I wasn't in the best mood on Wednesday morning. At all. Traffic on the 10 fwy had been especially horrific (it took me 50 minutes to drive 7.8 miles), and when I finally arrived at work 20 minutes late, I had several unpleasant e-mails waiting for me in my inbox. It was enough to send me straight into the hallway, tears ruining my not-so-carefully applied mascara, as I begged God to help me out a little. (Or a lot.)
The bad start to my day sent me into the sort of funk that I didn't think could be eradicated by anything. Except for maybe winning the lottery or a fabulous trip to someplace exotic or tropical (I could really use a tan).
Then, later in the morning, I had to go pick up a gift certificate from Burke Williams Spa in Santa Monica. As I left the building, certificate in hand, I noticed a Leonida's Belgium Chocolate shop just down the block. Pushing aside the nagging voice in my head that told me 11 am is too early for chocolates, I popped in to check out the loot. The cheerful girl behind the counter immediately welcomed me into the nearly empty chocolatier and seemed completely happy to wait for me to hem and haw over my pivotal purchasing decision.
By the time I finally decided on the "Louise," a milk chocolate covered caramel-flavored praline, I was convinced that I'd driven her half-way to crazy with all my questions about her favorites, the most popular, etc. Yet, she continued to be as sweet as the candy in the display case and didn't reveal a hint of irritation at my indecisiveness. Instead, she told me that they also carried the "Louise" in dark and white chocolate and asked if I'd like to sample one. This was an easy one -- of course, I wanted to try the dark chocolate! She put the dark and milk chocolates into a small plastic sack, and as I reached for my wallet, she waved me away.
"No need to pay -- you can just take them." She said.
I stood agog, not quite sure how to respond to her kindness. I finally found my voice, a bit shaky with emotion, and said, "Thank you. I've had the worst day, and you've made it so much better."
She gave me a shy smile in return and sent me on my way with wishes that it continued to get better.
And it did. Her simple act of kindness quickly turned my sour mood around. The whole situation reminded me of my grandmother who was also fond of those small gestures. She was constantly baking pies and cookies for her friends, knitting dishclothes for them, or sending little notes to brighten their day. I'll always remember her for those small acts of kindness and the twinkle she'd get in her eye when she'd turn to us and say, "I've done my good deed for the day."
Her words and the chocolate shop girl's actions are reminders that the Lord doesn't always answer prayers or make His appearance in a grandiose manner. His presence is often most apparent in the humble displays of kindness -- like a couple pieces of chocolate, a smile from a stranger or a hug from a friend.
Friday, February 20, 2009
Sunday, February 15, 2009
Missing the Mustard Seed
I'm just going to go ahead and say it. I zoned out at church today.
I didn't mean to. I had the pew pencil in my hand so I could take notes and even managed to scribble down something about government being created to combat anarchy and distribute wealth. See? I was totally primed to get something out of this morning's sermon at Bel Air Pres!
But then the pastor started talking about some rulers from the eleventh century (or was it the seventh?) and my stomach started rumbling, and before I knew it I was fantasizing about the quiche I was going to get with my mom for lunch after church. I managed to get my head back in the game when we were asked to turn our Bibles to Matthew 3:31, and I confidently chimed in with the rest of the congregation as we read about how a great big tree with lots of branches can grow from just a tiny mustard seed. (Point being - just a little bit of faith or a little good deed can reap great things.)
"Okay," I thought, "this is good -- I can relate to this parable."
Happy that the pastor was quoting the New Testament and the always entertaining Matthew, Mark, Luke and John, I was back at full attention. Or at least I was until he started up with the First Crusades and read us some propaganda that was circulated about the Muslims during that time. Suddenly, my focus went AWOL again.
I was eager to leave the church as soon as the service ended so that I could get started on my hour drive down to Orange County, but I knew I'd have to go to the bathroom before I began my trek down the 405. I contemplated going before the sermon ended so I wouldn't have to go after and get stuck in all the crazy parking lot traffic, but I didn't want to be the "Excuse me, pardon me, can I just get by?" girl who makes everyone move during the pivotal moment of spiritual enlightenment. I might not be getting anything out of the sermon, but that didn't mean that my pew friends weren't!
Before I knew it, the pastor was wrapping things up, and TJ and the band were heading back on stage.
"That's it?" I thought. "But wait! I didn't get anything out of that! I already knew about the mustard seed!"
My silent protests were futile -- it was too late. I'd missed the boat, missed the message and missed out on an opportunity to grow a wee bit closer to God. Yes, it was just one sermon out of the 52 I hear every year, but it still could have been a mustard seed for some sort of action in my life. While I'm not a ruler and am not living in anarchy, there is still loads of anarchy going on in my head!
