Please, Don't Get Hit By a Car

     Earlier today my family checked into a hotel. While I was carrying my stuff in, I walked into the road nonchalantly as a car was headed my way. The people in the window of the hotel looked at me like I was crazy (you probably think I'm crazy, too, because stepping into the road with little care as a car comes toward you isn't the most normal thing to do).

     But I knew something that you and those hotel window people didn't know. My dad was driving the car coming my way. He knew that I was carrying things in. He knew I was in the road. And I knew, because my father was driving that car, that what I was doing was ok. Even if everyone else thought it was crazy.

     That's how life can be sometimes. Everyone else thinks that what you're doing is crazy, but you know that because the Father in heaven loves you and knows you that it is ok, good and right to follow Him. People don't understand the things we do sometimes because they don't understand our Father. And that's okay, because we can move forward in confidence trusting Him.

Happiness

   This past weekend was spent with friends in Atlanta celebrating at a wedding. It was lovely and fun and beautiful and everything that a wedding is supposed to be. But this isn't a post about that.

   At the reception I was talking to a dear friend that I haven't seen in a few years. I have tremendous respect for him and especially for his commitment to the church. It's rare this day and age for a twenty something man to be committed to the life of a body of believers. And that's respectable.
   As we were catching up, he asked if I was happy. In the general, big kind of way. And I didn't know how to respond. I don't really even remember what I said. It's a hard question and even though I know what he meant, I'm not sure it's a question I can answer.
   The truth is some days I am happy. And some days I am not. Right now, I'm learning a ton about God's discipline and so the happy days are a little farther apart than I care for. But overall, I'm not sure I'll ever be "happy". Whatever that is supposed to mean. I will always want things I can't have. I will always be selfish and prideful and people are going to irritate the gosh darn dickens out of me. And, let's be honest, I drive myself insane. There is always struggle and there is always hardship and that's because I struggle to trust Jesus. And word on the street is that doesn't get any easier with age.
   I think the kind of happiness that people look for is this overarching, movie-like, purpose found, "I am pleased with where my life is and where I'm heading" kind of happy. And I'm just not convinced that's real. It just feels deceptive to me. And here's why: I have a family that I like to be around, I have sweet friends and for eight years I've been doing a job I'm passionate about and you know what, some days suck. Some weeks are miserable and some seasons make me want to curl up fetal position on the floor and not talk to anyone for months. And I'm okay with that. From where I'm standing, that's normal. Because God never tells us that easy is how we know that he is at work in our lives. He is at work in our lives in the happiest of days and crappiest of days. All that happens is ordained as best for his children and somehow he works it all to advance his kingdom. That's better than happy.
   So am I happy? Depends on the day. I'm at a place where happy is less of a goal and trust is more of goal. And I'm going to need that to be okay with everyone.


(looking over this makes me afraid that I'm depressed and don't realize it...the weather has been rather gray for the past few weeks, but I think I'm okay. Oh dear...I'll be out running through the leaves if you need me)
 
 

Those Who Listen

   A few years ago I had a serious crush on a boy. We were in that weird, are we/aren't we stage and it was killing me. Not to mention that we didn't live in the same state, so things were challenging. I remember that most of friends told me to move on. Get over it. That made me feel sad, helpless and hopeless. Something wasn't sitting right. So I had lunch with the wonderful and wise and funny Joann (aka JoJo).
   Going into lunch I was nervous to say anything about the situation because I felt like just letting it go was the thing to do and I didn't want to hear one more person tell me the same thing because those words were painful. But, JoJo is just so lovely and easy to tell things to and after a few probing questions I was spilling out the story. And I braced myself for her sympathetic rebuke. But it didn't come.
   You know what she told me? She said, "Sara, is he a believer?" Yes.  "Well then the great news is that he listens to Jesus, so you know what we're going to do? We are going to ask Jesus to work and move." It was the most hopeful, uplifting and encouraging words. I went from defeated to hopeful. And not just because I could do something, but because I was reminded of who orders our lives. I can go to Him with my desires and He cares. They matter to Him. And He speaks back, lovingly weaving our hearts and lives back to Him.
 
   I remember those words a lot. That I don't have to be in despair, because when my heart aches for something, there is One who is always at work. It doesn't mean that we always get the things we are wanting (case in point, said boy and I never ended up anywhere), but it does mean that God works inside of us to bring peace and joy.
   There are things that I want right now and I started to feel overwhelmed and lost. But then I remembered that God is at work, in my life and in the live of other folks. It is to Him that I can make my petition knowing that He is a Father who gives good gifts.

