Two Poems On Tea Parties and Ghosts

The First Tea Party: Written in a Fit of Bitternes
Toward a Boy Undeserving of My Emotions
(April 6, 2007)

No, I won't stop apologizing for things that aren't really my fault
Because maybe it amuses me when you're just a little upset at my insecurities.
Maybe I want you to feel bad, because you never cared to before
And maybe I don't see that you ever even cared before at all.
Maybe the blood rushing from my face and my fingers turning to ice
Is just a reaction to your inability to take anything seriously.

Maybe ghosts are just too hard for me to have tea with
I can't sit across the table and smile when it's fake.
One lump or two, it never really mattered to me at all.
Although the scones were always my favorite,
I can't go on with things when I don't care, even though I know you can.
What makes it worse is, I know that I don't deserve you.
This has nothing to do with sour grapes.
I don't deserve you.

But I don't deserve another cup of tea, either.
And you're just going on with it because you like the taste.

The Final Tea Party: My Declaration of Independence
From Boys Undeserving of my Emotions
(July 11, 2007)

Some will leave you, but they will never leave you whole
They'll listen, but never really be able to hear
(Meaning they hear, but they'll never really care)
They'll call you worthless and push you away

Your ghosts will invite you to tea
Sporting somethings similar to character
Just as strong as their weakly brewed darjeeling
And strength just as pale as their pekoe stained with milk
Calling for two lumps instead of one to sugarcoat the truth.

These spirits will betray you
Lying to your face about what they could or couldn't be
Secretly saying "You're too good, but not good enough for me"
They'll send out the crisp invitations with only your name on the list

But if tea is any indication of character
And tea parties are the shindig of the posthumous,
I think I'll stick with coffee from now on--
The fresh, mellow energy... the strength that keeps you alive.

My Top 20

People pin me as two things most often... 1) Anti-Romantic and 2) an average 20 year old kid. In order to prove both of these notions wrong, I'm posting my top 20 songs ever recorded list. Enjoy... and be surprised, maybe.

1) "Worlds Apart" - Jars of Clay
2) Beethoven's 5th Symphony
3) "Martyrs and Thieves" - Jennifer Knapp
4) "Old Rugged Cross"
5) Mozart's Symphony #40
6) "Why Try To Change Me Now?" - Frank Sinatra
7) "Can't Hurry Love" - Phil Collins
8) "My Girl" - The Temptations
9) "Pressure" - Queen
10) "Keep Waiting" - Stavesacre
11) "My Ever, My All" - Steve
12) "I Cry Out" - Parallax View
13) "Iris" - Goo Goo Dolls
14) "Everybody Loves Somebody" - Peggy Lee
15) "For Once In My Life" - The Temptations
16) "Fools Rush In" - Elvis Presley
17) "It Is Well"
18) "In Christ Alone" - Adriane Leishing-Camp and Geoffe Moore
19) "Scream" - ZOEGirl
20) "Ever The Same" - Rob Thomas

Booby Prizes and the Holy Spirit

This post will be two-fold, but I think it sort of ties in together.

Lately, I've formed the habit of not sleeping. On this particular morning, this habit provided me with the opportunity to dig into God's word by light of the sunrise. Unfortunately, my Bible was not in my bedroom, and at 5 AM, I really didn't feel like venturing outside and waking up my parents, as well as my puppy, I scanned my prolific bookshelves for a Bible or any book that might contain large chunks of scripture.

I picked up a book that I found at a book fair when I was about 11 years old. It was published in 1965, and is entitled "Going Steady With God." It is a one-year devotional plan for teenage girls, but there is a lot of scripture in it, so I thought I would at least start in July and read four or five pages. I was surprised to find an in-depth look at the workings of the Holy Spirit after the day of Pentecost, as well as some incredibly outdated lingo and anecdotes. One of these anecdotes really jumped out at me.

"Once when I was your age I was at a Sunday school party where we were asked to name all the parts of a car. I got the booby prize because I named everything but the engine! Many Christians today need to be given the booby prize. They name everything about the Christian life and everything about the Church except the power, the dynamo!"

I still have a smile on my face from this excerpt from the book. Despite the obviously 60's overtones, Anna Mow had one thing right-- most Christians DO deserve the booby prize. In today's ministries, the movement of the Holy Spirit is left out, ignored, or never even taught.

This brings me to the second part of the post. I randomly check some part-time job listings on snagajob.com, just in case I ever feel like being employed by another person again. Today, I really identified with one of their promotional strategies.

In a modern, program driven church, it is REALLY easy to find a place to plug in and serve, much like it is easy to find a minimum wage job. However, the Holy Spirit is rarely involved in this process. We take our multiple choice personality test, run it through the system, and pair ourselves with what we seem to be best suited for. But, all too often, when we try to work outside our gifting and outside of the leading of the Holy Spirit, things get awkward, much like the photos above. I have known many lifeguards working in mail rooms, and jockeys working on cattle ranches, and I have definitely known some mechanics who were placed into jobs at trendy boutiques.

This is all metaphorical, of course, but when who we are doesn't jive with what we are doing for Christ, we aren't reaching our full potential. We aren't accessing the dynamo of the Christian faith, or the powerhouse of the Church-- the guidance of the Holy Spirit.

Legacy & Unvoice poetry contest.

Maybe someday, I'll be able to say what this (as well as numerous other Nichole Nordeman songs) means to me.

Meanwhile...

Unvoiced Poetry Contest:

Hosted By: Unvoiced
Deadline: Thursday Jul 26, 2007 at 7:00 PM
Where: Anywhere in the USA
Click Here To View Event

To enter this contest, e-mail me (unvoicedthebook@mail.com) with an original poem or essay expressing how self-harm has affected your life.

Possible topics might be:

*Are you recovering? Do you want to?
*How do you feel when you self-injure?
*Do you know and love someone who self-injures?
*How has self-injury affected the relationships in your life?

Prizes include:

Grand Prize: Free, autographed copy of Unvoiced by Jessica R. Goodwin; Access to the original, unrevised story blog of Unvoiced, and; your essay or poem published in the afterword of Redeemed: the sequel to Unvoiced.

Runner up: Access to the original, unrevised story blog of Unvoiced, $3.00 off your copy of Unvoiced, and your essay or poem published in the afterword of Redeemed: the sequel to Unvoiced.

3rd place: $3.00 off your copy of Unvoiced and your essay or poem published in the afterword of Redeemed: the sequel to Unvoiced.

Essays and poems will be judged by me and three of my closest friends or relatives. All contestants will be notified of the three winners on July 30th, 2007.

DEADLINE: July 26, 2007

Pass it on!

Starting Small

It's been nearly four years in the making. At last, UNVOICED IS HERE! You all haven't the slightest idea how excited I am to be writing this blog. I have just finished, published, and ordered the first edition of Unvoiced-- a novel by Jessica R. Goodwin.

If you want your own copy, click here. I apologize for the price, but it really is the cheapest way for everyone, and I promise I'm not getting more than I should from each book.

If you REALLY want to read it, but can't spare up to $15 for anything (including shipping!), let me know... I can pass around my copy, or I can order one for you with my discount and you can pay me back. Also, it is available in downloadable PDF format for a waaaay less expensive price.

So... there you go. PRAISE GOD!

This I Believe:

This I believe:
Beauty can be found in almost all things.
There are no small actions.
Despite what you think, you ARE pretty.

This I believe:
There IS a God, even if that offends you.
It doesn't matter if you disagree with me, as long as you still respect me.
We're SUPPOSED to be different-- it's how we were created.

This I believe:
Books rule. Anyone who tells you different probably forgot how to read.
Old movies are better than new ones.
Spending time with my family is approximately 164% cooler than anything else in the world.

This I believe:
You should never take relationship advice from someone who isn't even old enough to vote.
It's okay to be crushless.
It's okay to be just you.

This I believe:
YOU are the only person you should aspire to be... because that's who God wants you to be.
What you revere, you resemble.
There is nothing more beautiful than a soul captivated by the love of God.

What inspires me...

I thought I'd post some music videos, because I have nthing better to say than what these songs say, and because I think it all needs to be said.




For this one, please take it with a grain of salt. It's actually an explanation of the next video... it's powerful, though.

Repost

Since people actually read my blog now, I thought I'd repost this... Even if you've read it before, I think you'll get a kick out of it again.

What I Want in a Church

L-O-V-E

"Become a nun, and I'll leave you alone."

I laughed out loud as I read this statement from a friend in a Facebook message earlier this week. A short conversation with Bob Carder over the weekend prompted me to write about it. I was going to last week, actually, but I got so caught up in denouncing the complacency of the American Church in that last post that boys seemed like a silly topic of blogging. However, I have involved a lot of people in praying for my decision in this matter, so I figured that an update amidst such heart changing was in order. =-)

For the past couple of years, I've been really struggling with what role God has for me as a woman of God, and trying to flesh out the desires He has placed in me regarding romance and family. It seems that all of my friends are on either one side of the spectrum or the other (except for my father, who wisely fall somewhere in the middle.) Either I WILL get married, or I should devote my entire earthly life to celibacy.