So here I am. At home in OC, wondering what it was that Pastor Mark Brewer said when I was so busy worrying about getting to that quiche and my mom as quickly as possible. The quiche was good, but it would have been just as good if I'd eaten five minutes later. In the grand scheme of my life, it was inconsequential. I ate it, it was satisfying, and then it was gone. God's word is never gone. It is a living word that never passes away, and like that little mustard seed, can grow into something truly magnificent.
Next week, I'll be listening. And I'll be sure to eat a bigger breakfast.
I didn't mean to. I had the pew pencil in my hand so I could take notes and even managed to scribble down something about government being created to combat anarchy and distribute wealth. See? I was totally primed to get something out of this morning's sermon at Bel Air Pres!
But then the pastor started talking about some rulers from the eleventh century (or was it the seventh?) and my stomach started rumbling, and before I knew it I was fantasizing about the quiche I was going to get with my mom for lunch after church. I managed to get my head back in the game when we were asked to turn our Bibles to Matthew 3:31, and I confidently chimed in with the rest of the congregation as we read about how a great big tree with lots of branches can grow from just a tiny mustard seed. (Point being - just a little bit of faith or a little good deed can reap great things.)
"Okay," I thought, "this is good -- I can relate to this parable."
Happy that the pastor was quoting the New Testament and the always entertaining Matthew, Mark, Luke and John, I was back at full attention. Or at least I was until he started up with the First Crusades and read us some propaganda that was circulated about the Muslims during that time. Suddenly, my focus went AWOL again.
I was eager to leave the church as soon as the service ended so that I could get started on my hour drive down to Orange County, but I knew I'd have to go to the bathroom before I began my trek down the 405. I contemplated going before the sermon ended so I wouldn't have to go after and get stuck in all the crazy parking lot traffic, but I didn't want to be the "Excuse me, pardon me, can I just get by?" girl who makes everyone move during the pivotal moment of spiritual enlightenment. I might not be getting anything out of the sermon, but that didn't mean that my pew friends weren't!
Before I knew it, the pastor was wrapping things up, and TJ and the band were heading back on stage.
"That's it?" I thought. "But wait! I didn't get anything out of that! I already knew about the mustard seed!"
My silent protests were futile -- it was too late. I'd missed the boat, missed the message and missed out on an opportunity to grow a wee bit closer to God. Yes, it was just one sermon out of the 52 I hear every year, but it still could have been a mustard seed for some sort of action in my life. While I'm not a ruler and am not living in anarchy, there is still loads of anarchy going on in my head!
So here I am. At home in OC, wondering what it was that Pastor Mark Brewer said when I was so busy worrying about getting to that quiche and my mom as quickly as possible. The quiche was good, but it would have been just as good if I'd eaten five minutes later. In the grand scheme of my life, it was inconsequential. I ate it, it was satisfying, and then it was gone. God's word is never gone. It is a living word that never passes away, and like that little mustard seed, can grow into something truly magnificent.
Next week, I'll be listening. And I'll be sure to eat a bigger breakfast.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
The Pearl Necklace
The thought of spending another hour in my car was daunting. It was cold outside (for LA), I'd just finished a lovely glass of Zinfandel, and all I wanted to do was curl up in my new blue fuzzy sweatpants, eat the frozen brownies I have stashed in my freezer, and watch "Fringe" with my roommate.
But then I heard it.
"You should go, Diana. You can't drive an hour for God?" It said.
I wanted to ignore it, but I knew in my heart that I needed to go to the Foundry, Bel Air Presbyterian's youth group, that meets on Tuesday nights. I quickly responded to my friend's e-mail asking if I wanted to join her.
As usual, that pesky little voice that I often try so hard to drown out, was right. I really did need to be there last night. Without going into an exorbitant amount of detail, an opportunity presented itself to me yesterday, and I was struggling to decide whether I should grab hold of it with all my might, or drop it like a hot potato. In the end, I went for the hot potato method.
While it would be nice, neat and Hollywood cute to say that I made my decision all because of the story that the guest speaker preached to us last night, I already knew in my gut that the opportunity wasn't right for me. Regardless, the story struck a chord with me -- so much so, that on my 30-minute drive home last night, I relayed it to my mother. And now, I will relay it here (with a few of my own dramatic embellishments).
----
Once upon a time, a young girl named Sammie and her father were having dinner at Cici's Pizza, a pizza buffet-type restaurant that is apparently absurdly popular in areas other than Southern California. As Sammie was polishing off a greasy slice of their pepperoni, she noticed the arcade section tucked away in the corner of the eatery. There was the usual Pac-Man, some sort of race car game that did not appeal to her feminine sensibilities at all, and "the Claw."
