So, it's November 1 (technically it's past midnight, but that's beside the point). November also means that it's National Novel Writing Month. The goal is to write a 50,000 word novel in 30 days (approximately 1,667 words per day).
And if you've been paying attention to the recent updates on my blog, you'll see that I'm currently working on the novel, Yellowtree, and I've become pretty passionate about it. But I've also been majorly slacking off in working on it, so I decided to just go for it this month and try to add 50,000 words onto the bugger. There may be some days I don't reach the exact daily word goal, but as long as I'm writing every day, I figure it'll get me into a good habit and prod me forward in the long and strenuous (but oh so beautiful) process of writing.
All of that to say, I will be taking a one-month hiatus from this blog to focus whole-heartedly on my novel. If all goes well, I may share more of it with you here (the first chapter is already posted). But if I'm going succeed at this and balance it with all of my school work, I need to give some things up for the month of November, and unfortunately, the inside cardboard world is one of them.
I'll let you know how I do on December 1. Until then, peace to you. And pray for peace for me as I embark on this crazy adventure.
Friday, November 1, 2013
Monday, July 15, 2013
the good, the bad and the ugly truth.
"Love... rejoices with the truth."
--1 Corinthians
That one line is such a profound little statement, I don't think I fully realized its brevity and beauty until this past week. I was sitting out at camp, only feet away from a gorgeous lake, and I decided to re-read 1 Corinthians 13: the love chapter. It's such a well known text, people like to stick it on the backs of postcards, coffee mugs and magnets without even giving it a second look. While the entire chapter really is incredible, it was that one verse that stuck out to me the most.
The Lord's been teaching me a lot about honesty lately. There's something so simply beautiful about telling the truth. Some times, it doesn't have to come in any cardboard, gift wrapped packages with elegant, fancy bows; just the bare truth is enough, lying out in the open where it can be stepped on.
But where it can also be seen.
I think a lot of the times, we like to tell the truth to gain something for ourselves - to get something in return from a certain person, or to get a specific response out of them. And sometimes, we very well need to receive something from the whole ordeal. But there are other times when the truth just needs to be told.
I recently was confronted with either keeping the truth inside, pressing it deep down where others can't really see it, but where it festers and cracks and rots underneath the surface, or telling the truth just to tell the truth. It wasn't a very pretty truth, and it was painful for me to say it to one of my dear friends. But there's something so incredibly freeing about getting it off your chest, even if it leaves you completely vulnerable. And even if I can't look back and pinpoint a specific advantage or goal or prize I received from it, I can at least look back and know that I told the truth.
Sometimes, that's enough.
Beyond that, as the verse above states, as Christians, we're told that love rejoices in the truth. No matter how ugly, no matter how painful, no matter how hard it is to get off your chest, a real, deep and raw love is one that sees the truth for what it really is and doesn't shy away from it. Rather, it rejoices in its very nature, knowing that God himself is Truth. It goes against our nature to celebrate something that can be so unbearable and challenging, as it's so much easier to slip inside our shells and keep our issues to ourselves. It can be a truly terrifying thing, but it's also completely humbling, as we have to stop thinking about ourselves and what we want to get out of the situation. Instead, we have to come to terms with the fact that we may not get a pat on the back or a thumbs-up for being brave and telling the truth. Our feelings might get hurt, our hearts could get trampled on, and people may judge us. But in the end, we can still always rejoice, knowing that we demonstrated a real, agape kind of love in telling the truth.
We don't often think about this kind of love while reading 1 Corinthians 13. We like to write it in the middle of a beautiful painting of a garden, surrounded by birds and quiet scenery. But love isn't always smooth, it doesn't always flow peacefully like a river. And when it does get rough, we like to pout and slam doors and clench our fists.
But if the truth is based on Christ*, then it's going to be beautiful no matter how painful it is; it will flourish like a house built on the Rock. This itself is a hard truth to accept, but it's worth it to know and accept and preach to ourselves daily.
Love rejoices with the truth. Yes, let us preach that to ourselves daily, so we always remember the healing power of not only the truth, but of the one and only Truth.
*Emphasis on the "based on Christ" part of the sentence. I'm not advocating for everyone to go around and just speak their mind. Caution, discernment and prayer must be exercised in telling the truth.
--1 Corinthians
That one line is such a profound little statement, I don't think I fully realized its brevity and beauty until this past week. I was sitting out at camp, only feet away from a gorgeous lake, and I decided to re-read 1 Corinthians 13: the love chapter. It's such a well known text, people like to stick it on the backs of postcards, coffee mugs and magnets without even giving it a second look. While the entire chapter really is incredible, it was that one verse that stuck out to me the most.