Over the past few months, however, I've found myself really meditating on the idea of marriage. See, it's easy to say "I want to get married!" when you know someone you think you want to marry or "I'm swearing off boys forever!" when that person just TOTALLY played you, but for a while now, I've found myself simply at peace and not saying I will or I won't. Last week was really confirmation to me in this area. I found God telling me, "You only deserve someone who lives with total abandonment for the cause of Christ, and until that person comes along, you are to just strive to be the woman I created in you." Simple as that.

This was freeing for me, to be perfectly honest-- to know that God has created me as an individual entity that doesn't have to sit around and wait for a husband before I can accomplish ministry. Furthermore, God allowed me to throw out all of my "standards" but one-- total abandonment for the cause of Christ. To hold any other standard than that is to limit God in who He has me marry. God knows the desires of my heart, and while I am quick to assure all of my friends that they will find just the person God has for them, I still keep thinking, "mine HAS to love to read, he HAS to want to homeschool his kids, etc...", but it's not in my control anyway, and if it is God's will for me to marry a man like that, then I most definitely will have opportunity. I've found that it was not marital direction that God was pressing my heart to find, but contentment in knowing that He knows me (and my future husband!) much better than I do.

Until I find that perfect or almost-there boy, though, I'm fervently praying that God will guard my heart, because when I try to do it, I either fail miserably or I end up passing up chances.
Only He can do it right... story of my life.

Obedience: a choice, not a process.

I'm currently reading K. P. Yohannan's book, Revolution in World Missions. One part of the book thus far really struck me, and it got me thinking-- why can't the American Church give up their buildings, programs, and method of ministry? I find it really, really strange, in light of the millions of other Christians in the world who meet without buildings or programs, that America seems so violently attatched to their church schedules.

Here is the part of the book I'm referring to:

"This kind of miracle kept me going from village to village for those seven years of itinerant preaching. Our lives read like pages from the Book of Acts. Most nights we slept between villages in roadside ditches where we were relatively safe. Sleepong in non-Christian villages would expose us to many dangers. Our team always created a stir, and at times faced stonings and beatings.
"The mobile Gospel teams I worked with-- and often led-- were just like family to me. I began to enjoy the gypsy lifestyle we lived, and the total abandonment to the cause of Christ that is demanded of an itinerate evangelist. We were persecuted, hated and despised. Yet we kept going, knowing that we were blazing a trail for the Gospel in districts that had never before experienced an encounter with Christ" (p. 30).

Now... this sort of thing is perfectly acceptable for a preacher in Third World countries, but when you try to place a minister like Yohannan in the context of the United States, it seems absurd to us, doesn't it? Why is that? How much have we as Christians conformed to secular society? How much do we worry about retirement, investments, education, mortages, and other material concerns that bear no weight on fulfilling the Great Commission?

When Yohannan heard God's call to spread the Gospel, he didn't stop what he was doing, set up a savings account at the local bank, and enroll in a Christian University, hoping to someday make it through a Masters of Divinity so he could preach in a church full of complacent Christians, urging them to invite their friends to Friendship Sunday one day a year so that he could spread the Gospel. He heard God's call, and he listened. Simple obedience is what it really comes down to.

Now which option sounds more absurd?

It's been a while...

My brother quoted one of my favorite authors (Brennan Manning) on his blog regarding the Discipleship training that TrueVine participated in this weekend. Oddly, I was reminded all weekend of a Brennan Manning quote, as well.

"I want neither a blood'n'guts religion that would make Clint Eastwood, not Jesus, our hero, nor a speculative religion that would imprison the Gospel in the halls of academia, nor a noisy, feel-good religion that is a naked appeal to emotion. I long for passion, intelligence, and compassion in a Church without ostentation, gently beckoning to the world to come and enjoy the peace and unity we possess because of the Spirit in our midst."

I have met so many people-- Christian and non-Christian alike-- that have expressed the same sentiments portrayed in this quote. In my entire 20 years on this earth, I have never seen with such clarity the potential of the church as I saw this weekend. I have never once felt at home at any church. God drew me out of my shell more than He has in years. I have never been able to reach beyond myself and actually volunteer to speak up in the midst of 25 other people (especially 25 people who are far more interesting and mature than I am). I have never felt quite so valuable as I did this weekend.

What's more is-- I know that my feeling valued has nothing to do with myself. This was not any normal retreat, and it didn't enforce self-confidence. It was not always a HAPPY time, and it was not constantly uplifting (or as the quote says, noisy and feel-good), but it was beautiful. It was edifying in every sense of the word. It was a group of sold-out, willing, and broken Disciples who realized that without Christ, they are nothing, but with Him they are world-changers.

He convicted, He healed, He transformed, He soothed, and He provided us we REAL smiles amidst our unity in Christ. Through this, He also revealed our potential as His Church-- as His Bride. It was stunning. It was beyond comparison to any other religious experience I have ever seen.

All weekend, the idea that "What we attract them with is what we attract them to" was repeated over and over again. I have complete confidence that the weight of the Gospel and the true love of Christian brothers and sisters that we, as the Church, saw this weekend is enough to attract, romance, and transform hearts and lives.

Fulfillment in Irony

God makes me giggle sometimes.

"No girl should feel she has to trade her body for love or be an old maid"

History Lesson

It always seems that we never change history

As we read old newspapers that speak of the past

Men walking on the moon, invading another nation

Or standing so tall that they were shot down.

In these moments, the idea that we're all

Just dust in the wind becomes exemplary

We feel useless and ever so small.

It is as if we must be ten times the size

Of this world just to change it or make something work

When really, the world is changed by everything

It is changed by the wind which moves

Thin, swaying tree branches, but not mountains.

It is changed by the tear that falls

Even if there is no real reason for it to surface.

It is changed when the sun rises in the morning,

And changed again when it goes down.

It is changed as the crowd rushes through the street

It is changed, even as things are simply standing still

Because everything that isn't now or forever is history

And everything we have done leaves the world

A little different than it was originally found.

How much could your smile change history,
Creating a chain reaction of smiles around the globe?

Poem

Take a second and find your own story
Tucked behind the third couch cushion
Crumpled at the bottom of a shopping cart
Reflecting from the mud puddle down
By the old, white country church’s cemetery.
Don’t be so scared of not living an epic
Remember this moment… this very moment
With the sun shining, and the scent of the wind
Fresh in the air… in your very mind and soul
Beckoning your smile to come out and play.
Don’t focus so much on the ugliness of life
Because you miss too much of the beautiful
Already… when you’re not looking, that is.
And there is so much beauty in things-- in everything
In everything.

Mhmm

I have been waiting to post this. I wrote it for a creative non-fiction contest that my school sponsors, and I have been waiting to see if it won or not, so that I don't post something that is copyrighted in another publication. I did not win (I came in 3rd place), so I thought I would share it with the people who read this blog-- if anyone (aside from Bob, my dad, and the Ryans). Here it is-- after much revision. Special thanks for Prof. Teddy Norris for editing and proof reading.
______________________________________________

"Flesh and Blood"

Most of the people I know tend to make their cuts short, deep, and quick. They say it adds to the effect. It maximizes their available space. Mine were never short or quick. Mine were long, thin, and sometimes even decorative-- if a long, thin gash on the arm can even be considered "decorative." I’d slide the blade across my skin, just like the blades of ice-skates, carving slick grooves into a freshly Zamboni-cleared rink. In my mind, this was something that was supposed to happen. The slate was not supposed to be left clean.

People will tell cutters all of the psychological things that go on when they try to destroy themselves-- self-mutilation, they call it. I call it destruction by choice-- destruction by something as slick and beautiful as a razor blade. It releases a rush of endorphins, thus providing a sort of "high" without taking any real drugs. This is the scientific explanation of self-destruction. The addiction is often reduced to nothing more than chemistry in the brain and certain events from one’s past that flipped a switch in their mind, turning off the lights on their way out of the room.

I would argue though, that self-harm has little to do with the physical body at all. The high is not just endorphins; it is feeling—any feeling—which truly captivates the individual. That’s all it takes, really—sensation. I often found myself in a strange, thick atmosphere, in which I was hardly lucid. It wasn’t even that I was hurting— I just couldn’t feel. It is common for anyone who is depressed to be so emotionally damaged that he or she becomes numb. It’s a coping mechanism, like two year-olds plugging their ears when they don’t want to listen, or an ostrich sticking its head in the sand. But self-destruction is far beyond little metaphors. For the most part, self-destructors are suffocating in the dark room, and they have just stubbed their toe for the fifth time. But, if they see a small, shining stripe of blood on their arm, the sting of the wound is the best and most intense feeling they can conjure. When you’re that numb, I swear it’s better than falling in love.