For the Lord will not cast off forever, but, though he cause grief, he will have compassion according to the abundance of his steadfast love; for he does not afflict from his heart or grieve the children of men. -Lamentations 3:31-33

Was that on Purpose?

   You know what is really fun? Concerts. Love them. A few nights ago I went to a Ben Rector concert. So good and so entertaining. For the love, check him out. And go see him live, its a good show.

   Ben is super fun to watch and does a good job at getting the crowd involved (even me who hates being told what to do...sometimes I don't want to clap, so stop being so pushy...know what I mean?). Something happened that was really interesting to me. Now I don't know Ben, I'm sure he's a cool dude and I certainly don't know his intentions with this move, but he got everyone to sing along with the lyric "and you don't need Jesus until you're here." The context of the line is that we realize how needy we are when our hearts are breaking. I was just so intrigued by the fact that he got a whole room full of people (certainly not all of them believers) to sing Jesus's name and a need of him when they hurt. He put Jesus's name in our mouths. There were a lot of folks there and, more than likely, buddy had the rest of the audiences on his tour sing the same thing. That's a lot of people singing about Jesus.
   Now, I'm not saying that it was worship. I am hoping and praying that those words, put in peoples' mouths, cause thought. Or that when folks are in that place of crisis and hurt, they remember the words they sang along that night.
   Regardless, it was a fascinating thing. And beautiful.

Tide, Breakfast for Dinner and Girls' Singing Voices

   This has nothing to do with what I'm going to write about, but I just want everyone to know that 60-something year old man sitting at the table next to me at Caribou just went to exchange his cookie because it didn't have enough chocolate in it. I can support that.

   I'm a lot to handle. A little saucy and too ridiculous. And who needs transition time? Not me. I can go from serious to silly in .2 nanoseconds. And even though I know that I'm a bit much, I've always considered myself pretty easy. I'm not a lot of work and pretty flexible. Yesterday, it dawned on me that that's not so true.
    So here's the deal. I'm sick. Like I had to go to the doctor and get antibiotics sick. That stinks. And you know what started the whole mess? Allergies. I'm allergic to the outside and to certain dogs and cats. And that means that people have to make room for that. But that's not that abnormal, so generally I don't worry too much about it. But in the midst of being sick this week and people having to make room for me, I had to do laundry (I know...tragic). And I share a laundry room with other folks and they have a big container of Tide detergent that everyone uses. Isn't that kind? It is. But guess what-I'm allergic to Tide. And on top of that, I hate peanut butter and tomato soup and peas and iced tea and coffee and breakfast for dinner. I think that most girls singing voices sound horrific. Going on a walk by myself sounds like a great idea and talking in the morning is horrible. You know what all of this amounts to? I'm high maintenance. Ahhhh...I hate that. 
    And I hide it. Even from myself, until Monday around 11:27am. I tried to sneak in my detergent and put it on a different shelf, because I don't want anyone to think that I'm a diva. And I don't tell people that peas are gross, I just don't eat them. And I avoid folks in the morning and sometimes I wait until no one is in the common room before I leave the house, just because I don't feel like saying anything (fyi...I really love the folks I live with and enjoy spending time with them). 
    Why do we hide our quirks? Because it's easier. But you know what I think? I think that we are all kind of high maintenance. And we should probably be a little more open about it. Because I don't care if you like knitting and Christian coffee shop music is your favorite. If you want to drink coffee every morning and eat bacon at night, that's cool. I'll drink tea and eat cereal with you. And you probably don't mind switching to Gain instead of Tide and growing up my mom didn't mind making me a turkey sandwich instead of PB&J. 
    The beautiful part about us all being so high maintenance is that when we made room for each other and know each other, the difficult parts aren't that difficult. They just are. And that's the pretty part about relationships.

 

Perceptions

  During college I worked for a super fun ministry and one weekend we were in the mountains. After our Friday night meeting some of the host moms were gushing over the worship leader/speaker. And I get it, he was really handsome and loved the Lord and the music was really worshipful and he talked about Jesus. But these ladies just kept going on and on about how great he was and they kept talking about how he is a great example of a man who loves Jesus. (For the record, he was really great and I don't want the rest of the story to say that he isn't...this isn't about his character).
  Well here's the thing. Right after he finished speaking, he went to one of the other girl leaders and confessed that the whole time he really had to poop. Yeah, I said that (sorry mom). He had to go to the bathroom and he was really gassy. So although he loved the Lord, the urgency and passion that came across during worship and the teaching was much more practical than spiritual.
  I've thought about this story for many years. Chiefly because I think it is hilarious, but also because it reveals a lot about our lives. Sometimes what comes across on the outside, has a totally different origin than we would imagine. Sometimes we are full of emotional, mental and spiritual connection and sometimes we are completely distracted. The perception of us and the reality of us can be worlds apart.