The Lord's been teaching me a lot about honesty lately. There's something so simply beautiful about telling the truth. Some times, it doesn't have to come in any cardboard, gift wrapped packages with elegant, fancy bows; just the bare truth is enough, lying out in the open where it can be stepped on.
But where it can also be seen.
I think a lot of the times, we like to tell the truth to gain something for ourselves - to get something in return from a certain person, or to get a specific response out of them. And sometimes, we very well need to receive something from the whole ordeal. But there are other times when the truth just needs to be told.
I recently was confronted with either keeping the truth inside, pressing it deep down where others can't really see it, but where it festers and cracks and rots underneath the surface, or telling the truth just to tell the truth. It wasn't a very pretty truth, and it was painful for me to say it to one of my dear friends. But there's something so incredibly freeing about getting it off your chest, even if it leaves you completely vulnerable. And even if I can't look back and pinpoint a specific advantage or goal or prize I received from it, I can at least look back and know that I told the truth.
Sometimes, that's enough.
Beyond that, as the verse above states, as Christians, we're told that love rejoices in the truth. No matter how ugly, no matter how painful, no matter how hard it is to get off your chest, a real, deep and raw love is one that sees the truth for what it really is and doesn't shy away from it. Rather, it rejoices in its very nature, knowing that God himself is Truth. It goes against our nature to celebrate something that can be so unbearable and challenging, as it's so much easier to slip inside our shells and keep our issues to ourselves. It can be a truly terrifying thing, but it's also completely humbling, as we have to stop thinking about ourselves and what we want to get out of the situation. Instead, we have to come to terms with the fact that we may not get a pat on the back or a thumbs-up for being brave and telling the truth. Our feelings might get hurt, our hearts could get trampled on, and people may judge us. But in the end, we can still always rejoice, knowing that we demonstrated a real, agape kind of love in telling the truth.
We don't often think about this kind of love while reading 1 Corinthians 13. We like to write it in the middle of a beautiful painting of a garden, surrounded by birds and quiet scenery. But love isn't always smooth, it doesn't always flow peacefully like a river. And when it does get rough, we like to pout and slam doors and clench our fists.
But if the truth is based on Christ*, then it's going to be beautiful no matter how painful it is; it will flourish like a house built on the Rock. This itself is a hard truth to accept, but it's worth it to know and accept and preach to ourselves daily.
Love rejoices with the truth. Yes, let us preach that to ourselves daily, so we always remember the healing power of not only the truth, but of the one and only Truth.
*Emphasis on the "based on Christ" part of the sentence. I'm not advocating for everyone to go around and just speak their mind. Caution, discernment and prayer must be exercised in telling the truth.
Sunday, June 23, 2013
one-word-descriptions around a late night bonfire.
My cousin’s going to China.
I think it still feels slightly unreal. I’ve known Katie
since diapers, back when we were stupid and naïve and played with cardboard and almost annoyed each other
to death every time we got together to play. Fortunately for us, we grew out of
those tendencies once we hit the teen years, and we’ve been best friends for
quite some time now.
Katie’s also worked at camp with me for the past four years
– ever since I’ve been there, she’s been there too. She left this morning to go
home, headed halfway across the world for a five week internship in just a few short days. Last night, the
entire camp staff had the wonderful opportunity to sit around a bonfire and
tell everyone what they appreciated most about her. We all came up with
different words that best described her, and then expanded on why we chose
those words.
Faithful. Spirited. Questions. Quiet force to be reckoned
with. Uplifting. Delightful.
For this sure to be awkward blog post (Katie’s uncomfortable
with so much attention focused on her), I decided to elaborate on the three
words that I chose. Because at the very least, someone as beautiful and courageous as Katie
deserves to have a blog post written about her.
Servant- Katie lives her life in a constant state of
servitude to others. She has this constant posture of stooping below people to lift them up, not to gain anything for herself, but because the love
of Christ pours out so abundantly from her heart, she can’t help but put others
first. It doesn’t matter how uncomfortable, inconvenient or challenging it is for
herself, she presses on anyway because she sees people for who they really are:
beautiful image bearers of Christ. Because of this truth, she can’t help but
serve them whenever possible.
Comfortable- Katie’s one of the most comfortable people to
be around. It’s like she wears this big welcome mat around her heart, standing
with open arms where anyone can come in for a hug, some laughter and a cup of
coffee whenever they need it. My first year on camp staff, I felt pretty
uncomfortable in such a new environment, surrounded by new people. It was
mainly because of Katie that I came into my own skin and felt comfortable
coming out of my shell. She just has this incredibly simple way of making you
feel like you’re sitting at home with close family and friends and are able to relax
no matter what stress the day held earlier.