It always surprises me when I tell others about this struggle of mine. "Struggle"… what a religious word! I say it out of habit because I was raised in a religious household, and am very religious myself. But, the connotations of the word "struggle" are very applicable to the mindset of a cutter. In a religious sense, the word "struggle" often denotes a person fighting against something they have no true desire for.

It is easy for a person to fight against something they never really wanted to begin with, but I wanted to cut. I wanted desperately to leave no perfect spot of flesh on my body. In the New Testament, The Apostle Paul wrote, "…our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms" (Ephesians 6:12). I struggled with both flesh and blood, but I also struggled against this addiction of the body that had great authority over my life. I struggled in the darkness of this world and the darkness of my mind after the switch was flipped.

In my experience, it is rare for a non-cutter to focus on or even recognize the brutality of self-destruction. Most people usually want to focus on the origin of it. If they are initially shocked by the fact that I ever participated in self-destruction, they are even more shocked when I cannot give a definitive answer as to why I gave up my entire high school career to multiple forms of it. I cannot give a specific situation or tragedy from my past that led me into depression, I know only that I have dealt with it. I also know that I can pinpoint the exact moment when it all began.

I remember I was standing outside my house in Farmington, Missouri. Because Farmington is mostly suburban, there is very little "city noise." It is a place where falling snow is heard in winter. That night, it was snowing. Like many self-destructive individuals, I had reached a point socially where I couldn’t stand to be around people. There were days when the sound of someone’s voice would send me into a frenzy of unchanneled rage and incredibly irrational thinking that would become belief for me. It was that particular night (while the sound of each snowflake pounded repetitiously in my head as it hit the ground) that I made the decision-- I hated myself.

Amid all this business of self-hatred, social awkwardness, and self-destruction, my biggest struggle-- the real bane of my existence-- was (and often still is) found in a little, belligerent thing called ED-NOS: "Eating Disorder - Not Otherwise Specified." ED-NOS is a category of eating disorders that encompasses anyone who has disordered eating habits but is not underweight (a defining symptom of anorexia nervosa) or participating in all of the facets of bulimia. It is a hodge-podge of all eating disorders. In my life, however, ED-NOS has not just been a condition, it has been an entity— nearly a monster.

I couldn’t have been anorexic, because I actually was "fat." I was 248 pounds, as I recall. I also obviously wasn’t bulimic, because I never intentionally made myself throw up. I was, however, massive. At only five feet and five inches of height, I was lumbering. I hated my body. I struggled with it. I fought against it, because I had no desire for it. I also didn’t eat more than 400 calories a day. I exercised for no less than three hours per day, and I was never happy with myself. Even after losing 70-80 pounds the summer before my junior year, I still wasn’t good enough.

ED-NOS was the monster that lurked in the closet of the dark room in my mind. It was by far my most beloved obsession. Often, ED-NOS was the one thing in a wide-open room that I would stumble over. I was Franz Kafka’s "Hunger Artist," making a grand spectacle of myself because of what I knew I could not be. The things average people valued could never fulfill me. ED-NOS provided me with a purpose—it made me feel accomplished. This made ED-NOS the hardest facet of self-destruction to give up.

It is easy for me to ramble about cutting or ED-NOS, because those were the thorns in my side. They were not my real heart-issue, though. Self-destruction is the most common heart-issue. It creeps into everyone’s lives. It is often found in grand masquerades, or in something as subtle as a teardrop. Self-destruction is not habitual action; it is a lack of habitual accountability. After training your mind into self-destruct sequence, one must train it back to a normal way of coping-- just as one would have to train a dog to sleep in a doghouse or relieve itself outside.

It is common for people to ask me if I ever had any sort of counseling for my habits of self-destruction. "No, I’m not crazy" I tell them, not because one must be clinically insane to participate in therapy, but because I am not crazy. I am recovering. If hating your body, or wanting to be someone else makes you crazy, I don’t think there is one sane person in the world. But, self-destruction magnifies our criticisms of ourselves-- it draws them out of us, sometimes metaphorically, and sometimes in the form of short, deep, and quick cuts.

Many people need counseling to deal with the sorrowful tunes played out in their life, and someday, I could find myself there, too. In a way, I seek counsel everyday. I talk with those who have been recovering much longer than I. I pray. I journal. I smile. I trudge through the hard days. I choose to feel. It is enough. It is enough to be reassured that I am not any less sane than those around me. It is enough to no longer hate myself each moment. It is more than enough to know that self-destruction does not loom in every corner of my dark mind. It is not in my power to self-destruct, and for this I am glad. Instead, I choose to strive for self-reconstruction.

UPDATE

I am currently. . .

Reading: Story of a Soul - St. Therese of Lisieux.

Watching: Numerous Hitchcock and Agatha Christie films

Craving: Something more... something different... and coffee, of course.

Learning: that love is vital... loving Him is vital.

Rejoicing: My best friend of 8 years, Abbi Saunier, is getting married. She is my hero(ine).

Trudging: Through the final projects of the semester... one 8 page paper down, two more to go. (not to mention the Creative Writing Portfolio, Irish Lit responses, World Lit responses, Detective fiction final exam &&& the final Creative Writing short story-- which I haven't even started. yaya!)

Enjoying: Color, contrast, SPRINGTIME, and beautiful things.

Trying: To flex my artistic muscles a little.

I'm not normally one for posting icons on my sites, but this one...
I just couldn't resist.

Coping Mechanisms: religion's not the only one.

Many Christians place blame on authors of secular philosophy for causing the downfall of the modern Church. Nietzsche, who is considered one of modern Christianity’s most formidable philosophical foes, espoused the idea that “God is dead! God remains dead! And we have killed him!” (Nietzsche, The Gay Science). His writings have no doubt influenced modern society and culture in vast and prolific ways, still, the American Church fools itself into thinking that what Nietzsche had to say in the 1880s actually bears any weight in the Christianity of today.

Growing up in church, I always heard about the evils of secular philosophy, and how they are at fault for the Church’s lack of reverence and “Pure Religion” (see James 1:27). As I have grown, however, I see that the Church is often in a state of great complacency. Even if the world is going to Hell, it doesn’t mean that the Church must decline. On the contrary! She should do no less than to rise to the occasion and prove that religion is no more a “coping mechanism” than secular philosophy. She must turn around the argument.

Even if the supernatural and the religious only existed simply because religious individuals subconsciously think that there is a need for it, or that it will give them comfort when facing the fears of death and eternity, I would argue that the atheistic and the anti-religious exists for the exact same reason. The religious may need their God, but the irreligious of the world crave godlessness, if only to justify their immorality or to make sense of their pain.

I would say that in a sense, Nietzsche is no more a realist that the Romanticist writing in order to eradicate the past, tradition, and the religiously stiff, but just as the Romantic period sought to break away from the Enlightenment, so the Realist Movement sought to break free of the tenants of the Romantic Era. Nietzsche aimed in all his work to provide a new meaning for human existence in a meaningless world. In the absence of any transcendent sanction, men must create their own values. Nietzsche's writings are either analyses and criticisms of the old system of values or attempts to formulate a new system” (Gale Literary Index).

By reading the selection of Nietzsche assigned by my Western Literature professor, I have come to recognize that the ideals of one man cannot be at fault for the complacency of an entire institution which he was not even connected to. I have also recognized the fact that Nietzsche was only doing what countless other writers have done-- pressed forward in a social reform which conveys very little logic, and even less benefit for the world.

Remember His Promise...

He will swallow up death for all time,
And the Lord GOD will wipe tears away from all faces,
And He will remove the reproach of His people from all the earth;
For the LORD has spoken.

Isaiah 25:8

NO MORE TEARS.

Don't Worry 'Bout Me

Stream of Consciousness

It isn't like I want to relapse completely. I just take everything in so slowly, and I never release anything, and it builds up. There's no doubt in the world how dark this temptation is-- how demonically influenced it is-- it's like all of this stuff that I take in and never let out, it all builds and builds under my skin-- pressing, wanting to tear or swell out... and then I hear that voice suggesting that my addiction hasn't run its complete cycle, and I need to finish it... and I believe that voice, as though it has ever had anything beneficial, useful, intelligent, or good to say... But I don't do anything, because I remember that I'm supposed to wait three hours before actually going at myself with anything (knife, razor, thumb tack, pencil) and I remember that if I want to do anything, all I have to do is pick up my old red marker (the one that ran out of ink a few weeks ago) and methodically mark my arm...

onetwothreefourfive

till I go fuzzy enough and I wake up to remember that it's not at all worth it-- just because someone says "I've never known ANYONE quit cutting cold turkey" doesn't mean it's impossible--

that's where God's victory resides.

3 years, 4 months, 17 days, and counting.

112205

There's something in me that tells me I'm not really good enough... something that calls me to be less than I'm worth. There's something that constantly reminds me of the falsity that there is nothing beautiful or delightful contained inside my soul. There's something in me that tells me to stop moving forward... to stop growing up... to stop fulfilling my obligations. Something's telling me that complacency is okay, that revolt against a divine plan is acceptable. There's something... no, everything inside me is telling me that any pain I feel is deserved, that I wasn't created for amy specific purpose... that I will always be unwhole.

