Style

Do you ever wonder if you've being heard? Your words are tossed into a void, maybe never to be acknowledged. As a writer I'm supposed to expect rejection - it comes with the territory. I don't mind my voice getting lost in the shuffle, it's not a totally-unknown possibility. That sounds really whiny, but that's just how it is. Sometimes the answer is "no." Get over it.

So when I get a written response from one of my major influences....O_o

After almost three months, I got a response from Terry Jones, one of the surviving members of Monty Python. If you know anything about me, you'll recall that I'm a Python NUT. And I am sitting six inches away from a note from Terry Jones. Hand-written. Personal. International stamp.

This is a big deal.

I wrote to him when I decided to write my literary analysis criticism on "Life of Brian." And I was pretty sure my letter had gotten lost in the heaps of mail that he no doubt receives. I've written to celebrities before - almost seven years and no response from Geoffrey Rush. (Kevin McNally did write back. And I got a mass-produced autographed picture with a note "from the office of Keira Knightley." But that's another story.) Every now and then I wondered about it, but I wasn't too bent out of shape over it. So to receive something back from him...I nearly passed out when I pulled the letter from my mailbox.

I quote:

 

Thanks so much for your wonderful letter. It's good to know that something we've done is still having some effect! I hope you continue to be independent and thoughtful!

 

Looking at it five hours later still makes me light-headed.

 

It's a vicious cycle, really. He knows his work is still appreciated by a generation whose parents were children when Python was first popular, and I know my letter wasn't totally ignored. And how fitting to get it today, after I've finished the second draft of my "Life of Brian" paper? Python has been such a crazy influence in my life over the past year, and to get that well-wish from one of my idols (meant in an iconic and not religious way - I know actual idols are bad)....my life has been made.

 

Now back to the reality that my paper is due in a week (among so frickin' many other things) and is still only in the drafting stage. Actually I'm really proud of the work I've done in only about three weeks. My goal was to find a middle ground between the Pythons and religion, and I think I've done a fairly decent job. But lest we bask too long in that knowledge, just remind yourself: it ain't done yet.

 

Tonight Mr. Jones' letter lies as a bookmark in my journal, like a little whisper reminding me that it's good to think outside the box (or, in my case, the Bubble).

 

~

 

Your words are worth-while. Write on.

-Arbor Brannagh

Seventy

Fall break. Tomorrow. One crazy night left, and then four glorious days of nothing. We're about halfway through the semester now; next week the countdown to Thanksgiving begins, then it's only a few more weeks until Christmas and winter break...Where is this year going???

Do you believe in coincidences? I do, in a sense; but I believe that coincidences are God's way of working behind-the-scenes. I think He uses these in a teaching way, just as He uses our screw-ups. Like freshman year, when my grades bombed and I blew a scholarship. That's how I ended up working at the store. And for the last two years I've been digging myself out of a hole that I created for myself, both financially and grades-wise. I'm .05 points away from getting the scholarship back, and the way this semester's going, that should be no problem. But if I hadn't lost it, I probably wouldn't have gotten the job at the store, met the incredible people that I work with and love like my family, and learned about fixing my own problems.

But the problem remains: I am now the proud owner of student loans that I earned myself. At the beginning of this school year, I decided to get a job. But when I looked around campus, there weren't many to be found. One door closed, this one never opened; and two months into the semester, I still had no job. I thought about selling some of my writing for money, but I don't feel confident enough about any of it to actually send to publishers. And there also remains the problem of having no money, which is usually needed when you submit works to publishers. I prayed a lot back in August that God would provide some kind of job opportunity. But so far...nothing.

Until Saturday.

I got an email from a lady on campus asking if I wanted to help out with mailers, stuffing envelopes, etc. I replied that I'd be interested in it and the pay they were offering. I went in yesterday to do my time, and she said that the email was intended for another girl on campus who happens to have my same name. (I've gotten several emails meant for her, and no doubt she's gotten some that were supposed to come to me.) BUT THE LADY PUT ME ON THE PAYROLL ANYWAY!!!!!!!!!! I was sitting sealing envelopes when I thought, This is an answer to my prayer from two months ago!! I still can't believe it! I'd totally forgotten about it, and here I am with a job!!

MY GOD IS SO GOOD!!!!! HE IS FAITHFUL TO HIS CHILDREN AND PROVIDES FOR THEM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Sting

I'm typing this entry on my mom's iPad...the next one I write will definitely be on my laptop.

Recently I came across a quote by C.S. Lewis that says, 'Has this world been so kind to you that you should leave with regret? There are better things ahead than any we leave behind.' And in the week (or so) ahead, this will be much on my mind.

