A Poor Man's Suit

I'm not afraid, just dress me up in a poor man's suit.

I won't be late but I'll come out singing,

I'll come out singing.

Every word that I sing I'll sing it for you.

Yes, there are times

when I could not recognize your voice

And times

when I could barely sing or say anything at all

Every word that I sing, I'll sing it for you.

Oh, every word that I sing, I'll sing it for you.

Humbled

I constantly need people to tell me when I'm wrong. I think my favorite people in the world are the ones who are bold enough to challenge me in my stubbornness. If I think I've figured something out, that's usually a pretty good indication that I'm not letting God speak to me and that your human voice is more vitally necessary than ever.

One of my favorite stanzas of poetry that I've ever written was:

Know me for my sins,

Weaken and break me.

Call me out for my faults,

Remind me that I'm so small.

I love admitting that I'm wrong. Of course, I don't love the process of it--being called out, apologizing, having your deepest inner decay exposed. Oh, does that hurt. But when I hurt, when my pride stings and my intellect aches, may I ever and always praise God that I'm not numb, that there is enough of the God-intended Elena left for Him to put me back in order.

I discovered a new favorite verse in Psalm 138 the other day. I like the ESV translation and The Message paraphrase of it a lot, so here's both:

"The Lord will fulfill His purpose for me; your steadfast love, O Lord, endures forever. Do not forsake the work of your hands."

"Finish what you started in me, oh, God. Your love is eternal--don't quit on me now."

I recently defined hope as: "remembering that He will continue His work of redemption in my life even though I fail so often." Acknowledging my failure is a sharp and biting pain. There's no spiritual anesthesia for us in these moments. But if this didn't hurt, it wouldn't be so beneficial. So I welcome the hurt. I love apologies and confessions to true friends who show love and grace and rebuke in return. What powerful, potent medicine and what healing and growth it brings.

Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad...

At 9:30am as I parked my car in the chapel parking lot and resisted the inevitable of having to run through the rain to the Union, I was very tempted to already dub this an Alexander sort of day. Instead, I shouted (literally) at God, "DO SOMETHING WITH THIS," and I'm calling this a day with a lot of potential for grace.

The "T, H, NG, VB" title was tempting because I had insomnia last night after a rather frustratingly distracted evening of homework. And because I've been utterly drenched at least twice today due to rain. And my shoes are sopping all the way through. And I was late to a class because I had to print off a paper for which the due date was fortunately set back, though I unfortunately didn't get the e-mail. And I'll be up until 1am.

But don't feel bad for me, because God fills up potentialities when we commit them to Him. First, I told Dr. Spiegel that I had insomnia last night and he recommended standing on my head for a minute or so before going to bed. The very thought of Spiegel on his head (in all reality, not hard to imagine) got me laughing. Then I had class with Seeman. ALWAYS a delight. And he gave a devotional on Psalm 19 that struck home (they always do). And he and I talked for a solid half hour after class was over about Foucault and Hegel and Derrida and post-modernism and our thick Christian metaphysic that says that we are relational beings created in the image of God and how that informs our approach to all of these philosophers.

Now the day is about half-way over. Still a lot of potential left. But as long as I can manage to stay awake for it, bring it on.

**And someone just offered to help me out with something, so I can go to bed at 12am rather than 1am. YES.

Over-commitment is like the Shadowbrute.

He has brought me back here again, this place of smallness.

I'm self-aware...aware of my incapacity, aware of my insufficency, aware of my impotence.

I've been clutching, clinging, clasping these things that escape my grip.

My hands are too small. I can't manage this.

Distended, distracted, distorted.

And then, my balancing act started to tip...

I was playing with blocks, my construction towering so high...

He came in and said, "Is this what you think?" and kicked it down

Not in anger, not in frustration, but as the Great Teacher.

Yes, these things fall down easily. Don't forget that next time.

But He knows I'll forget. Yes, He knows I will.

And He'll remind me then, too.

Delete

I just found out that I'll probably have to delete this entire blog because of what I'm planning to do next fall.

Wow.

Let the countdown to anonymity begin...

My New Home?

Faisalabad, Punjab, Pakistan

What is your only comfort in life and in death?

"That I am not my own but belong body and soul, in life and death, to my faithful Savior Jesus Christ.

He has fully paid for all my sins with his precious blood and has set me free from the tyrrany of the devil. He also watches over me in such a way that not a hair can fall from my head without the will of my Father in heaven.

In fact, all things must work together for my salvation. Because I belong to Him, Christ, by His Holy Spirit, assures me of eternal life and makes me wholeheartedly willing and ready from now on to live for Him."

- Heidelberg Catechism

It has been a rough thing, to realize that I've been wholeheartedly distracted recently, that my pursuit of Christ has been a weak effort as my own feelings have held my thoughts instead. I never blatantly rejected His will or His voice, but I wasn't exactly listening for it, either. I was caught up in my own efforts and in that, I was confronted with my weakness, my failures.

My only comfort in life and in death is the assurance that He will make me wholeheartedly His own. Even if it takes a certain amount of heartbreak, He will call me back to Himself and persist in that great work He is doing in me.