But, You work inside of me. You constantly make motion of the dead. If anything in me is wrong, You set out to change it. You find me beautiful. You find me delightful. You make me worthy. You fill the unwhole.

O Holy Night

I'm in my campus' computer lab, and for the past few minutes, I've heard someone humming "O Holy Night."

I dont know if there is actually someone humming it, or if it is in my head.

But regardless, it's DEFINITELY the 8th of March today, and "O Holy Night" should not be heard for at LEAST another 8 months.

What a Weekend!

I admit that I am completely shaken at this moment. For the past year, I have protested against the practices of modern Christianity concerning the idea expressed by a youth pastor I once knew;

"If you fill these chairs, you're accomplishing ministry."

This ideal makes me ILL. It makes me irate. But moreover, it inspires me to want to change both myself and my world.

This weekend, my best friend, Teia has been in town. She recently participated in a mission trip to Thailand, where God threw her whole life in circles that haven't really subsided yet. We talked a lot about the state of Americans, and how it affects the state of the American church. In our church service this morning, the theme was continued by my younger sister reading from her journal about an experience she had in Juarez, Mexico.

Here's the truth: plain and simple.

Americans are spoiled. American Christians are spoiled. Instead of being holy and set apart from our depraved culture, we are conforming to it. We have become attractional, invitational, and we demean God by ignoring the weight that His Gospel places on the hearts of those called by God to believe. We ignore the commands of Christ, and replace them with programs or man-made institutions. In essence, we ignore Christ.

On top of this, after returning home from the church service, and saying goodbye to Teia, I logged onto Facebook, only to find one of the most incredibly written blog posts from my friend, Alex. Alex has to be one of the best writers that I know, but I don't think I have ever read anything from him that has struck me so hard. I want to quote a bit of it, and if you click on the title of this post (here on Blogspot), you can read the whole post.

"Indeed, the earth groans, children weep, and will we yet do nothing? If your said “fire” for Christ be real, prove it with your sacrifice rather than talk. Go out and help your neighbor instead of attending another church sponsored concert. We have a clear choice, either live like a disciple or live like a heathen, lest God spit us from his mouth. How often have we shame Christ with our words, our actions? I will freely admit, I am as guilty as any, but I have grown sick of it, weary of it. My heart aches as I throw mud on the cross with my words, with my actions….but I tell you now no more! I will not live this half life, this double life; I will be in Christ or die trying!

Go therefore and make disciples of all the nations Matthew 28:19"

March 1st: Self-Injury Awareness Day

Please say a prayer for all of the Self-Injurers in the world today, that they may find healing, peace, worth, and release from their addiction. I know I did... Praise God.

Don't keep silent.

Surely he took up our infirmities and carried our sorrows, yet we considered him stricken by God, smitten by him, and afflicted. But he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was upon him, and by his wounds we are healed. (Isaiah 53:5)

One Girl Revolution

One time, when I was being maybe-overly-opinionated, as I can be at times (what can I say? I'm a Goodwin) someone said to me, "You shouldn't try so hard to change the world."

... I decided it would not be wise to heed their advice.

Smart Girls Still Believe in Love

I have repeated this phrase over and over to myself after reading the book, "Dating Mr. Darcy" on Christmas of 2005. As many know, I loathe Valentines day with a passion, but I do not hate love. It is tradition for me to wear all black, watch sad movies, listen to old Country music, and even pin a felt broken heart to my shirt on this "day of love", and so I did today-- with only one difference.

I walked down the stairs in my all black outfit, and threw my arms in the air, proclaiming, "HAPPY SINGLES AWARENESS DAY!" to my younger sister. I was stopped by my mother who informed me that my sister was not happy to celebrate her singleness. I wasn't really surprised at this. She is 16, after all, and being pure is never popular, and it is rarely easy-- especially when all of your friends are obtaining "hot" boyfriends, and you've only had a couple that you regret (trust me, I understand this perfectly.

"At least your prince won't find you kissing a frog." I reassured her.

I decided to show her the "exception" to my Singles Awareness Day garb-- I pulled up my black pant leg to reveal pink and white plaid socks. I then repeated my motto;

"Smart girls still believe in love."

" It seems I've come to a realization. Despite the fact that I hate Valentines Day with a passion, it is no reason to be Anti-LOVE. Love is not evil. It's not something created by corporations to rake in the big-bucks. It's not even a fantasy. It's real, it's committment, it's responsibility, it's commanded by God, it's an attribute of God... and for someone to deny this beautiful gift under the pretense of bitterness is surely as close to a grave sin as one could ever come.
So, today, forget about all of the stupid people you've dated and all of the wrecked "love stories" you've experienced. Forget that love has become something shallow in our society-- something that's been torn up and thrown away so many times that we've begun to hate it (ironic.. we hate love). Forget about your need to be UNfeminine. Smart girls still believe in love.
Smart girls still embrace the beauty of a possible future romance, and they realize that romance isn't what defines them. Smart girls love everyone fiercely, and they make every effort to portray love ina an honorable, graceful way. Smart girls dig smart guys who honor them and treat them with respect and Godly admiration EVERYDAY of the year, not just on February 14. THAT is love.
I'll say it again...
Smart girls still believe in love." (February 14, 2006)

Contrary to popular belief, it is perfectly acceptable, and actually often BETTER to be single. Don't let the idiocy of Valentine's Day get you down if you are single.

Also, if you are currently in the love of you life and 100% convinced that you're RIGHT where you should be, CONGRATULATIONS, and may God bless the love you're experiencing. :)

I may hate Valentines Day, but I'd be stupid to hate love.

-Jessica

Things That I ABSOLUTELY adore

Since I posted all of my pet peeves, I thought I'd make a list of some of the things I really, really love. Here goes..

- The fact that God is a rescuer
- Rain storms
- Fruit snacks
- Old movies... the overacted, underrated black and white ones.
- The Temptations
- Art... visual manifestation of human passions.
- MY FAMILY. If you know them, this does not need explanation-- but I'll explain anyway.
- My daddy's smiles-- there are different ones for different moods. I especially love his mischievous smile :)
- My mommy's chocolate chip cookies... they taste different every time.
- Anthony's geek moments... there are too many of them to count.
- Mark's completely random sense of humor.
- The fact that Christopher HONORS me... he doesn't just love me.
- Amy's uninhibited laugh, outrageous smile, and ability to trust and love people.
- The books of Isaiah, Lamentations, Romans, and Jeremiah. Biblical poetry-- mmmm.
- Finding God amidst sorrow, and realizing that that is all too often right where He belongs-- because it's right next to you.
- Laughing until I cry.
- Words... all words... every kind of word.
- My friends.
- The fact that my puppy mopes when you mope and tries to cheer you up when you cry.
- The fact that my bunny is more obedient than my puppy-- and he throws fits and stomps when he's mad... okay... I just love my bunny.
- Springtime.
- Warm sweaters
- Chivalrous men
- Color
- Contrast
- My best friends, Abbi, Ian, and Teia--
-Abbi, my sister, who loves unconditionally and speaks truth into my life. I want to be like Abbi if I ever get to grow up.
- Ian, who stretches my mind and challenges me to think outside of my emotions, and who can just goof off and talk about monkeys and hippos and all sorts of useless things.
-Teia, who just plain challenges me. Without her, I'd probably be some agoraphobic psycho. :)
- I LOVE being single.
- I love my nephew... for so so so many reasons. :)
- I love writing... it's cathartic.
- I love reading... it's therapeutic.

Things That Bug Me a Little

When in doubt, write about your pet peeves.

So.. okay... I really can't stand when you're in a public place with someone, and you spend a lot of time in close proximity to them, and when you get home you SMELL like them. That drives me absolutely insane.

I also can't stand it when Christians jump down a non-Christian's throat with a bunch of theology and philosphy that isn't even relevant to any conversation being held-- it's like they're just looking for something to argue about, instead of trying to inform someone of their religion or what have you.

Static-electricity
REALLY cold weather
Catching a cold
watery-eyes
Days when you feel absolutely massive
giant reading assignments

loosing an assignment you should have turned in two days ago, and finding that it's NOT, in fact, saved on your computer

realizing there really IS something wrong with how your mind works.

Going shopping with your brother who is more picky than you are... or your sister... or your mom.

Wearing high heals, forgetting that you walk around a college campus all day.

Trying to write a great paper that turns out completely incoherant by the second page.

not being able to sleep
people asking "What's wrong?"
retail customers
decided ignorance
extremist thinking
materialism
myself

When I'm trying to sleep, and my blanket is upside down, or the seam of the blanket is not near my head.

When I can't concentrate.

When I really want coffee, but I forgot my wallet at home.

Overbearing profanity.
illogical debaters
people who can't just define the issue
socks that fall off
shoes that are just a little bit too big

I'm a little irritable, methinks.