For those of you who are friends of mine (I'm pretty sure if you're reading this blog, you're a friend - I don't think many other people read it) you'll know that my family has been watching the decline of a very close friend for a few weeks now. My adopted grandfather, now 86 years old, has been diagnosed with pulmonary fibrosis. For those not familiar with medical terms, your lungs need to expand when you breathe, and the walls of his lungs are hardening, which makes it difficult for him to breathe. It's only a matter of time before he suffocates. I have visited him every weekend for several weeks now and make it a point to call him when I can't make it home from school. They say he's doing better, but they said the same thing about my uncle the day before he died. To put it bluntly, I wake up every day expecting the phone call that he's gone.

Does this make me a pessimist? Not in the least. I am a realist, and I know the danger of getting my hopes up in an inevitably-hopeless situation. I think this gives me a clear vision when I look at him - I don't see the possibility of healing, but I don't necessarily see only the grief that will come with losing him. I see a very tired man who has lived a rich, full life. He's been married to the woman he loves for over sixty years. Though his own two children passed away about twenty years ago, he has been blessed with so many others who call him uncle, father figure, and friend. Since three of my grandparents are dead and we don't see our own grandfather often, Mr. Everett has become the only real grandfather figure who has been constantly around for my siblings and me. I remember waking up to the doorbell and, running to the door, finding no one there but a box of donuts, where he'd dropped them off and run back to his car before we could catch him. He's been there on birthdays and  holidays, and at Christmas my siblings and I would go to his house and sing carols with him and his wife. His carpentry - wooden pumpkins, painted snowmen with acorn eyes, a birdhouse with a bent license plate for a roof - still sit around our house.

When he was about my age, he went to the Pacific to serve his country n World War II. Though he still wears his veteran's hat, he has never said much about what happened there. Sometimes when we would visit them, I would watch him and think, 'What have you seen? What happened that is still so painful that you won't bring back the ghosts of sixty years ago?' Once I asked him if I could interview him for a school project, but he said he'd rather not talk about it. When I was little I always thought how cool it'd be to be the one he'd open up to and reveal his secrets to. But now that I'm older, I realize that he'll go to his grave with his secrets. And why shouldn't he? What good would it do to drag up all those memories again? Some things are best left alone.

When my mom and I were talking about him over lunch yesterday, I couldn't help but cry as I thought about losing this man I've know since my first year of life. But when I went to see him last night, he was joking and laughing, like he always used to. I will miss him terribly - how can you know someone for twenty years and not feel a void when you lose them? But how selfish it would be of me to ask him to stay. He told my mom the other day that he's just tired. I can see that when I look at him. But behind those tired eyes, underneath his ragged breathing and thin skin, I see no fear. When I look at him, I see a man who has had enough. He's not giving up - he just knows when it's time. He's ready to look his God in the face, to see his children, to breathe easy again, to erase the scars on his memory.

When I get to his place, I pray that I may have the same peace.

Prayers would still be appreciated for everyone involved. The next few weeks will be tough.

Vanilla

What does it mean to be strong? Not in the "I can hoist a car on my shoulders" strong - I mean the "I feel like sobbing into a pillow but I'll put on my happy face" strong. Maybe it's like holding in a sneeze until after the chapel speaker's finished praying - you deal with stress but you wait until nobody sees it, and they'll think you're so capable and you have it all together. Maybe it's like holding in a sneeze until it goes away altogether.

I've been called that twice in the last week; so apparently if you keep a cool head in a non-stressful situation, or you're willing to tell a friend that you can't talk anymore, that makes you a strong person.

The funny thing is, I've never considered myself "strong" in that sense. (Or the "I can hoist a car" sense, for that matter.) When I went to visit my brother in the hospital when he had his tonsils taken out, I saw his IV and had to lie down before I passed out. When things go slightly un-according to plan, I panic and wonder how it'll get fixed. Or better yet, I mope around, bemoaning the misery that has befallen me. We'll just toss that out there: I'm a worrier, a fretter, a hand-wringer. I have just developed this trait in the last few years, about the time I started college. Am I getting all the right requirements for my major? Am I even in the right major? Well, this is what I feel called to do, but was it God calling me or just some whim? I picked to be a teacher, so I'd better get used to eating ramen noodles out of old Tupperware and wearing out shoes until the soles fall off. What about that crack in my tooth, is my nerve exposed, am I going to die? All I see on Facebook anymore is people getting married - am I left out? Will I ever get married and have kids? But shouldn't I wait for that until I've lived life a little on my own? Why am I worrying about that when I have three papers and a test due this week? The list drags on.

