites happens to be the first one I recorded:

 "Just put your face in the scanner!"

I know, it seems like a letdown at first, so let me explain a bit:

My team had congregated at the DFW airport to check in our luggage before boarding our first Africa-bound flight. (Well, technically it was Chicago-bound, but we were still headed in the general direction...) Part of check-in was scanning our passports, per usual. Justin, one of our team leaders, was the first of us to go through the process, and he couldn't quite figure out how the scanner worked.

The airline lady was trying to be very helpful, I'm sure. I'm also sure that most people would interpret her saying, "Just put your face in the scanner!" to mean, "Put the picture of your face that's in your passport over the scanner." Justin, however... well, he thought she meant to literally put his face in the scanner.

So he did.

That moment was utterly priceless. The other eight of us were standing to the side, laughing as hard as we ever had. And as much as Justin will probably kill me for writing this out... I honestly think that that moment helped bring our entire team together in a way that nothing else could have. I doubt that I could have kept track of the number of times we quoted that phrase to each other during the trip! Laughter is not only the best medicine, it's also one of the best ways to create - and maintain - friendships.


A few other quotes from the trip that should be a bit more self-explanatory, even if it is all about the context:

Justin: "I had a hat. Has anyone seen my hat?"
Katie: "...I think it's on your neck..."

Silas (our local guide) turning on his headlights at night: "Look! Black people in da dark!"

Me: "I don't know if anyone expects anything here."

Wimbum man, greeting Cathy:  "When I first saw you, I saw the face of China!"
Cathy: "...I'm Korean..."

Nikki, referring to Val's dislike of dairy products: "There's udder juice in your bread."


I hope you can enjoy these even a fraction as much as I do. And if you don't, and you're simply staring at the computer screen with glazed-over eyes and a bored, dull expression on your face...

You just had to be there.

"Memories are wonderful, but do you live differently because of them?"

Oh, memories...

They walk hand-in-hand with emotions, don't they? Without emotions, memories are simply empty words, lifeless pictures. And memories certainly aren't empty or monochromatic.

If they are, they cease to exist outside the cold mental storehouses of forgotten thoughts.

Some memories are best forgotten, people say. I don't know if I agree with that entirely; I find that my memories, even my most painful ones, are the things that help drive me, change me, and form me into a stronger, more beautiful creature. I do know, though, that memories can (and often do) trap me.

The emotions that memories carry have tendril-like fingers. They so easily wrap around your mind, your heart, your senses, lulling (or pulling) you into the belief that the emotion that was has become the emotion that is, which defines you. Memories can thus be seductresses, luring you into a false world, whispering into your ear that
 

The present is unimportant compared with the joys, the pain, and the perils of your past. The cards you've been dealt, the sorrow you remember and still feel, the happiness that you have or once had are vital to your well-being. This world is all sorrow, but glimpses of happiness await you if you remember, always remember, and never allow the present world to penetrate your stoicism. You are safe if you settle for what you've already been guaranteed -- safe if you never venture into vulnerability. Some of your memories may be painful, but that pain is familiar; the possibility -- no, the probability of new pain isn't worth the risk of wandering into unfamiliar territory...

And so we rely on remembrances to carry us through the days, stumbling about in the dark of the past as we stubbornly refuse to open our eyes and acknowledge the present light that's surrounding us. It's childish, really:


"If I can't see it, it can't see me..."

In other words, it's a lie. And yet I fall for it all the time. Vulnerability is hard to make friends with, and yet it is such a good friend. Wisdom, of course, is necessary where vulnerability with other people is concerned, but let's face it: vulnerability with oneself is rarely, if ever, a negative thing.

I don't know if I'm going in any particular direction with this post... All I know is that I have a lot to remember at this time of year. I suppose I've never stopped remembering, but milestones and anniversaries are especially meaningful to me. See, last year at this time, I was scrambling to prepare for one of the greatest adventures of my life.

A year ago, I didn't have the memories of a beautiful country called Cameroon that I do now, but I did know that I was embarking on a journey that would be unlike anything I could envision. The events leading up to that trip were a collage of memories all their own... and yet they all intertwine beautifully to tell the story of that bit of my life. Those events clicked into sequence like a chain of falling dominoes, but I was left standing at the end -- and not just standing, but boarding a plane to Africa.