SARCASM

I love it when you can feel people pushing you out of their lives-- When you know that you don't really matter to some people anymore, or when you know that they value something so immaterial more than their four year friendship with you.

I love it even more when I can lay awake at night and pinpoint the moment in my life that brought about all of the complexes I've formed in the past five years. I love that I know exactly what is wrong with me, and where it all started.

But what I really love is the fact that I can't do anything about it.
It will never change.

I love that I'm so incredibly selfish about so many incredibly stupid things-- that I can look at someone's pain and say, "They're so selfish.", even though I'm the selfish one. I also love that I'm pretentious and critical. I love that I can spew out advice and admonishment because I so obviously know exactly what other people should be doing, but then I forget that I did it all, too-- I just chose a razor instead of a bottle, or a cigarette, or a joint.

I love that, through all of the things I do, I end up doing to God the exact things that I can feel people doing to me-- pushing Him out of my life while claiming His grace, and waving in His face something so immaterial that I idiotically value more than my friendship with Him.

L'imposteur

CLEANTE: Brother, I don't pretend to be a sage,
Nor have I all the wisdom of the age.
There's just one insight I would dare to claim:
I know that true and false are not the same;
And just as there is nothing I more revere
Than a soul whose faith is steadfast and sincere,
Nothing that I more cherish and admire
Than honest zeal and true religious fire,

So there is nothing I find more base
Than specious piety's dishonest face--
Whose impious mummeries and hollow shows
Exploit our love of Heaven, and make a jest
Of all that men think holiest and best;
These calculating souls who offer prayers
Not to their Maker, but as public wares,
And seek to buy respect and reputation
With lifted eyes and sighs of exaltation;
These charlatans, I say, whose pilgrim sould
Proceed, by way of Heaven, toward earthly goals,
Who weep and pray and swindle and extort,
Who preach the monkish life, but haunt the court,
Who make their zeal the partner of their vice--
Such men are vengeful, sly, and cold as ice,
And when there is an enemy to defame
They cloak their spite in fair religion's name,
Their private spleen and malice being made
To seem a high and virtuous crusade,
Until, to mankind's reverent applause,
They crucify they're foe for Heaven's cause.

Tartuffe, Moliere

Evolution of the Poetic Concept

I love to write poetry. Period. As I become more and more educated in literature-- both traditional and contemporary-- my perception of what is "poetic", or even "artistic" changes so often. The first semester of college was spent trying to perfect poems of meter, rhyme, and traditional form. I even tried to write a sonnet once...

Stretching out Your hand as if it were rain
You chose to touch my dark and sordid face.
What motivation! Still, my mind refrain
From choosing to run this long, horrid race.
And lo, my heart [still mute] will reprieve this;
That I may remain living while still dead
And I shall refuse to live in true bliss.
Still my soul would surely choose this instead,
To cast away its cares or simply cope.
For there must be some unfeigned way to
Live in full peace and to know sincere hope--
To love and be loved by One who is true.
How lost in Your wonder is my small mind!
None have I known, compared to Your kind.

Last spring semester, I read a lot of ee cummings. A LOT of ee cummings. I annotated. I mimicked. I came to love the idea and challenge of controlling words without meter or rhyme. The abstract structure of American poetry in the 1950's caught my attention, and I decided to try to work on this beautiful idea. Here's one of my favorites...

dancing, like ballet
across the surface of the sea,
like air
the art of you sculpts fragile memories
like cool marble stone
in a still quiet museum.
all around, the people
bustle away
while you, like the sun
rise and fall,
creating your masterpiece.

I think I am slowly evening out my style, and I am extremely excited.

Last night, I found a poem by a Palestinian-American poet, Naomi Shihab Nye. Her use of language and control of tone and atmosphere astounds me, as well as the power of her imagery.

"Making a Fist"

For the first time, on the road north of Tampico,
I felt the life sliding out of me,
a drum in the desert, harder and harder to hear.
I was seven, I lay in the car
watching palm trees swirl a sickening pattern past the glass.
My stomach was a melon split wide inside my skin.

"How do you know if you are going to die?"I begged my mother.
We had been traveling for days.
With strange confidence she answered,"When you can no longer make a fist."

Years later I smile to think of that journey,
the borders we must cross separately,
stamped with our unanswerable woes.
I who did not die, who am still living,
still lying in the backseat behind all my questions,
clenching and opening one small hand.

-Naomi Shihab Nye

I have read and heard many of Nye's poems in the past week, and all morning before church, I had two lines of poetry in the style of Nye that would not leave my mind: "I never knew what my house looked like from the highway/nestled in the earth, and life, and willows." So, after I sat down before the service (and through the whole thing, I admit), I began to write it down. But... how do you finish a pome like that? Where is it supposed to go from there? I added line by line all morning, and I ended up writing this;

I never knew what my house looked like from the highway
nestled in the earth, and life, and willows
with a creek bubbling behind and six cars parked in front.

I've always wondered if it looked like home from a mile away
filled with the truth, and smiles, and singing laughter
with tears behind us and bright hopes ahead.

But I realize, it's not about what it looks like on the outside
not earth, not willows, not six cars parked out front.
It's about living out the smiles.
It's about singing out the truth.

This semester, in all four of my literature courses, I hope I can take away even more ways to refine my poetic concept. I'll share with you all the poetry I write, even if it scares me to death to let anyone see it. You all encourage me. You inspire me, and inspiration is the best kind of poetry... it IS poetry.

Check it out

http://www.myspace.com/unvoicedthebook

Final cover art is on there.

I need YOUR help.

Okay, so... I'm a couple of edits away from self-publishing my first novel. However, I need to figure out some stuff with the cover art. I have some mock-ups made with stock photos (I'll be taking my own for the actual cover), and I need to know what some people think of the ones I have so far. SO... out of the three designs below, which would you most likely pick up/buy/look at to read in a book store?

1)

2)

3)

It will be a 6" by 9" book. The story is about a 17 year old girl that struggles with self-injury... if that helps you get a feel for the book at all. Of course, the back cover would mimmick the front in style and colors and such-- and it would be a lot more polished and professional looking. Whaddya think? Any opinions would be awesome... just be nice. haha

-Jessica

Rescuer

A very late night conversation with a couple of my friends on New Years Eve/Day inspired me to write this post. It's something I don't talk about nearly enough.

I was “saved” at the age of three. I loved God, and I knew who he was, even if I was young. I wouldn’t quite say that I understood the saving power of who He is, though. It took a lot more than a prayer to teach me that. I had a great Christian education, and was well versed in Scripture and Christian doctrine. I could debate theology with anyone, and still appear extremely intelligent for my age.

But, when I was 13, my family moved out of state and then moved again when I was 14. By this time, I was seriously doubting my beliefs. Maybe “doubting my beliefs” isn’t the right way to put it. I still knew God, and I knew how He could provide for my needs, but so many things in life seemed so much more logical than He did. Because so many illogical things had happened in such a short time before this, I thrived on and sought out practicality, logic, minimalism, strictness, and reason. What eventually came of this was in no way logical, though.

I don't remember a lot of what happened in my life between the ages of 14 and 16, but I remember that they were very dark days for me. I was very depressed. I began to punish myself for not being able to be happy, for trusting people I shouldn‘t have, for doing something stupid at youth group, or even for getting a bad grade. At first, it was only skipping meals, scratching at my arms, and running myself down all the time. The first manifestation of it all that I can remember was at a performance of Tchaikovsky's "The Nutcracker". My brother asked why my arm was scratched, and I told him fearlessly that I had done it. He jokingly called me "Cutter", and never brought it up again.

That was just the beginning.

It quickly escalated to punishing my body through exercise and under eating. At one point, I was eating one small meal a day and exercising for a little under four hours a day. I would fill up on coffee and diet soda, or I would manipulate my metabolism so that I wouldn't even get hungry at all. What I couldn't do by swimming laps, I'd make up for in walking or stay up working out in my room. I lost about 70 pounds the summer before I began my junior year, but even that wasn't enough-- I wasn’t enough. So I continued to push myself. I would hitch rides to the local rec center when our home pool closed for the year, and I started walking to friends houses and Bible study regularly.

Even though I was consistently controlling my body, I started cutting myself when I was 15 years old. It started with thumb tacks and mechanical pencils, and eventually I was using razors and even knives if I could. I never thought I would come clean, but when I made the choice to tell my youth leader about my habit, I knew that I had to tell my parents. I didn't want them to find out about it through anyone but myself. A little after my 16th birthday, I had my parents and myself convinced that I wasn't going to cut anymore, but I soon fell back into it. This was worse. I never used anything but razors or knives, and the cuts seemed to last longer and go deeper each time. I saw people who had been into cutting at my age, who were then in their 20s, trying to raise families and have careers-- the baggage that self-harm left was unbelievable, and I knew deep down that I could very well have been on that road. So, I pushed people away because I didn't want to have to explain myself to them-- but really, it's because I didn't want to face myself when all was said and done. I didn't want to end up in a psych ward. I didn't want to end up constantly unstable, and facing more mental disorders than I could even fathom. I lived a seemingly double life. I led youth group and worked with non-profit organizations, all the while destroying myself for some unvoiced reason-- a reason I couldn't even find words for.

