A Gawker's Reflection

So I'm listening to a Paul Washer lecture. (If you're curious, this is it.) Perhaps it was a mistake, because it's finals week and I probably should be writing my paper on second wave feministic rhetorical theory. (Believe me, the irony is not lost on me!) Right now he's saying that girls who can't boil water aren't qualified to disciple people. So, I mean, you know. But while there's some crazy stuff in here, there's also some excellent biblical advice at times, too. 

I'm partly listening with a critical and argumentative ear. I partly want to affirm my perception of how twisted some of this doctrine is. I'm partly listening for sensationalist reasons. (Which, admittedly, is not super edifying in itself.) But part of why I'm listening is curiosity, too. I want to hear the other side. I want to see how I stack up. I don't want to be a kid anymore, I want to made this rending transition into adulthood, and if he has some valid things to say about that, I want to listen. 

So would Paul Washer approve of me? Probably not . . . I don't share some of his doctrine, I'm not a whiz seamstress, I'm a student at a public university, I'm en route to a sixty hours per week career, I wear jeans and have a rebellious spirit. But on the other hand, I can cook and clean. I guess I can kind of run a household. I'm pretty good at bargain shopping. Can I mold my life around my husband? I suppose I have to. I love Jesus. That has to count for something. 

Am I prepared to manage a family? The big thing he keeps harping on is this idea that singleness is meant for preparation to train up children and raise a family. This is so foreign to me! I'm not one of these girls who always pined for a family and a billion kids. It's a monstrous responsibility, too much to plan and hope for so casually. To assume that a family is what God has in store for me. "When I have kids of my own--" is a stupid phrase. But Paul Washer says that only a handful of people in the whole world are called to singleness, so I guess he's working off the assumption that the odds of a family are in my favor. 

When I think about my future, I don't model it around a specific picture of 2.7 kids and a white picket fence. (Though, maybe I should?) But my sister is not like me, she just wants to have a family. She is incredibly skilled with kids, and an all-around resourceful, loving person, and she just wants to be done with school and move on with her life. She looks at her future differently than I look at mine, with a family as a given. She has a calling I have yet to tap into. And when questioned about the concrete, about a potential fellow and possible steps into this calling, she replied, "Yeah, he's great, but I'm looking for someone more grounded in Christ." And I thought (on his behalf), "Ouch."

But this is Paul Washer kind of comes through for her, for me. That if you want to be in a relationship, if you want to get married, if you want to live your life alongside someone else, you must know Scripture. You have to be grounded in understanding of who God is and what it means to follow Him. You have to be sold out for Him. He has to be the center, the most important thing, and one has no business seeking another person if they are not first seeking Him. And this is something my mom has always told us, to love Jesus more than anyone else. To marry someone who loves Jesus more than you. And I don't agree with more than half of the things he's said so far, but that? I can get behind that.

Of course, now in the lecture Paul Washer is saying that guys who don't know how to use jumper cables shouldn't consider starting a relationship. Because apparently car battery maintenance is an essential component of manhood. But, you know. To the pure, all things are pure. Take the good, leave the bad.

Striving

This has been my best semester so far. I have dialed back on my commitments, I am setting realistic expectations, I am getting stuff done. I am in only wonderful classes with only wonderful professors who seem to like me and want me to succeed. Do you know what it's like to have professors who are rooting for you? It's wonderful. Finally, I am comfortable where I am. 

This semester has also been one of turning a corner. I have two semesters left after this. Only two, and then I'm thrown into the harsh, cruel world of unemployment and incompetence. And am I prepared to compete in the job market? Oh the hours I've spent agonizing over my resume! The interesting opportunities I've neglected for lack of time. The perfect experiences I've passed up for rote commitments. I'm not ready. It's all coming at me too fast. 

And as I critically survey what I've done with my time in school aside from coursework, I see that it hasn't been much of anything. That I have engaged in little of much significance, that I've mostly been puttering around, trying to keep my grades up. Trying to make just enough money to keep myself out of debt. I have been too unconcerned with whatever's supposed to come after this. Intent on survival I have considered the college afterlife very little. 

I feel I could topple over from the mysterious vagueness of the question, "What on earth is going to happen to me?" 

I spent last night watching inspirational videos with various incriminating titles such as "What I'd Tell a Pre-Law School Me," and a more blunt one, "Don't Go to Law School." The promise of competition gags me: the hustling to get in, the thrust to survive the first year, the striving to attain judicial clerkships or a spot on the law review, and the cutthroat battle for job placement once degrees have been finally earned. An empathetic weariness settles deep in my bones when I think about it. 