Passionate- I will never forget the night that Katie left me
an at least five minute long message, ranting and yelling about one of her
friends that was convinced women couldn’t be pastors. While I could really only
make out about half of it, I’m still always a bit taken aback by Katie’s
passion. She stands firm in what she believes in, planted on Christ The Solid
Rock, and it’s so encouraging to see her so unwavering in her faith. She is
stable. She is steady. She truly is a quiet force to be reckoned with. I have
seen the same passion come out in the way she talks about China. It’s been a
desire pressing on her heart for many years now, and her commitment to
spreading the Gospel there, no matter how dangerous or challenging it is for
herself, has never faded. My cousin has guts.
Another purpose for this blog post is to serve as a reminder, a reminder to lift Katie up in your prayers, to call out to the Lord
for her safety, but also for her mission, that the light of Christ would burst
out so powerfully from her heart, it reaches people and pierces past their
walls, sinking deep down into their souls.
I love you, Katie.
“Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be terrified, do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go."
--Joshua 1:9
Monday, June 17, 2013
my dad did teach me to ride a bicycle.
This was my present to my dad for Father's Day.
* * *
If you’ve read even just a verse of my, “I Am Not A Man” poem, you’ll catch on quick that I don’t exactly fit the ‘manly man’ ideal. Ever since my toddler years, I’ve had a flair for the dramatics, preferring acting, singing, writing, and piano playing over any kind of sport. I tried. Oh, I tried my hand at quite a few sports (volleyball, soccer, and basketball, to name a few). But I just didn’t enjoy them. So I stopped. I opted for high school choir over the football team, and I graduated without ever having been on a sports team beyond the fifth grade.
My dad, on the other hand, played sports all the way through college. So, as you can predict, upon hearing the news that it was a boy, he jumped to quite a few assumptions about me. I can just see him, looking into my eyes as he held me for the first time, imagining playing football with me in the park, teaching me how to swing a baseball bat, competing against me in one-on-one basketball games. Oh, the list goes on. Now, knowing what you already know about me, this story seems to be heading straight downhill. Sports-loving father has a boy who grows up to suck at all sports and excel at the arts.
Don’t be so sure.
It’s funny, because I actually am very similar to my father, in terms of personality and quirks and what not. I think it took a while for him to realize that the typical, pre-paved path he was planning on just wasn’t going to work out (for that, God gave him my sister). But once he grasped that, he did exactly that: he grasped it and moved on. There were no special strings to be pulled or shady tricks up his sleeve – he loved me just the same as when he first saw me.
And I think that speaks a lot to my dad’s character. Because he never did have a son he could sit back and watch football with. He never had a son to play Horse with or a son that would get excited with him when he landed free tickets to the Packers game. But never have I felt like that’s changed his constant love for me. He still read every short story I wrote, even critiquing them for me and inspiring me to better my writing. He still sat through every eternal piano recital, pinching himself as he sat quietly through song after song. He even acted in the homemade movies I’ve made, giving it his all, like he always does. I’ve never felt judged or like ‘less of a man’ for who I am (and he’s never used the wretchedly horrible ‘man up’ phrase on me).
My dad loves people, no matter how different they are from him.
This is true not only with me, but with everyone who comes into contact with him. This is true of the way he leads the Disability Ministry at church: with open eyes that see people beyond the outer layer, digging down underneath to find the heart, where it beats and bleeds and yearns for authenticity. It doesn’t matter if you can’t speak, have a cognitive disability or don’t fit into a typical cardboard-box-role. Dad has this ability to treat everyone like a human being, one that deserves to be loved and be heard and be seen.
I’ve had some people tell me that they find my dad intimidating, to which I always respond with laughter. Because that’s probably one of the most absurd statements one could make. Sure, I definitely see why people feel that way. Before you get to know him, he can seem pretty uptight, serious and monotone. But for anyone that takes the time to crack a joke with him or get on a subject he enjoys talking about (football, anyone?), he comes crackling to life with bright colors and hooting laughter. He’s probably one of the most laid back, relaxed people I know. He’s one whom I can both joke around with and have a deep, intellectual conversation about the church with. He doesn’t pretend like he knows all the answers and he’s not shy to admit when he doesn’t. He speaks the truth, whether or not that makes him look like some big, tough macho-pastor man or not.
I’m expected to give him a Father’s Day card today with a little boy in a blue baseball cap, sitting next to his father, fishing on the lake or running to catch a football. It’d say some kind words about how well he raised me, and how he taught me to ride a bicycle (all in bold, black, masculine font), and then I’d sign my name and maybe say ‘I love you’ (depending on how feminine I’m feeling).
But that’s not my dad and that’s not me and that’s not how I feel.
