I really like to eat ice cream straight out of the carton.  Maybe it is my impatience, maybe it is my lack of desire to do the dishes or maybe my irrational belief that ice cream tastes better that way (which it does).  I love being able to dig right in with a large spoon and continuing to my heart's (or stomach's) content.  I realize that sometimes this leads me to eat more and that the next person to eat out of the carton is going to eat ice cream my spoon has touched and contaminated.  But ice cream eaten out of the carton is just better.

I think I need to eat more ice cream out of the carton in my life.

Sometimes I take more time then I need to before getting involved.  I take out the carton, get a bowl, get a large spoon to scoop, get a smaller spoon to eat, scoop the ice cream, put the carton away, find a spot at the table and then finally sit down to eat.  When I could have been eating the ice cream all along.

There are things that I know the Lord wants me to step into, but my sinful self resists.  I tell myself "I need more time"or "I'm not ready", when the those are lies I am telling myself. If the Lord wants me to do something all I need to say is "yes" and enter into it depending on His will and on Him for strength alone.

I can waste so much time getting prepared, analyzing the situation and coming up with other things to do.

You do need to rest in the Lord and seek His will.  And  there are times when I need to get out the large spoon, the bowl, the small spoon, find a good spot and sit down and eat.  I need to take that extra time.

However, sometimes all I need to know is that I'm supposed to eat ice cream, grab a spoon and dig in, And the Lord will guide me, strengthen me, support me the rest of the way, getting to eat more than I'm supposed to, getting out of doing dishes and eating a better tasting ice cream than if I'd waited.

I love words.

Whether it is the elegant way they are put together or the way they are stumbled through, I truly think they are beautiful.

I love how words sound when you say them.  How "gentle" sounds gentle and "harsh" sounds harsh.  Sometimes talk sounds like a cadence, the way the words accent on different syllables, the order in which they are spoken, the emotions they express.

I love how words are mixed in different ways to mean different things.  What is said first and what is said second determines so much.  How they are orchestrated gives a dimension to what you are saying.  Layers and depth to creating a statement a message in different ways.

I love how words are more powerful when there are fewer of them.  Simple phrases, like "I love you" and "I miss you", say so much in a short amount of time and can mean so much more.

I love how words in different languages still apply to the rules.  Have you ever listened to another language you don't know? I don't know any other languages well, but listening to them I can tell what kind of conversation they are having.  Whether they are explaining something, professing secrets, or just sharing the day, the cadence of the language tells you the story.

I love how words create a relationship.  Whether it be inner-city kids who live down the street or Mandarin Chinese across the world, once you have the language your relationship builds, misunderstandings are broken and words, secret words, shared words are used to share secrets, to share stories, to share life.

I love how words share. Timely but timeless.  Words can tell you so much about the time, the place the person.

I love how words are simple. And God chooses simple words for us to share. Words share Jesus.

Simple. Simply beautiful.

I am still at the children's table.

In my family as you get older you get to sit at the adult table, leaving the children's table behind.
I can't say exactly what makes you an adult, it might be getting a full time job, getting married, or even graduating from college.  Whatever it is, I watched as my cousins slowly disappeared into the next room.  The room with fancy silverware, the room with mature conversions, the room with carpeted floors.

A couple of years ago the adult table maxed out, meaning I would be perpetuity at the children's table.  Stuck forever in the room with milk, not coffee, linoleum floors for easy slip clean-up, and plastic cups.

I was pretty upset at first.  Moving up to the adult table was something I always looked forward to.  The adult table had a sense of prestige about it, a sort of mystery, and seemed to demand a respect from the younger, less mature cousins that hadn't made it to the adult table.

A lot of my friends have been leaving the children's table lately.  (Some are even having babies to fill their own children's table.)  They are stepping into these new, exciting, different stages of life where their responsibilities are more than just themselves.  While I remain at the children's table.

As I sit at the continually shrinking child table, watching people move up to the adult table, I thought about why I'm still at this table.  There is so much the Lord has been teaching me and showing lately, while I'm sit here.  I think that the Lord is refining me at this table, preparing me, making me ready and when I finally do get moved up to the adult table, I'll be ready or closer to ready than I am now.

So unlike my family functions, I will not be perpetuity at the children's table in life.  But I'm here now and for a reason.  I am realizing, learning and enjoying it while I'm here because someday I won't be at the children's table anymore, things will change, life will change, but that day is not today.  So, thanks for the extra time at the children's table, I know it will be well worth it.

I have two chores at my house.
The first is recycling.  I was told it was my job because I'm "earthy" and I am good at organizing.
Truth be told, I do enjoy recycling, I feel like I'm doing my part and have even created a system for organizing paper, plastic, glass and aluminum.

The second is vacuuming.  I'm pretty sure I was just given this job because no one else wanted to do it.  Unlike recycling, which happens every week, I often wait large amount of time in-between each time I vacuum.  I just don't think the carpet looks dirty, so I don't do it.

When I do vacuum, I enjoy it when I get to vacuum up an actual mess.  A spill on the rug.  Beneath the couch that hasn't been moved for months.  Recently, around a real Christmas tree.
It makes me feel like I've accomplished something.  I can see the mess disappearing.  I can see the result.

