aleutian, you are cool

-my unbroken candy cane-

Today as I was walking through the West Bank Skyway at the U of MN, I passed a sign:

"Free Candy Cane"

Next to this sign was a beaming, tall, skinny-jeans, slightly emo-ish dressed guy with a super sweet knit hat.

Obviously, I needed to stop and give this whole scenario a chance.

Me: "Um. Hi. I like candy canes."

Guy: "Then you are in the perfect place."

Me: "Great."

He gestured towards a white board leaning against the wall that said:

Someday...

That's it. Just Someday...

Guy: "I just need you to write something you will do in the future. Something you will do someday. And then you can stand against this white screen, and I will take your picture. And then you will get a candy cane."

Me: "Okay. For a candy cane."

Guy: (chuckles cutely) "Um, yeah. I figured that if I didn't have anything to hand out, I'd be just as bad as those "pamphlet people".

Me: "Yeah. It's good you have candy canes. It validates you."

Guy: "I'm glad to hear it."

A flicker of hesitation crossed through my brain. No, it did not concern accepting candy from a stranger...sorry, Mom...it was more like:

Me: "Wait. What are you even using this picture for anyway?"

Guy: "Well, it's for my senior project for my last photography class. I'm gonna take pictures of people and their "someday" goals, and then make it into a huge collage."

Me: "Okay, then."

So I grab the white board after he rubs it clean with the pink rag hanging from his back pocket.

Guy: "Haha. I have a pink rag that I'm just carrying around."

Me: "Yeah. You do."

He whipped out an Expo marker.

Guy: "Sorry for the reekish marker. I used to have a little one, but it didn't even work. So now you have to smell it."

Me: "Yeah, well hopefully I won't get TOO high off the fumes. If I am asphyxiated, at least I'll get a candy cane in the end."

And with that, I grabbed the smelly Expo and scribbled out:

"Someday...I will make it to the bus stop on time."

He burst out laughing. "Hahaha. That is great. Yeah. That is really great. It's my best one. I really really like it."

And standing against his white screen with my white board, I became really embarrassed. Because duh I should have written something more lofty. But I don't REALLY want to become president, and I don't want to go to the moon either. So that was all I could think of, being that I was late again to the bus stop this morning, and would be late to the bus stop after dallying for a candy cane.

And plus I was embarrassed because he kept taking pictures with his amazing, real-film camera, and the people walking past in the hallway were stopping and staring and reading my white board and smirking to themselves, and then suddenly the entire campus knew that I was a late bus person.

So I blushed very much. Because it takes very little to trigger my blushing. And this was more than very little.

Finally, he was done, and I knew the end was in sight, striped red and white, minty fresh.

Guy: "Wait. What's your name?"

Me: "Bethany."

He whips out his iPhone and starts typing it in. "How do you spell it?"

So I spelled it. And I want to know his name too, because I think he must have an extraordinary name, but he was already bent over his 52 pack of candy canes.

So I put the whiteboard back down and waited while he fidgeted.

Guy: "Aaaaaaa. Sorry. These are all broken. I gotta find one that's not."

Wait. Wait. Wait.

So I stayed and we chatted for a bit longer, because I could not leave without my candy cane. Finally he found one.

He stood back up again and extended his hand. Not the candy cane. We shake hands.

Guy: "By the way, my name is Aleutian."

Me: "Aleutian? Aleutian."

He laughs again.

Me: "That is a really cool name. No really, it's sweet."

Aleutian: "Yeah, it's like the islands, the Aleutian Islands."

Me: "Sweet. Well. Nice to meet you. But I gotta run, catch my bus, you know."

Aleutian: "Yeah. Okay. Well thanks for stopping to chat. I really appreciate it."

Me: "Oh yeah. And thanks for the candy cane, Aleutian."

Aleutian: "See you later."

Me: "Yep. Bye."

But the sad truth is, I probably WON'T see Aleutian again. And I wanted to ask the story behind his name, but for some stupid reason, I didn't. And now I'm just kicking myself.

Anyway. This is just one more reason I love the U of MN.

Because I get to meet cool, happy guys with names like Aleutian who give me free candy.

I'm telling you, the U's the place to be.