I'll be writing more about those memories in the upcoming weeks, you can be certain. My hope, though, is this:

As much as I miss those beautiful people, the red earth of that country, the brilliantly indescribable stars... oh, those stars...   I don't want to simply wander in a vacuum of reminiscence. Going to Africa changed me, and the memories that I have from that experience and the past few years continue to do so. (And that's all God, by the way.) I cannot afford, though, to lose myself in the emotions and wishfulness of those memories. Remembering to learn is one thing; remembering to forget the present is another.

"Memories are wonderful, but do you live differently because of them?"

It's impossible to live differently when you trap yourself in a world of what was. God hasn't given me these memories and these emotions to simply shut myself away in a dark, nostalgic world; that would be a waste. My trip to Africa has already brought God glory, but the way that the trip has changed and is changing me is still being brought to fruition.

Yes, I miss it. Yes, I want to go back. I don't know if I will, or even what this all means, but I don't need to yet (even if I do want to know). For now, I'm where God wants me to be -- Colorado -- and I do love it here. And as excited as I am for the new things coming up for me this fall, it's still easy to get distracted by what has been...

I'm exactly where I am right now for a reason, even though I don't know exactly what that reason is. God knows what He's doing, though, and that's more than reason enough to really LIVE.

Eyes open...

"There are times when silence has the loudest voice..."

Indeed it does, Leroy Brownlow. Indeed it does. My blog remaining silent for inane amounts of time, however, is not one of those times. Then internet silence just screams, "This thing ain't goin' NOWHERE!" What I'm really trying to say here:

I'm baaa-aaaack!!!

...and I couldn't be happier about that! As stated in my previous, almost-a-month-ago post, the end of this semester was just a little crazy. Fitting 40+ hours of my 100 observation hours into the last three weeks of school, working, and attempting to keep up with my life left me little to no time (more like "no to negative time") to do anything else. Even things like spending time with you, few but faithful readers, and having the occasional date night with Bloglet have been at the bottom of my priority list.

Oh, little Bloglet, I am so sorry to shun you in your infant stages. Instead of nurturing you tenderly, I've tried, too soon, to shove you out of the nest. Unlike an eaglet who (oh-so-inspirationally) learns to soar when he falls, though, you have absent-wingedly plummeted gracelessly into the bottomless pit of the blogosphere's forgotten realms. I should have known better than to think that you'd write yourself. My sincerest apologies.

Enough of my writing to an inanimate inter-webbish entity, though. It just takes up space... and it's probably a sign of mental instability. (Comment if you must... I already know what you're thinking!)

In any case, I've dearly missed having time to relax, play, or be myself. As the old adage says, "All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy." I think there's a reason they didn't make that phrase about women... The terminology involved may not have been as socially appropriate, if you catch my drift!

Seriously, though, I don't relate to God, the world, or myself as well as I should when I don't give myself time to think, to dream, or to simply be still. Silence is truly golden.

For me, silence isn't simply the absence of noise. Silence is being able to think deeply and clear my mind. Silence demands introspection and forces me to admit ways in which I'm both broken and joyful. Silence is vulnerability.

And for that reason, silence is something that I try to avoid at times, even (and especially) when I know that I need it most.

~~~Silence is sitting at my piano until midnight, either following the music or, more often at that hour, allowing my fingers and my voice to express thoughts and emotions that I can't put into words. Per Marcel Marceau, "Music and silence combine strongly because music is done with silence, and silence is full of music."

~~~Silence is taking the time to write, spilling myself into the ink on a page.

~~~Silence is forcing myself to simply breathe for a while, cutting the noise, worry, and stress out of my mind for a moment so that I can actually hear what God is whispering to me.