After six more months of battling with myself and my rage (as well as with my parents, who found out about one of my relapses because my little sister saw a cut on my arm-- ironically, it is one of the only scars visible on my arms to this day), I finally realized how far I had gone. It occurred to me one night, at a bon fire, that it wasn’t okay for me to bleed instead of crying, or talking to someone about what I was feeling. It wasn’t okay, regardless of my weight or pants size, to starve myself or obsess over how I looked. I also realized how futile the pursuit of control was. At least, it wasn’t at all worth the price I paid for it.

I had ruined many relationships in my life. My friends were hurt. I spent many nights on the phone with my three closest friends (what good friends they were, even if I wanted desperately to get away from them)-- it wasn‘t rare for them to be crying or yelling or both. My parents couldn't trust me, and with good reason. Sometimes even now, if I have a scratch on my arm, they‘ll ask about it, which only reminds me of how much they deserve to hold my trust (as well as what a blessing it is for me to hold theirs after all I put them through.) Worst of all, I had injured my relationship with God in a major way. By cutting, I stood in His face and told Him that He wasn’t good enough to sooth my pain. By starving myself, I told Him that I didn’t trust Him enough to make me beautiful.

A few weeks after the last time I cut, my family moved again. God showed me how incredibly good He is. In the town that I moved from, my reputation was ruined. I couldn't be considered a stable, healthy girl anymore, and I didn't want to live in that manner in the new community I would have to be a part of. God pretty much got in my face and said "Straighten up, I’m giving you a second chance."

The second chance came. I’ve been able to come into contact with others who are coming out of the depths and darkness of self-harm. I still struggle with all of these things. Mostly cutting, and the feeling that I need to punish myself. But now, I know just how much I need God, and how willing He is to let me start over. It is so much more than a blessing-- my second chance. To be able to shine, even if I’m not quite there yet. To be able to smile again (which I've been told I never stop doing-- Praise God! What else is there to do, really?), and more than that-- to be able to cry again. To be able to stand up and say, “I’ve been there, and I know for a fact that you don’t have to be.”

But more than anything, I am forever grateful that my God is a rescuer. He is MY rescuer.

"We must tell them that there is no pit so deep that He is not deeper still. They will listen to us... because we have been here." - Betsie Ten Boom

"Does anybody know how I feel? Sometimes I'm numb, sometimes I'm overcome. Does anybody care what's going on? Do I have to wear my scars like a badge on my arm for you to see me, I need release. Do I have to scream for you to hear me? Do I have to bleed for you to see me? 'Cause I grieve, you're not listening to me. Do I need to scream? Has anybody seen what's been done? Where was my defense? No one heard my protest. The eyes of God were watching me. It's time to make my peace, let it go and be released so I can breathe again. I'm on my knees I've been marked, set apart, but I'm cut so deep and afraid of the dark. One drop of blood from the hole in Your hand is enough to heal me and make me stand. 'Cause I'm clean, He is listening to me. I don't have to scream for Him to hear me-- Don't have to bleed for Him to see me. 'Cause I'm clean, He is listening to me. I don't have to scream. I don't have to bleed .'Cause I'm clean, He is listening-- And I don't have to scream." - ZOEgirl, Scream

Maybe someday, I'll have something inspiring to say.

"I think we've all missed the point.
This is our one life to give."

-Parallax View

Far, Far Away

Staring at the shoreline, wishing for some hope, the weight of empty fishing nets is more than twisted rope. And underneath stern faces, they wait with baited breath with broken hearts from hoping while casting out their nets. See the figure on the shore-- He speaks his words like plain men sing. His hands they still have holes in them. Glory to the King! Can you hear the bells are ringing far, far, away? Can you hear the voices singing far, far, away? And Peter was a liar-- a traitor just like me... and Judas was a hypocrite, and Paul a Pharisee. When truth can be so distant, and hope evades our reach... Peter swam across the water and found it on the beach.

-Five Iron Frenzy

Things I've learned

Friendship is not something that is built on what I have in common with someone, but what we've been through together.

"Home" is rarely ever locational.

Singing Patsy Cline's song, "He Called Me Baby" will sooth any sort of pain or discomfort.

There is nothing more heartwarming than your German Shepherd puppy climbing on top of the dining room table before Christmas dinner.

Some people are really immature-- try not to be like them.

React. Don't act up.

Smile.

Thou my best thought, by day or by night.

"In Christ Alone"

Stewart Townend, Keith Getty

In Christ alone my hope is found.
He is my light, my strength, my song.
This Cornerstone, this solid ground--
Firm through the fiercest drought and storm.

What heights of love, what depths of peace!
When fears are stilled, when strivings cease.
My Comforter, my All in All--
Here in the love of Christ I stand.

In Christ alone, who took on flesh,
Fullness of God in helpless babe.
This gift of love and righteousness,
Scorned by the ones He came to save.

'Till on that cross as Jesus died
The wrath of God was satisfied.
For every sin on Him was laid.
Here in the death of Christ I live.

There in the ground His body lay,
Light of the world by darkness slain--
Then bursting forth in glorious Day,
Up from the grave He rose again.

And as He stands in victory,
Sin's curse has lost it's grip on me.
For I am His and He is mine--
Bought with the precious blood of Christ.

No guilt in life, no fear in death,
This is the power of Christ in me.
From life's first cry to final breath,
Jesus commands my destiny.

No power of hell, no scheme of man
Can ever pluck me from His hand
'Till He returns or calls me home
Here in the power of Christ I'll stand.

The Passing of Arthur

As many may know, I left my previous church in May. I had no idea why God had placed within me the discontent I knew. I had reasons for disliking the specific church, but it was a strange feeling. Except for not taking part in communion, I felt absolutely no guilt in not attending a church. I didn't know where God wanted to lead me next, but I knew that whatever it was absolutely had to require three things.

1) Reverence and Respect for the Sacred. I did not want to attend a church where the main focus was to "get something out of it." I had a huge problem with songs and sermon that did not in any way glorify God, but rather demeaned Him in one of the most insulting ways-- by ignoring His depth and Heart in order to appeal to the masses. I was even irritated by the smallest things-- people clapping for the worship band, guitar solos in the middle of a beautiful, theologically inspiring hymn, and so on.

2) An Attitude of Compassion Toward the Lost. In my last few years at this church, I do not believe I came across more than one professing Non-believer. The one Non-Believer I knew was a dear friend of mine who eventually left the church because her small group leaders would not accept her "punk" lifestyle. They attempted to give her a make over, in which they wanted to replace her spikey green hair (which looked fantastic with a black and white polka-dotted dress) with something more normal, and her safety-pinned, hand-made clothes (which she now SELLS) with something more tame. Her appearance, however, was not her heart-issue, but the church and it's supposed youth leadership failed to recognize that... and they lost her. They lost her.

3) A Wise and Discerning Use of Resources and Influence in the Community. It is a common-known fact amongst youth groups in this area that, if you want to get a big church to involve themselves in one of your events, you certainly do not ask the church I previously attended. Not only were they introverted, they were egotistical. What kind of church, that has such enormous potential and resources, gives it all up for a minimal territory and a bad reputation within the body of Christ?

I never could have imagined what God had in store for me. Not only did He place me in a body of believers who share my heart and convictions about the second and third concerns I hold, He also directly addressed the first concern by placing me in a denominational tradition of reverence, abstinence, and charity-- three of the things that I value most in the world.

I was more than excited about the Missionary Church. More than I even let on, really. But the idea of casting off all traditions and building it all back up by Scripture alone sort of shook me a little. I never really voiced it, but still I looked for solace in trying to allign with far more traditional religious views. Nothing seemed right. However, two things have come up in the past week that have completely changed my mind about seeking out more traditional worship.

The first thing happened when I was surfing Myspace, and I came across an old, old friend of mine. I'm talking... we were best friends when we were 12. He wanted to be a Christian Apologist. I wanted to be a writer. For a while, he really wandered away from the Church. We lost touch a lot during this time, but I know God had his heart all along. He is currently going through much of the same thing as I am-- struggling to find something true and real in the mess of religious monopoly in the world. While I am participating in a derrivative of the Organic church, he is a part of the Emergent Church. Anyway-- There was one word on his entire site that just jumped out at me-- "Sacred." He said it over and over again-- as if it were something that needed to be notice and applied. This caught my heart, and has been there ever since.

It wasn't completely tied together, though, until today when I read "The Passing of Arthur," a poem by Lord Alfred Tennyson about the death of King Arthur.