-B

Scary Prayer & His Gracious Mercy - Part VI of the "Sacrificial Service for the Sake of Christ" Series

summer 2009

Written on September 19, 2009

So I fight against an inner comparison of how I match up to others' works and their expectations for me. I strive to live only for Christ's approval and in this struggle, I realize again one of my most powerful tools against myself and Satan, who seeks to destroy.

Prayer. Yes, for myself, but also for others. Dedicated prayer may not come to mind as a obvious, hard-core sacrifice, and it isn't always.

But it's scary. Scary to pray, "Thy will be done." Scary to relinquish the power I never had in the first place, but felt like I did, until my "control" runs out and I'm rendered a crotten heap once again.

I can pray.

I can pray for the nations.

For my neighbors.

For the lost.

And I can beseech the Father that my sinful humanness would not get in the way of what He wants to accomplish in spite of me. That He would impress upon my heart the things that are closest and weightiest on His. That He would mold me daily into His image. To want the things He wants. To see through His lens. To beg Him to reveal his purpose and calling for my life. To accept it, even if I can imagine something I think is more glorious, or comfortable.

And while I'm in a temporary season of sweetness bestowed, of relative comfort, I prepare myself, against every naturally-human longing, in the quiet of my soul, to be ready to relinquish it all in a heartbeat.

To daily, even hourly recognize that this life and everything in it is NOT mine and is transient. To cultivate ears that are open to hear the summons to sacrifice for the sake of the Kingdom in accordance to the call of Christ on my life, and only through His grace and mercy towards this undeserving sinner.

God Sees - Part V of the "Sacrificial Service for the Sake of Christ" Series

He's preparing a place - John 14:2

garden arbor - summer 2009

Written September 19, 2009

Generally, I mentally equate "ministry" with exhaustion. Burn out. Tired. Spent. I don't want to be exhausted, and I don't want to be utterly spent. I want to feel life filled and energetic and bouncy and happy. But my service can't be dictated by my personal feeling. Yes. I do need to be aware of my limits, but can't God help me with that? And perhaps, just maybe, I could feel joy in the realm of sacrifice. I'm not talking about flippy, fluffy, warm fuzzies happiness, but perhaps a deep seeded, mournful, hope-filled joy that persists because of Christ and His continuous mercy unto me.

The benefits of sacrifice are not always apparent. Or even remotely obvious. They are not tangible, cannot always be quantified. Unseen. But that is how it is meant to be. And I feel comforted. Me, who likes to have clear, defined boundaries between pros and cons, between accomplishments and failures. Yet somehow, I DO feel comforted. Because God sees. And He knows. And it's okay.

To be continued.

The Love of Man - Part IV in the "Sacrificial Service for the Sake of Christ" Series

dedicated gardener - summer 2009

Written September, 19, 2009

So if I'm not in a Christian-community-stamp-of-approval ministry, I tend to feel lesser of a Christian, if I let others' projections for me and my life overtake what God is communicating to me. I think of others and their opinions of me. I think, "Oh!!!!!!!! He's a really cool guy!!!!!!!! She's an awesome girl!!!!!!!! They don't KNOW what I am doing. Wait, am I even doing anything? I'm not on a missions trip! I'm failing! I want HIM to know that I'm "serving", even if I'm not leading a small group! But no one will KNOW that I gave that check. Boohoo. Me! Me! ME!"

This is sin. "Ministry" or "service" is not supposed to be a spotlight for man to congratulate me on my accomplishments. In fact, it is supposed to be the exact opposite. A platform on which God should be made much of, where we are counted blessed to jump into the mosh pit, and drag others alongside us in a deserving worship for what He has done.

Oh Bethany, root the love of man out from your heart and stop your self-indulging love of man's praise. It's deathly when it digs deep enough. It can be consuming, all-encompassing. Blinding to truth.

By broadcasting myself, I am only gyping myself of God's gifts to me. He who sees in secret will reward me. Not that I'm in it just for the reward, but it's how God wanted it, and all He ordains is for my good, even if it seems like the opposite and I'd rather have the instant gratification of someone noticing me and speaking praise.

To be continued.

