To all those single ladies on the Great Day of Love...

Several times recently, the topic of beauty has been brought up amongst my friends and I.

And as a person who struggled (and struggles) daily with a low self image, I know what it's like to view yourself as

[worthless] and [inferior.]

So what do we as women of God do to defend against these feeling of worthlessness? We turn to make up, hair products, new clothes, and body treatments. Many people have opinions on why we do this, but as a single woman, I can say that mine is a little different.

I want to be cherished. I want to be cherished by a man of God who delights himself in the love and law of the Lord. But as it happens, I don't have a husband, boyfriend or fiancé to do that for me. And so I turn to myself to cherish myself. Which results in make up, hair products, clothes, (even flowers!) that I buy myself so I will feel cherished.

There's something wrong with this picture though. I'm not allowing myself to be cherished by someone else, when I'm so busy cherishing myself.

Because you see, someone is cherishing me.

And He finds me ravishing and gorgeous and perfectly suited to His tastes in women: Clothed in white garments and washed by the blood of the Lamb.

I hide, like a frightened child behind a mask of chemicals, oils, and elixirs, trying to disguise the beauty God has given me with something fake and false that is akin to the perfection we see in

[Barbie dolls] and [Disney Princesses.]

Have we truly let beauty be equated to plastic toys that could be used as toothpicks and animated figures of fabled legends? Where did the timeless beauty of

the Shulamite in Song of Songs go?

What happened to her abandonment to love?

Or the beauty of Ruth?

That singular trust and obedience of a submissive spirit to her Lord's will?

Or the beauty of Esther?

The confidence and faith of a woman sold out to her Savior?

Are these attributes considered ugly and unlikable? I think not. God said in 1st Peter that the kind of spiritual beauty the women listed above had was a

"...precious thing...of great worth in the eyes of God.."

that he will

"...delight over you with singing and great joy..."

(Zephaniah).

If we have the joy and delight of God in the light of being His precious creation are we blaspheming God and saying that what He created is "not good" simply cause we aren't idolized as a child's toy?

God created the woman out of the rib of Adam and said it was very good. We took nothing away, nor added a thing.

If God didn't, who are we to do so?

I admit. I am guilty of this constantly. But what kind of mask are you hiding behind? Are you a slave to the perfection of a finicky world? Or are you using the things provided you, as Esther did with the beauty treatments Xerxes provided, to merely enhance and let your glorious and true beauty shine?

Esther may have been beautiful, but what was she remembered for in the long run?

Her beauty?

Two questions for you to think about:

1. Do you fall victim to these lies? If so why kind of mask do you hide behind and why?

2. Are you calling God a liar? Do you deny His proclamation of your beauty? Is so, why do you think that is, and what could you change to stop that?

[Twist back the image of beauty the world has brainwashed you with.]

Well just scratch that.

I seriously stink at being consistant when it comes to blogging. *sigh*

Life has been taken over by books, driving, working at the church, and mission projects. I can't believe how much there is to do. It's like I'm running on five different tracks, and still not getting enough done.

Suffice it to say, I'm alive, I'm NOT writing (sadly), and am in over my head with the amount of stuff I've given myself to do. I'm hoping that next semester wont be so bad. But that's doubtful. Highly doubtful.

I did go on a bike ride yesterday. Which was lovely. And then, because of my lack of physical excerise in the past...year or so...my thighs felt like they were about to fall off. Which isn't pleasant. At all.

More to come soon. I hope. Pray. Wish. >_>

Sisterly affection...

Surprise, Surprise. Janessa got a new camera for her birthday. Happy Birthday, love. :) We were messing around and had some fun. Enjoy. We did. :)

PS: My hair has since changed. Again. So for the record I don't look like that exactly. :P

Oops

So I was going to do a poem each day...epic fail there. SO. I'm going to do a poem a week for the month of September. :P Sneaky, huh? Getting out of it like that...

Anyways. Lori, my lovely sister-in-law sent me this story and I wanted to share it. It impacted me deeply and I can't thank her enough for sending it. Thank you so much.

The Room

In that place between wakefulness and dreams, I found myself in the room. There were no distinguishing features except for the one wall covered with small index card files. They were like the ones in libraries that list titles by author or subject in alphabetical order.

But these files, which stretched from floor to ceiling and seemingly endless in either direction, had very different headings.

As I drew near the wall of files, the first to catch my attention was one that read "Boys I Have Liked." I opened it and began flipping through the cards. I quickly shut it, shocked to realize that I recognized the names written on each one. And then without being told, I knew exactly where I was.