After Modred nearly kills Arthur, Sir Bedivere returns Exalibur to the Lady of the Lake, and then has a final discussion with Arthur about the future of the kingdom. Bedivere is horrified-- he is the last knight of the round table, and he realizes that it would be foolish and dangerous to carry on chivalry and knighthood without King Arthur or the precepts used to form Camelot, but he refuses to give up his status, his traditions, and his lifestyle as a knight. The era of knighthood is gone, and Arthur recognizes this. In consoling Bedivere, he said this;

And slowly answer'd Arthur from the barge;
"The old order changeth, yeilding place to the new,
And God fulfils himself in many ways,
Lest one good custom should corrupt the world."

It then dawned on me-- Even if all of the traditions and customs I had loved so dearly had been good in their own time, they are a hindrance to the things that God wants to accomplish in the world-- and this will eventually corrupt the world beyond repair. Everything changes, especially religious expression, but it yeilds place to the new. This new movement I am participating in is not traditional, but God does not call us to worship with tradition. He calls us to have reverence for what is sacred. It may not be perfect, and we may not know exactly what it will look like, but it is becoming more and more clear to me that True Vine Missionary Church is certainly one of the many ways that God has decided to "fulfil himself in."

Some Updates

Just thought I would let you all know about some stuff I just changed. I got a new counter, though it isn't working well right now-- or at all. :-) At any rate, you should check it out, it's a pretty neat concept for a counter.

Also, I switched some stuff around on my sidebar, so if you want to, it's much easier to check out my friend's blogs, as well as some of my other favorite sites.

Finally, I added someone to my friends' list-- "The One and Only Shotgun" This guy is nuts-- in a good way (sometimes :-)), but he has a fairly interesting blog, mostly about politics and religion. I've been corresponding with Shotgun for about a year now on SecretMotive.com, and he has been quite a character, and an interesting addition to the now-dying forums on there.

As for my other friends, I have a lot of them on the list. If you read this, I know you well, and you want to be listed on my friends list, just let me know (or if you're listed, and you DON'T want to be!) I do realize that there are only men on there for now. I am constantly searching for female bloggers, so check back periodically to review my list.

Other updates:: Only 2 more pages of my American Lit. Final... PRAISE GOD.

Where I'm Published

I recieved a comment the other day inquiring as to where and what I published. So, here is the link:

Associated Content

There you go!

Random Find

Cyanide & Happiness @ Explosm.net


Cyanide & Happiness @ Explosm.net

Glorious

I have something I want to say here, but I have a feeling it is going to come out sort of messy, so bear with me. I promise I won't go a long way for nothing. Sunday night, my best friend, Teia was able to come into town. We decided to attend Mosaic (a local church's college service) for the first time since July (the last time she was in town. Mosaic is sort of a tradition of ours). While we were there, we sang a song called "My Glorious". I have always loved this song because of personal implications, but it set wheels turning in my head.

The song's first verse is simple and fairly uninspired (as far as Chris Tomlin songs are concerned.) But, the bridge is where I really started thinking;

And all You ever do
is change the old for new
People we believe that

God is bigger than
the air I breathe
The world we'll leave
God will save the day
and all will say
My glorious!

A few times around in the song, I was reminded of something I posted on my old blog back in September of '05:

I was reading Brennan Manning's book, "A Glimps of Jesus: The Stranger To Self- Hatred" the other night, and I had an epiphone. In the book, Manning explains that one of the greatest causes of self-hatred amongst Christians is legalism. Now, I know I hate that word. Really, I do... because people overuse it, and they think that any sort of restriction put on a Christian by the word of God is "legalism". However, Manning was referring to opressive religious practices that have no scriptural base. He said that legalism isn't the biggest problem for Christians; the biggest problem for Christians is that we fail to let Jesus Christ be who He truly is in our lives. That got me. Man, that got me.

I think, as Christians, we tend to let our views of Christ levitate toward one extreme or another, either all-loving, or all-judging. But we forget that His love and His justice go hand in hand. They work together to cultivate in us an incredible spirit and closeness to Him. We stunt that so often. We invite in His love, but we aren't willing to face His judgement and correction-- or we live in fear of rebuke, and we never get to see the Christ that holds out His arms to us in love. We miss the point so much... I miss the point so much. God created us so that we could glorify Him, but we can't glorify Him to our fullest unless we allow Him to work in every part of our lives with every part of who He is.

Think about that.

How big would our lives be? How drastic would the change be? How righteous could we become, how beautiful could He make us if He, in His fullness was involved in our lives completely?

Now that you have this in your mind, and you probably agree with me so far-- ponder the question: as a whole Church, are we letting GOD be WHOLLY involved? How much of what we do in a church service is man-made and underived from scripture? How much of it has been created with the mentality of "We have to make this work", and the implied notion that the Holy Spirit will NOT work without our help? Now, think about how transformed His Church could be if we just let Him take the wheel-- If we let Him be the Potter, instead of turning Him into simple clay. He changes old for new. He saves the day. He's bigger than a four point sermon. He's bigger than a cliche worship chorus. He's bigger than liturgy. He's bigger than any tradition. He's bigger than festivals, or coffeehouse themes, or Christian bands, or any other form of ministry that WE try to execute instead of letting Him. How golrious would the Church really be if we just let Him use us, instead of us exploiting Him?

Hello Amendment 2--

Goodbye individual state rights.
Well... eventually.

I didn't think there were so many stupid people in Missouri.

Becoming a professional

So, the other day, I offically sold my first piece of writing. This excites me to no end. It wasn't much, and I didn't get paid too well, but it is encouraging. So... I am happy-- even if my nose is blue and puffy.

Ouch...

I think my nephew just seriously injured my nose.

The Skuh Manifesto

Not to be confused with the S.C.U.M. Manifesto

I know I haven't been "around" much as of late. I've been trying to figure out where I'm going in the next few years of my education. I still have very little idea, but the more I think about my current school, the more I ache for the people there. Not only is there absolutely no community on any level there, there is little to no Christian community. I am not posting this to bash the current Christian organizations present on campus, but I think we need far more than what's there.

So, if you will, take this post as my manifesto... the Skuh Manifesto, as it were.

It will simply not do to have only one Christian group on campus, with only two accessible meetings a week, geared only to Christians. I know that, if possible, I would hear multiple shouts of protest concerning this claim. But, think about out like this: The current outreaches on campus consist of church-like meetings, where a non-Christian can come, sing to a God they don't know, participate in a Christian Fellowship they do not fully understand (therefore, they cannot fully partake in), and hear sermons from Scripture that they do not ascribe to in a language that they are not fluent in (Christianese). The only draw for them is the free pizza. Why would you want to torment any non-Christian in such a way? The Church was not meant for this. It is a body of BELEIVERS, not a place to invite your friends to, as if it were the circus.

I am not saying that non-Christians should be perpetually ignorant of scripture, but there are far more effective ways of sharing the Gospel than creating mini-churches, with congregants who's only motivation in communicating with others is to invite them to meetings every time they talk to them.

My proposal-- my vision for the SCC campus in the coming semesters is as follows: Groups of 6-8 CHRISTIAN students, studying the scripture together, and standing beside one another as they venture into the community and campus building relationships with non-believers. Sharing the love of Christ in word and deed. Digging into their lives. Being there for them when they need support. Meeting physical needs. Buying them lunch. Helping them move. Lending them $10 for gas money. Inviting them over for dinner. Baking them cookies. Doing real things to accomplish real ministry, and meeting together in groups-- groups that exist to encourage and empower them to do these things every single day, with all of their beings.

This is my vision. This is the infection that needs to be spread on our campus, especially by Christians.

I have stated my vision. Here is my plea-- join me in this revolution, whether it be in prayer or in action.

This made me giggle...

What I Want In A Church

Note the last line.

Tidbits from my week

• I can make tortilla chips.
• I have a 3.8 GPA, with hopes of a 4.0 if I just step it up in Biology (7% away).
• Best blog I've read in a month.
• My first serious attempt at watercolor.
• I only have one semester left at SCC.
• Midterms are over, and so I shall rejoice!

Should I Tell Them?

Today at lunch, I sat with my friend, Lisa and discussed her most recent fight with her father. She told me how she nearly decked him yesterday, and I munched on my possibly-ecoli-ridden lettuce. Over a game of Canasta, the rest of our lunch table casually discussed their addiction to self-harm. Three out of six girls at that table were professing self-injurers or recovered self-injurers-- myself included. I sat back, munching on my lettuce, listening to Lisa drone, and pretending to read Washington Irving.

Now, I sit back and wonder why I didn't say a word.

It seems I am ashamed of my history, as well as my Rescuer; I am faithless in the idea that God's light can be seen even through such a filthy vessel as myself; I am so afraid of my sins being exploited that I hide God's power in my life; and gently He reminds me that not even my fear can hide His victory in me.