Availability for Undefined Ministry - Part III in the "Sacrificial Service for the Sake of Christ" Series

open door - summer 2009

Written on September 19, 2009

A second falsity is the phrase: "finding a way to serve again." It's not always false, but personally, most of the time, I just need to open my eyes to see the ways to "serve" blaring me in the face, right where I'm at. No, I may not be on the mission field, and that may come at some point in my life, and it may not, but meeting the needs around me is so important.

When I wake from my "me" stupor and glance around, I see hundreds of ways I can try to bless others, to the point of being overwhelmed by them. So yes, maybe I need to "find a specific way to serve", but most likely not. Because if God has placed situations and circumstances and people in my life, and my heart (for a flickering, faint moment) is filled, by God's grace, with the ability to see outside myself to see their needs and struggles and burdens, the scales fall off, and I realize "service" is right there in front of me, waiting.

I struggle with the word service, or another commonly used Christian catch-phrase: ministry. Because some services or ministries are very easily defined and very acceptable in the Christian community's eyes. Some examples would be: small group leader, volunteering at a battered women's shelter, worship team, etc. I am not bashing these ministries. They are WONDERFUL ways to share Christ's love with the hurting world.

But the mental definition of these as "ministries" makes it harder for those of us who are not involved in a "defined" ministry. Somehow, it just doesn't sound as impressive to say in response to the, "What ministry are you having this semester?" question, "Well, I've been reading Bible stories to the girls I nanny. And we've been praying together," or "I've been washing the dishes a lot for my mom."

Part of it must be my pride, in feeling insubordinate for admitting that at this point in my life, I am not deeply involved in a defined ministry. But another part of it must be the tendency of certain others to somehow project the illegitimacy of a "ministry" that is somewhat nebulously undefined, one that I would hope is based around the idea of allowing God to use you where you're at, or being open to the God-ordained opportunities to reach out to others every day.

This isn't always true, but sometimes, being available to do smaller services more frequently can be more personally invasive on non-volunteering, "me" time than blocking out of certain areas of life as strict "volunteer" or "service" time.

In some ways, at least it's been true in my own life, defined ministries did me a disservice, in some ways. Don't get me wrong. While I was involved with them, I enjoyed them a lot, and did feel that God was using me. But in some ways, it was just so easy to mentally categorize, check the deed of the day, or week, off my list, and then move on to the "me" life.

As in, "Yep! Just led Wednesday night small group! I sure blessed those people. Good. Now I'm off the hook, until Sunday morning small group!" Not that it's bad to lead Wednesday night or Sunday morning small groups, and I did see God at work in those arenas of ministry, but to some extent, being involved there was a seemingly strong basis to evade God's whisperings to me the rest of the week, about other, smaller, less "defined" ministries I could try to take part in.

Promised Joy for Me and Mine - Part II of the "Sacrificial Service for the Sake of Christ" Series

on an exploration trip with my nanny kids - summer 2009

Written on September 19, 2009

Serving is happy. Not because it feels happy, because a lot of times, it feels horrible, for multiple reasons. And if it does feel happy in the sacrificial service? Well, that's a blessing from the Lord. Because sacrificial service isn't ALWAYS supposed to feel happy or good.

It may hurt, and is like, well, a SACRIFICE. Like Abraham laying his first born son on the altar. Like God sending his only heavenly Son to die for human filth. Yet even in the sacrifice, when joy does not yet abound, there is the inner promise of peace that it will someday bloom.

So sacrifice stinks sometimes, meaning it FEELS like it stinks sometimes, but in the end, it is for happiness. Eternal joy. Because remember, Bethany? Life is a mist. And we will be rewarded for our service someday. A day that is whirling nearer so fast that we can't even comprehend how short this life truly is.

But we don't serve or sacrifice merely because of "happy" or the pursuit of it. It is in obedience to our King, in faith of His promises, in hope of His Word being fulfilled in ways we don't see as possible for us in our individual lives.

To hear the words, "Well done, good and faithful servant."

To make an impact for Jesus, because He brought us from death to life.

To bring glory to His name, because we know he deserves it.

To daily take up our cross and follow him, trembling, reluctantly, into the darkest corners of our protected loves, the idols we strive to reserve, kept safe and secret and hidden, so that they won't be stripped away too.

