.for the battered and the weathered and the ones who finger-paint.

"Imagine yourself as a living house.  God comes in to rebuild that house.  At first, perhaps, you can understand what He is doing.  He is getting the drains right and stopping the leaks in the roof and so on;  you knew that those jobs needed doing and so you are not surprised.  But presently he starts knocking the house about in a way that hurts abominably and does not seem to make any sense.  What on earth is He up to?  The explanation is that He is building quite a different house from the one you thought of-throwing out a new wing here, putting on an extra floor there, running up towers, making courtyards.  You thought you were  being made into a decent little cottage: but he is building a palace. He intends to come and live in it Himself." :: C.S Lewis, Mere Christianity

I'd really like the blueprints, please.

because the honest truth is it's easier to feel at home in a "decent little cottage", when we know what the rooms look like and where the light switches are. In fact, I 'd prefer it.

I'm not familiar with this structure He's building, towers and wings and all.

It could be fun, you know.  I could make like a Narnia kid and go running around the halls looking for the wardrobe, not knowing what I'd find around every corner.

When did that kind of adventure become less exhilarating and more terrifying?

"...isn't he the carpenter, the son of Mary?" Mark 6:3

He can build His home in me. The palace intended.
I hesitate to hand over the hammer and nails.
I fear demolition and additions.
I hate not knowing my way around.

I had ideas of my own. Blueprints of what this "living house" should look like.
But more and more everyday I find myself loosening my grip on them, crumpled and worn from years of white-knuckles & holding tight. They've practically disintegrated in my hands.

maybe that's the point.

The plan was for my mom to get well.
The plan was to leave college toting a degree.
The plan was to be living somewhere else.

The plan was to be dating by now.

The plan was to be confident by now.
The plan was to be a grown up by now.

The plan was not what things are.
Nowhere near them.

And so He's watched me draw these plans out and color in the lines, like a loving Father watches his girl with her finger-paints creating her own "masterpiece".

According to my finger-paints, this house should look different.

but a finger-painted blue-print makes for an unsound structure indeed.

He knows this.

So I think maybe He's framed my crumpled and worn, colored-in painted-on plans to lovingly hang on the wall of the Home He's building for Himself, just like a Father would.
My "masterpiece" in His grand plan.
And the thought of this pulls out the adventurer in me.
The one who looks forward to exploring the halls and rooms He's building.

"What on earth is He up to?"

: "I should really learn to make an omelet.." And other such thoughts:

thoughts I've had today :

1. "I should really learn to make an omelet."

2. "I need to get that haircut because I look like an amazon woman and people are starting to stare."

3. "Oh gee, my stomach...it's looking a little like a stuffed potato. Time for that post-holiday tone-up. Can I still call it "post-holiday" if it's basically March? Yes. Yes I can."

4. "Did I just say, 'oh gee'? Mental note: do not say this out loud"

5. "If I'm ever a mom, I will never be joining a mom's group. NEVERRR *echo echo*"

6. "I should move to Kentucky" closely followed by, "nah you won't make it and if you do you'll most likely be disappointed. And poorer than you are now."

7. "Lady who just beeped at me for pulling out of a driveway, you make it really hard for me to be like Jesus."

8. "Why am I such a perfectionist? I hate it"...*purposely moves vase of flowers off-center on the table* 

"Ok, I'm crazy. There is something wrong with me."

9. "Dear God, you still love me today right? Even though I think mom's groups are annoying and I hate money and get defensive and sometimes squirm at accountability because I just really want to be perfect and good at everything, okay? Yuck. I'm sorry. Amen."

This is embarrassing. But these are the things I think. Because I really just want to get to a place where I'm ok with myself and, for goodness sake, make an omelet. 

But if there's one thing I'm learning these days is that my brain has this default setting and when I wake up, the voice  starts. It's like sitting within the four walls of my mind and putting the needle to the record player and all I'm hearing are words like the ones above bouncing off one wall to another.

And really, I'm sick and tired of it.

It's a lovely thing when we realize that we don't have to sit in that room anymore. We can switch the record player over to an old Billie Holiday vinyl, grab a mug and a good read and sit outside and think on better things.

Things like how we're loved despite our quirks and awkwardness and lack of domestic ability. Our hearts are tended to by a Loving Hand, broken as they are. And if we're honest, broken is how they come.

I don't mean this to be yet another post that we've all undoubtedly read about "loving yourself" or "acting like a daughter of the King" or "How to Build Self-Esteem, Memorize the Book of Romans, Skydive, and Be Better than Julia Child in 5 Easy Steps". 

I'm just saying friends, we can choose something else. We can choose to say, "I'm not thinking that today because it's not who I am." and move on with our day, leaving these thoughts with a "better luck next time." 

Meanwhile, I'll be working on that omelet. Fax me some recipes.

.when you're confused because aren't the holidays supposed to be the best kind of days?.

It's either very late or very early. 1:05am to be exact. And I've been warned that writing past midnight can lead to regretting your words when the sun rises.

But in these early morning hours, I've been thinking. And so, I've been writing. They go hand-in-hand for me most times.