Sure I know that when I'm vacuuming up the less messy spots I'm still cleaning little microscopic dirt, hair, and other gross stuff that needs to be cleaned.  But it's not as fun.  It's not as enjoyable.  It's just not the same.

A lot of the times we don't see the result and it is not the same as seeing the result.  We can easily become unmotivated and lazy by the lack of result.  Of course when we see results we want to keep going, keep looking for more mess, keep cleaning.  We are motivated by what we see.
But we don't always see the results.  And I don't think we are meant to.

If we were able to see the result, the why, the reason we do it changes pretty quietly.  It's not about what is behind the action so much, as what you can get from the action.  
It's not meant to be about he result but about the heart behind it.  It's meant to be about the why, not the action itself. 

If we always saw results of every good work we did, it would too quickly increases our motivation from glorifying God to glorifying ourselves.  I think God keeps us from seeing the result to help us, to bring us closer, to help keep our hearts a glorifying position.

If I only vacuumed the big messes, the one I could see with my eyes, I would miss a lot of dirt that I can't see.  I would miss out on a lot and it would be just because I couldn't see the result. 

The first big snow of every winter always catches me off guard.  Or I should say I let it catch me off guard.
  I usually don't want to hear about it, I stop listening to the radio or watching the weather forecast.   I would just prefer to not know and pretend like its not going to happen.  Sometimes I even try to make plans on that day to show the storm that I don't really think it is going to be as bad as they say.

But it still comes.
And it usually is that bad.

On Saturday we had our first big snow.  My day started off with helping a neighbor push his car out of the alley for an hour.
Clue number one.

That should have told me it was going to be bad.  However, I continued to make plans, trusting it was going to stop soon.
It didn't.

When my cousin and her family came home and told horror stories of the road, I refused to listen.
"It's really bad out there."
"I don't think you'll be going anywhere today."
Sure...
Clue number two.

We even tried to look for the shovel, which we later learned had fallen over and become buried in the snow.  (Trying to dig out your shovel so that you can shovel out your car, ironic).

I still didn't want to believe in the power of the storm.
I continued to go about my day, avoiding windows, getting things done for the night, and ignoring all the talk about the snow.

At about noon I was forced to go outside to get something from my car.
From my car buried up to the roof in snow.
Clue number three.

Standing outside staring at my car I began to scan the streets. Seeing five cars stuck, no distinction between road and sidewalk and the absence of the number 5 bus on the corner that is rarely late, I started to let the storm affected me. I realized that it might actually be bad.

Entering the house my thoughts began to change, from there is no way this is actually going to happen to this is never going to stop.

I watched the window closely, believing that my car was going to be buried, believing I was never going to get to leave my house until spring, and believing it was never going to stop snowing.
But of course it did.

After the snow stopped falling and the wind stopped blowing there was a certain, uninhibited calm about it all.  I went outside to help shovel and the previous vacant streets were filled with people.
There was a family pulling their children around in a sled.  There was a couple walking down the middle of the street with hot chocolate. There were neighbors coming together to help shovel out cars, sidewalks, and driveways.

I began to think things might be normal again.

But as I stood in the middle of the street under the light of the street lamp I didn't want it to go back to normal.  I wanted everything to stay shut down. I wanted to live in the quiet. I wanted to live in the calm for a little while longer.

The day I fought so hard against. The day I didn't believe it.  The day that came anyways.
I wanted to stay.  I wanted it to stay a snow day.

I react to change in a similar way I reacted to the snow that day.  I want it to be my own plans, my own decisions, my own way, no surprises.
But thankfully God plans it.  They aren't my plans, they aren't my decisions, it's not my way, and there are surprises.
I can't change His plans, even when I pretend they aren't going to happen, it is not going to affect me or don't except the truth.
They still happen.
And I always end up realizing He is good.
I want to stay in His presence.  I want to be in awe of His power.  I want to accept His plans.
Because His plans are vastly better than mine could ever be.

Sometimes God knows that I just need a snow day to stop, look, and realize that I'm not the one in control, He is, and there is no better way.

next week.

i have a lot of ideas and thoughts i want to share, i just can't find the time.

soon. i'll blog up a storm. (and maybe about it too)

how i'll blog. 

transferring glory

If I tell you a really great story, chances are it's not mine.  When I hear a really great story, no matter who it happened to, I remember it and tell it over and over again; until everyone has heard it, then I wait for another one and do it again.

I love how stories are transferrable.

The best stories are those that don't require you to be there or know the person.  They are not the type of story that ends with, "I guess you just had to be there."  A good story is a transferrable story.

As I am finally starting to meet new people in the city I am hearing some amazing stories.  Stories about their jobs, stories about their weekend, and stories about friends.

However, none of these can compare to life stories.

Their story. His story.  Transferring differently.

The story about how the Lord worked in and throughout their life to bring them to this place.  A place of peace, a place of serenity, a place of silence, a place of repentance.

Even though I most likely will not be telling these life stories over and over again, they are transferrable in another way.

They transfer the gospel.

They tell of love, brokenness, grace, and salvation.

They are my favorite.

I am a story stealer.  Sometimes I tell stories that really happened to me, but most the time it is a story of someone else, heard from another mouth passed on, transferred.

But no matter what happens I will always have one story, my story, sharing the glory of God.