Walking with you is not without hazards/ Trippings this traveler's curse/ Price paid for falling is more than my stumble/ In a world that is watching and waiting for words/ But I listened when You said to go/ And I set out in spite of my fears/ About truth mixed with my imperfection/ And the question of what to say when I got here/ And now that I'm here/ Should I tell them that You are the one who has made me/ And saved me and set up a home there inside/ Should I tell them that I am a perfect example/ Of all You can do with a life./ What should I say to them?/ What if I'm failing them?/ What should i tell them tonight?/ Now don't get me wrong/ I'm thankful to be here/ With this song to sing and a spotlight on me,/ But lately I'm wondering if you are mistaken,/ If you're seeing all of me there is to see./ Cause on every face I detect/ The same questions I've posed to you/ Like do you speak through the imperfect/ Are we too dirty for your light to get through?/ I want your light to get through./ What should I tell them when/ They're thirsty Lord/ My cup is empty Lord/ Come and lead me here in this place/ Cause I'm honest, yeah, but I'm unprepared/ And I'm just plain afraid

-Shaun Groves

And it still applies today...

"I hope I shall be forgiven a hard word if I call this a perfect cavil. I readily own there hath been an old custom, time out of mind, for people to assemble in the churches every Sunday, and that shops are still frequently shut, in order, as it is conceived, to preserve the memory of that ancient practice; but how this can prove a hindrance to business or pleasure is hard to imagine. What if the men of pleasure are forced, one day in the week, to game at home instead of the chocolate-house? Are not the taverns and coffee-houses open? Can there be a more convenient season for taking a dose of physic? Is not that the chief day for traders to sum up the accounts of the week, and for lawyers to prepare their briefs? But I would fain know how it can be pretended that the churches are misapplied? Where are more appointments and rendezvouses of gallantry? Where more care to appear in the foremost box, with greater advantage of dress? Where more meetings for business? Where more bargains driven of all sorts? And where so many conveniences or incitements to sleep?"

-Jonathan Swift, An Argument Against Abolishing Christianity, 1708

BE A HERO

"The travesty, my dear Amy, is that you are more intent on shaping your dear little nose than you are on fashioning your character." - Marmee (Little Women, Louisa May Alcott)

America's Next Top Model

Last night, my sister and I watched America's Next Top Model. While it was funny at times, and the photography was superb (even inspired me to possibly get back into it), I noticed something that made me really quite ill.

All of the women who tried out for the competion were on there because they "wanted to make something of themselves", or otherwise prove to the world that they were far more than just a pretty face. This puzzled me a little, to be perfectly honest. If you want to be something more than a pretty face, why become a model? After a while, though, it became all to clear to me how much of a joke the competion really was.

The first photoshoot was-- get ready for it-- a nude shoot. Granted, it was tastefully done (regardless of what your opinion is on nude art, it was not in the least pornographic.), but the idea of forcing all of these women to do what most models take years to gather the courage to do is ridiculous. On top of that, all of the women made fun of the two girls who were not comfortable with posing nude. Needless to say, these two girls (even though they were eventually coaxed into it) did not make it to the next level of the competition.

My point in saying all of this is-- it is not in the least bit feministic to go on national television and pose nude for a camera. Nor is it encouraging to other women who are unsure of themselves to ridicule them until they follow your own idea of what feminine liberation is. It seems to me that this feminist ideal is falling further and further from what the first feminists wanted for us.

Stop objectifying yourself and fellow women-- you ARE more than a pretty face. So cover yourself up and sharpen your mind, soul, and compassion in order that you may become graceful, honorable women of integrity. It's what we were made to be. THAT is how you prove yourself to the world.

Coming Soon...

Here is a tenative list of upcoming peices I'll be posting. Check back regularly to read!

• Women and Equality
• The Opression of Women Within Protestant Tradition
• Celibacy: A Protestant Defense
• The Retail Manifesto

I

"This is the God of the gospel of grace. A God, who out of love for us, sent the only Song He ever had wrapped in our skin. He learned how to walk, stumbled and fell, cried for His milk, sweated blood in the night, was lashed with a whip and showered with spit, was fixed to a cross and died whispering forgiveness on us all." - Brennan Manning

Amen.

Four Lines Of Iambic Pentameter

It's so vacuous to take back the essence of control from the One who set the earth in motion.

I seized the pen from the Author's hand,
And wrote myself into No-Man's-Land,
Where the thorns bereave and storms demand
My attention's turn from something grand.

I wrote this last semester. Really, I was just playing with meter and rhyme, trying to get a perfect set of lines in iambic pentameter. I got the structure right, thankfully. Kudos to Jeff for final editting. I think this is one of my favorite pieces.

Upon Acceptance of What Must Be

It is not You who bereaves me,
Dawner of day, Sultan of sea.
Not You, but the darkness in me.

It is not You who turns dusk to night,
One Holy God, Father of Light.
Not You, but this sin of birthright.

It is not You who steals our mirth,
Supreme Spirit of my rebirth.
Not You, but this flawed, broken earth.

Is it not You who changed my past,
Forever Song, Great Love so vast?
Yes, You, though I have trespassed.

Is it not You, one day to come
Love of my heart, Light of the sun?
Yes, You. You resound my anthem.

I'm afraid I must work in the morning, but I thought I'd do a short little blog thing right quick about a topic that has seemingly overtaken my life as of late-- Catholicism. Everywhere I turn, I run into it. Tonight's small group meeting really drove it into the ground for me. I don't think this is bad, in fact, it's probably good for me, ya know? Dejan's been asking me tough questions about my doctrine that I've never been asked before, I've been listening to the verbal sparring of Ryan and whoever feels like attacking him on any given Monday, and my conversations with McGee have been funneling down to one or two main points of conflict in my little, Evangelical mind.

It's interesting, though, because before I began seriously talking with McGee, or attending Jeff's English classes, Catholicism hardly caught my attention at all. I was a happily ignorant little Protestant girl. Now, I find myself literally caught in the middle of Protestantism and Catholicism, with no desire in my heart to convert to the latter. (Yet a heavy desire for celibacy-- which is a whole different issue.) I can't, however, openly admit this to any of my friends (Catholic or otherwise), because the Protestants like to breathe down my neck all the time, and the Catholics never understand why I don't just convert if I'm really "almost Catholic", as some like to call me.

Truth is, I have a serious issue with the idea of the Tradition of the Catholic (Roman or otherwise) church being the unwritten word of God. I understand the concept. In fact, I find myself explaining it more and more to most of my non-Catholic friends as though I believed it, but I can't. It isn't that I doubt that The Church is the Bride of Christ, spotless because of His sacrifice, nor do I think that we should disregard history and the theology of Godly people that have come before us in interpreting the written word of God, but if the Church, or the Pope, do all the interpreting, what is the Holy Spirit for?

As for the celibacy thing...

So, as very few know, there is a boy named Dan, who I irreversibly allowed into my heart, and who I thought had done the same for me. I was wrong.. I got played. It happens, life goes on. But with this current (and ever so deep) heartache of mine comes a renewed reminder of my possible call to celibacy.

It makes me wonder... is this call only a resort after I have been hurt? With Dan, I almost feel like I was trying out another guy just to see if God REALLY meant it when He placed this in me. Why are these guys so easy to look past? Are they just distractions from God's calling? Am I just afraid of never finding someone? All of these questions have been battling on the forefront of my mind for the past 8 months, and still I find no resolution.

I'm pretty sure that all of you are thinking, "So what? Everyone goes through struggles." But I cannot say that I've ever met anyone that has gone through this particular struggle... and what a struggle it is! To think-- I may never become a mother. I may never have a wedding day. The struggle doesn't come in what I'm giving up, though, it comes in the idea of what I might be missing. If I were to remain celibate, would God really make it worth my while? I know that is a silly question. Really, I can't believe it even passes through my mind. But sometimes, I feel like I don't know where I'm going. I feel completely out of place, completely alone, and like God's reserving me for that "something better" that may never come. Sometimes, it feels like I'm holding out for nothing.

I know I'm young, and there's a lot of life left to live, but I'd rather every moment be used by Him. It isn't like I'm not willing-- it just feels like He's not interested at the moment.

And that hurts.

Meh... I'll finish this tomorrow or Wednesday, if there is anything to finish. I've had a really, really long day and not nearly enough sleep, so I am going to head off to Dreamland.

"I just want to be something more than the mud in Your eyes. I want to be the clay in Your hands. 'Cause Gloria is silent, and glory is a silent thing." - Mineral

HOLY SONNETS.

XIV.

Batter my heart, three-person'd God ; for you
As yet but knock ; breathe, shine, and seek to mend ;
That I may rise, and stand, o'erthrow me, and bend
Your force, to break, blow, burn, and make me new.
I, like an usurp'd town, to another due,
Labour to admit you, but O, to no end.
Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend,
But is captived, and proves weak or untrue.
Yet dearly I love you, and would be loved fain,
But am betroth'd unto your enemy ;
Divorce me, untie, or break that knot again,
Take me to you, imprison me, for I,
Except you enthrall me, never shall be free,
Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.

John Donne