Sammie abandoned her pizza and approached "the Claw" game. She peered through the glass and saw a beautiful pearl necklace in the middle of the mostly egregious pile of toys. Her eyes grew large with desire, and she begged her dad to let her play. He agreed, and Sammie immediately beginning feeding her hard-earned allowance into the machine. Yet try as she might, she couldn't seem to catch the necklace. Her dad was beginning to grow impatient, but Sammie was so enamored by the necklace that she couldn't walk away. Finally after 30 minutes had passed, she was down to her last quarter. This was it. Her last chance to get the necklace.
She slipped the quarter through the slot and narrowed her eye in concentration. She moved quickly -- pushing the controller so the claw stopped just above her coveted prize and held her breath as she watched it drop. Please, please, please, she thought as the claw closed around the necklace. Maneuvering the claw over to the exit hole, her heart nearly exploded in joy -- she'd won it! She'd won the beautiful pearl necklace!
For the next few months, Sammie wore the necklace every day. It went with her everywhere she went -- the park, school, even to the swimming pool. As time passed by, the necklace started to show its age. The paint was chipping off, the thread was wearing thin and it no longer had the lustrous sheen it did when Sammie had first seen it at the arcade. Yet despite its appearance, Sammie still loved it -- it was her most prized possession and she never took it off.
During this time, Sammie's father had begun a strange ritual every night when he tucked her into bed. He would always ask her the same question -- "Sammie, can I have your necklace?" and Sammie would always give him the same answer -- "No Dad, I worked so so hard for it and I spent all my allowance on it and I love it so much! I can't give you the necklace."
After months of this back-and-forth, Sammie started to think that maybe she should give her dad the necklace. If he kept asking for it, he probably had a good reason to want it. One night, before he came in to her room, she decided that this time when he asked she would give it to him. Her trust in him was greater than her love for the necklace.
When her dad came in, he again asked her, "Sammie, can I have your necklace?" and Sammie looked up at him, at his wise compassionate eyes, and nodded. She slowly took the necklace off and slipped it into his hand. Her father smiled, patted her head and took a velvet bag out of his pocket. He reached in and pulled out the most beautiful real pearl necklace that Sammie had ever seen -- better than anything she could have ever imagined or ever bought for herself with her measly allowance. It was perfect.
-----
The message that comes across here is one of sacrifice -- giving up something that we think is important to obtain something more amazing than we could ever imagine from God. To me, the beautiful pearl necklace signified the opportunity I am meant to embrace -- not the crusted, tattered one that I wanted to be the right thing earlier in the day. Even if the connection isn't picture perfect or, as I mentioned earlier, "Hollywood cute," I still felt as though it was somehow relevant to my crisis.
Today, as I set on my couch drinking another glass of red Zin, I felt perfectly at peace. I know that God has a plan for me, and I know that it will be better than I can even begin to imagine. I just have to trust Him and give myself fully to His grace.
----
Once upon a time, a young girl named Sammie and her father were having dinner at Cici's Pizza, a pizza buffet-type restaurant that is apparently absurdly popular in areas other than Southern California. As Sammie was polishing off a greasy slice of their pepperoni, she noticed the arcade section tucked away in the corner of the eatery. There was the usual Pac-Man, some sort of race car game that did not appeal to her feminine sensibilities at all, and "the Claw."
Sammie abandoned her pizza and approached "the Claw" game. She peered through the glass and saw a beautiful pearl necklace in the middle of the mostly egregious pile of toys. Her eyes grew large with desire, and she begged her dad to let her play. He agreed, and Sammie immediately beginning feeding her hard-earned allowance into the machine. Yet try as she might, she couldn't seem to catch the necklace. Her dad was beginning to grow impatient, but Sammie was so enamored by the necklace that she couldn't walk away. Finally after 30 minutes had passed, she was down to her last quarter. This was it. Her last chance to get the necklace.
She slipped the quarter through the slot and narrowed her eye in concentration. She moved quickly -- pushing the controller so the claw stopped just above her coveted prize and held her breath as she watched it drop. Please, please, please, she thought as the claw closed around the necklace. Maneuvering the claw over to the exit hole, her heart nearly exploded in joy -- she'd won it! She'd won the beautiful pearl necklace!
For the next few months, Sammie wore the necklace every day. It went with her everywhere she went -- the park, school, even to the swimming pool. As time passed by, the necklace started to show its age. The paint was chipping off, the thread was wearing thin and it no longer had the lustrous sheen it did when Sammie had first seen it at the arcade. Yet despite its appearance, Sammie still loved it -- it was her most prized possession and she never took it off.