I believe God speaks through coincidence and repetition. (My high school AP English teacher always said, "Repetition is the key to understanding.") I believe that all of us need to hear something six or twelve times before it really sinks in and we start believing what we hear. And this week, on three different occasions since Thursday, I have had this passage shoved in my face:

Can all your worries add a single moment to your life? And if worry can't accomplish a little thing like [getting you food or clothes], what's the use of worrying over bigger things?...Why do you have so little faith?...your Father already knows your needs. Seek the Kingdom of God above all else, and He will give you what you need.

 

When my pastor said he felt led to talk about this today, I rolled my eyes like, "Alright, God, I understsand You're trying to teach me something here."

 

In the past few weeks, I've been getting such a crash-course in not worrying. Like when I found out another considerable sum of money had been tacked on to my college debt, which will translate into student loans. Or when my adopted grandpa was diagnosed with pulmonary fibrosis - I went to visit him for maybe the last time today. Or when I haven't been able to find a job on campus. Or when I worry about my future as a teacher or, more recently, whether I will find a boyfriend or wind up old and alone. (I'm a girl, it's in my DNA to freak out about such things.) Today in church my pastor directed us to Matthew 6, that section in the Sermon on the Mount where Christ talks about possessions and worrying. And at some past point I had written in big pink letters next to the above section, "RELAX, AND KNOW THAT I AM GOD."

 

I don't have all the answers. I don't know how much longer my grandpa will live. I don't know where money will come to pay off my student loans. And who knows - I may be single forever. But it's not important that I know all of those things. Because I know for damn sure I don't have to worry about them. I'm learning to be content with the life I'm living right now. I am Bethanie, single, at this specific weight, in X-amount of debt, with a living grandpa for today. Today I thank my God for having everything under control. And I'll work with what I have for today to give glory to the God who has all my problems, issues, struggles, trials, and insecurities in His hand.

 

Maybe that's why I'm dubbed "strong." Maybe it's because I know Who holds my yesterdays, todays, and tomorrows, and everything that happens during those days, and I don't let those hiccups get to me. Instead of looking at everything I'm dealing with, I look up to my Father who says, "Chill out, my child. I got this."

 

Be encouraged today, my friends. You are loved by the Father today.

Wonky

Isn't doing the right thing supposed to feel a little better than this? Usually it means jumping up and down screaming, "OH MY GOSH, THIS IS SO LIBERATING!!!!!" I've triumphed over sin, kicked the devil in the face and said, "Yeah, that's not gonna be the way things go anymore!" This is a happy occasion!

But I just want to lay face-down on my bed and not think about it. God nudges me on the shoulder and I brush Him away like, "Yeah, yeah, I know it was for the best. That doesn't mean it's any less frustrating."

I wonder if Paul ever had those moments after being tossed in prison. Again. I wonder if he looked over at Silas in the jail in Philippi and said, "You know, this schtick's getting really old."

I Peter (supposedly the book on suffering) says that suffering for what is right is actually a good thing. My situation is certainly far from "suffering" - there was no physical pain involved, no abuse for my faith, nothing like that. But the wound is there because I did the right thing, because I said "this is wrong" and changed it. I wonder if it's actually a wound in my heart. Right now my heart's saying, "You did the right thing;" it's my head that's scoffing at me, "Well, that was stupid, what'd you do that for?"

One thing's certain: I feel like a weight has been lifted off of me. My brain is still working out the logistics, but there's a small voice somewhere inside me that's comforting me, "Well done, my child. You have made what is right more important than what you want."

And I suppose that's comforting....sort of. It'll take a while to process this one....

Ever

Remember that verse in Psalm: "Take delight in the Lord, and He will give you your heart's desires." As a kid I always thought that meant that, when you're in touch with God, He'll give you what you want. This is what's referred to as the "vending machine God" - He's sitting around waiting to bless you and give you what you want.

Now flip through some of the other psalms and read about David's problems, his tests, his loss. The book of Psalms has some of the most desperate literature ever written; it is here that you can find a man at his most broken. "O Lord, how long will You forget me? Forever? How long will You look the other way? How long must I struggle with anguish in my soul, with sorrow in my heart every day? How long will my enemy have the upper hand? Turn and answer me, O Lord my God!" What about Paul, credited as one of the most intense servants of God? He was imprisoned, beaten, shipwrecked - he actually said in his letters to expect persecution for our faith.

I'm pretty sure neither of them said, "Gosh, I'd really like to be persecuted - nothing would make me happier."

As I thought more about it, I thought this meant that, the closer you walk with God, the more His desires become your own desires. You will crave righteouness and the peace that comes with it, because you will understand what's important to God and what He wants for you.