I don't want striving. I don't want to be stretched out and spread too thin, pushing and pulling to make the edges of my life overlap. I don't want to be manically searching for the next opportunity to boost myself up a rung. I don't want to be competing, pit against myself and others. I am weak, brittle. I crack and then fold under pressure. I know that I am not made of the mettle of exceeding expectations. All I can ask for, all I really want is to be comfortable. 

And that is horrifying and frightening. 

Where is the girl who loathed the white picket fence and the nine-to-five and the safe, secure routine of things? Did she crumble with my self-efficacy? Did her passions fade, or did they morph to the point of unintelligibility? When will it be time for me to pour out instead of soak up? When will I finally be grown up? To write off my transitional angst is to stake my claim with comfort, that this (too) will pass.

More

I don't think I'm "called" to youth ministry. It was never something I saw myself doing. I am not one of these goofy, laid-back people who are super-relatable and always know the right thing to say. In fact, I'm basically the exact opposite of those kind of people. I'm occasionally intimidated by teens and their "coolness", and I often don't know what to say to some of the common teen woes of parent troubles, boyfriend troubles, school troubles. (I'm almost frustrated by my squeaky-clean upbringing! Another conversation for another time . . .) Youth ministry is outside of my skill set and outside of my comfort zone. 

Nevertheless, by sheer convenience I have found myself a youth leader in our church's youth group. I've officially been on the team since September, but it's only since our rough patch in November that I've really felt like I've come to be a contributing member. And as one of the two college students on a panel of mostly +40 adults, I've found that it's been nearly effortless to connect with the students, many of whom were my peers not two years ago. I love how they let me laugh with them, how they tell me about their weekends, how they participate in our discussions about what the Christian walk ought to look like.

On the one hand, youth ministry is one of the most brutal callings anyone could accept. It's a long row to hoe, filled with emotional booby traps and cutting hypocrisy. I was recently a teenager, I know this stuff! And the people who tolerated my foolishness, stubbornness, and self-indulgence were absolute saints with infinite patience. But on the other hand, there's is no blessing and reward like seeing teens walking with Jesus. It sends shivers down my spine, to see students encouraging one another and asking excellent questions and reaching out to their peers in truth.

There is a season for everything, and it would seem that this is my season for youth ministry. Time to level up and approach my time here less with an attitude of passive involvement and more of an attitude of passionate commitment! And though my youth ministry involvement will probably end when my undergraduate student status does, I'm determined to soak in all the lessons here that I can. Learning how to love people, how to live like an example, how to give wise advice, and how to walk in humility as opposed to hypocrisy. 

Because I've never thought of myself as "called" to work with teenagers, I've fallen into rather rote and reactionary approach to my role in the group. I'm a little bit of a warm body, to supervise these nuts kids, to lead small group discussions, to teach big group lessons, to perform auxiliary odd jobs for events, to introduce and integrate new kids. I'm following a function rather than a vision. But oh, shouldn't it be so much more?! Girls who need mentorship, students who need prayer, teens who need encouragement. Though my involvement is only a season, that does not mean I'm justified in being a paper doll leader, a placeholder. 

I remember when I was in junior high. I remember Laurie, who drew me in when I was just a sixth grader, who fueled my desire to grow and who taught me so much about living for Jesus. Laurie who got burnt out from giving so much of herself to youth ministry. If I could have that passion and vision for the students I know and love, that would be true service to God. Because He's who it's all for. Youth ministry is not about me, it's not about our church, it's not even really about the students. It's about Him, and it's time for me to start serving like I understand that.

I will boast gladly of my weaknesses

Some days I am such a coward. I look at the opportunities in front of me and the big things within my reach, and I run so quickly away. I am wearied by the importance of the things I hold in my hands. I want all of the power with none of the responsibility, and it's made me afraid of significance.

I am too foolish to be doing anything at all.

I forget that this is not my work. I am too full of myself. I forget that I am merely a vessel.

I worry that I was born a wuss. Or worse, that I was born a leader and have devolved into a wuss.

I think it's my defeatist attitude: so easily shut down by obstacles, so easily resigned to cynicism, so easily downtrodden. I want to ask, "How did I get this way", but it's more likely that this is a symptom of the sin that has always been inside of me, and I am slowly being given the eyes to see it.

If this latter instance is the case, I'm in big trouble because I'm too much of a wuss to even really do anything about it.

And so you see my vicious cycle. Who will save us from ourselves?