I was thinking about a couple of days ago, when most of us gathered around tables laden with food and family and gave thanks for all that's been given to us.

That word "all"....hmm

"give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God's will for you in Christ Jesus."
1 Thessalonians 5:18

But what about when grief is what we're given? And when the night before Thanksgiving is the sleepless kind?

In all honesty, this Thanksgiving was a difficult one for me. For my brother. For my Dad. And last year's as well.  It's been almost two years since  my Mom passed away and I've been missing her in a way that I can't really put words to. Since then, I've realized that giving thanks in all circumstances can look different and in fact be wholly apart from laughter and gathering around a table.

I'm suggesting thankfulness can look like honesty and that's part of why I'm writing this here.  We give thanks to God in sharing our story of what He's done and all He's yet to do. In sharing what He's allowed for, and the fact that we may not be ok with it. 

And that just because we're not ok with it, doesn't mean He's thrown in the towel.
Or turned and walked away.

Sometimes that's all we have to bring to a table filled with food and family and thanks. 

I know what it's like to feel guilty for not feeling all that thankful because shouldn't I have more faith than that? 

I'm hoping that this brings comfort to the reader,  who doesn't really know what to do with themselves and their story at this time of year.

There's room at the table for you and I. Let's give thanks for simply this.

.when you're "the good church girl", but sometimes want to apologize for that.

last night was Sunday night, which means it was youth group night, and that is such a sweet thing.

it's sweet because I get to spend a couple of hours with some of the best kids in the world and that is no exaggeration, friends.  They are fantastic.

Part of my time there is devoted to a certain group of high school girls that pretty much have me by the heart. They are so gosh darn funny and wise in so many ways and I am so privileged to be able to sit there with them and hear their stories as their small group leader.  I use the word "leader" loosely because I have this theory that us youth leaders are basically just kids with fancy folders and attendance sheets.  And that's a good thing. It keeps us humble.  It keeps us listening for God....to let Him speak through us because if we're honest, we have nothing worth saying to these kids apart from Him.

During our small group time last night, the conversation turned to what they think some of the people at their public school or at work think of them as Christians, or Christians in general.  From more than one of them I heard the words "goody-two-shoes" right alongside the words "hypocrite" and "judgemental".

What are we supposed to do with that? Those words seem to be on opposite sides of the spectrum and yet are often placed one after the other when people reference Christians and Christianity.  I asked them what they thought of that and the word we came to was "misunderstood"....but not without good reason.

This led to deeper conversation about legalism, churches parading with their picket signs screaming "hate" in God's name, or less-than-gracious words from the mouth of a Christian towards someone seeking hope and healing rather than a lecture.

These things make us wary of the word "Christian"...because we don't want them to think we're "those" Christians.

Do you ever feel the need to apologize for being "the good church girl/guy" because you don't want to be at all compared to those people with the contorted faces and picket signs?

I admit, I've heard the "good girl" remark thrown my way before.  And it kind of makes me cringe.

I feel the need to defend myself and be like, "oh well, I mean, I really do love Jesus, but I don't hate people and I don't only listen to KLOVE and I've made mistakes, trust me. Please be my friend?"

We don't want to be misunderstood.  We don't want to be "extreme". We want to be seen as people with personality and feelings and a brain who love and know our God, not self-righteous, Bible-thumping robots who have a strong dislike for anybody who doesn't know John 3:16 or all the books of the Bible in order or who Martin Luther was minus the King, Jr....yanno what I mean?

These are the hard things.
and we need Jesus.  we need so much of Jesus and His wisdom because there's a fine line between being in the world and not of it.
And let's be honest, we all want to be seen as normal.  And we don't want labels.

The conversation went on for a long while last night, and I'm so glad it did.  It was real and these ladies were so brave in the things they said and the discussions they brought to the table. They are some smart cookies.

And we might always be called "the good church kids", but I think if we know our God, we can show our God to those who would call us that, and maybe it will become a term of endearment rather than a label.
It also kind of makes for a good band name, so....

::

Lord God, give us your heart.  give us wisdom in the hard things.

.quoted.

              :jonathan safran foer:

.NO HOLD THE PHONE THAT'S MY THING!!!.

so I'm sitting in a Starbucks right now sipping on my first red Christmas cup of the season and enjoying it immensely (also just realized I don't know how to spell the word "immensely", thank you spell-check).
A minute or two ago, a duo was singing to me in French over the speakers and I was thinking how nice that sounded.  Everything sounds better in French.  Say "mud" in French and it's beautiful.
This song was refreshing because usually Starbucks plays some eclectic mix of old school hum-drum bands like Fleetwood Mac (no offense to Fleetwood Mac, I LOVE Fleetwood Mac.  Go Stevie Nicks Go!) and super indie, hipster, so-far-under-the-radar bands that you're not even really sure exist.  So for Starbucks to throw in a surprise like a French song was really nice.

