Blessing

Someone bought me coffee today. She was a beautiful black woman with long braids and a bright smile on her face. I don’t know where she came from or where she was headed. The only words she spoke to me were, “I think I’m supposed to buy your drink today,” and “God bless you.” I was struck by her kindness and generosity, to the point of wanting to be like her myself.

I don’t know why she felt compelled to buy my drink. I was counting up the handful of change I had in my pocket, so maybe I looked a little desperate standing there in front of the cashier. But whatever her reasoning, she did something astounding for me.

She said, “I think I’m supposed to.” That means she was responding to something bigger than herself. I suppose that something bigger than herself knew my heart as I walked into Starbucks. Lately I have been thinking about the person I want to be. I sometimes fear that I’m obsessed with self-improvement and for all the wrong reasons. And I walked into that coffee shop with two books and a piece of paper in hand, pen in my mouth, planning to write down the character and qualities that I want to be focusing on in my life.

But she turned my thinking around. Just after she left and I sat down with my iced chai latte, I wrote down a list of ten things I want to do in the next week. Included on it were, “do something random and spontaneous to bless each of my sisters,” “buy someone else’s drink at Starbucks,” etc.

And as I was making this list, I realized that the woman who came in and bought my drink was probably not trying to check something off a list. I remembered that the person I want to be is the person who imitates Christ, not in actions but in essence. We have not been given a list of dos and don’ts. Our God-man Savior obliterated the legalism that gave rise to hypocrisy. He wants my heart, not just my deeds.

So number ten on my list became numbers one through ten. It takes care of the others. It is this: Decide who you want to be. Every single day. And who I want to be is a manalive, a woman who commits herself every single day to her Savior, a person who allows Christ to cultivate within her a nature that needs no reminder to be a blessing, that needs no lists, no to-dos.

This is who I am: I’ve been born again. The Cross is my defense and my hope, and I'm finding who I am in all that my Savior is.

Dandelion Wishes

My life has been full of dandelion puff-balls lately. I've always been particularly fond of these, though they mean rather unkempt-looking lawns and more trouble than most gardeners desire. And yet, I can't help but love them, trouble though they are. For all their weediness, I've always found them beautiful and inviting.

For one thing, there's something about how tangible and physical they are. They beg to be picked and no one will object because, of course, they're weeds. And so, I pick them. All the time. For the last two weeks I was at school, there were hundreds of dandelion puff balls absolutely everywhere, and especially near the prayer chapel (which is incidentally, one of my favorite place on campus). So every time I walked past that part of campus, I picked myself a puff ball. I felt it in my hands, cupping my fingers around the delicate seeds that sometimes look like sunbursts. I kept it intact as long as possible, protecting it from the wind lest it disappear even as I carried it. I touched my face with it, feeling its softness and itchiness at the same time.

I used to be very silly about dandelion puff-balls. I used to look for only the biggest, roundest, most perfect ones with the long, thick stems that were durable and sturdy. I think I used to like those because their delicate perfection appealed to me. When you wish on the perfect ones, it feels more likely that your wish will come true. But lately, I've liked the small ones, the imperfect ones with a few seeds already missing. And for the same reasons--it seems like they're saying, "I can't promise much. Your wish may not come true. But you can try and wish on me anyway." (My friend Libby says that for all my rationality, I'm utterly romantic. I guess I'm okay with that.)

So my life has been full of imperfect, "no promises, but you can wish on me anyway" dandelions. I've had a lot of wishes that just don't come true like I hope...

BUT--I think the thing I like most about dandelion puff-balls is that they were created. designed. by the same God who created and designed me. He knows the wishes that I blow to disperse the dandelion seeds. He knows that my heart can sometimes be as delicate as the round white balls of dandelion beauty. And when I remember all of this, I am put at peace to see the dandelion seeds fly every which way by the wind. Whether wishes or prayers, my God knows them all.

Notes to Self

1. You get better service at Payne's when you wear a dress.

2. Professors aren't half as much fun as their kids.

3. Be concise.

Rules

Someday, if I ever have a house of my own, I will have a porch. And on that porch will hang a swing. And from that porch swing, I will watch rainstorms.

Rule #1 in Elena's household: rainstorms must be watched from porch swings.

Direction

When God does this, it's astounding.

Just Be

Hold your breath.

Wait for a single moment…that’s life flowing along, brushing against your cheek like a breeze. Don’t rush. You don’t have to catch up with it. Sweet mercy, it’s certainly not something to be contained and held back. The more you chase it, the faster it will flee from you.

No. Rather, stop. Close your eyes. Walk a tiny bit slower and look around you. Crane your neck to look at the clouds so far above your head. Bend down and touch the dandelion before the wind breaks it apart. They say the lake water is dirty, but I’ve seen it sparkle in the sunrise. Put it all together and savor this.

Have you ever left the party early so you could walk the long route home? All alone, by yourself, letting the silence speak to you. Maybe you won’t see anything new, but maybe you’ll see it in a new way. Better yet, maybe its familiarity will be like a still, small voice whispering words of peace to your heart.

Elijah expected God’s voice to come from thunderstorms or hurricanes. But when I read of how the Creator of raging winds and lightning bolts actually spoke to the prophet in exile, I am almost certain that Elijah had to stop breathing for a moment in order to hear what the Lord God Almighty had to say.

I love that our Savior was a man who sought solitude. And I feel closer to Him when I’m sitting alone on a porch swing in the dark and the silence and the solitude. Or when I lie down on the dock and look up at the stars. Sometimes I can’t help but break the silence just to say to the rest of creation, “my God…my God created this.”

Life is not “what you make of it.” The best things in life won’t come from chasing, chasing, chasing. Rather, they are the things that you stumble upon, the things that come so unexpectedly. The things that are given, not won, are the things that you will most love when you look back on your years.

Chaos, rushing, pursuing…these culminate in some concept of achievement that rarely satisfies because, when we were clamoring after whatever it was, we hardly had perspective of what life should really be like. No, it’s when we mosey along, walking slowly and taking everything in that we see the world as a whole, as God made it and as He has given it to us. But you must take a moment to put everything else aside and absorb it as it is.

Don’t talk. Don’t say anything at all. The Creator of Life is trying to speak to you. Don’t interrupt.

Say Something

In my own journals and other writings, I've said a lot about wasting words. We are superfluous in our praise to the point that it is almost meaningless. We talk to fill space rather than being purposeful to convey truth. "Be worth the words you use to say what's on your mind."

And yet, I am so guilty of this in my life. I am hasty in my criticism and shallow in my praise. I talk for the sake of talking.

In the past few weeks, I've become very aware of what I say because I've actually not said very much lately. I've been bogged down with work and when I'm bogged down, I become very quiet. I don't like to talk much. Even this neglected blog and my abandonded journals demonstrate how I've given up on words lately. Oh, words, words, words. Try just being. When I'm as exhausted as I've been these past couple weeks, silence is more significant than sound. Solitude is more intentional than the "community" I sometimes find myself in.

Maybe that's the way it should be sometimes. Seek silence, enjoy solitude, meet your Father in the still moments of life. Peace, be still. Love the people around you, but sometimes, take a moment to put everything away for a little while.

There is an ethical aspect to our communication. Speak truth. With your mouth, with your actions, with your very life. Be succinct and clear. Tell people you love them and say it with meaning. Enjoy the moments of silence and solitude, and when you do say something, let your life speak it in truth.