Why I dislike retail work:

1. It is often almost unbearably dull. Straightening racks of clothes that have already been straightened three times does not, unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately?), stimulate me.

2. I feel rude and pushy. "Are you sure you don't want a New York and Co. credit card? You could save 15% on your purchase today! ... Oh, yes, I know these are rough times economically, but this card will actually help you save since you'll receive weekly coupons!"

3. It makes my feet hurt. Perhaps this is because I was silly enough to wear heels today, but no matter.

4. When I go in to work it is light, when I leave it is dark. My circadian rhythm is confused.

Lately (as in, this past week), I have found myself wondering how literally and radically I should live out my faith. If I am called to give generously and to lay up treasures in heaven, not here on earth, should I shop and spend money on anything that is not absolutely necessary? If I am told to "pray without ceasing" and devote myself to service, should I read novels and watch comedy shows?

These thoughts have mainly been provoked by...

1. Gilead
2. A conversation with my sister
3. In This House of Brede

While listening to Gilead (on audiobook) during the morning drive to my internship, the narrator told a story of his grandfather who took literally the commandment to give generously to all. Clothes would disappear off the clothesline and food vanish from the kitchen because he had found a needy soul to give them to. I found myself looking rather selfish in comparison. (I mean, I have issues just lending books to my family. Pathetic, I know).

Home alone for almost a whole week, Jessina and I had plenty of time to talk. One of those conversations revolved around the ethics of shopping. Why, Jessina said, do we buy clothes when, practically, we don't need them? Is it because we want to fit into this world and be accepted by people, by other humans? Yet God tells us we do not belong to this world; we should not concern ourselves with being accepted by people but rather with being accepted by God. I wonder, though, how far that nonconformity should go?

Last year I read a book recommendation by Lauren Winner. Believing her to have impeccable and unparalleled taste when it comes to literature, I immediately navigated to my amazon.com wishlist and added In This House of Brede, a novel that tells of a middle aged woman's adjustment to life in Brede Abbey. This summer I am finally getting around to reading that novel and I must say Lauren Winner has not let me down. It is delightful, poignant, and informative. Read it if you have any interest whatsoever in Catholicism and the monastic life. As I've read, I've been struck by the utter and complete devotion these women have to God. They give up most all comforts, their independence, their identity in order to know God better. They sponge bathe in cold water, have nothing of their own to give others, and sometimes pray for six hours a day. I imagine myself trying to pray for six hours and I see myself fidgeting, daydreaming, dosing off -- doing anything but praying. Frankly, it sounds miserable. That does not speak well to my devotion to God, now does it?

These examples portray a Christianity that is anything but comfortable and routine. And I'm wondering if, perhaps, it is in such nonconformity, such radicalness, that fulfillment and peace are gained. But I honestly don't know.

internship snippets

For decades, counselors of all stripes have debated the question: Is counseling essentially a matter of technique or is it essentially an art? Of course there are elements both of craftsmanship and artistry, but neither is the core. Wise counseling is essentially a way of loving another person well --> David Powlison

Over half of the females between the ages of 18 and 25 would prefer to be run over by a truck than be fat, and two-thirds surveyed would rather be mean or stupid --> Courtney Martin

The body is the perfect battleground for perfect-girl tendencies because it is tangible, measurable, obvious. It takes four long years to see "summa cum laude" etched across our college diplomas, but stepping on a scale can instantly tell us whether we have succeeded or failed --> Courtney Martin

God cannot give us happiness and peace apart from himself, because it is not there. There is no such thing --> C.S. Lewis

You and sin must quarrel, if you and God are to be friends --> J.C. Ryle

Romans 8:28a, "And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him" is often quoted in Christian circles during times of hardship, suffering, or confusion. Just recently I drew upon this verse in a note I wrote to a friend struggling with life. I was attempting to offer this friend comfort and hope, yet I couldn't help but feel that my words presented a false hope, a flimsy promise that life will work out well and to our liking if only we trust God. But let's face it, that doesn't always happen. People who love God and trust him lose their jobs -- and then their homes. Loved ones die tragically. Relationships disintegrate and splinter apart. If this verse truly means that all will end well for those who love God, then the Bible seems to offer a promise that rarely proves true.

But perhaps the problem isn't the Bible but rather how we interpret it? Today I read a passage in Jerry Bridge's Trusting God in reference to this verse:

Romans 8:28... is an oft-quoted verse. But we often fail to note that the following verse helps us understand what the "good" of verse 28 is. Verse 29 begins with the word for, indicating that it is a continuation and amplification of the thought of verse 28. It says, "For those God foreknew he also predestined to be conformed to the likeness of his Son, that he might be the firstborn among many brothers."

The good that God works in our lives is conformity to the likeness of His Son. It is not necessarily comfort or happiness but conformity to Christ in ever-increasing measure in this life and in its fullness in eternity.

There is no false hope here. There is truth. But a hard truth: God is not intent on making my life happy and good, but He is determined to shape and form me more and more into the likeness of Christ, and in doing so to place boundless joy in my soul.

That, my friends, is comfort. That is hope.

I walked out of the building, folder, notebook, and stack of books tucked between elbow and chest, car keys in the other hand. My boss, on her cell phone, pulled into a parking space nearby, got out of her car, and walked into the office without glancing at me. Meanwhile, I uncertainly smiled in her direction -- hoping we might make eye contact, hoping for a small hint of affirmation.

In the past several years I have grown accustomed to praise, to being told how talented, diligent, bright I am. Rarely must I exert myself to receive such flattering comments. So the fact that my boss is not effusive in her praise of me leaves me worried, unsettled, insecure. I am constantly asking myself Does she like me? Does she think I'm smart enough? Should I be showing more initiative? Am I talkative enough? Inquisitive enough?

Yet she is not unkind or unfair; she does praise others when she thinks praise has been earned. At times she has told me that she likes my work, that I've done a beautiful or excellent or wonderful job. But I do not hear that consistently -- constantly -- as I would like to, as my sense of worth tells me I need to.

This presents me with a challenge: it forces me to evaluate on what I base my worth. Where does my security lie? I am finding it is based largely on how other people perceive me. It does not matter whether I feel I have done a good job, I must have that feeling verified by someone else.

I suppose, contrary to what I have imagined, I have not left behind my many insecurities. So often -- and apparently more often than I realize -- I forget that it is God I am trying to please.