Failure

It would seem that life is made up of failures and successes. Its like I come to the place where I'm ok, I'm working hard to be who I want to be, and then I fail. Like tonight. My brother was ragging on me for something that I do very infrequently and that he does every day and I got so fed up with it. Why is it so easy for me to see his arrogance and not my own penchant to do the same? Isn't it arrogant to notice that in him? Of course it is! It just drives me crazy. I'm constantly taking one step forward and three steps back...meaning I go backwards. That is so frustrating! Sometimes I wish life were like school. When I took classes, I knew how to study, hwo to pass. With life, its totally different. There isn't really pass/fail (despite the title of this entry). There's just one choice or another and then the consequences. I hate that I let my emotions sway my head. What I know is a wrong choice - one that has bad consequences - when I am calm gets chosen when I'm in the midst of the moment. AHHHH!!!

The Magic of Christmas

To me, Christmas is wrapping all your gifts early and being the first to put them under the tree. It is going to the cande light Christmas Eve service, singing "Silent Night" amid the glow of the candles reflected on everyone's face. It is creeping out of bed late Christmas Eve and sitting by the tree, the lights being the only light in the room, drinking a cup of hot chocolate and remembering, thinking, and dreaming. Christmas is being awakened early the next morning by excited brothers, pulled into your parents' room while they the camera ready to preserve us walking down the stairs, catching our reaction to all the lovely gifts on film for all posterity...or at least their grandkids. It is begging a brother to open his gift first in order to see his reaction. It is stealing the camera away from daddy in order to film him opening his gifts, too. Christmas is sitting amid the piles of wrapping paper, smiling and watching brothers look back over all their gifts. Then it is packing up all the new toys along with a few days' clothes and heading out of town to visit family. That is what Christmas is to me. Even as I write this, I realize how blessed I am. I have two parents home for Christmas every year. I have a close family that loves to give gifts. I have the money to afford to buy gifts, and my parents can afford to buy all of us kids gifts as well. We can afford to drive out of town to see more family, get more gifts. And so often I take this for granted. This year, I pray a little kid like me gets to experience Christmas the way I did and do. I wish every kid could. So this year, as I celebrate the brith of a tiny babe who was born to save the world, I'm going to remember. I'm going to cherish every moment, delight in every word and action. I'm not going to take it for granted.

A Hallowed Night

What is beauty?
A young innocent girl, tears of pain rolling down her cheeks, laying in the straw, surrounded by the stench of the cows and pigs, as she labors to deliver her firstborn, the Promised One.
What is noble?
A young man, keeping his promise, marrying a girl pregnant with Another's child, believing the words of a possibly dreamed creature and the girl herself, pacing as she struggles to get through the birth of her firstborn.
What is hope?
A baby's cry breaking the still of the night.

Hope-Filled Knowledge

There is a story of a man who once came upon a woman who was considered an outcast (by her society for one reason and by his society for being of her society - very confusing, just know they shouldn't have been talking). They met at a well. The man asked her to draw him some water and she was shocked! Why was this man, who is supposed to despise her, tlaking to her, much less asking her to draw him water? She asked and he basically blew their differences aside, telling her she should focus on who he actually was, not on his culture. He asked for her husband, she told him she had none, and he replied that she had had five husbands and the man she was now living with she had not married. The woman was shocked, but not for reasons you would expect. No, she jumped up, ran to the town and told everyone, "Come see this man who has told me everything I have ever done!" And her words were filled with joy. Why would she want to be told all she had done? Why would the knowledge that someone knew her sordid past fill her with hope? I've been pondering this lately. I came to a sort-of conclusion. Realizing that this man knew her past, knew details no one else knew, and realizing that he spoke to her, loved her, anyway, freed the woman. Surely if he offered her a chance to blow aside their cultural differences and even offer to draw her water - though of a different kind, to be sure - this man, this strange man, must be noteworthy. I think about things in my past that I despise, that I separately want never to remeber again, I am thankful that no one knows every detail. Yet something about thsi man knowing every detail and loving the woman the same...that caused great hope and assurance and freedom. May we walk in this freedom today, knowing we are known and yet still loved.

My Promise

I was challenged tonight. Sitting and listening, I thought What am I doing to live differently? To make a difference? What do people see when they look at me? What do I want you to see? Gentleness, hope, peace, joy, patience, genuine compassion and empathy, honesty, a servant, all these things and more. Those are the true desires of my heart. What am I doing to ensure these things? Nothing. I am so far from my heart's longings. There are so many basic things I should be doing that I don't. And I hate it. It drives me crazy. Where's my hunger and passion? Where's my desire? Because if I have passion and desire and hunger for my heart's desires, shouldn't I be striving for them with everything in me? Or am I so careless, so cautious, so blasé (one of my favorite words, in case you haven't noticed), that it doesn't really matter? I do not want to be lukewarm! I don't want my tombstone to read, "She did the best she could." I want it to say, "She lived! She knew her dreams and she did everything she could to make them reality!" I saw a bumper sticker once that said "Remeber who you wanted to be." Well, when I remember who I wanted to be, I want it to be me! You may say that I'm a dreamer, but I'm ok with that. So my promise to myself - and to you - is to pursue my dreams, no matter what they are. I'm not going to sit back and watch life pass me by. I'm going on the offense. Ready or not, I plan to go.

Untitled Joy

Joy is a beautiful emotion. It bubbles up inside you with a smile, a song, a kind word. It overflows in laughter, conversation, tenderness. It is peace in your very soul, the beating of a happy heart, the smile on your face. Joy is laying on your back and counting the stars just to say you tried, singing your favorite song very loudly and off-key with another, curling up in a chair with a wonderful dreamy book, driving down never-yet-taken roads because you never have before, and the smell of lemons. Joy is having your dreams come true before you realize it, going somewhere where you have to say to yourself, "I am really here!" It is lingering in bed alone dreaming hopeless romantic dreams. Joy is hot chocolate on a cold day, icy lemonade in the hot summer sun. Joy is unexpected, outrageous.