During this time, Sammie's father had begun a strange ritual every night when he tucked her into bed. He would always ask her the same question -- "Sammie, can I have your necklace?" and Sammie would always give him the same answer -- "No Dad, I worked so so hard for it and I spent all my allowance on it and I love it so much! I can't give you the necklace."
After months of this back-and-forth, Sammie started to think that maybe she should give her dad the necklace. If he kept asking for it, he probably had a good reason to want it. One night, before he came in to her room, she decided that this time when he asked she would give it to him. Her trust in him was greater than her love for the necklace.
When her dad came in, he again asked her, "Sammie, can I have your necklace?" and Sammie looked up at him, at his wise compassionate eyes, and nodded. She slowly took the necklace off and slipped it into his hand. Her father smiled, patted her head and took a velvet bag out of his pocket. He reached in and pulled out the most beautiful real pearl necklace that Sammie had ever seen -- better than anything she could have ever imagined or ever bought for herself with her measly allowance. It was perfect.
-----
The message that comes across here is one of sacrifice -- giving up something that we think is important to obtain something more amazing than we could ever imagine from God. To me, the beautiful pearl necklace signified the opportunity I am meant to embrace -- not the crusted, tattered one that I wanted to be the right thing earlier in the day. Even if the connection isn't picture perfect or, as I mentioned earlier, "Hollywood cute," I still felt as though it was somehow relevant to my crisis.
Today, as I set on my couch drinking another glass of red Zin, I felt perfectly at peace. I know that God has a plan for me, and I know that it will be better than I can even begin to imagine. I just have to trust Him and give myself fully to His grace.
Friday, January 30, 2009
Praises: Looking on the Bright Side
It's been one of those weeks. The ones that inspire books like Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day, and turn into lyrics like "You tell me your blue skies fade to grey, you tell me your passion's gone away" from that Daniel Powter song that "American Idol" ruined. The whole lot of frustrations from this week makes me want to cry, pout and drown my sorrows in a tub of Trader Joe's Soy Creamy Cherry Chip ice cream (don't judge -- it's good!), but then I remember that God never promised that life would be easy. He did promise, however, to hold our hands through those bad times. It is that hand-holding that has gotten me through this week's bouts of traffic jams, panic about my future, exhaustion, and criticisms from my boss.
Well, that and a few other reminders that God is not only really great at that whole "lean on me" stuff, but also knows when to bring around small bits of joy when I need it the most.
While it is not always easy to find the bright notes in what can feel like a swirling sea of misfortune, looking back over the past five days, there are some things I can feel thankful about. Here are ten of them:
1. Mexican Coke - Made with real sugar cane, as opposed to corn syrup like the stuff made in the US, it's addictively delicious -- and the perfect cure for a case of the mid-day slumps.
2. Sarah, the receptionist at Bar Method - After just five minutes of chatting with her before my workout yesterday, I was all sorts of perked up. Plus, she called me "delightful" when I left, and as a result, I felt... well, pretty darn delightful!
3. Shana - My best friend from 4th - 11th grade who has reentered my life and become an incredible source of support as I figure out my next step. Just knowing that people are rooting for me to succeed is an amazing feeling. I feel so blessed that God has peppered my life with wonderful friends like her.
4. Tea & cookies with Joanne - This past Wednesday night, I got together with one of my dearest friends in LA for tea and treats at one of my favorite local spots, Susina Bakery. As we nibbled and sipped on our scrumptious purchases, I was reminded that sometimes the simplest pleasures are the most enjoyable. It doesn't always have to be tasting menus and expensive spa treatments. (Though those are nice too!)
5. My blogger friend Esi who posted the following comment on my "Diana Takes a Bite" blog post about this week's episode of "Top Chef:" "I think my favorite part about this show are your reviews the next day." I think my favorite part of yesterday was reading her kind words!
6. "Top Chef" - Watching those crazy chefs try to make magic in a pan brings me spoonfuls of joy. Pun intended.
7. Reruns - I was so glad that so many of my favorite shows were reruns this week so I could catch up on some much needed sleep! (Feel free to judge me for this one.)
8. E-mails from my friend Ali. I love having her to e-mail with during the day. It makes me feel connected to someone and that I'm not alone in the world of my yellow-walled office. (Even if she does sometimes send me messages about how her classroom has a questionable odor.)
9. Babies - I was overjoyed to receive an e-mail this morning telling me that a friend gave birth to a beautiful, 8 pound, 4 ounce baby girl. It was a squeal-worthy moment. (Just ask my co-workers within hearing range.)
10. Positive feedback about this blog. I was really nervous when I starting writing about such a personal and sensitive subject, so I am thrilled that it has been embraced by so many of my friends. Thank you for your kind words of support!
