Crazy Love

I'm so irritated.

I'm reading this book called Crazy Love by Francis Chan. It's very simple, it's taking a step back from the do's and don'ts of American Christianity and asking a very simple question. Who is this God?

I picked up this book at Tulsa Airport on the way back from my great-grandmother's funeral. I had a bag of cheeze-its and an apple juice tucked into the crook of my arm, and in one hand I held this book, Crazy Love. In the other hand, I held a Cosmo Magazine. Decisions, decisions. (By the way, I've decided if I ever publish a book, a picture of what I looked like while holding these different items would be the cover, for it is a perfect picture of my life). I put the magazine down. I decided if I was sitting next to someone on plane, I'd rather have a plain-front book than a magazine, whose' cover screams "5 Ways To Make Your Butt Look Awesome." Also, the book was just far more applicable, anyway.

So I started reading on the plane. I hate flying. I used to love it. It's not that I fear death, really. It's the plummeting, screaming, life jacket donning, oxygen mask wearing (honestly, do you think a blown up piece of plastic and a yellow Dixie cup attached to your face is gonna save you?) FLIGHT to death that I'd rather not experience.

So, back to the book. It's as if the author walked up to my isle seat and said, "Hello, you are wasting perfectly good oxygen sitting around in life doing nothing. Please get off your tukus and serve the Almighty God who, for reasons obviously unknown to us, loves you."

I don't think that was the author's intention. But that is how I felt. God loves me. I know we say this all the time, we sing about it at church, it's on bumper stickers and t-shirts, we whisper it to our children. But the thought......I'm out of words on how to describe it.

He loves me. Loves ME. Have you met me? I'm not the most lovable. And those who do love me, love me because I can, in return, love them. In almost equal amounts. The Creator of everything, even me, before there was time itself, loves me. I cannot love Him in return in the same manner. No matter what I do, my love is totally imperfect. I love things and people because, deep within my heart, I know that all that love can be returned to me. How often to I love people that truly REJECT me? A masochistic kind of love.

Then, during some turbulence, I started thinking about my funeral. Morbid, you say? Eh. I think about it more than some people, I'm sure. Brittany and Laura will sing. Some pastor I've had at some point will give the eulogy. People will sing a few hymns (How Deep the Father's Love for Us, In Christ Alone, When We All Get to Heaven, etc.) And people are required to say nice things at a person's funeral. It's mandatory. The truth gets stretched a little bit further than it should, in cases where people are truly thinking, "well...she wasn't a very nice person."

I do not have false modesty. I don't think that people will be thinking, "Good thing she's dead." I'm sure I will be missed. Maybe even remembered, for a while. But this life, a vapor, a 1/4 second glimpse of me, the 'extra', in the movie of "God," is all I have to serve Christ. Here is what it all comes down to.

I have made Christ a part of my life. Sometimes, he's a big part of my life. That's a good thing, right? But here's what God thinks of that....

He should BE my life. He has no identity complex. He does not need me to feel complete. The fact that he ALLOWS me to love him is blindingly inconceivable. So what am I to do? I don't know. I don't know how to even begin to love Him in the way I should. The Bible is clear. If I love him, I follow His commands.

The parable about the rich man who comes to Jesus and tells him that he's "been a good boy", and wants to follow him, touches a nerve within me. Jesus tells him to leave everything he has, give it all away, and follow. I am that rich man. I have been a good girl. Sometimes, annoyingly so. I've accepted his gift of salvation so many years ago. And still, I feel like I'm stuck standing still in the story. "I want to follow you! I've been so good!"

He looks in to the eyes he formed, into the soul he knew before I existed, and says, "Leave it all, daughter. What you think you have is waste. The lukewarm life you are so proud of is not fit for the manure pile. Your good deeds are filthy rags. Leave it all, follow me."

To be continued.........

Itchy

Meditation is still going quite well. I love being in the prescence of God, feeling the closeness, the intimacy, of being loved by such a loving Heavenly Father. I've taken to calling Him Abba in my prayers, or "daddy." I see this as a good thing. I could never bring myself to call Him something so pesonal before.

Last night, two friends and I went to a secret place to spend time together and talk. We talked of many things, and I feel I know them both so much better.. maybe better than I know most people in Houston. I started talking about what God is showing me in my life, and I said this. "I feel like my whole life I've been walking to this great theater, and the performance will be my own life. I feel like I'm now sitting in the audience, and the curtain is about to go up." This is all a very poetic way of saying, I feel something big is about to happen in my life. Good or bad, I know that the next few years will be the catalyst for the rest of my days. I'm anxious to see what it is. Anxious, as in.... anxiety. I have the worst cabin fever. I feel like I need to move, but God is telling me I need to stay. I feel so confined, and it's extremly uncomfortable.

In Wicked, when Elphaba is speaking to Galinda, in the preamble to Defying Gravity, she says something that rings true with me.

Something has changed within me, something is not the same. I'm tired of playing by the rules of someone else's game. Too late for second chances, too late to go back to sleep. It's time to trust my instincts, close my eyes.... and leap.

Meditation: part 3

I didn't meditate yesterday. I forgot until it was too late. Poo. 

Today, I meditated for 10 minutes. After my massage yesterday, my back is protesting much less to the good posture that I force upon it. Hum Sah, Hum Sah, and all that. And it was very peaceful. I focused on listening to my breathing and my heartbeat. I sent up a prayer of thanks in the middle of my meditation, thanking God for letting me have this heartbeat. Then, back in meditation, I almost, ALMOST, became a mental mute. Except for this one very loud thought, "WOW, I'M VERY QUIET TODAY."

So, I'm refreshed, and ready to enjoy my day with my mom. Shopping. 