This lifeless room with its small files was a crude catalog system for my life. Here were written the actions of my every moment, big and small, in a detail my memory couldn't match. A sense of wonder and curiosity, coupled with horror, stirred within me as I began randomly opening files and exploring their content. Some brought joy and sweet memories; others a sense of shame and regret so intense that I would look over my shoulder to see if anyone was watching.

A file named "Friends" was next to one marked "Friends I Have Betrayed." The titles ranged from the mundane to the outright weird: "Books I Have Read," "Lies I Have Told," "Comfort I Have Given," "Jokes I Have Laughed At." Some were almost hilarious in their exactness: "Things I Have Yelled At My Brothers." Others I couldn't laugh at: "Things I Have Done In My Anger," "Things I Have Muttered Under My Breath At My Parents." I never ceased to be surprised by the contents.

Often there were many more cards than I expected. Sometimes fewer than I hoped. I was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of the life I had lived. Could it be possible that I had the time in my years to fill each of these thousands or even millions of cards? But each card confirmed this truth. Each was written in my own handwriting. Each signed with my signature.

When I pulled out the file marked "TV Shows I Have Watched," I realized the files grew to contain their contents. The cards were packed tightly, and yet after two or three yards, I hadn't found the end of the file. I shut it, shamed, not so much by the quality of shows but more by the vast time I knew that file represented.

When I came to a file marked "Lustful Thoughts," I felt a chill run through my body. I pulled the file out only an inch, not willing to test its size, and drew out a card. I shuddered at its detailed content. I felt sick to think that such a moment had been recorded. An almost animal rage broke in me. One thought dominated my mind, "No one must ever see these cards! No one must ever see this room! I have to destroy them!" In an insane frenzy I yanked the file out. Its size didn't matter now. I had to empty it and burn the cards. But as I took it at one end and began pounding it on the floor, I could not dislodge a single card. I became desperate and pulled out a card, only to find it as strong as steel when I tried to tear it.

Defeated and utterly helpless, I returned the file to its slot. Leaning my forehead against the wall, I let out a long, self-pitying sigh. And then I saw it. The title bore "People I Have Shared The Gospel With."

The handle was brighter than those around it, newer, almost unused. I pulled on its handle and a small box not more than three inches long fell into my hands. I could count the cards it contained on one hand. And then the tears came. I began to weep. Sobs so deep that they hurt. They started in my stomach and shook through me. I fell on my knees and cried. I cried out of shame, from the overwhelming shame of it all. The rows of file shelves swirled in my tear-filled eyes. No one must ever, ever know of this room. I must lock it up and hide the key.

But then as I pushed away the tears, I saw Him.

No, please not Him. Not here. Oh, anyone but Jesus. I watched helplessly as He began to open the files and read the cards. I couldn't bear to watch His response. And in the moments I could bring myself to look at His face, I saw a sorrow deeper than my own. He seemed to intuitively go to the worst boxes. Why did He have to read every one? Finally He turned and looked at me from across the room. He looked at me with pity in His eyes. But this was a pity that didn't anger me. I dropped my head, covered my face with my hands and began to cry again. He walked over and put His arm around me. He could have said so many things. But He didn't say a word. He just cried with me.

Then He got up and walked back to the wall of files. Starting at one end of the room, He took out a file and, one by one, began to sign His name over mine on each card. "No!" I shouted rushing to Him. All I could find to say was "No! No!" as I pulled the card from Him. His name shouldn't be on these cards. But there it was, written in red so rich, so dark, so alive. The name of Jesus covered mine. It was written with His blood. He gently took the card back. He smiled a sad smile and began to sign the cards. I don't think I'll ever understand how He did it so quickly, but the next instant it seemed I heard Him close the last file and walk back to my side. He placed His hand on my shoulder and said, "It is finished."

I stood up, and He led me out of the room. There was no lock on its door. There were still cards to be written.

On poetry, and the common expression of disinterest delivered unto it.

The other day at church I was involved in a conversation about Poetry. Now, I love poetry and think it's beautiful when done right. And understandable.

However, some people don't think so. Several of my friends, [and no offense to you. don't worry, I don't say names. ;)] think poetry is impossible to understand or interpret. Or that you have to be brilliant to do so.

I beg to differ.

While some poems are very much like that. Confusing, having opposite underlying meanings, but poetry can be a wonderful expression of art. So, this week I will be posting a few of my favorites and please see if you can just enjoy the beauty of them, as they are.

Day One

When I Have Fears

by

John Keats

WHEN I have fears that I may cease to be

Before my pen has glean’d my teeming brain,

Before high piled books, in charact’ry,

Hold like rich garners the full-ripen’d grain;

When I behold, upon the night’s starr’d face,

Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,

And think that I may never live to trace

Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance;

And when I feel, fair creature of an hour!