 But we choose.

We have a choice in how to worship and how to glorify the Lord at any given moment.

  Isn't it interesting what perceptions are tied to? The surface layer and assumptions, but there is so much more. And God calls for all of it. And Jesus fills the gap between us and that demand because we can't do it. In that is where the freedom from perception is found. It's because of that grace that my friend could lead us in worship while his body demanded something else (hehehe...its funny, okay), causing his heart and mind to be somewhere else.
  I'm thankful for that grace, because I get distracted. My head and heart can be all over the place sometimes and Jesus says in those moments, "I love you, be still." He still longs for my obedience because he loves me, but my standing before him is no longer tied to that. He is for me.
   And people's perceptions, well they are what they are and we trust the Lord for that, too.

Chocolate Sprinkles and Sin

   One of my favorite things in the whole world is going to lunch by myself and reading a book (whoa...my introvert is showing). I get so much studying and thinking and processing done when I can steal away for an hour or so. And its nice to have the hustle and bustle of community around me.
   Yesterday, I was doing just that and it was awesome. I was reading Speak Love and preparing for some small groups this semester, so I was thinking a lot about human behavior and then I saw the most interesting thing. Fascinating.
   I took a break from reading and went to grab some ice cream. There was a boy there, maybe 10 years old and the buddy just wanted some sprinkles on his ice cream. And I can support that, sprinkles make everything better. The problem was that the little guy had only gotten maybe 25% of the sprinkles on his ice cream and the rest were lying on the table around the bowl. It was a MESS. He was trying to clean it up, shoveling the sprinkles into a little pile. I'm not sure what his plan was, but when he saw me standing there he suddenly got really self conscious. He then scraped the chocolate sprinkles into his hand and with sneakiness and embarrassment on his face carefully dropped his hand by his side and dropped the sprinkles on the ground.
   Ya'll...this poor kid! I felt bad for him and felt like that one act showed his heart so clearly. And I would know, because I can see 10 year old me doing the exact same thing. Honestly, I do the same thing now, just with life instead of sprinkles. See, some people deal with their sin with a "who cares, let it all hang out kind of attitude." Not me and not my friend from yesterday. We try to clean it up before anyone notices. One of the most interesting parts of what I noticed was that the kid was perfectly calm about cleaning up his mess and dumping it on the floor. He wasn't ashamed of that part. It was when he realized that someone else saw him that he was flustered.
   Isn't that exactly how I deal with the mess of my heart? If I can clean up the outside parts and no one notices it, then it doesn't really count. It doesn't matter. It's only when I'm caught that I have to deal with it. Right? Right? Yeah, I know...it doesn't work that way.
   The problem is that my offense is against God. Take the boy for example. His mess had nothing to do with me. I wasn't going to have to clean it up whether it was on the table OR the floor. His offense wasn't against me. It was against the employees of the restaurant. They would be the ones responsible for cleaning up and it wouldn't matter where the mess was. It was going to have to be cleaned by them. But the kid was afraid of me. I made him uncomfortable, because I exposed his mess. But, it was never about me.
   The mess I make in my life, my sin, has never been about the people around me. It's been about my ugly and faithless heart against a God who loves me. My offense isn't just my behavior, my offense is my heart against a relational God. And no amount of covering up my behavior is going to fix that. I have to go to the Lord and repent, putting my trust in Jesus. Instead of covering my sin, I should grieve over it and in repentance allow Jesus to cover me in his grace.
   What about you? When was the last time you grieved over your sin? Do you try to cover up your behavior and not acknowledge your offense against God?
 