Do you have a praise from your week? Post it below!
Well, that and a few other reminders that God is not only really great at that whole "lean on me" stuff, but also knows when to bring around small bits of joy when I need it the most.
While it is not always easy to find the bright notes in what can feel like a swirling sea of misfortune, looking back over the past five days, there are some things I can feel thankful about. Here are ten of them:
1. Mexican Coke - Made with real sugar cane, as opposed to corn syrup like the stuff made in the US, it's addictively delicious -- and the perfect cure for a case of the mid-day slumps.
2. Sarah, the receptionist at Bar Method - After just five minutes of chatting with her before my workout yesterday, I was all sorts of perked up. Plus, she called me "delightful" when I left, and as a result, I felt... well, pretty darn delightful!
3. Shana - My best friend from 4th - 11th grade who has reentered my life and become an incredible source of support as I figure out my next step. Just knowing that people are rooting for me to succeed is an amazing feeling. I feel so blessed that God has peppered my life with wonderful friends like her.
4. Tea & cookies with Joanne - This past Wednesday night, I got together with one of my dearest friends in LA for tea and treats at one of my favorite local spots, Susina Bakery. As we nibbled and sipped on our scrumptious purchases, I was reminded that sometimes the simplest pleasures are the most enjoyable. It doesn't always have to be tasting menus and expensive spa treatments. (Though those are nice too!)
5. My blogger friend Esi who posted the following comment on my "Diana Takes a Bite" blog post about this week's episode of "Top Chef:" "I think my favorite part about this show are your reviews the next day." I think my favorite part of yesterday was reading her kind words!
6. "Top Chef" - Watching those crazy chefs try to make magic in a pan brings me spoonfuls of joy. Pun intended.
7. Reruns - I was so glad that so many of my favorite shows were reruns this week so I could catch up on some much needed sleep! (Feel free to judge me for this one.)
8. E-mails from my friend Ali. I love having her to e-mail with during the day. It makes me feel connected to someone and that I'm not alone in the world of my yellow-walled office. (Even if she does sometimes send me messages about how her classroom has a questionable odor.)
9. Babies - I was overjoyed to receive an e-mail this morning telling me that a friend gave birth to a beautiful, 8 pound, 4 ounce baby girl. It was a squeal-worthy moment. (Just ask my co-workers within hearing range.)
10. Positive feedback about this blog. I was really nervous when I starting writing about such a personal and sensitive subject, so I am thrilled that it has been embraced by so many of my friends. Thank you for your kind words of support!
Do you have a praise from your week? Post it below!
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Changing the GPS of My Life Coordinates (One Post at a Time)
When I created this blog two months ago, I did so with the intention to touch other people's lives with a catalog of my own struggles and breakthroughs as a Christian. I thought that by sharing my faith, I might reaffirm others' by extension. It never occurred to me that the greatest impact might be on my own relationship with God.
That's not to say that I wasn't aware it might be a potential positive side effect of my blog. Anything done in the name of the Lord can be seen as an opportunity for spiritual growth, and this was part of the reason I wanted to start a blog about my faith rather than another one about food or about my dating failures with the boy who didn't offer me a ride home or the boy who took the leftovers (don't ask).
Yet today, as I sat in my usual pew at Bel Air Presbyterian Church listening to Pastor Mark Brewer preach about becoming what we worship, it occurred to me that my blog is already starting to impact the way I live. It is, to quote Brewer, "changing the GPS of my life coordinates."
Because I am now writing about my relationship with God, I have begun paying closer attention to His voice in my everyday life -- and more importantly, listening to it. I let the rusty Honda Civic get over on the 405 fwy, I pause to smile at a stranger (and not just the cute male ones with dreamy eyes), and today, I got together with an old friend who I let drop from my life when it started becoming "too hard" to spend time with her. Seeing her wasn't easy, but I knew in my heart that it was what God wanted me to do. He wanted me to show her the love that He gives all His imperfect children -- even the really bratty ones who decorate their grandmother's white walls with Crayola art (oops).
But beyond the exponential growth of my WWJD-inspired behavior, the process of thinking and writing about God's presence in my life has also strengthened my belief that He actually is there. In his sermon this morning, Pastor Brewer reflected that expressing something intensifies the feeling -- like when a boy tells a girl he loves her or vice versa. I know I certainly feel angrier when I vent to my mother about the jerk who took my primo parking spot in front of my apartment -- much angrier than if I merely kept the LA atrocity to myself.
