And to Him be glory forever

I have been so happy. I wonder if it's the jar of Nutella in the cupboard downstairs, or the fact that Christian is visiting, or maybe I'm still on the missions trip high, or that my friends are still as wonderful as always. But I cannot give any of those things credit for the joy that's simmering inside. And despite being so happy, I've had a few low points. Seeing the evil in this world and realizing it's me, feeling the creeping cynicism seep into each aspect of my hopes for the future, looking my sin in the face, I can't help but spiral down into sadness. The stress that comes from laziness, the hurt that comes from hurting others, in a flicker I go from buoyancy to feeling heavy-hearted.

But God in all His mercy does not let me collapse into myself in my guilt, instead He turns the tables. I say, "God, oh, God, my sin!" He says, "My Son died." I say, "But God, my mistakes!" He says, "My Son rose again." I say, "I'm confused and I'm blind, God." He says, "Look at my glory." It is not about how I have failed and how I will fail, but about the God who fixes failures. The holy and faithful God of grace and justice. The God who is so good, we cannot understand the depth or reason of His goodness. He renews my spirit, gives me peace, fills my heart. And in an instant it is clear and simple. God is there, and God is good.

I have a lot of little things to be happy about. I have a lot of little things to be sad about, too. It doesn't matter, when my beautiful Savior fills my landscape I take joy in the only thing I see.

Stress Relief Drabble

"Your sense of irony is irresistible."

"Well," I huffed inwardly at the pretension dripping from this man in his Armani suit, not believing that either of us were bothering to waste our time on the other, but feeling obligated to verbally bludgeon away, "Shut up."

Yes, my criticism was scathing.

Bemused, the corners of his mouth twitched a little too obviously, as though he were attempting to give the illusion of suppressing a smile while he was actually becoming seriously annoyed on the inside. Jerkily he reached, without turning his face from mine, for a flat rectangular box on his desk. "That should suffice, Mr. Wilks." His eyes now watched the box as he moved it from the desk to my mechanically outstretched hand.

There was that split second when I was certain he did not intend to let go, and that we would be left standing there, each with a hand on the box, not releasing our grasp, perhaps for eternity.

The thought further occurred to me that Emalinne might miss me if I stood here for eternity fighting wordlessly with this pompous man, and the back of my mind reminded me of the caffeine addiction that might break my stubbornness for a Dunkin Donut's run. In that split second I decided that no prolonged stand off would be necessary - my pride could take the hit.

It didn't matter, of course. He handed me the box without as much as an arch of his eyebrows. I took the box firmly, and slid it into my sports coat pocket with as much dignity as I could muster. Now who was condescending whom?! I nodded at him stiffly, and turning to leave I was faced with a dilemma.

I had clearly won our standoff (I had the box, didn't I?) and now I wondered about victor procedure. Do I back out of his office maintaining eye contact and smirking? This could help protect from any unforeseen attacks on my back with a letter-opener. Or do I briskly storm out of the room without giving him another glance? This seemed much more dramatic. What to do! I was paralyzed in the face of this complex decision.

"Just leave!" sang the caffeine bells in my brain. I could see the synapses in my brain drooping for want of coffee. "Just leave!" called Emalinne from my memory. I could see her exasperatedly whacking a random passerby with impatience. Deliberation was too much! I had places to go, people to see, a future life to live! I found myself at the door, with my hand on the opaque handle, turning by the force of my own skepticism and indecision.

But the grating sound of his call interrupted my automaton actions. "Mr. Wilks!" He hadn't moved from his authoritative stance next to his desk, but he was looking at me expectantly, hands clasped in front of his trim figure.

"Yes?" I asked, still completely in control of this situation, regardless of my inner turmoil. The confidence that had managed to buoy my spirits during the entire exchange was still pulling energy from my indigence at his entire charade of control. It was actually somewhat circular, but to this I was conveniently blind.