How Robert E Lee ruined my life

   Fourth grade was really traumatic. I had an awful teacher and the class wasn't full of rocket scientists. Katie Tolbert and I were the smartest kids in the class (fast forward to high school graduation and Katie was valedictorian, but that's a different story). Most days Katie and I would finish our work well before everyone else and go play in the courtyard or organize our teacher's National Geographic collection (I still can't look at those magazines, but again that's a different story).
   We had a history test and I was ready to add another 100 to the grade book. But I got to the last question and I had no clue what the answer was. Not even a clue. It was like reading a foreign language. I must have set there racking my brain for ten minutes. And I was panicking. Heart racing, clammy hands panicking. I didn't even know where to begin.
   Then Katie walked by my front row seat. She was going to turn her test in to our teacher. And here's the thing, that question I didn't know was on the back page. So when Katie walked by I saw the answer. I didn't mean to. Really I didn't. But I saw it. And my little 10 year old heart panicked again. It was wrong to cheat. And I didn't know the answer 30 seconds prior, but now I did and it wasn't my fault that I saw it.
   For the next few minutes (it felt like a trillion years), my head and heart wrestled. What was the right thing to do? Was it bad to write down the answer now that I knew it? How did I not know the answer? Where did I go wrong? It was bad news for kid me.
   Guess what I did. I wrote the answer down. It was Robert E Lee. And I got a hundred. I would love to say that I felt guilty about it and confessed to my not-so-good-at-teaching teacher, but I didn't. But that moment had an impact on my life. I know because I remember it. Vividly. It was the first time I cheated. And I knew it was wrong, but I chose to do it anyway and I justified doing it.
   And that's how Robert E Lee ruined my life. It wasn't really his fault, it was mine. And I still struggle with wanting to justify my sin. You probably do, too. But Jesus is bigger than that. He gives us freedom to not "know the answer." And that is good. We don't have to panic and scramble because of who Jesus. We can live and enjoy and learn and be kind and do the right thing, even when its really hard, because Jesus made room for us to do that and He promises to provide and love us.
   Let's live in that.
 

You Said That...Really?

One of the things that people always seem to enjoy are stories of things students have said to me. They are pretty ridiculous and hilarious. So, here's a running list of those things.

"You have friends that aren't us?"

"My mom thinks its from hell. I think its funny."

"What's your last name? I know you drive a gold car. I just don't know your last name" (after 3 years of picking her up weekly from school)

"I think I have a hickey, but I'm not sure!"

"Could you find Syria on a map?" "I could pray about it"

(when asked to turn in her cell phone) "but what if someone tries to STEAL me!?!"

"you should go to a bar. No, you should go to a christian conference. NO! You should go to a bar AT a christian conference" (dating advice from a 15 year old)

"did you know the chick from White Collar is in saved by the bell?" (uneducated, uncultured kid)

"you have a new kid your school. she has chlamydia" 



I'll keep adding to this list. Kids say the darnedest things. Still.

Lessons from my Grandfather

     I call him Pappy. It makes sense when you meet him. He is tall and thin and gentle. But you know that when he says jump you should probably get moving because I have always believed he worked for the CIA. The man can dodge a question without losing his cool like no one I have ever seen. If only I had his ability to remain steady under pressure.

     He's also wise. You know the old man in church that is funny and loves the Lord, but has the uncanny ability to tell you Truth in a way that makes sense. That's my grandfather. He's the old, wise man in the church. Kind and gentle, but honest. The way that love should be expressed.

    Two days ago I got to spend the day with some family including Pappy. When I was leaving he pulled me aside and told me this story from his Sunday School class the week before:

There was an Indian Princess who heard that the neighboring village had the best corn. She went to visit. She asked the chief if she could take an ear of corn back to her village. He agreed on one condition. She could walk through the fields and inspect the corn and take whatever ear of corn she wanted, but she was never allowed to turn back. Once she passed on a stalk, she couldn't come back to it. These seemed like reasonable terms to her, so she set off to find the best ear of corn in the field. She walked and inspected each crop carefully. And she was impressed, this was good corn. So she searched on. Soon enough, she found herself at the end of the field and she was empty handed. In her search to find the best, she had found none.

     His point was this: not to let the desire for perfection to keep me from life. It's such a good lesson for me. There is a time to wait, but there is also a time to live. And sometimes, that means sacrificing in some ways to gain in others. It means defining goals and finding ways to meet them.

   I love my Pappy and all the lessons I have learned from him. I love that he makes popcorn on the stovetop and reads the Christmas Story every year. He is a fisherman and hunter and he loves his family almost as much as he loves the Lord.