Meditation: Part 2

Ah, day two of my attempts at meditation. 

Today's prayer was more...connected. I had a better grasp on what it was I needed to pray for and about. I asked for things specifically, and thanked Him for things specifically. 

As I took my first deep breaths, I had an inner monologue. 

Alright brain, it's time to quiet yourself and prepare to hear from God.

Alright. I'm quiet. 

Pause.

Hey, do you hear that? I think Lucy needs to go outside.

Shhh... you need to focus. Are you focusing? 

Focused.

Pause.

What should I focus on?

Remember, Hum Sah, Hum when you breathe in, Sah when you breathe out. Now, Shh!!

Alright. 

Pause.

I have to go to the bathroom. 

It is impossible to quiet my mind. I am a chatterbox, both inside my head and aloud. My goal is to mentally shut up tomorrow. We'll see how that goes. 

keep you posted. 

Meditation: Part 1

This morning, I woke up, stretched, rubbed my eyes, and thought "Oh crap, it's meditation time." I'll admit I was both anticipating this, and dreading it. I  told Lucy to shut-up and go back to sleep (not the most peaceful thoughts before meditation, I admit), and then I sat down "indian-style", placed my hands facing up on my knees, and took three deep breaths. I immediately started worrying about my posture. To sit with a straight back, engages my abdomen, which means I can't really relax. But I feel bad slumping over my lap. So, I straightened my back, leaned slightly forward, and started to pray. 

I prayed first, because I felt it was reckless to open up myself to the universe without first speaking with the God that has given me His Spirit. So, I prayed. My prayers are personal and often intense, so what I prayed about will stay between the Lord and I. Suffice to say there was a lot of thankfulness, and a lot of supplication. And then, I mediated.

The stillness was pretty good. I could stay stationary, even when my left foot fell asleep. The goal is 20 minutes in the state of listening to God. I breathed deep. I tried to fill up every inch of my body with my breath. I tried to focus on these words "hum sah", which means "you are that, being everything" in Sanskrit. I was mentally quiet. Well, quiet for me. 

My request, unspoken, was this, "Speak to me Lord." I must report that I didn't hear a booming, mountain-shaking voice saying, "Mandy, I'm here. I want you to move to Calcutta and eat bugs. You will be known as the selfless, Calcutta-dwelling, bug-eating follower of Christ."Alas, I heard nothing but my own breath, my own thoughts, "hum sah, hum sah, hum sah." I did this for a while, and then I rose out of meditation. I prayed again, asking God to keep me mindful of his presence throughout my day. I was feeling kind of proud of myself, and greatful for the time I had spent with God. Then I looked at the clock.

I had been meditating for 7 minutes. 

Congratulations to Meet You

I love the book I'm reading right now. It's called "Eat, Pray, Love", about a woman's one-year journey of self-exploration. She journey's first to Italy, for pleasure, then to India, for spiritual-enlightenment, then Bali, to find a balance of both. I don't agree with the author, who is a firm believer in God (good) and that there is NOT just one way to him (not so good). However, the narrative voice in the book stirs something within me. Her incessant need to see the world, and more importantly, interact with all the people therein, is a calling I can relate to.

Her journey starts in Italy. As I read this part of the book, I am overcome with envy. The woman takes 4 months to do the following: eat and talk. Good Lord, that would be awesome! (Actually, I kind of do that now, I just don't do it with a purpose). She is learning Italian, which she calls the most beautiful language in the world. I concur. My favorite word she explains in her book is "atrevesiamo" which means "let us cross over" in Italian. It's a term that is used when crossing the street, but more poetically, it can mean that it is time for two people to move on from a certain situation, fight, or period of time. My second favorite word has to be "Apetsi" which means, loosely translated, "my little moron."

She then goes to India, happier and 35lbs more heavy. She lives in an Ashram, or a temple/dorm/thingy. (This is also where a sweet Hindu man greets her every morning with "congratulations to meet you." Here is where I plan on stealing some of the information that she shares and applying it in my life. First and foremost, meditation. When we say that word, we think Ohm, buddhist and hindu statues, and weird orange robes. Actually, meditation is a spiritual discipline in Christianity, and it is found in almost every religion in one form or another. So, here is my quest. This is my Spring Break, for the the next 5 days, I am going to start every day in 30 minute meditation. She describes meditation in detail, and I am going to be selective in which parts I will do. (I understand that this isn't how it's supposed to be done, but that's alright). First, I will remain utterly and completely still. I will fail at this, but I will try. Then, I will remain utterly and completely silent. At this, I will MOST certainly fail. For it's mental silence as much as it is verbal. I plan on praying to the Lord, then remaining silent, waiting on His voice. I like the way she put it. "Prayer is the act of talking to God, meditation is the practice of listening." Wanna take a wild guess on which one I'm better at?

I'll be blogging daily, so you can feel my failures and (hopefully) small triumphs with me.

And now, atrevesiamo.

Fieldtrips are like wedgies, you can't control it, and you can't fix it in public. Did that make sense?

Fieldtrip day!
We're going to the Children's Muesum of Houston, also known as every educators heart atttack waiting to happen. And when you have deaf children, you travel with EXPENSIVE equipment. (I once estimated how much the technology in my room is worth (a audio tower, 3 microphones, 9 hearing aids, 2 Cochlear Implants) and I think it would be around $120,000. Geez.
So if I survive the day, I have to clean and do laundry tonight so I can pack tomorrow for Oklahoma! I'll be going to Scotti O's house in Chickasha first, then onto Tulsa a few days later. Yay! I'll get to see my besties, and my family, who I haven't seen in 3 months. I'm pumped.

Updatechalater!