Sincere mirth was now etched across his face as he asked, "You aren't going to check the box?" Panic washed over me as I considered his reasons for being so freely jubilant. What was it? What did I say? What did I do? His arms were now crossed on his broad chest, and his amused aloofness confused me.

There were too many words to say! I was suspicious, perhaps paranoid, but definitely confused. I only needed to breathe, I told myself. I was going to win this battle of wits, I had only to uncover and analyze my options for rejoinder. I was going to verbally smack his absurd sententious face, with class, of course. "I . . ."

So articulate I was today.

"Oh, irony, good fellow."

I want to be wrong

It hurts to hear. "You're wrong, Hayley, you're so wrong!" The rebuke, no matter how gentle, stings immeasurably. I feel instantly defensive. I try to justify my [faulty] position. I respond with, "I understand what you're saying, you're right and I agree, that's just not what I meant." But my scrambling to clarify only illuminates for myself further just how wrong I am. Unthinking and indefensible.

Because simply, I love being right, and I love having insight, and I love understanding when God is showing me something. The last thing I want to hear is that I'm wrong. On the Vermont trip Mr. Bob asked, "Would you rather stop at every red light for the rest of your life, or be wrong for the rest of your life?" We all chose the red light. Most of Rhode Island is highways anyway.

So when people call me on where I've been slipping, it hurts. I deny it. But when the lady doth protest too much, it reveals how much she needed to hear it. [Name that reference, folks, and make me happy.] It hurts, and I resist the rebuke, justifying myself and adjusting my glossy mask. And in that instant, I'm pound pound pounded into a wonderful mess through this humbling accountability. The twinge of hurt at the rebuke demolishes my pride and readjusts my perspective to a perspective worth having. It's far more wonderful than affirmation.

So tell me, tell me just how wrong I am. I need to know.

YouthWorks 2009

I never know what to expect from these trips. They surprise me every time. I'm just back from spending the past five days up in Rutland, Vermont. My youth group [or, at least, 24 of us] went on a service trip there through an missions camp program called YouthWorks. We spent the day doing projects around Rutland in small groups, and the evening with our church talking about the Christian walk. My God is so good, there is so much to tell, but first: have I mentioned lately how much I love my youth group?

My crew is super route seven. Yes, we are so cool we have our own inside jokes and gang signs. [The Chin for the win!]

The soundtrack for the week, Group 1 Crew Family Force 5 B. Reith John Reuben Chris Rice Skillet Grits and the Sweet Action mixes bringing the heat. "You turned off my boom!" Singing House of Heroes and Regina Spektor with Hannah.

Being dubbed "Ukulele" by Caleb the first day. And Hannah's gangsta name is "Wondabread who could." Cos Caleb is win at nicknames.

Repeatedly resisting the temptation to text the two people whose numbers I actually have memorized and keeping a running list of "I have to tell you . . ."

Not showering in the morning, and managing to not die. Bandanas for the win. Rolling out of bed and being ready for the day in five minutes is wonderfully strange.

Learning how to dice a tomato, prepping for Taco Tuesday, talking to Amanda about the evils of milk, vegetarian to would-be-vegetarian about vegans while swiping Oreos.

Dance parties! Awkward bathroom dance parties, awkward hallway dance parties, awkward car ride dance parties, and the rock-out-kitchen-clean-up-crew dance party. Michael leading the way, prompting, "Why is Michael so embarrassing?"

Feeling uncomfortable and creating drama due to the poor kid who kept harassing girls from other churches. "No purple! Just don't touch me, man!" and "Um, he bought me earrings?"

The Rutland County Parent Child Center and the Open Door Mission - best work sites ever! Painting ourselves into carpal tunnel syndrome, cutting cakes, organizing books, and color-coding pants into shades of grey, champagne, tan, and khaki.

Worshiping God from the top of a mountain just never gets old. Climbing back down, however . . . an exercise in faith.