In the moment, yes, I want to be selfish. I want to protect me and mine and keep them perfect and unspoiled, but if i take a breath of God, I realize, even if it's but for a fleeting moment, that I don't want to be selfish.

I don't. I want to choose the pain that comes with selflessness, and it is pain, because every selfless moment screams in agony, raging fury against my human flesh and desires. By Jesus' grace, I want to choose selflessness not to be a better person, but to follow Christ's model, because logically, I know, someday all will be made right, and I don't have to worry about me and mine and keeping them perfect and unspoiled, because God does have me and mine, and is watching out for them perfectly.

In a providential, power-filled way that I could never hope to attain. In a wisdom, awe-inducing way that I can't grasp. But must attempt to, even when I think my way is better and safer and more satisfactory for me and mine.

To be continued.

Life Is A Mist - Part I of the "Sacrificial Service for the Sake of Christ" Series

montana mist - summer 2009

Written on September 19, 2009

Life is a mist. Yet I want to do as much as I can while I have breath. I want to lay it all out like the first and final fizz of an exploding pop can.

And yet I wonder sometimes: Where are the concrete signs in my life that I am living for Christ? I'm not in physical discomfort right now, in the sense of hunger or homelessness. Does that mean I should start living on the streets sharing my faith with any random person that walks past? I don't think so. Because denial for denial-as-the-ultimate-end-and-sign-of-holiness' sake is very wrong. That just brings to my mind the self-flagellating, wool-underwear garbed monks, who were not made one whit more holy by their bruised, itchy bodies.

Yes. I may have sacrificed things. Things that were most precious to me. I reason to myself, "Okay. So I sacrificed those things. But what am I doing now?" I don't wanna live my life defined by, "But remember, God? Everyone else? Remember that I did that then, and so I'm off the hook for doing things NOW. Because it was hard then, for a long time, so I should get some more "me" happy time before I start sacrificing and finding a way to serve again. Uggh."

First of all, some "falsities" from the above paragraph:

One major thing first: If you have been through something hard, there's nothing wrong with stopping, catching your breath, and taking a period of time to heal and regroup. I've seen in my own life that God can use this time powerfully to forge within me things that I hope will equip me for better service in the future. If you are totally drained yourself, it is hard to pour into others. But even in this state of being, God is gracious to His children and choses to use them when they feel utterly useless. When we are weak, He IS strong.

To be continued in Part II of the series "Sacrificial Service for the Sake of Christ".

I don't like it

I don't like it when I am grumpy, ornery, meany to my family, who are the dearest people in the world to me.

Yet I slip into sin so easily, and I want to fight harder against it.

Comfort breeds sin, I think. Meaning: when you get comfortable in a certain situation with people, whether they be your roommates, family, or spouse, there comes a horrifyingly uninvited freedom to air your dirtiest laundry, lash out in your truest colors, dump your stinkiest garbage. And then, an appallingly horrific lack of conviction, because you know they won't desert you because there is commitment involved, and you tell yourself, "Well. I put up with HER too, so this self-centeredness is fine. Just fine."

At least in the anger of the moment. But when it passes, I feel worse than if I had offended some random person that I will never see again, even though I pretend to care less about those who I really care about the most. I don't deserve them, or their repeated graciousness to me.

I will never be able to tell them how much I love them.

So, Lord, purify my heart, and let that cleansing spring forth in a bubbling overflow of love for others, because of my ultimate security in You.

A good nap day? Or just one realized?

On the blustery, rainy way home from church today, several fellow car members noted that today was indeed a good day for a nap.

And this made me think: Is this an innately good day for a nap? Or would it still have been a good day for a nap even if this potential remained unrecognized?

Regardless, I think I will still take a nap.

Because whether its napness-ity is intrinsic or merely observed, it is still a good day for a nap.

kick the car

This is my car. Well not my exact one, but I picture I found of it on the internet, you know.

I love it.

But it has caused me grief.

Namely, in that the one key hole (there is only ONE) on the car (on the driver's side) does not open willingly.

I do not have a magic, automatic lock-unlocker on my key chain.

So I use the actual key.

But it's not as simple as it sounds.

Well. I shouldn't say I USE the actual key, I try, rather.

The problem is aggravated, intensified in the winter months. Which is bad news for a Minnesota resident like myself.