Brothers

  At church this morning I sat behind a cute family. There was a mom and three kids. I would guess the oldest son was about 8, a son who was 6 and girl who was 5. The little girl kept turning around and looking up at me. We made silly faces at each other. Then she started staring at me and it weirded me out, so I raised my bulletin up a little to block her line of sight.
   Anyway, that's not the point. This is the point...I watched the most interesting interaction between the brothers. The oldest kid, sitting between mom and the younger brother, left for a bit and while he was gone the younger brother slid over next to mom (by the way, she had great hair). Older brother comes back and stands at the end of the aisle for a moment assessing the situation. Think wild, wild west style. Just staring down a dusty road at an outlaw in his town. This business was not going to cut it. He walked over, pushed past baby bro and squeezed in between them pushing the kid to the left. The little brother tried to not move, but he was just too little.
    Watching the whole thing go down was fascinating and disturbing. It was such a blatant representation of life. One party weaseling their way into something they want and the other party bullying their way back into what they think is theirs. Neither considering the other person, just demanding their own way. Both wanted to be next to their mom and why wouldn't they-she loves them and people like to feel loved. But they failed to realize that they should love one another.
    This happens in our lives and the world around us all the time. We want our way. And it doesn't matter what someone else wants, we will demand our way. But like those boys, we forget that we are to love each other. Sure, whatever we have our eye on is probably a good thing, but we miss the point and miss out on full life if we aren't caring for others.
   But the big thing they both forgot is that their mom loves them. It didn't matter who was sitting directly next to her, she loves both of them. Neither has to fight for her love, they just are loved. And we forget that, too. It's not just that we don't care for our brother, but we fight for something that is already ours. And it is sure. It doesn't matter where we sit or what job we have or what our clothes look like or if we get our way. We are loved. We matter and that gives us our identity. But how often do we feel like we have to fight for our identity rather than just live in it?
   I sat in my chair this morning and thought for awhile about what it would have looked like for the older brother to come back, sit next his little brother and enjoy his whole family rather than pushing his little brother out. How wonderful and more fun for those boys to be part of something bigger than just themselves. I wonder what it would be like for us to take a deep breath and be a part of something bigger than just what our eyes desire.

100th Blog...Whoa

     One Hundred. Whoa. What? That's how many times I've written on this bad boy. Now, it took many (MANY) years to get there, but nonetheless, I'm proud. How do we celebrate this accomplishment? Lists. Obviously. A list reminiscing the defining moments over the course of this blog.  That sounds like a great plan. This may not be interesting to you, but I'm the sheriff in these parts and you are at my mercy. Oh goodness I love lists...and celebrating. While you read this imagine confetti falling from the sky, Y2K Rockin New Years Eve style partying. This is a big deal. On with this list...

why wouldn't you want to hang out here?

10. Mozart's- Beautiful, lovely, calming Mozarts. It's my favorite coffee shop in all of life. I haven't been in a few years and sometimes I get homesick for the creative energy this coffee shop houses. Waking up thinking about sitting on the deck over looking Lake Travis simultaneously energizes me and makes me sad that I live five states away from it. Most of the time I would order tea, but every now and again I would get hot chocolate. It is the best hot chocolate anyone in all the land has ever tasted. And they serve it with two animal crackers (the Barnum and Bailey kind). Meeting a friend for coffee and holding that large, white mug that fits perfectly in my hand was so refreshing to my soul. I loved the Christmas lights on the deck and the local musicians singing their melodies under conversations with friends. If you live in Austin, please go there for me the minute you finish reading this.

9. When I lived in Athens while job hunting after my internship, I would meet with friends over breakfast at Big City Bread every Saturday. We sat outside and caught up on our weeks, did the crossword together and shared in life. Slow Saturday mornings with sweet friends.

8. When I was a kid, I wanted to be a rock star when I grew up. Seriously. Anything could become a microphone. A makeup brush, a spoon. The first toy I saved money to buy was a red Fisher Price microphone. It was the coolest because you could tune it to the radio and hear your voice over the speakers. My six year old mind was blown. I remember dreaming about learning to play instruments when I was a kid, but forgot about it as I grew up because things like homework, frizzy hair and who I sat with at lunch became priority. It wasn't until well after college that I realized I had accomplished that dream unintentionally along the way. As fun as it is to accomplish something yourself, one of my favorite things is to see someone I love succeed. I get so excited. I love encouraging people and cheering them on. Not so long ago, I thought about my friends from high school. We had such a sweet friendship. It was a beautiful time in our lives and I love these dear people. I love that we lived life together and dug into who the others were. I love that we had fun and I love that we pushed and challenged each other at such a young age. We believed in each others dreams and God's plan for our lives before we were ever ready to say them out loud to anyone else. And I'm proud of where we are now and the roles we got to play in each other's lives when we were small town kids. (And as you can see, we were more than a little ridiculous. The world was our playground, folks)

7. Sometimes you have to get a nose ring. You just have to go with the extravagant. Take a little risk. Generally, risks aren't my strong suit. They never really turn out all that well for me. But sometimes they pay off big. Somehow this tiny piece of metal has come to express part of who I am. It is really fun to wake up in the morning and have a nose ring shining at me in the mirror. Recently, I upgraded to a gold hoop-it's awesome. Is it practical? nope. Do my parents approve? not even a little. Do I love it? absolutely. It's the little things.