Eating Ben & Jerry's ice cream and managing to amass a tip for the poor guy who served over forty people completely solo.

Hannah and Ashley have sick rhyming skillz [that almost rival Gangsta K's dope beats.] "It's pizza Wednesday, now don't say ew!" and "Don't you wish your youth pastor was hot like mine?"

Being "THAT church," the big and loud and enthusiastic church. Being a truly cohesive group, truly loving each and every individual, and having mandatory hug time not once, but twice!

And wondering as the tears flow, why is it that we feel the most complete when we're smashed into tiny pieces?

I mention all the silly and entertaining and little things, because the blogosphere can't handle the stories of what God did in the community of Rutland and in our youth group and in my heart. Not right now. Not when I'm two hours fresh from the car ride and melting in the summer heat and seeing double from fatigue. It would be sacrilege. But God did big things, and I need to praise Him for them. But for now I praise Him for the small and amusing things.

My heart is just so impossibly full, God is so good.

Great is Thy faithfulness!

I went dragging my feet, fussing that I had to give up two hours of my precious summer weekends to shoot guns in a musty building. But, I missed it, I really had. Once there I got sucked in again, once again romanced by the spicy smell of gunpowder and the thrill of pulling the trigger. (I am not a maniac. Your lives are safe.) But as I got back into the rhythm -- load, breathe, lift, lock, squeeze -- shooting at the gun club became a sport of subconscious concentration, while my mind was elsewhere. It's outrageous the way my thoughts run away with me, but for once I could commend the path they took me down.

I thought about Michael and how glad I was he likes House of Heroes so much. I thought of Micah and how he's beasting NaNoWriJuly. I thought of Rebecca and how much I want her to come to my house and teach me to sew. I thought of Katie and Kristen and Kara and how I can't believe they're leaving and how much I'll miss them. I thought about Lilly and Hannah and Mary Claire, what kindred spirits they are and how much I identify with them. I thought about Luke and how I can't believe I haven't talked to him in a while, darned summer. I thought of Jake and his genius idea for a speech that's proved interesting to research. I thought of Andrew and how deeply I wished I could have gone to his graduation party today. I thought of Jesse and how I wished I knew him better. I thought of Nathan and how he's going to beast speech this coming year. I thought about Liz and how she really needs to start blogging.

And that's just the blogosphere, folks.

I am surrounded by people so dear to me, wonderful people, people who love God. They love God. I remember when I was much much younger, coming home from church and crying in my closet, pitying myself for my lack of friends and wanting so desperately to go to school, because maybe then I'd have friends. Ah, silly girl. And yet despite my indulgently self-centered sorrow then, in the now I have been abundantly blessed. A Passion for Wisdom speaks of a fickle God who failed to be faithful to His people -- an idea I can't help but scorn, especially in the face of how He has given me exactly what I wanted. I have dear friends who love God. Few things on this earth are more precious to me. God is so faithful . . . I don't understand why He should care. Friends for Hayley, friends who love God, that must be rather low on the list of important things in this world. And yet . . . God has been so good to me.

And I feel silly for saying all this, and I hate that I can't help but speak in generalities when I have so many wonderful specifics I could share, but God has been good to me. I must praise Him for being so faithful.

Thank you for listening. Thank you for being my friend. Thank you for loving God.

Only a Child

I'm only a child;

Who am I to

think I know what

ought to be done

I'm only a child;

Intellect fails

the one who thinks

herself smarter

I'm only a child;

If I could do

anything would

it even matter

I'm only a child;

Injustice is

greater than my

small solution

I'm only a child;

I am so small

and the world is

so big and wrong

I'm only a child;

Too scared to let

go of what is

pulling me down

I'm only a child;

I don't know what

to say to help

a hurting heart

only a child

choking with fear

only a child

but deadly sincere

only a child

humbled at last

only a child

but not an outcast

Jeremiah 1:7-8 But the LORD said to me, "Do not say, I am only a child. You will go to everyone I send you to and say whatever I command you. Do not be afraid of them, for I am with you and will rescue you," declares the LORD.

