Orienting My Heart

What I wanted more than anything my junior and senior year of high school was a computer of my own. After a wiped hard drive my sophomore year, I had trust issues with our family computer. I wished to write my papers in the solace of my room without anybody asking me if they could get on to put music on their iPod or check their email. I set about constantly dropping hints to my parents about exactly what I wanted. It was the Daisy Red Ryder BB Gun of my own life, the Apple MacBook. From our conversations, it seemed that my parents were all aboard for me getting it. I told them I was willing to sacrifice Christmas, graduation, my birthday, whatever it took to get exactly what I knew I wanted.

Christmas morning I shot out of bed, ready to see if my wish had come true. I found a couple of small wrapped presents under the tree and some stocking stuffers, but certainly nothing the size of a MacBook hiding beneath the branches. As William proceeded to open his gifts, I silently rehearsed the reserved and noncommittal tone in which I would receive my Christmas presents. I refused to allow myself to be crushed that I didn't get what I had asked for. After all, it wasn't that my life was in any way lacking or that I was deprived because I didn't get what I asked for.

Seriously, this is the picture I got on the Christmas tree

I opened my gifts and thanked my parents, still repressing any moodiness I may have been feeling inside. I knew what I was asking for was a lot. I had the freedom to ask, but my parents also had the freedom to say no. My dad looks to my mom and mentions as an afterthought, "Oh, there's one more on the back of the tree." No, they didn't hang my MacBook as an ornament. It was a slip of paper... with a photo of an Apple 13" MacBook Pro and a note telling me we'd be visiting the Apple Store to pick it up in a couple days time. Not only did my parents give to me what I had asked for, they gave me something that better than what I asked for.

Wash Your Dishes

A dear friend of mine had spent the morning deep cleaning. We shared how satisfying it is to do all that work and see just how much progress has been made through our efforts. That feeling of accomplishment and pride brought me back again to the end of today's Gospel in Matthew:

Blind Pharisee, cleanse first the inside of the cup, so the outside may also be clean.

When I wake up in the morning, I make sure that my bed is made and my things are put away. Why? Because it should be an outward side to the interior order of my life. Amidst changing directions with my living and my future and my life, I have been a mess lately. I have been in what seems like fifty different places in a matter of the last month. My cup was full and running over from the love I been given in goodbyes and the peace gained from attending School of the New Evangelization up in St. Paul, Minnesota.

But arriving home to Houston, despite how full I may have been, those first couple of days, I felt ragged— inside and out.

Moving home has been a daunting task for me. I felt that there were so many things left incomplete or unfinished in San Marcos. Suddenly, what had been home for the last four years wasn't home anymore. I was afraid of this time set apart and what was in store, but reading this verse I realized what opportunity I have laying at my feet. I have an opportunity to spend these next four months deep cleaning myself. The Lord has set me at the sink and asked me to not worry about what else may be going on outside the kitchen. For now, just focus on the dishes.

So here I am sitting in bed with my cat snoozing by my laptop. I have a cup of Sleepytime beside me and I have just pressed submit to my final course at Texas State (praise the Lord for online classes) and to receiving my diploma in December. I have so many plans swirling in my mind for the future (in my typical INFJ fashion), but I'm learning what it means to lay those aside and trust in the timing of the Lord. Once the dishes are done, He'll show me what I'm to do next, but I want a clean cup. I desire a well-ordered life. I desire a life centered on Christ. I want my bed and room and smile and dishes to all be outward signs of the inward order that I am working on. So here's to tackling the mess these next few months and seeing what He has in store. I'm looking forward to looking back in January with a sense of accomplishment and pride and exclaiming, "Lord, you did all that?!"

Love bears all things

In preparation for Lent, which heads up starts this Wednesday, I have been spending time in prayer asking the Lord how it is that He wishes for me to grow. This last year has been so full of change, transition, and growth. In my last blog post (which you can find here), I spoke of pruning and how the Lord has been asking me to give up things that aren't so easy to give up.

Lent is a perfect time for this idea of pruning to come up. The Lord has told me that he wants to cut my branches and tend to me, but what is it that He is asking for me to give up?

This Lent, I am going to give people the benefit of the doubt. When someone has wounded me, it takes so much for me to let that regression go and move on. In my prayer journal, upon examination of this habit of holding a grudge, I went on to explain it this way: I have this bag with me at all times and sometimes I open it up, take out a wound that I have "let go," and just look at it and remember how much it hurt. Am I really letting things go, or am I just harboring old wounds to bring back later? Am I really forgiving my brother?