6. Wrinkles (or crinkles as one of my students calls them). Aches and pains. Uninformed teenagers. Taxes. Those are bad things about growing up. But there are good things, too. As you get older, one gets a bigger picture of the story arc of what God is doing in your life. There is something good and beautiful and hopeful about seeing God restore parts of you. Everyone has seasons where parts of who you are get put aside and can feel as if they have died, but God loves to bring things to life. I recall a time shortly after college where I just stopped. Stopped engaging, stopped creating, stopped living. I was numb and shut down and disappointed. But slowly, God has brought those things to life again. The older I have gotten, the more I have seen the Lord bring things to life in my heart, mind and personality. It makes me grateful for God's work and it makes me hopeful for the future, because God is in the business of restoration. Even if that restoration is in my ridiculously messy, disastrous heart.

5. When you work in ministry, you never really know when you are about to have a great ministry moment. One of those moments where the Lord makes your heart feel like it will explode with joy and astonishment at His goodness. A moment when the kingdom of God is as tangible as the keyboard I now type on. In the time that the Lord has granted me to do vocational ministry, I have been blessed with more than my fair share of these moments. But there is one specific time that stands out. I am so thankful for that story and for those girls and God's nearness. Now, years later, my heart still races thinking about how God drew our hearts to His that night by jumping in an ocean and, then, sitting around a kitchen talking about Scripture.

4. I'm not sure if any experience in life has been as humbling and as much of a privilege as watching my little brother grow up. He has always been a cool kid, but to see him grow into a talented, funny, responsible, Jesus loving man is a huge honor.  He is smarter than I am, more generous and more fun. He is adventurous and does cool things. He is the funniest person west of the Mississippi. His rant on salad dressing is worthy of the comedic hall of fame. I have a tremendous respect for his resolve. It's maybe one of his superpowers. Unfortunately neither of us are big talkers, especially on the phone, but I love that he is the first person I want to call when life falls apart. He's really good in times like that. Also, he can play at least a million instruments. Sometimes he'll let me strum a guitar with him. That's really fun.

3. I've always had a home away from home. Growing up, my best friend lived next door (I know, it's every kid's dream). In high school, I was at the Brock's more than I was at my own house. I even had chores there. Freshman year of college, it was Mimi and Claire's room. Then it was the yellow house. We spent hours on that front porch.  In Texas, it was Karen's apartment and Mike and Kelly's home and Mark and Stephanie's house. Florida brought me the Wilkening home. Brian and Jessica's house has been my second home in North Carolina. To have someone else's home be a place that is safe, comfortable and allows you the freedom to be who you are at any given moment is one of the greatest gifts in all of life. I have learned so much about home and hospitality and life from each of these people. They are beautiful friends and God's provision of them is something that makes me grateful for a God who loves community.

2. Aside from my own family, the Wilkenings have been the most formative for me as a human being. I learned about family, walking with the Lord, being honest, forgiving and appreciating others. We also shared in a lot of fun. I knew that I was going to fit in well there when Carol let the girls and I stand on the roof with signs to celebrate Hal's birthday. It's fun to find other people who have similar shenanigans as you do. I love all the Wilkenings for many different and unique reasons and am so thankful to get to be a part of their family. I miss their house and coloring while watching tv at night. I love that they love cheese as much as I do. I miss the notes they leave for each other on the kitchen table every morning and getting to pick out a tablecloth every night for dinner. I miss the creative air that resides in the house. I miss ping pong and sleepovers and Karen telling me goodnight every night. I miss dance parties in Beth's room. I love that people would show up at random and my friends would crawl in and out of my window because the door was too far away. I miss being able to spill my heart out to Carol and her putting it back together in a way that made life make sense and Hal calling the back room his "office." And I miss Samford, the best dog around.


1. Knowing God knows my heart and will meet my needs. Even if I don't see it. Over and over again I am able to look back on the past seven years and see how God has given me exactly what my heart needs. He has been quick to answer prayers and questions. He has been near. And I say that admitting that life since college has been incredibly difficult and not what I imagined. But it has been full. Full of trial and sad and scary, but full of joy and happy and laughter. There has been frustrating and silly. Times when I was too dense to see that God was leading me exactly where I needed (even wanted) to be. I can be so disconnected and shallow that I forget that God sees. He sees me, He sees you and He knows us. Wholly. Better than we could ever know ourselves. Ever had someone reveal something about you that you didn't know? (that's called your blind self...FYI...you're welcome) It's like that times infinity. He just knows and He is a good giver. If I have learned anything in my half grown life, it's that He can be trusted to be my keeper. And I breathe easier in that. It is good that my God is a God who knows His people.


wow that was long. hope you enjoyed the party. I did.