~~~Silence is running, pounding my feet against the pavement in rhythm to my heartbeat and breathing.

~~~Silence is lingering over a cup of coffee with an old friend, laughing about old memories and delving into deep conversations.

I still don't understand why I avoid the very things that bring me so much joy and peace. I would be lying if I said I didn't know why -- like I said before, silence demands vulnerability. I am not vulnerable by nature, even with myself. In short, I'm a control freak, and I don't like exposing myself to situations in which I don't have the last say about how I feel or act. Still, though, I know how much better life is when I am vulnerable and powerless, and I know that I begin to build a barrier between myself and Jesus when I am not. Oh, my addiction to my broken human nature... I'm not a huge fan. I'm working on all of that, though... and this beautiful Spirit in me has already changed me more than I know.

I can't even tell you how excited I am for this summer! I'm still going to be plenty busy, but I have no intentions whatsoever of running myself into the ground. I don't really want to do that again, actually... I know that I probably will at some point, but self-promises aren't always futile, are they? =)

In any case, I'll be back soon. And by soon, I mean significantly sooner than the middle of next month. This whole blogging thing is fun! It has a sort of silence all its own... 

Spring!

My poor little bloglet.

I've just brought it to life, and already I've had to neglect it! Not by choice, mind you. The end of this semester is approaching a little too quickly, and I'm starting to feel the heat. My teachers are holding a magnifying glass up to the sun, if you will, and I'm just a pitiful ant at the mercy of their good will and fast-approaching deadlines.

Perhaps I'm over-exaggerating, you say. Perhaps (and only perhaps) you're right. Still, though, it's been a crazy couple of weeks.

I'm part of an absolutely awesome church here in Colorado called Flatirons. We used to meet in an old feed store, but we got just a little too big for it. And by that, I mean that we were holding six services on a weekend (2 Saturday, 4 Sunday) with a total of between 12,000 and 14,000 attendees showing up during those services. Several months ago, then, our church bought an old Albertson's and WalMart and started to remodel. Thus our new building, fondly dubbed "Walbertson's" by the masses, was born. This weekend was the first one in this new place, and it was phenomenal. A little chaotic, a little stressful... but simply phenomenal.

Flatirons isn't your typical church.

•  Example #1: We have a tattoo wall prominently displayed in our lobby. 

• Example #2: You can hear (and feel) the woofers in our new sound system when you're three blocks away. 
• (My thought process the first time I heard it: "Who's stupid enough to have the bass in their car turned up that loud?" ...five minutes later... "Oh. That's my church.")

The thing that I love most about it, though, is that the new building really isn't about just having a cool new building. It's about providing a place for people to come and see what God is doing in this place, a place to bump into Jesus. It's a place that people who are following Jesus can OUT from and build community within. It's not about us. It's not about the awesome sound system. It's about making Jesus famous and carrying His name, which is precisely what the church (not just Flatirons, but the church as a whole) is supposed to be about. LOVE IT.

Everything with Flatirons, then, has definitely been a huge thing in my life over the last few weeks! I love that that is all happening at the same time that spring is really beginning to show itself: out with the old, in with the new! I know that it's "technically" been spring for a while now, but spring never seems to really be here until trees are budding, flowers are peeking their faces shyly into the dewy air, and the infinite blades of grass begin to blush their jewel-toned color once again.

Spring sneaked up on me this year. Some years, it seems to unfold itself slowly, like a slumbering giant reawakening, gently stretching itself out against the pale pastel world. This year, though, the weather was, in Colorado fashion, entirely bipolar. Who knew whether any given day would be 80 degrees or 20? A few days ago, though, we had a little day-long snowstorm... and that set everything into motion. As soon as the white vanished from the ground, everything began easing into its chlorophyllic complexion.

As beautiful and fresh as the new growth is, though, I can't help but see (and feel, to some extent) the melancholy of the situation. On a day like today, the sky is gray and overcast, and the atmosphere feels almost heavy. Still, though, the new buds and blooms are gorgeous -- almost more so than they would be if the surrounding world were bright and cheery. They're still in transition, and so is this Colorado springtime, but that transition is the very thing that makes today simply stunning.

Perhaps I'm overly metaphorical, but I can't help but look at nature and at the beautiful community I'm part of and think, "That's me." There are times -- sometimes hours, sometimes days, sometimes weeks -- that I feel heavy, oppressed, stressed, and of little consequence... but as long as I'm running after Jesus, I am radiating his glory, often when I least feel like it or expect it. I don't understand any part of that, but I know that it's true, and I know that I feel so incredibly, indescribably loved when I get a glimpse of that.

