To be...

A while back I was asked what kind of woman I want to be. And frankly, I've thought about it here and there, but when I actually sat down to write it, I was surprised at how much like my mother I want to be. So here's to you Mumsie, for raising a daughter that could only wish to live in your shadow.

"I've always wanted to be an "artsy" person, and considering I've already achieved that, :P I hope to have it transferred into several aspects of my life.

I want to be the kind of wife/woman who decorates her home and her life with color, joy, and a love for all things living. I like the color green, because it represents living things. It's vibrant and clean.

I want to use it all throughout my home.

But I also want to BE green. Sorry if that's cheesy, but I see no reason with using fewer chemicals and rating organically.

I want to be healthy and fit, spontaneous and playful for my husband.

I want to cook for and with him, take long walks and have tickle fights.

I want to do little things for him all day long that brighten his day.

I want to cherish, honor, and respect him.

I want to have a big family and raise my children inter fear and admonition of the Lord.

I want them to be free to be themselves.

I want them to not have to live the way I did middle school, obsessed with what people thought of me, and whether or not I was worthy.

I want to show them what an amazing gift each if them are in the sight of the Lord and their parents.
I want to bake home made bread like mom.

I want to have a bug herb garden.

I want to have picnics in the backyard for no reason.

I want to build tents with all the quilts.

I want to let my little girls go out to eat in tutus and feather boas.

I want to make mud pies with my little boys.

I want to take then to reenactments and see then run around in breeches and petticoats.

I want to be what mom is to me: my closest confidant and biggest encourager.

I want to write stories for their bedtimes and stay up late with them drinking cocoa and reading books on Christmas.

I want to have family game nights that end with entire family pillow fights.

I want to serve, my church, my community, my world. I want to be a woman that gives, gives, and gives again.

I want to instill that passion for missions into my kids, and show them how much God loves his people.

I want to have a constantly full cookie jar.

I want music to be constantly playing. Whether I'm singing at the top of my lungs (and horribly out of tune) or someone playing an instrument.

I want dirty footprints and cotton curtains, open doors and windows, and jars full of butterflies.

I want to my children to know the Lord at a young age, and to LIVE their faith from a young age, and to not have waited to let the Lord do something in their lives until they were "older".

I might homeschool, I might not. But whatever I do, I want my kids to know their faith and to be fearless and to stand up for what they believe.

I want to the mother that all my kids' friends love and hang out at my house.

I want to be crazy in love with my husband and to wake up every morning to his face.

I want to spend time with him in the morning on the back porch, watching the sunrise, drinking my tea and digging deep in His word.

I'm an idealist, and I don't want the picket fence, but I want my country cottage and a man who lives the Lord and me, and children who follow the example of their father.

I want to love, be loved, and give love."

A Rant on Perfection

Recently, I had the privilege, okay maybe the vexation, of having several conversations on a certain male pop star around the age of 16. Now, I won't name any names in deference to my mother, and certain fanatic friends.

But I have a problem to pick with this guy. The problem is, he claims to be a Christian. And yet, in several interviews, his stand on specific values championed by other Christians is far from the mark.

Don't get me wrong. I have nothing against the fella's musical ability (although I don't happen to like his genre per se). I applaud the guy (in an age of Hannah Montana's and Jonas Brothers) for being yet another 12 year old crush inducer and still having the gumption to make a 3-d movie. Bravo. And yes, he should've won the New Artist of the Year award for the...um...whatever it was.

Until someone said something that got under my skin.

"Well, you can't expect him to be perfect!"

I can't? Isn't that what Christ expects of us....? Now, tell me if I'm wrong, but I'm pretty sure that we are all held to a standard of perfection by God Almighty. We are to strive daily to meet that.

You tell me that I'm not perfect. That no one can meet that standard. Right you are.

We are flawed. All humankind, from the moment of the Fall has been flawed. We can't be perfect. At least, not on our own. God has given us a standard as Christians to constantly fight to be. But we can't without Christ.

And in a young man who claims to be a Christian...I don't see this at all.

If your heart's desire is to be a man or woman fully devoted at following after your Lord, otherwise known as a Christian, perfection should be your goal! When young people in the media make a claim that may or may not be true in order to garner more fans or become "okay" with parents of tweens, this isn't true faith! We see what we want to! Another role model who's values are wishy washy and who's music is safe.

But for how long?

When another teen pop icon dropped her supposed "Christian girl" image for one of blatant pornagraphic suggestiveness, I lost my faith in teen pop icons. If this is the image the world has of us, no wonder they look down. We are represented by a generation of weak-minded teenagers who's only care is their reputation. Not the Lord's.

I am sick and tired of people supporting a standard so far below the one that is outlined in the Word.

I admit. I am a flawed, sinful, wretched sinner. I can't sing worth a wit. I have no talent for dancing on stage in front of thousands. I can't become a boy magnet by flaunting what little body I have.

When I see a young person finally stand up, stake their claim as a Christian, perform, proclaim their values, and then campaign for them, THEN, and only then, will I support them.

True Christians live out their faith, and strive for perfection. All the others give wishy washy answers in Rolling Stones and settle for "good enough".

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]