The Veritas Forum went reasonably well. It has its own few hiccups: the building was difficult for community members to find, signage could have been better, we were a little short-staffed and over-zealous with taping off sections. Holistically, though, I was pleased with how things went. How even though the event was dominated by community members, there seemed to be a few more students than the year before. 

Still, my heart was in my throat when the Veritas rep starts talking with me about next year. Next year? As I'm picking up the scraps of this year? I have to let down my hair and sigh and shake it out a bit before I can even begin to think of facing the terrifying reality of coordinating the Forum with Manny graduated. It sounds too hard. I would probably mess everything up. And worst of all, I'm worried the Forum hasn't made a difference at URI. So why continue?

You see now my defeatist attitude. 

I'm praying for God to enlighten my perspective. To be cheered in the fact that there were students there. That what the impact lacks in scope is makes up for in magnitude. That with each year the Forum has another opportunity to gain recognition with students. That faithfulness will eventually be rewarded with fruit.

I want more than anything to see God working and moving and redeeming at my school. But I'm a little too small and a little too fearful and a little too wimpy to do much of anything. And so I am continually thankful that His power is made perfect in weakness, because at the very least weakness is something I have in abundance. 

In His grace we're sinking

It seems that quite unlike wine or cheese or ironic music, I am not getting better with age. I've been noticing that things that never used to bother me now drive me nuts. I'm a lot more intolerant, I think, and more easily irritated. I'm less loyal, more rash and, immature? It doesn't seem to add up that an individual who was set on the road to sanctification early-on is still getting worse as one gets older. Except when I consider that pride unchecked always balloons out of control.

My mom says that this is the typical sin of the college student. The world revolves around them. For the first time in their lives, they are part of an independent world that is all there own, with responsibilities and obligations outside of the family structure. Freed, so to speak, from the rules and standards that held them back while under typical family governance, college students become incredibly self-absorbed in a setting where they have all the control and everything is actually mostly about them. (College: it does wonders for the ego.)

I say this all in the third person like I'm not talking about myself. :P

When I sit in meetings, wincing at immature assessments and poor conflict resolution, I wonder at how these "mature saints" could be so childish. I spot character flaws in others and reflect on the trouble that'll cause all their lives. I am lacking in compassion for others' mistakes. And I am welled up with defensiveness and justifications for my own. A well-timed conversation this weekend related to this very topic reminded me of the video below. (Lilly, you're my muse.)

 

This is what I see in myself more and more. (Ironically, when I first watched this video, perhaps over two years ago, I thought to myself how important it was that I guard my heart against defensiveness. Whoops.)

One thing I get really defensive about is my time. My availability is next to zero, with almost every minute of almost every day allocated to a specific purpose. If it's not class, it's work. If it's not homework, it's youth group. If it's not family time, it's church stuff. When am I going to train for the half-marathon? Not totally sure! I feel a sick sense of pride in how occupied I am, like being busy is only for awesome people. Therefore, when people make demands on my time, I can feel myself flush at the neck and my heart rate quicken. I feel uptight and resentful that they don't seem to understand that I am busy. Even as I feel shame at guarding my time so jealously, I also struggle to fight the feelings of irritation that I am being misunderstood -- I am irritated in my assumptions that people think I'm lazy (well, I am, ya know) and I exaggerate my commitments. 

I'm so sick, guys. I'm a terrible person. I really need Jesus. 

Wouldn't it be wonderful if I actually was the person that people thought I was.

I know this battle with pride is a long one, a tricky one. I know it requires vigilance, faithfulness, ruthlessness. I worry that my pride will engulf me, sinking me like an iron-clad cruise-liner, and even in this is the irony that my pride thinks it's too big for God's grace. Because if there is any escape from a thing as extensive and cancerous as my pride, it is in Him.

Unsourced

I'm thinking about what it means to be available. Open to being used by God, and willing to do His bidding. About what that looks like on a macro scale, and what that means for every morning of sluggish rising and morning commutes and quiet lunches with book in hand. 

I know some pretty charismatic people. Interestingly, most of them are in ministry. (Though I'm not saying correlation equals causation! :P) They also write blogs, and I read them.

And occasionally re-blog them.

Like right now.

Here is a cool story I heard a while ago. There was this guy who was a Christian and really loved Jesus. One day he felt God was saying to do a head stand in isle 9 of a local super market. The guy thought he has gone crazy and felt he just heard God wrong. But again God told him to do that. So he ended up going to that isle and doing a headstand. A little while later a lady passed by and when she saw him standing on his head she broke down in tears. After talking to her for a little bit he found out that a few minutes before she was jokingly saying that if God exists he should have a guy do a headstand in isle 9.

Does God work that way?