This morning I was thinking about that verse, and it clicked: maybe instead of our own desires aligning with God's desires for us, maybe He implants those desires in our hearts. When the psalm says He'll give us the desire of our hearts, it doesn't mean He'll give us what our hearts desire - it means the desires themselves were placed there by God.

I've actually been noticing this in my own life lately. I'm an English education major, and I've been thinking about where I want to teach when I graduate. I've thought about Christian schools, since that's all I've ever known - fifteen years and counting in Christian education. But last year, during our winter missions conference (missionaries come in and tell us what they've been doing and try to hype you up to go overseas to "preach the gospel") I was talking to a friend of mine about potentially teaching overseas. She suddenly mentioned that we have a people here in America that we all too often forget about: Native Americans on reservations. I started doing a little research and found statistics about reservation education (in case you were wondering, they're appalling). And for maybe the first time in my life, I felt a reassurance that God was leading me somewhere, and that He had a plan for me. In late March of this year, I wrote in my journal:

"My God, I've been praying for You to show me what to do and where to go. I've asked for a sign, for a drive, for a passion...And I've started to question if You're really leading me or not. Everything been so foggy, nothing has been definite...Two weeks ago I sat under a tree, begging You to teach me, to show me. And now I hear You. Oh my God, my God, I have that realization, that knowledge, that assurance. I can't write it fast enough - I can barely sit still, I want to run and scream and tell somebody but I can't figure out words to say it...I know it now! I'm literally drawn to my knees, face-down on the floor, writhing on the ground from the realization that this is it! MY GOD, MY GOD, YOU ARE HERE, OF ALL ELSE I'M LETTING GO!! I'M COMPLETELY YOURS!!! TAKE ME!! HELP ME TO SAY WHAT YOU WANT ME TO SAY!! TAKE ME TO THE CHILDREN WHO HAVE THEIR CULTURE AND NOTHING ELSE!! SEND ME TO THE FORGOTTEN, THE LEAST OF THESE!!"

Since then I've been learning more about the Native American culture from classes and documentaries. In that time it's been reaffirmed over and over again that this is where I need to go. And it's becoming more than "I feel like I need to do this." I actually want to do this! I find myself looking forward to graduation, when the calling of my life can be fulfilled and I can begin to do God's work in kids that I've never met but I love already.

Maybe that's what that psalm means...I feel like I'm starting to "get it."

Unheard-of

I've been reading a book by Joseph Prince called Destined to Reign, probably for longer than is really necessary for a book this short. My pastor gave it to me back in the summer and said, "You have to read this book." And in typical me-fashion, I let it sit on my dresser for about a month before I picked it up.

Oh my word. Blew my mind after the first eight pages.

I've been raised on religion basically my entire life. It's not my parents' fault, that just happened to be what we were taught at the churches we bounced to through my childhood. After twenty years we've finally found the church where we "fit", probably because it's different from all the other churches we've been to. The main message is not one of conversion (although that's important, obviously), fire-and-brimstone, or tithing (thankfully - our last church was big on that). It's one of freedom - not a week goes by that my pastor doesn't say, "NO CONDEMNATION!!!" And this book that he's passed on is right in line with that.

Maybe because I haven't been raised on such a message (this is the first time I've ever really heard of God's love for believers instead of God's judgment), the book continues to blow my mind. I feel like I need to get a bunch of copies and send them out to people - so many of my friends need this book! And it isn't just a reminder for the seasoned Christian - it's new even for this Christian who's been in and out of church for twenty years, it's stuff I've never really heard before. I want to give it to my brothers and sisters who are fed up and discouraged, trying to keep up in the rat race that religion has put us in. And I want my non-Christian friends to read it so they can understand what my God is all about, because I think a lot of them have been severely misinformed. (Some of my work friends spring to mind.) They are under the impression that God is just looking for ways to punish us, that He's sadistic and gains pleasure from our suffering, that His standards are set impossibly high just so we can fail and be dealt His judgment. But even I'm learning that MY GOD'S NOT LIKE THAT!!! He loves me regardless of what I've done or will do! He wants me to succeed and actually encourages me when I fail! I feel so cheated that I've never heard any of this before! I want to send it to those who have walked away from God because they were jilted by people who fed them religion but no truth! I want to give a copy to my Jewish friend so she'll see the joy that can be had through literation that comes from living under the New Covenant! That's what this is - it's freedom that makes me want to jump up and down, attempt to dance, sing at the top of my lungs regardless of my swollen sinuses and smoker's cough! I can barely sit still enough to write this, I can't get the words down fast enough!

HALLELUJAH! MY GOD AND MY FATHER, THANK YOU FOR YOUR LOVE AND YOUR FREEDOM!!!!