Similarly, by putting voice to the jumble of faith-related thoughts in my head, I am transforming them from miscellaneous musings into coherent ideas/beliefs. That was God telling me to offer an encouraging word to a friend going through a difficult time at work. That was God telling me to be grateful for my stable job. And that was God telling me that as much as I love writing about the risotto I made for dinner last night on my food-related blog, it is the "breadcrumbs" I leave here that are the ones that really matter.
That's not to say that I wasn't aware it might be a potential positive side effect of my blog. Anything done in the name of the Lord can be seen as an opportunity for spiritual growth, and this was part of the reason I wanted to start a blog about my faith rather than another one about food or about my dating failures with the boy who didn't offer me a ride home or the boy who took the leftovers (don't ask).
Yet today, as I sat in my usual pew at Bel Air Presbyterian Church listening to Pastor Mark Brewer preach about becoming what we worship, it occurred to me that my blog is already starting to impact the way I live. It is, to quote Brewer, "changing the GPS of my life coordinates."
Because I am now writing about my relationship with God, I have begun paying closer attention to His voice in my everyday life -- and more importantly, listening to it. I let the rusty Honda Civic get over on the 405 fwy, I pause to smile at a stranger (and not just the cute male ones with dreamy eyes), and today, I got together with an old friend who I let drop from my life when it started becoming "too hard" to spend time with her. Seeing her wasn't easy, but I knew in my heart that it was what God wanted me to do. He wanted me to show her the love that He gives all His imperfect children -- even the really bratty ones who decorate their grandmother's white walls with Crayola art (oops).
But beyond the exponential growth of my WWJD-inspired behavior, the process of thinking and writing about God's presence in my life has also strengthened my belief that He actually is there. In his sermon this morning, Pastor Brewer reflected that expressing something intensifies the feeling -- like when a boy tells a girl he loves her or vice versa. I know I certainly feel angrier when I vent to my mother about the jerk who took my primo parking spot in front of my apartment -- much angrier than if I merely kept the LA atrocity to myself.
Similarly, by putting voice to the jumble of faith-related thoughts in my head, I am transforming them from miscellaneous musings into coherent ideas/beliefs. That was God telling me to offer an encouraging word to a friend going through a difficult time at work. That was God telling me to be grateful for my stable job. And that was God telling me that as much as I love writing about the risotto I made for dinner last night on my food-related blog, it is the "breadcrumbs" I leave here that are the ones that really matter.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Patience: The Greatest Virtue of All?
I have never been patient. When I was a young girl, my parents used to have to physically restrain me from opening my Christmas presents before my brothers woke up, and I would regularly throw fits when I had to wait my turn to play Nintendo Super Mario Bros.
In other words, I was a brat. (My brothers have the scars on their arms to prove it.)
While I am much more mature today (I only throw fits in my head when I have to wait for something), I still haven't quite mastered the patience virtue that my mother, an elementary school teacher, commanders with such ease. I get frustrated when I'm stuck on the 10 FWY going 5 mph, I get cranky when I have to wait too long for a table at a restaurant, and I get irritated when a movie has too many previews at the theatre. Like many in my general age bracket (and coincidentally, most age brackets), I crave instant gratification -- I want what I want when I want it.
The problem with the whole "instant gratification" kind of mindset is that life doesn't work that way. More specifically, God doesn't work that way.
For the past twenty or so months, I've been struggling with what some might call a quarter-life crisis. I'm not sure if what I am experiencing can fall neatly under that label, but I do know that I feel scared about what I'm doing with my life. I worry everyday that I am not using the gifts and talents God has given me in the right way -- professionally, socially and spiritually. While I know that Earthly pursuits - ie. fame, money and a fancy career with fancy business cards -- aren't the point, I can't help but think there is more out there for me than my current 9 to 5 job. And not just because I really hate all the filing.
But even beyond the whole career woes and questions of "what am I doing with my life?", I feel a general sense of malaise that things haven't turned out the way I planned when I graduated college nearly four years ago. I didn't expect that life would be this hard. That I wouldn't be promoted into greatness at my first job, that I would lose friends as quickly as I made them, that my roommate would move out, that I wouldn't immediately find the love of my life (or even someone to love for a minute). At times, the whole lot of it makes me wonder if God has forgotten about me. And then I go to my Sunday church service, and Pastor Mark Brewer says something that seems so absurdly relevant that I know He hasn't. That I just have to practice a little of my least favorite virtue, patience.