Anyway, as I was being serenaded I was thinking about this one really ugly feeling I got while reading a blog post recently.  I love reading blogs so this is not an uncommon occurrence. Now let me tell you, I don't know this girl from Adam, but going by her blog she seems super sweet, loves Jesus and is beyond domestic...like if Martha Stewart and Julia Child somehow had a daughter, but not in a weird creepy way, but for sake of analogy way. Yes. So. In this particular post, she was doing a really great job of writing about the ways she was making tracks to accomplish her ultimate dream, and I was super excited for her because I think we can all get on board with people accomplishing their God-given dreams. But then, she named her dream. And all of a sudden, out of the blue, like a ton of bricks I was like "WAIT HOLD THE PHONE THAT'S MY THING!!!  THE GALL, THE NERVE, THE AUDACITY!!!!"

In that moment I was quite literally distressed that someone else had a dream that even closely resembled mine.  I felt threatened.

ugh. ew. GROSS. double gross. I mean really, Sabrina.
yes, I refer to myself in the third person when I'm distressed. Anyway.

I started talking to God about it and I told him, "wait God, I thought that was our thing, our thing together.  I thought I was special. I thought I was unique.  I thought this was just you and me and my dreamsss!"
and God was probably like "My child, why are you hyperventilating..." or something of that nature.

The thing is that I am way caught up in trying to be one unique individual.  So unique and individual that every dream I have has to be so gosh-darned out of the ordinary that everybody says "what a unique individual, I never in my life would have thought of that. SHE IS SO COOL!!"

Yeah also gross.  That's the face of my ugly pride, people.

At the risk of maybe not having as many friends after this post, I figured it was a good idea to write about this if only for the mere fact that it's out there.  It's out of my head in writing and forces me to consider the real condition of my heart.  And to be that much more thankful for Jesus and his constant work in my life.  He held a mirror up to my heart in that moment, exposing my pride, vanity, and envy, and gave me the opportunity move forward & grow a little more from it. He's faithful like that.  And this mess of a girl is thankful.

whew.  I don't really know how to end these types of things, but let's just say that my red Christmas cup is emptied of it's eggnog latte deliciousness and another oh-so-hipster indie band is serenading me.  ok bye, friends.

.this one time I met a story-teller. (a reflection on one thing I learned in September)

"You're only 22?!  Well then, the world is your oyster, dear."

She said it just like that, too.  Like it was from a book she'd read that morning.

This month I found myself on a trip in a purple Jeep sitting next to a woman who'd be over 80 if you were counting the years to her name, but under 30 if you weren't counting at all.

To hear her, you'd think she was a 20-something about to embark on a life that could only be described as "wild", "free", and "for goodness sake, fun".  

She refers to herself as a gypsy and a vagabond who's grown-up children can't understand why she won't just hunker down in Illinois and be an every-day grandmother already.  

"They don't understand me," she said.  "They never have...and I'm moving to Scotland, you know."

She has these plans.  Lots of them. 

Palo Alto, California was where she began her one long adventure.  An  ESL teacher to elementary school students, she later joined the Peace Corps and moved to Hungary. She spoke of an elderly woman she'd met there who didn't speak a word of English, but would wave to her from her window with a smile every morning as she walked down a back street to work. 

She went on to talk about her time in Wales with her mother's family, and an Easter Sunday she spent with a Greek Orthodox family in Santorini, Greece.  She laughed thinking back to a gentleman at an old pub in Ireland like she'd been there yesterday. 

And Jerusalem, it was a favorite of hers.  

"The man at the desk at the hotel wasn't sure if I'd like the room they had for me because it was so small," she said, "but when I looked out the window, I had a view of the temple, so I said it would do just fine." 

Her eyes lit up when she said that, and so did mine.

As we continued to drive, she continued to tell about her travels and those people she'd met along the way, and I marveled that she'd done it all in less than a single lifetime.  

We stopped at a gas station for a break and she took the hand of the lady behind the counter and asked how her day was going. "I didn't want her to think we'd just come for the restrooms..." she said.

It was something.

And it made me wonder what exactly it is I'm waiting for.

Here was a woman who is unmarried and 4 times my age....and if there's anything you can be sure of, it's that she is moving to Scotland.  She told me so 3 times.  I believe her.

And you know what?  She doesn't wait for anything.  When she wants to go somewhere, she goes.  And if she's not going anywhere, she's not waiting around for anybody or anything.  She's holding the hand of the woman behind the gas station counter, or chatting with strangers at the Starbucks where my brother works, or making sure she meets her quota of 8 hugs a day because it's good for you and that's her only reason. 

This September had a theme running straight through it.

It's funny and interesting and honestly, a little scary when God want's you to hear something.

Because he makes sure you hear it loud, clear, and almost all the time.

This month I heard it from a pastor, heard it from a friend, read it in a magazine article, and saw it in an 80-something vagabond moving to Scotland...

I don't have to wait.

Yes, there are things I'm waiting on.

But I have a choice to move in the waiting, I don't have to wait until they happen to move.

God is not waiting.

He is moving.

He is working a plan and lifting our heads upward.

He is moving us Homeward........and that is far from waiting.

Although she probably won't ever read this,  I am so thankful for this story-telling gypsy grandmother who reminded me to stop waiting and keep moving.  Because that's how we get Home.

"Today there's sunshine and company, so I am blessed"

                                                                         --Jeanne