That I shall never look upon thee more,

Never have relish in the faery power

Of unreflecting love! - then on the shore

Of the wide world I stand alone, and think

Till Love and Fame to nothingness do sink.

On another note:

I have finished Twelfth Night, I Would Die for You, and am onto As You Like It, Radical, and Song of Roland. And still no one has joined me. *sigh* You puny non-bookworms.

WHERE IS MY BROTHER?

[I know you read this Josh!!! :P]

Blessed beyond measure..

"You're blessed when you're at the end of your rope. With less of you there is more of God and his rule.

You're blessed when you feel you've lost what is most dear to you. Only then can you be embraced by the One most dear to you.

You're blessed when you're content with just who you are—no more, no less. That's the moment you find yourselves proud owners of everything that can't be bought.

You're blessed when you've worked up a good appetite for God. He's food and drink in the best meal you'll ever eat.

You're blessed when you care. At the moment of being 'care-full,' you find yourselves cared for.

You're blessed when you get your inside world—your mind and heart—put right. Then you can see God in the outside world.

You're blessed when you can show people how to cooperate instead of compete or fight. That's when you discover who you really are, and your place in God's family.

You're blessed when your commitment to God provokes persecution. The persecution drives you even deeper into God's kingdom.

Not only that—count yourselves blessed every time people put you down or throw you out or speak lies about you to discredit me. What it means is that the truth is too close for comfort and they are uncomfortable. You can be glad when that happens—give a cheer, even!—for though they don't like it, I do! And all heaven applauds.

[And know that you are in good company. My prophets and witnesses have always gotten into this kind of trouble.]"

Isn't it good to know that others have gone before us, and God isn't surprised by what happens?

Happy Sunday.

Thursday Tidbits

Just a few things to note.

1. Incase anyone was wondering, I got contacts this week. Apparently, the glasses aren't doing their job, which is rather a let down.

[I thought they were rather awesome, in my humble opinion.]

But as Dr. Bestwinna let me know, my right eye is 4 times worse than before. Yeah. Shocked me too. Didn't think I would get my parents' eyes so early. :P

[Love you mom and dad!]

And now I am no longer a cyclops. My left eye needs them now too. Great. Oh, and to top it all off the right one has astigmatism. Lovely. SO. I have contacts. And since I had them for a short time before, [in the right eye only, since the left one was fine two years ago] the right eye's contact fits fine, and I don't notice. The left however....oh dear. I can't seem to get used to it. I'm beginning to wonder if I have it in wrong. >_> It hurts and my eye is leaking like Niagara Falls. Which, believe me, isn't pleasant.

At all.

[See? It's red. Like MY EYE.]

But the contacts look nice on me. :D And I don't have black rims around everything anymore!

2. Numéro deux.

[That's French for Number two.]

The Rebelution tour is coming to Nashvegas! Huzzah! If you've never heard of the Rebelution, check this out:

Wanna come? Sign up here!

I'll be at the door, registering people. So..I guess if you want to see me too, sign up. :P Cause I'm such an amazing draw.

[Sarcasm, anyone?]

3. Update on my reading list.

Currently reading:

-Twelfth Night by The Lovely Shakespeare

and

-Radical by David Platt

Twelth Night is almost finished [after which, I have to write a few papers and answer questions. Good times. :D], and I'm entering the fourth chapter in Radical. Radical is slower to read, but much more challenging, mentally and spiritually. And also more rewarding.

[Twelfth Night is just fun.]

I noticed something. No one is joining me in reading even one of the books on my list.

WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE?!

I know, I know. I'm some freak who LOVES to read. Get over it. You should too. It's fun. And rewarding. And ... learn-i-ish. I love made up words. :D

But seriously. Huckleberry Finn is not hard to read. For that matter, neither is Shakespeare. Despite what your 8th grade English Class taught you years ago. You CAN love Shakespeare. Trust me. I'm not the only one who does. :P

[I'm pointing to you, you writers I know that follow my blog. You traitors of all things bookish.]

[Can you see my lovely sense of the dramatic here?]

So. GO. READ. JOIN ME. PLEASE. Do you think I enjoy explaining all of Shakespeare puns with Mumsie Dearest? I thought not.

I leave you with this. Simply cause I find it horridly ironic and it's one of my favorite verses to quote. Especially when Dad starts egging on me to study for the ACT. Again.

[Which is rather a smart thing to do, but don't tell anyone I admitted to it.

I mean, I can trust the World Wide Web, right?]

Here it is:

{But regarding anything beyond this, dear friend, go easy. There's no end to the publishing of books, and constant study wears you out so you're no good for anything else.}

-Ecclesiastes 12:12 MSG