This past Sunday, Pastor Brewer preached the gospel of Habakkuk, a prophet who complained to God, "How long, O Lord, must I call for help, but you do not listen?" (Habakkuk 1:2) when the leaders of Judah were oppressing the poor in his nation. As I listened to his lament, it didn't escape me that I have been thinking, though not saying, those same words about my own life. In the end, God answers Habakkuk, telling him that the solution he seeks is coming, but not until the right time, and in turn, Habakkuk praises the Lord, and prays, "I will wait patiently for the day of calamity to come on the nation invading us... I will rejoice in the Lord, I will be joyful in God my Savior." (3:16-18)
Sitting in my pew on Sunday, I was overwhelmed by the way the sermon seemed to be speaking directly to my current situation. It was, in one of God's mysterious ways, the answer to my prayers for help and direction. God hasn't abandoned me, He hasn't forgotten me, but He is working on a different time schedule than me. I need to be patient, to trust, and to have a little faith that when the time is right I will find my way -- through His way.
In other words, I was a brat. (My brothers have the scars on their arms to prove it.)
While I am much more mature today (I only throw fits in my head when I have to wait for something), I still haven't quite mastered the patience virtue that my mother, an elementary school teacher, commanders with such ease. I get frustrated when I'm stuck on the 10 FWY going 5 mph, I get cranky when I have to wait too long for a table at a restaurant, and I get irritated when a movie has too many previews at the theatre. Like many in my general age bracket (and coincidentally, most age brackets), I crave instant gratification -- I want what I want when I want it.
The problem with the whole "instant gratification" kind of mindset is that life doesn't work that way. More specifically, God doesn't work that way.
For the past twenty or so months, I've been struggling with what some might call a quarter-life crisis. I'm not sure if what I am experiencing can fall neatly under that label, but I do know that I feel scared about what I'm doing with my life. I worry everyday that I am not using the gifts and talents God has given me in the right way -- professionally, socially and spiritually. While I know that Earthly pursuits - ie. fame, money and a fancy career with fancy business cards -- aren't the point, I can't help but think there is more out there for me than my current 9 to 5 job. And not just because I really hate all the filing.
But even beyond the whole career woes and questions of "what am I doing with my life?", I feel a general sense of malaise that things haven't turned out the way I planned when I graduated college nearly four years ago. I didn't expect that life would be this hard. That I wouldn't be promoted into greatness at my first job, that I would lose friends as quickly as I made them, that my roommate would move out, that I wouldn't immediately find the love of my life (or even someone to love for a minute). At times, the whole lot of it makes me wonder if God has forgotten about me. And then I go to my Sunday church service, and Pastor Mark Brewer says something that seems so absurdly relevant that I know He hasn't. That I just have to practice a little of my least favorite virtue, patience.
This past Sunday, Pastor Brewer preached the gospel of Habakkuk, a prophet who complained to God, "How long, O Lord, must I call for help, but you do not listen?" (Habakkuk 1:2) when the leaders of Judah were oppressing the poor in his nation. As I listened to his lament, it didn't escape me that I have been thinking, though not saying, those same words about my own life. In the end, God answers Habakkuk, telling him that the solution he seeks is coming, but not until the right time, and in turn, Habakkuk praises the Lord, and prays, "I will wait patiently for the day of calamity to come on the nation invading us... I will rejoice in the Lord, I will be joyful in God my Savior." (3:16-18)
Sitting in my pew on Sunday, I was overwhelmed by the way the sermon seemed to be speaking directly to my current situation. It was, in one of God's mysterious ways, the answer to my prayers for help and direction. God hasn't abandoned me, He hasn't forgotten me, but He is working on a different time schedule than me. I need to be patient, to trust, and to have a little faith that when the time is right I will find my way -- through His way.
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
What Does Making Disciples Look Like?
"What does making disciples look like?" Guest preacher, Keenan Barber, asked us, as he strode across the length of the carpeted front stage at Bel Air Presbyterian Church this past Sunday. He didn't have an answer. Or he did, but his answer wasn't one that was particularly satisfying. It certainly couldn't be used in a multiple choice exam. Possibly, an open-ended essay question, but not a fill-in-the-blank or fill-in-the-correct-bubble type test. His answer was, quite simply, there is no proper, black and white way of making disciples.
In Matthew 28, when Jesus announces to the eleven disciples to "go and make disciples of all of the nations," He doesn't provide them with a pretty corresponding picture or leave them a how-to guide on what that means. In the current imagination, many perceive it to be something along the lines of Bible-thumping out at the Venice boardwalk, or knocking on doors, but that's only a small piece of a much bigger pie. (And coincidentally, a piece of pie that I don't feel much inclined to eat.)
For months, Pastor Mark Brewer at Bel Air Pres, has been preaching the message that the collective body of the church has a duty as Christians to "spread the good word" -- to make Los Angeles the greatest city for Christ. And for months, I have been struggling with my role in that mission. How can I, an imperfect, materialistic 20-something, share my faith with other people in a way that won't make them look at me and think, "Mandy Moore in Saved" or "Crazy Jesus freak?"