This trying usually involves but is not limited to all of the following (all performed alternately with putting the key back in the actual lock and attempting to wrench it open again):

1. Hunching over or kneeling on the ground, sealing my mouth around the key hole, and breathing warm air in with hopes of warming up the metal lock.

This is usually my first action. And sometimes it works after a few breaths. Sometimes it doesn't. And when it doesn't my next step is to:

2. Kick the car, right by the handle. Like full out kick it. As in: Kick. Pause. Kick. Pause. Repeat, until the magic click is heard and you know the little chink of metal that's out of place has returned to its happy home.

But sometimes the kicking doesn't even work. And by this point, I am fully irked, bothered, over-warm, frustrated, angry, probably late to my next thing I'm supposed to be at, etc., etc., etc. Thus enters step 3.

3. I walk away.

And stew in defeat.

Until my anger boils over and I mentally steel myself to DOMINATE that lock.

4. I walk back.

And I repeat the previous steps, sticking my key into the lock after each disciplinary action, hoping beyond hope that it was enough to convince the lock it really SHOULD open for me.

There hasn't been too much damage to these approaches, other than unhealthily high levels of cortisol, frozen lips, that are frozen because they're cold and are frozen because they are frozen to the car door lock, a dented car door handle, a paint chipped car door handle, scuffed shoes, and stubbed toes. Lastly, above all, multiple humiliatingly embarrassing situations.

Like the one U of M-er guy who walked by while I was employing method 1 and said, "Hahaha. It looks like you're kissing your car." Me: "Hahaha. (fake) Well. I'm NOT." Him: "Hahaha. But it really seriously looks like you are." Me: Forced, frustrated politeness, "I'm not." Him: "But, hahaha, it REALLY looks like you are kissing your car." Me: "I really am not." Him: "Hahaha, okay." And he strolled away and my lock did not open.

Or like the times I have to make the people I'm giving rides to walk back into the venue we exited to wait until I finally get it open, promising them I'll come pick them up, because they are openly freezing in the frigid Minnesota air.

Point of the story:

Today the car is in at the shop. To be fixed.

I'm extremely skeptical that it will work.

The result remains to be seen...

Come Thou Fount

I was so richly blessed today when I discovered Fernando Ortega's arrangement of Come Thy Fount of Every Blessing. His voice is so clear and soaring and the truth of these dear words can't help but draw my soul up in worship and adoration. The tender, rolling piano notes and chord-striking strings are so artfully woven together. It's available on iTunes...

Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing

- John Wyeth

Come, Thou fount of every blessing,

Tune my heart to sing Thy grace.

Streams of mercy, never ceasing,

Call for songs of loudest praise.

Teach me some melodious sonnet,

Sung by flaming tongues above;

Praise His name, I'm fixed upon it,

Name of God's redeeming love.

Hitherto, Thy love has blessed me,

Thou hast drawn me to this place.

And I know Thy hand will lead me,

Safely home by Thy good grace.

Jesus sought me when a stranger,

Wandering from the fold of God;

He to rescue me from danger,

Bought me with His precious blood.

O to grace, how great a debtor,

Daily I'm constrained to be.

Let Thy goodness, like a fetter,

Bind my wandering heart to Thee.

Prone to wander, Lord I feel it,

Prone to leave the God I love;

Here's my heart, O take and seal it,

Seal it for Thy courts above.

Here's my heart.

Here's my heart.

Here's my heart.

Here's my heart, O take and seal it,

Seal it for Thy courts above.

please don't wisp away...

There are things that sometimes I daren't even think, for fear that my defined thought will wisp the faint reality away.

Dreams that all I can do is hope for because some warning, weathered reaction rears its head and whispers that if I go beyond hope, that even if the thing I desire was a reality, it will be chased away by my defining of its existence.

So I remain happy to hope.

Except when I wish it was more than hope, was an actual reality.

But if it moves past hope, I shush it back into its lurking silence.

For preservation's sake.

And I determinedly wait some more, so see if my nebulous longings ever make it past the misty stage into tangible reality.

the kitties: a busy social life

I figured it's time for a kitty update:

Nelly - More affectionately known as the black blob. Currently, her favorite activity is lurking by the front door and bolting outside as soon as an unsuspecting person comes through the door. She's a stinker.