I keep learning is that change is beautiful, even if it's painful or heavy at times. Change is essential to becoming the person I want to be -- the person that Jesus created me to be.

That doesn't mean that I don't appreciate the moment. On the contrary: I'm in transition, and the transition is exactly what is so stunning. I can't always see that from my perspective, but why do I need to when I can stare at the Creator of beauty, and the one who's making me bloom?

Musings

It's funny how the weather can become an embodiment of your mood. Or perhaps it's the other way around...

Today is what I think of as a London day: grey, overcast, and misty, but not in a depressing sort of way. Today is the sort of day that demands strong, hot Earl Grey Tea and woodsmoke-scented air. I myself have neither of these warming comforts at the moment, but the day itself seems to be shrouded in them. Today just feels foggy, and this invisible fog has pressed me into the realm of rainy-day daydreams and musings...

My imagination's current residence:

A weathered cast-iron spiral staircase winds its way up to a warm, simple but plush room. Beautifully inset skylights allow the sun's muted rays to enter the quarters. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, each filled with myriad novellas, dictionaries, and ledgers occupy three of the room's four walls. A blazing fireplace and carved white mantelpiece claim the fourth wall. These simply must revolve to reveal a second "hidden" room.

This second room holds another great wonder: a glossy black baby grand piano. An open sonata graces the piano bench, and pieces of sheet music, though scattered, seem to be arranged in orderly fashion. The wall opposite the fireplace houses two impressive picture windows, allowing a view of untouched fields and stunning, cloud-encapsulated mountain peaks. More bookshelves both behind and across the ebony and ivory holds a treasure trove of music: Hanon, Bach, and Haydn; Tchaikovsky, Vivaldi, and Mozart; and oh, on a day like today, what else but the meandering, other-worldly themes of Debussy, Chopin, and Ives?

My present reality:

I would love to spend my afternoon sorting weathered books, deeply inhaling their musty, wonderful scent; I would love to scratch newly-thought words and music onto yellowing parchment; I would love to tuck myself away in a room of music and literature and worship and warmth -- not just physically, but mentally.

Unfortunately, I have neither the time nor this imagined space to do so today. Perhaps this isn't so very unfortunate, though...

How else would I admire the azure lupine and ruby tulips which so adamantly flaunt their brilliant colors against the haze in the outdoor gardens? How else could I see the beauty of gray tree branches interweaving themselves with the sky? How else could I revel in the beauty that such an unassuming day provides?

I suppose that there are multiple ways to appreciate a rainy day. All I know is that at the moment, I am more than content to sip my freshly brewed cup of Earl Grey and watch the ashy, rose-colored twilight melt away into another evening...

And so it begins...

Yes, folks. I have finally entered the blogging world.

This has actually been a while coming, but it takes some time to ease into actually writing a blog. First comes the process of creating the account, choosing a title that I'll probably want to change in a week, looking through the myriad pictures and backgrounds and fonts and layouts, and.... what's missing?

Oh, yes. The verbiage.

So with this post (drum roll, please!), I actually begin my blogging journey. I make no promises as to the frequency of my posts, nor do I guarantee that every post will contain nuggets of brilliance -- or sanity, for that matter. Heck, most of what I write might just bore you to death. Then again, some of it -- hopefully more than some! -- might not. I'm simply starting this little online journal of sorts to put my thoughts onto paper (er... into pixels?) and share them with the world, or at least a microcosm of it. I doubt that my blog will be even remotely coherent from post to post, but that's not really my intent. I simply want to create art out of words, turning the mundane into something beautiful. 

See, I'm a writer. At least, I'd like to be a writer. As one of my friends so poignantly states, "Writers write. If you're not writing, you're not a writer."

Well, yes. There is that, isn't there? I've written intermittently for much of my life, but my production of poetry, essays, short stories, and random jottings of thoughts has been sadly lacking as of late, and I want to remedy that. Blogging may not be the highest form of writing, but it's something, anyway. If nothing else, it sure is a great way to procrastinate! Ah, the sweet college life...

On that note, my Language Acquisition Mid-Assessment paper awaits me. Sounds fascinating, doesn't it? (Ha. Ha. Please note the dry sarcasm.) Chances are that I'll stare at the pitiful little cursor blinking away on my computer screen for about thirty seconds before decidedly not doing homework tonight, but I can pretend that I'm attempting to be productive, can't I?

In any case, I hope that you follow my bloglet as it accompanies me through this phase of my tortuous, wonderful life. Time to let the creative juices flow! I will be writing again soon - and that's as much of a promise to myself as anyone else!

Until we meet again... =)

~Lizzie