The Longest Hallway

     Sophomore year of college I was an RA at the wonderful, glorious and beautiful University of Georgia. I was responsible for the second floor and because there was another staff member on my floor, my room was at the very end of the hall (don't feel sorry for me, my room was twice the size of a normal RA room). It was a long hallway, but most days I didn't notice as I passed by my residents checking in on their days and giving hellos and whatnot. However, one day, I was exhausted. Like climbing one flight of stairs seemed too overwhelming exhausted. I opened the door at the top of the stairs and turned to the left and froze. This was the longest hallway in all the world. It just kept going on and on and on. My royal blue backpack suddenly weighed the equivalent of a middle schooler. At that moment, I really wasn't sure I was going to be able to make it to my room. I knew that if I could get there, I could crawl into bed and sleep and all would be fine, but walking the ten million miles of ugly carpeted, concrete walled hallway seemed impossible, crippling.

     That's how life feels right now. Impossible. Crippling. I feel paralyzed as I look into the next 6 months. How am I supposed to take a step forward on this ugly, ugly carpet? And for that matter, how did I even get here? Nothing feels okay. Nothing is okay. Responsibility weighs me down. I know that if I could just take one step, I could probably make it, but I can't make my feet budge. I know that at the end there is something good and good for me. I know I will be glad and relieved, but now its just burdensome. Life is the longest hallway.

Lists make the World Go Round

    Life is more than challenging as of late. When that happens, I like to list things that make me happy during the day.

1. Flannel
2. My Palmetto flag flip flops
3. Talking with the barista at a local coffee shop (he almost went to Georgia...back in the 80's...when it was     REALLY a party school..according to him)
4. eating dinner outside (ok...that was yesterday, but it was great)
5. friends who take time to listen even when they have way more going on than I do
6. Phone calls from college roommates
7. naps
8. typing up curriculum I wrote 2 years ago
9. wearing my reading glasses (I pretend I don't like wearing them, but I do)
10. shampoo that makes my hair smell good (oooohhh, it smells like mint)

that is all.

A little tune

 I heard there was a secret chord, that David played and it pleased the Lord

                                                                           --Leonard Cohen, Hallelujah

     Have you ever noticed that no one asks the question "do you like music"? We ask if someone likes sports or reading or mexican food, but no one asks if you're interested in music. Rather, you ask what type of music someone likes. There is an assumption in that question. People like music. We all do. There is a strange tie between our beings and melodies and harmonies. Our souls need music.

     Last week I was reading 1 Samuel and we see that when David plays the lyre, the evil spirit tormenting Saul goes away. I think we can relate to that. We've all had an experience when we are tired, weary and tormented by our lives and music helps to soothe what ails us. From hymns to Otis Redding to bluegrass, there is always some song that can get through when nothing else can.

    Isn't it beautiful that in a world of tangible and materialism, there is proof of the invisible God through His provision of music?  And he has made it for everyone. It is one of the few things in life that spans all cultures, generations, time periods. He has made music not only fun and enjoyable, but medicinal. It brought relief to Saul, to crying children needing a lullaby and to my heart last week. And in that relief, music reproduces. One goes from listening, to singing. From taking in the joys of sound to making sound. Music is unique not just in being universal, but in its very nature. It moves. From one person to the next, making an impact on each person. It regenerates itself all while helping to strengthen spirits.

    To me, music is one of the most mysterious things. It is extravagant, but so normal. It is overlooked, but powerful. It's magic.

 

When I wake up in the morning...

     29 is not old. It just isn't. But my students say things sometimes and I am really blown away by the fact that I've been on this world significantly longer than they have. Let me give you an example.

While driving four kids home from a retreat, one guy says:
   Hey Sara...did you know that the chick from White Collar was in Saved by the Bell? Have you ever seen Saved by the Bell?

Oh my. Let me tell you something, whipper snapper, I grew up on three things: green beans, Kentucky basketball and Saved by the Bell. I owned the board game for heaven's sake. When TBS had an all night Saved by the Bell marathon, I watched the whole thing. People my age, we learned that taking caffeine pills was bad thanks to Jesse Spano. I've been scared of those things since I was 11. I won't even partake in energy drinks because I fear that the evening will end up with me singing "I'm so excited, I'm so excited, I'm so, so scared." In the same way that I had a massive crush on Zack Morris, every dude my age had a huge crush on Kelly Kapowski aka that chick from White Collar. So, buddy, get an education and never talk about my childhood staples as if they are ancient greek. I will fight you the way Screech fought Zack for Lisa's love.

Guitar Case Idolatry

     Recently I bought a new guitar. It's beautiful and everything a guitar should be. One of the things that made me especially excited was the hard case that came with it. For the last nine years I have had to carry a pegboard case which was left wanting in my eyes. Cool kids carry hard cases with stickers on it. And I wanted one. I wanted it really bad. Looking the part was half the battle, right? How was anyone going to take me seriously if I had a subpar case? Especially at all those high profile gigs I play...oh wait, no gigs, just occasionally playing a song or two for a youth group of 40 kids. But I NEEDED that case.