Lilly - Looking wiser than her years, wait...I mean months. Her favorite activity could be summed up by the complex activity of begging for food. She's learned who will give her tidbits and who won't and she directs her cuddling attentions accordingly. Such a sneaker.

And their collective hobbies?

Hunting.

We are quite proud of our little kitties, who aren't so little anymore.

When you add up all of these activities, we conclude that the kitties do indeed have a very busy social life, which we endorse wholeheartedly.

last day before break...

Today is my last day of school before Thanksgiving break kicks in full force. I honestly cannot even believe it. This semester has just flown by, and honestly, I'm just fine with that. I'm really starting to feel like there's so much more to life than studying for a test. This inkling always pressed down on me before, but it's stronger now than ever before. When I throw an eternal perspective on it, in fact, a test seems almost worthless, trivial, miniscule.

Not that I want to waste my time in school, by any means. I'm just starting to get excited about what God will have me do after, and with just three semesters left, I'm getting more and more hyped up.

Except one thing I will miss is my bus. I know it sounds pathetic, but I really will miss it. Because of this:

This guy was rapping with incredible precision with his music blaring on his phone for all to hear. He didn't even care, and I was really glad he didn't, because that was I got to listen to his happy self all the way home.

Or this guy:

Who when he sat down next to me brought such a massive smell of garlic that I couldn't even breathe the whole way there. It was so strong that I smelled like garlic when I got off the bus. It was so strong my eyes watered. It was so strong that no matter where I shifted, it permeated every pore. It was so strong that I looked at his neck, to see if there were cloves and cloves of garlic hanging off it. It was so strong that my nose started running. It was so strong that I gagged. It was so strong that I honestly considered for one teeny little second never eating garlic again, which is a crime in and of itself, because well, it's appetizing in food, but somehow a garlic human just stripped it of it's wonderful qualities. This is a picture of our much too close proximity. See him and his oblivious book and my shrinking, shriveling brown backpack? This picture honestly triggers a puking reflex in me right now that I am fighting this present minute, because it just takes me back to a place I never wanna go again. Ever.

Or this lovely sight:

Of my alarm clock not going off, me jolting awake in a panic an hour and ten minutes later, and making it out the door in three minutes, driving six minutes, and CATCHING my bus. Never have I seen such a beautiful sight, or so it felt in the moment...

Or this:

In Minneapolis, you can just look out your window and see captivating sights like this one. I don't know why, but I just love it.

So this post kinda morphed into a random thingie, but whatever. In a nutshell it would be: School, bus, I love you. And I'm bittersweet about moving on.

Which is a pre-mature, jumping of the gun anyway, since I still DO have a year left.

But whatever.

a false maturity perception?

I think the three little girlies I nanny for have a false maturity perception about me. Their insights are interesting indeed.

After whittling away the time playing "babies", Squirrelly piped up:

"But, Bethany, where's YOUR baby?"

I held up the limp cloth thing I was "playing" with and said, "Right here. My baby's right here!"

"NO! Where's YOUR baby?"

"What baby?"

"The one you have. Why didn't you bring it to play with us today?"

"Oh...well. I don't have my own baby." For a second I thought she was asking about one of my own dollies I have at home from when I was little. But she definitely wasn't.

"WHAT?" She was in obvious shock. "You don't have your own baby?"

"Um...no. I don't."

"But BETHANY when will you get one?"

"Probably in five years." It was the first number that popped into my head.

After musing to themselves about the unfortunate length of time I'd have to wait for my own baby, Sneaky solved the problem by some quick thinking.

"Oh yeah, sissy! I get it now. She can't have a baby until she turns into a mommy!!!"

I can only conclude that they must think, "She feeds us, puts our jammies on, plays with us, etc., etc., etc., she MUST be a mom."

Two bright faces stared up at me, waiting for me to verify the incredible intelligence of their theory.

"Yep. Believe me, there is NO way I will EVER have a baby until I turn into a mommy. You girls are right."

They were pleased, and pacified for the moment, until they remembered to remind me that I only have five years to get my own baby, and that that is not a long time.

Thank you, Sneaky, Squirrelly.

For your inadvertent, added pressure.

And adorable, obvious support.