I didn't want to be a Bible-thumper. I didn't want to walk around calling out to anyone who would listen that "Jesus loves you!" I thought it would be enough if I just practiced what Jesus preached -- ie. to treat others like I want to be treated, to share a smile with strangers, to be a good friend, good sister, etc. I thought that by showing love to other people, I would be serving witness to Jesus' love by extension.
Despite my best intentions to wear my faith on my sleeve, I haven't been able to shake the feeling that I should be doing more. My self-consciousness has held me back, but I know that God wants me to use my talents and strengths to go beyond merely holding a door open for someone. As I sat a church on Sunday, playing with the hem of my skirt and listening to Keenan, I suddenly got "it."
"It" being the point he was trying to make. And "it" being how I could be a part of the discipleship pie. I don't have to run around my West Hollywood neighborhood in a giant cross costume to "make disciples" and "spread the good word." I have a built-in tool at my disposal -- my writing.
Being a Christian in Los Angeles is a challenge -- especially at my age. I find that I am often met with patronizing looks when I reveal that I am religious. I can practically see the miniature "Jesus freaks" dancing through their heads as they size me up and categorize me as "one of those." But I also know that I am not alone in my struggle to live a Christ-like life in the smoggy city. I know that there are others my age out there too -- dealing with the same every day obstacles that I encounter. The intent of my blog, "Leaving Bread Crumbs" is not necessarily to convince non-believers to convert and declare Jesus Christ their Savior, Hallelujah, Amen, but rather to catalogue my struggles, and my daily experiences as a young Christian woman living in Los Angeles.
I am not perfect. I am constantly screwing up, making poor decisions, and doing things that make me cringe and obsess about what I could have done differently. But those mistakes, those bread crumbs I make out of the "daily bread" I receive from God, are what strengthen my faith. They are the foundation for my spiritual growth. It is my hope that these "bread crumbs," and this blog, will resonate with whoever may stumble upon them.
In Matthew 28, when Jesus announces to the eleven disciples to "go and make disciples of all of the nations," He doesn't provide them with a pretty corresponding picture or leave them a how-to guide on what that means. In the current imagination, many perceive it to be something along the lines of Bible-thumping out at the Venice boardwalk, or knocking on doors, but that's only a small piece of a much bigger pie. (And coincidentally, a piece of pie that I don't feel much inclined to eat.)
For months, Pastor Mark Brewer at Bel Air Pres, has been preaching the message that the collective body of the church has a duty as Christians to "spread the good word" -- to make Los Angeles the greatest city for Christ. And for months, I have been struggling with my role in that mission. How can I, an imperfect, materialistic 20-something, share my faith with other people in a way that won't make them look at me and think, "Mandy Moore in Saved" or "Crazy Jesus freak?"
I didn't want to be a Bible-thumper. I didn't want to walk around calling out to anyone who would listen that "Jesus loves you!" I thought it would be enough if I just practiced what Jesus preached -- ie. to treat others like I want to be treated, to share a smile with strangers, to be a good friend, good sister, etc. I thought that by showing love to other people, I would be serving witness to Jesus' love by extension.
Despite my best intentions to wear my faith on my sleeve, I haven't been able to shake the feeling that I should be doing more. My self-consciousness has held me back, but I know that God wants me to use my talents and strengths to go beyond merely holding a door open for someone. As I sat a church on Sunday, playing with the hem of my skirt and listening to Keenan, I suddenly got "it."
"It" being the point he was trying to make. And "it" being how I could be a part of the discipleship pie. I don't have to run around my West Hollywood neighborhood in a giant cross costume to "make disciples" and "spread the good word." I have a built-in tool at my disposal -- my writing.
Being a Christian in Los Angeles is a challenge -- especially at my age. I find that I am often met with patronizing looks when I reveal that I am religious. I can practically see the miniature "Jesus freaks" dancing through their heads as they size me up and categorize me as "one of those." But I also know that I am not alone in my struggle to live a Christ-like life in the smoggy city. I know that there are others my age out there too -- dealing with the same every day obstacles that I encounter. The intent of my blog, "Leaving Bread Crumbs" is not necessarily to convince non-believers to convert and declare Jesus Christ their Savior, Hallelujah, Amen, but rather to catalogue my struggles, and my daily experiences as a young Christian woman living in Los Angeles.
I am not perfect. I am constantly screwing up, making poor decisions, and doing things that make me cringe and obsess about what I could have done differently. But those mistakes, those bread crumbs I make out of the "daily bread" I receive from God, are what strengthen my faith. They are the foundation for my spiritual growth. It is my hope that these "bread crumbs," and this blog, will resonate with whoever may stumble upon them.
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