I don't know. Why not? 

(You can follow some of the work God is doing through YWAM at San Francisco's North Beach at Markus Hauesser's Twitter feed.)

Slip-sliding away

My eyes opened on their own at 8am this morning to the perfect vantage point to see Lilly's numerous book titles and the swiftly falling snow out the window. In that comfy bed, on three quality hours of sleep, I willed the snow to fall faster and thicker, hoping against hope to be snowed in instead of en route to work in an hour. Unfortunately, responsibility dragged me out of bed, and excessive hemming and hawing stuck me in the thick of it, driving through the messy roads of South County. 

I cannot even count how many times I lost control of my car today. And it was really scary! I wanted to cry the whole way home, but I also wanted to be able to see the road. I wanted to warm my fingers up, but I also wanted to keep my hands on the wheel. I couldn't feel my feet, but I kept one foot gently on the accelerator, afraid to stop and get stuck in the drifts. The perpetual smell of burning rubber as I skidded along was giving me a headache, but there was no stopping, there was only struggling through. 

At one point my car was stuck with its wheels spinning in the snow of a busy intersection, and it bucked crazily like it had a direction of its own when I tried to pull the wheel in a left-hand turn. Just as the light began to turn, I lurched forward in shock and relief that I hadn't hit anyone, only to hold my breath as my car veered left and right trying to forge a path through the slippery highway. I thought to myself how glad I was my tires had blown in August. Because as traumatizing as it was at the time, now it meant that I had fresh, not-bald tires to help me wade through the chaos of an unplowed I-95.

My heart stopped beating wheezily when I finally pulled onto my unplowed street, where the snow was a lot less abundant and a lot more attractive. Officially out from behind the wheel, I felt heady from an adrenaline rush, realizing how afraid I had been. I always talk about how I'd be fine with dying any day now, but today I was terrified by the real potential of losing control of my car and hitting someone around me. While I'm prepared to meet my Maker, I forgot how scary it was to really face the prospect.

I sound melodramatic, but I don't have near-death experiences very often. (Only every time I get in my car! Heh. Just kidding! Mostly.)

I take the fact that I am still alive as a reminder. And, I'm not sure how theologically sound this thinking is, but I wonder if my presence on earth is an indicator that my purpose is yet unfulfilled. Which on the one hand is depressing: I have not lived so fully for Christ that I have done all that He would require me to do. I have been lazy, disobedient, and misguided. And that's convicting. On the other hand, though, I am encouraged: I must be useful for some small facet of God's plan if I'm still here! He hasn't chopped me yet! And that's heartening, that He will not let me flounder in my flaws, but will rescue me from the treacherous, snowy roads of Rhode Island because He has something yet for me to do. 

Quiet Time

In the quiet times of the morning commute: the asthmatic hum of my Altima's engine, the whooshing of the cars driving by in the passing lane, the crackly bass of the carelessly chosen playlist, the hour with my first thoughts in the morning, unblemished by the days' events that have yet to unfold. 

In the quiet times of the slowly settling sleep: the muffled intonation of Adventures in Odyssey, the regular breathing of my dreaming sisters, the unattributed creaking in the rafters and bedframe and trees, the waning time of my last thoughts of the day, laying to rest in order all the events of the day.

And for the times in between? 

While I am not altogether fond of Gertrude Stein in general, there is a sliver of attributed wisdom when she says, "It takes a lot of time to be a genius, you have to sit around so much doing nothing, really doing nothing." Quiet time is grossly underrated.

The times in between can get awfully crowded. Which is not altogether bad; I've been the recipient of many moments bursting full and I wouldn't trade them for a week by the Lighthouse shut up with my thoughts. Still, I am not particularly skilled at keeping track of my thoughts in the midst of the busyness. Like mischievous monkeys my thinking capacities run off and hide, or irritate me with clanging cymbals in my ears. I was never a huge fan of monkeys. Or very good at keeping tabs on my thoughts. 

But as he thinks so he is . . .

What does it mean to take every thought captive? What is concentration? How do I "think upon these things"? I am not yet skilled enough to focus my heart in the ebb and flow of the tasks of the day. And so I am so thankful for quiet time. These heaven-sent opportunities to dwell on truth, to refresh my mind, to strengthen my soul for these times in between. Rest is so sweet.

You're the scent of an unfound bloom—a simple tune, I only write variations to soothe the mood. A drink that will knock me down to the floor, a key that will unlock the door where I hear a voice sing familiar themes, then beckons me weave notes in between . . . This is my call, I belong to You! This is my call to sing the melodies of You! This is my call, I can do nothing else.