Zephaniah 2:3

Some context: I spent the weekend in Franconia, New Hampshire with my graduating girls from Good Company Tutorials last week. The significance of this is two-fold. First, Robert Frost owned a farm in Franconia, there's a museum of him there, and all his poetry books are gloriously inexpensive. (I got three for $4.50.) And secondly, there was much talk of graduation and moving on and knowing God's plan for your life, great conversations. My head was swimming with the collective wisdom pouring from Robert Frost and these girls. Revisiting Frost's most famous poem (and therefore my least favorite) "The Road Not Taken" was the perfect prelude to what I had to learn from these girls, and these are the questions I asked.

choosing where you want to go . . . do you really have a choice? whether you react decisively or go with the flow, will you end up in the same place as you would have otherwise? do we follow open doors as a sign of God's leading, and where we end up is where He wants us? or do we struggle and follow rough roads in pursuit of a vision of our mission as from God? does God really care what our earthly circumstances are so long as we're serving Him wherever we are? is ambition form God or something we invent ourselves? what does it mean to seek God's plan and leading in our lives? do we have only one ends in this life, or do we seek to accomplish whatever we can accomplish? why do some people have "a calling," and others don't? do people who have "a calling" really have a calling? do people who think they don't have "a calling" really lack a calling? is it possible to screw up my life by choosing the wrong career, or is that just the wrong perspective? is it even possible to have the "wrong" career? is it wrong to wonder or think about what I want to be when I grow up? isn't that self-centered and short-sighted? 

how can we know what our mindset ought to be? 

what does it look like to trust God? 

how can we know?

I know what I think, but I don't want to assume I'm right. I don't need to worry about this now, but I will have to think about it soon and I don't want to be ill prepared. I don't want to struggle with God, and I want so much to be where I ought to be doing what I ought to do. And I am confident that if I seek Him, He'll show me. I thank God for these girls from whom I've learned so much.

I'm okay with revisitation.

If I had to pin down a point of tremendous spiritual growth in my life, those two weeks I spent at Camp Berea in 2006 instantly come to mind. During the first week, our training week, Dwight Knight [no jokes, folks, that was his name] was speaking to the main camp and our group sat in on some of his sessions. I was a little underwhelmed; I'd seen him speak many times before and I was a little weary of the camp sermon routine. But by the end of that first week, not only was I humbled in my indifference to his [poignant] messages, but I was also reminded of a simple reality . . .

Whenever someone teaches Scripture, it applies to you.

It doesn't matter how many times you've heard the lessons - you'll need to keep learning it. It doesn't matter how many times you've heard the lessons - you'll need to keep hearing them. It is utter folly and arrogance to sit back in your plastic folding chair and zone out while God's word is being taught. There is always something that applies to you, no matter how many times it's been taught to you. Don't set something aside merely because you've heard it a thousand times. Never write something off as "learned."

The irony here is that I'm learning this same lesson over again. I was reminded of this Camp Berea experience because I've been so frustrated lately, confused to a point of not being able to articulate exactly what I think my problem is . . . but now, I think I've been frustrated because I haven't had any "new revelations" about God and Scripture and my walk with Him. I haven't been willing to revisit the lessons that were new the first time around. I think God's been trying to show me some amazing things, but I keep brushing them off because they bear a label of "this I already know." 

But between the mention in passing to the simple things on Stuff Christians Like, and the depressed feeling I got when I realized how much I was missing in not doing devotions with some sort of guide, to the renewed interest in the theological questions I've been asking off and on these past few weeks, I think I'm starting to see what my problem is, by the grace of God. I had so many wonderful conversations this past week in New Hampshire with my friends, many revisiting things I've thought lots about, and it wasn't that I saw these things like new in hashing through them again, but rather I was reminded why they were so important in the first place. I need some reminding.