Dad, I love you. I love you for your incredibly humble strength, the way you lift others up to go before you, unafraid of how that will affect your reputation or image, but dedicated to serving people and letting them know that they in fact are people and that they are beautiful. I love you for encouraging me in my dreams and pushing me to go the distance, even when it was in the exact opposite direction you initially wanted. I love you for how comfortable you are to be around, for the jokes you tell and the laugh you laugh and the wisdom you speak and the love of Christ that you reflect.
You have raised me well and you did teach me to ride a bicycle. But that’s really just the beginning.
---
Click here to check out the first chapter of my work-in-progress novel, Yellowtree!
* * *
If you’ve read even just a verse of my, “I Am Not A Man” poem, you’ll catch on quick that I don’t exactly fit the ‘manly man’ ideal. Ever since my toddler years, I’ve had a flair for the dramatics, preferring acting, singing, writing, and piano playing over any kind of sport. I tried. Oh, I tried my hand at quite a few sports (volleyball, soccer, and basketball, to name a few). But I just didn’t enjoy them. So I stopped. I opted for high school choir over the football team, and I graduated without ever having been on a sports team beyond the fifth grade.
My dad, on the other hand, played sports all the way through college. So, as you can predict, upon hearing the news that it was a boy, he jumped to quite a few assumptions about me. I can just see him, looking into my eyes as he held me for the first time, imagining playing football with me in the park, teaching me how to swing a baseball bat, competing against me in one-on-one basketball games. Oh, the list goes on. Now, knowing what you already know about me, this story seems to be heading straight downhill. Sports-loving father has a boy who grows up to suck at all sports and excel at the arts.
Don’t be so sure.
It’s funny, because I actually am very similar to my father, in terms of personality and quirks and what not. I think it took a while for him to realize that the typical, pre-paved path he was planning on just wasn’t going to work out (for that, God gave him my sister). But once he grasped that, he did exactly that: he grasped it and moved on. There were no special strings to be pulled or shady tricks up his sleeve – he loved me just the same as when he first saw me.
And I think that speaks a lot to my dad’s character. Because he never did have a son he could sit back and watch football with. He never had a son to play Horse with or a son that would get excited with him when he landed free tickets to the Packers game. But never have I felt like that’s changed his constant love for me. He still read every short story I wrote, even critiquing them for me and inspiring me to better my writing. He still sat through every eternal piano recital, pinching himself as he sat quietly through song after song. He even acted in the homemade movies I’ve made, giving it his all, like he always does. I’ve never felt judged or like ‘less of a man’ for who I am (and he’s never used the wretchedly horrible ‘man up’ phrase on me).
My dad loves people, no matter how different they are from him.
This is true not only with me, but with everyone who comes into contact with him. This is true of the way he leads the Disability Ministry at church: with open eyes that see people beyond the outer layer, digging down underneath to find the heart, where it beats and bleeds and yearns for authenticity. It doesn’t matter if you can’t speak, have a cognitive disability or don’t fit into a typical cardboard-box-role. Dad has this ability to treat everyone like a human being, one that deserves to be loved and be heard and be seen.
I’ve had some people tell me that they find my dad intimidating, to which I always respond with laughter. Because that’s probably one of the most absurd statements one could make. Sure, I definitely see why people feel that way. Before you get to know him, he can seem pretty uptight, serious and monotone. But for anyone that takes the time to crack a joke with him or get on a subject he enjoys talking about (football, anyone?), he comes crackling to life with bright colors and hooting laughter. He’s probably one of the most laid back, relaxed people I know. He’s one whom I can both joke around with and have a deep, intellectual conversation about the church with. He doesn’t pretend like he knows all the answers and he’s not shy to admit when he doesn’t. He speaks the truth, whether or not that makes him look like some big, tough macho-pastor man or not.
I’m expected to give him a Father’s Day card today with a little boy in a blue baseball cap, sitting next to his father, fishing on the lake or running to catch a football. It’d say some kind words about how well he raised me, and how he taught me to ride a bicycle (all in bold, black, masculine font), and then I’d sign my name and maybe say ‘I love you’ (depending on how feminine I’m feeling).
But that’s not my dad and that’s not me and that’s not how I feel.
Dad, I love you. I love you for your incredibly humble strength, the way you lift others up to go before you, unafraid of how that will affect your reputation or image, but dedicated to serving people and letting them know that they in fact are people and that they are beautiful. I love you for encouraging me in my dreams and pushing me to go the distance, even when it was in the exact opposite direction you initially wanted. I love you for how comfortable you are to be around, for the jokes you tell and the laugh you laugh and the wisdom you speak and the love of Christ that you reflect.
You have raised me well and you did teach me to ride a bicycle. But that’s really just the beginning.
---
Click here to check out the first chapter of my work-in-progress novel, Yellowtree!
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