     And I got it.

     Let me tell you, cool kids don't carry those cases, strong kids carry those cases. Like really strong people. They must be strong as an ox. It's ridiculous. When I carry it, I wish that someone would offer to carry it for me. It makes me grumpy whenever I have to carry it and I'll choose to leave it at my office rather than take it home. I get winded carrying it up the stairs. Sometimes I take the elevator up one floor. That's embarrassing. But its crazy heavy.

    And isn't life the same way? We want something so much, long for it, hope for it. And then we get it and it is much heavier than we expect. There are more implications than we are aware of. The thing that was supposed to make us "cool" actually makes us burdened. It takes away our freedom. The one thing we hoped for becomes a paralyzing possession. Then we hope that someone will take it from us, save us from our oppression.

    This is a hard place to be. Overwhelmed, disappointed and afraid to hope for anything else. But we can be free. We can hope and be restored, because Jesus saves us. And not just from the big picture, eternal stuff, but from the everyday, practical stuff. His love is big enough to save my soul and intimate enough to save me from my monotonous idolatry. There is life in that. That is hallelujah.

 

Don't Wear Pajama Pants to the Office

    Today I wore pajama pants at work. The minute I had them on and was in my office, I became so nervous that the one of the part time guys would walk in. He is very kind, but very formal and I just didn't want to have to explain to him that I was painting my office and that the guy who was supposed to do it was taking a really long time at lunch and my mental health couldn't handle the delay and I was wearing my favorite pants and the only other option were blue and white striped pajama pants. Unprofessional and humiliating, but no choice. There was a time crunch and emotional health on the line and pajama pants were the answer.

    Life is like that sometimes. No ideal, easy options. Just bad ones or embarrassing ones or painful ones or ones that shouldn't be yours anyway. But that is a broken world. How do you fill in the gaps of life when it isn't your responsibility to paint the proverbial office? Do you wait and let it be or put on your pajama pants? I don't know if there is a right answer. My guess is that wisdom says sometimes you go to work and sometimes you sit back. But how do you know which is being faithful to the Lord? When do you submit to circumstances of life and when do you pack your bags and go home?

   I've always been a pajama pants kind of girl, but now I'm thinking that there is faithfulness in saying that it isn't my responsibility to get all the work that was left behind. Isn't there trust in saying that Christ is Savior and, although he uses his people, I don't always have to be the one to pick up the pieces? Isn't there rest in letting the entirety of the body fill in these gaps? It seems that is true.

   The good news of today is that no one saw me in my pajama pants and the room got painted. The good news of life is that regardless of what we choose, the Lord is faithful. He restores, despite us. And there is freedom in not having to walk a tight rope.

Moving is the Worst

   Pack. Move. Unpack. Repeat.
   Repeat, again.
   And again.
   And again.

   That's what I feel. I've had 9 addresses in 6 and a half years. That's a lot. Every time I pack my stuff and unload it, I feel more and more disconnected. Less and less like I belong somewhere. It's like I leave a part of myself in each house, each apartment. A little piece of my heart and identity lives on in the daily routine of each place. I'm taking a walk in Austin, enjoying the uniqueness of each house and the metal stars hung by the doors. I'm drinking morning tea with JoAnn and learning about the tabernacle. I'm watching Gilmore Girls at the Florida townhouse when I can't sleep. I'm eating dinner with the Wilkenings and engaging in the daily shenanigans. I'm taking a nap on the brown coach at my current apartment. Simultaneously, there are nine different lives going on. And I'm still moving. Always moving.

   How do I settle? Be still-physically, emotionally, spiritually? It seems to be easy for other people around me. There was a time when I loved the adventure and the new, but not anymore. Maybe I missed the window for stillness and now I'm looking for some kind of magic portal of perfect scenario to transport me to life. Some group of friends, closer geography to my family, a great church. And certainly all these things are good and things I long for, but are they an ideal rather than a reality? Are they things that need to be found or things that are created? Often I feel like people have their routines and friends and lives and there just isn't room for anything else. Our culture of busyness has edged out any opportunity for new community.

   Questions abound. And I have no answers. But this I know-in all chaos and unsteady, Christ remains constant. Even if my surroundings are ever changing, there is one who is Ever Lasting. And because He is steady, I can be still. Because He is ever present, my life is known. That is where hope lives-in Christ's constant love, presence and work.That will be my encouragement this week and in the months to come as I resettle in a new home and make new routines and as I think about the future.