saturday

7:55 AM
















2:00 PM





















2:30 PM




















9:00 PM



















11:00 PM

boldness || trust

{ my room }

Home, familiarity, surrounds me as I sit cross-legged on my unmade bed. I can hear the rustling of plastic packaging and the clink of plate hitting counter as my dad gets breakfast downstairs. Beloved and worn books still sit in haphazard stacks on their white bookshelf. My final to-do list before leaving for D.C. is still written on my chalkboard: Call Dr. S... clean bathroom... work on testimony...

Time has stood still in this room.

And yet.

I return to this room, this home, this family, as a different person. And yet not a different person but so very much of the same old me. Merging the new identity with the old never fails to have its bumps and jostles, its angst and fretting. But (I am telling myself) it is also an opportunity -- for growth, and greater closeness, and... more.

How have I changed? What is different?

I am not sure I even know yet. But I think I am learning that living a deeper life of faith asks for increased boldness and greater trust. A boldness that comes out of trust. I have never considered myself a fearful person, but I think I often am. Fearful of not pleasing others. Fearful of appearing stupid or inadequate or broken. Fearful of being alone. Fearful of what life will (or will not) hold. Fearful of not being successful, of not expressing myself well to others, of not being everything for everyone.

And in this fear, I am coming to realize that I lack trust in God. Like those building the Tower of Babel, who tried to make a name for themselves rather than trusting in the name of the Lord, I am trying to construct my own security, trying to protect myself from those things I fear. I am mistrusting God's promises. His promise to delight in me, to work in me and through me for His glory and my good, to grant me peace and joy no matter the circumstances, to be enough for me -- always.

I am learning, too, that God wishes to do amazing things in this world, in our communities, our relationships, and ourselves. Things more amazing and wonderful and astonishing than I have imagined. If I believed this, and if I trusted that God is not only able but desires to display His power, glory, and love, imagine the boldness I would have. Imagine the boldness I should have.

My expectations of God have been far too limited, I believe. I want to live into a place of deeper trust, of more audacious expectation of God's work, of boldness to love and be loved.

God
is
so vastly
wonderful,
so utterly
completely
delightful
that He can,
without anything
other than
Himself,
meet
and overflow
the deepest
demands
of our total nature,
mysterious and
deep
as that nature
is.

(found poem from quote by A.W. Tozer)

It has been over two months since I began the Fellows Program and I have yet to write a word about life as a fellow or what I am learning and thinking about.

There has been so much... newness. A barrage of new people, new places, new experiences, new ideas, new lifestyles, new challenges. I have found it difficult to remove myself from this newness enough to write about it. But I think I am beginning to understand what it is that I am thinking, processing, and learning, so I hope to begin to articulate those thoughts here.

Thus far my experience, in brief, can be described as...

Life-giving

Humbling

Enlarging

I will dedicate a post to each of these words and tease apart their relevance to my experience soon. But for now, I will simply say that I feel so blessed to be here, in this community, and I have no doubt whatsoever that God has called me to this place and is doing wondrous things.

the momentous

May I find myself believing that nothing is impossible with God -- as Mary did. May I respond with simple faith and trust. May I be open to the momentous.

Pay attention.
Be astonished.
Tell about it.

Mary Oliver

-

the veil of the almighty

-
In the past few days I feel I have been plunged into autumn. Driving home yesterday, I noticed haphazard trees taking on a orange or red or yellow tint. My mumsy and I sipped pumpkin spice lattes. I scoured the basement and the far recesses of my closet in search of sweaters, scarfs, flannel pajamas, and coats. There is a glass of apple cider beside me. Cornfields are now a yellow-brown with a gray-blue sky as a backdrop.

In the midst of the death and decay that is fall, beauty is made: in cornstalks that dry up to create a homey tan color, in leaves that turn a stunning orange as they fall to the ground. Right before a brown or white or gray winter, there is a burst of vividness and color.

Perhaps this is why I take such delight in autumn. Even in the midst of decay, there is great beauty. It makes me wonder how much more beautiful heaven will be? As I drove along the turnpike yesterday, I was overcome by the way the sunlight glistened off red leaves, the way fields seem to reach into the horizon, the richness of a clear, blue sky. And I found myself wondering about the beauty of the Creator, the source of all the temporal, material beauty surrounding me, and anticipating the time when I will not simply see as if through a veil, but face to face.

Struck with deep joy... as I have stood,
Silent with swimming sense ; yea, gazing round
On the wide landscape, gaze till all doth seem
Less gross than bodily ; and of such hues
As veil the Almighty Spirit, when yet he makes
Spirits perceive his presence.

(from "This Lime-Tree Bower My Prison" by Samuel Taylor Coleridge).
-

muffin-making

I spent this afternoon baking morning glory muffins. They turned out beautifully and taste delightful, as well. I'm especially grateful for the latter since they will likely constitute my breakfasts and lunches this entire week.
-

let not my labor be in vain

-
I am sitting at my desk, a stack of journal articles, books, notebooks, and flashcards piled high before me. Tomorrow brings an exam, a final draft of a research paper, and a draft of my honors project methodology.

Overwhelmed.

Weary.

Floundering.

This is how I feel. But I am trying to remember that this work is not my own. I do nothing by my own power, but by the Power that dwells in me.

My prayer for today:

Let me not labor in vain.
Establish the work of my hands for me --
Yes, establish the work of my hands.
(Psalm 127 & Psalm 90)
-