Ponderings about Old Cigars, Being in a Hurry, and Jumping off Roofs

Due to my family's sad lack of an automatic coffee machine, we are subjected to using a ceramic, single-drip, extremely inefficient contraption, great for one person and an utter wreck of an idea when there are four people addicted to caffeine in the same household. My aunt Karen, who is visiting for an indefinite number of days, is accustomed to making coffee in a large metal kettle, dumping in half a gallon of Folgers, letting all the grounds settle to the bottom, and then drinking it. We have been forced to watch our coffee supply dwindle rapidly, and even Dad's indomitable digestive system cannot withstand the syrupy mixture.

Other than that small curse, life is chugging along quite nicely. Dad's Jeep is broken, and you can often find him under the hood on a hot summer's day, covered in engine oil, mumbling curses under his breath and throwing random parts over his shoulder as he deems fit. He took it upon himself to cut his own hair, and since he couldn't see the back to cut it, the result is a scary, adult version of a mullet from the 90's. Since Mom is working overtime, our diet has consisted mostly of hamburgers and ice cream. Since I am exiled to sleeping on the couch while my relatives are here to visit, my patience is even shorter than normal, (and it's already pretty short). I often find myself in ridiculous situations as a result.

Why, just the other night, I became so frustrated that I went upstairs and sat on the roof. It was supposed to function as an act of independence, but soon the bugs started biting me and I got cold and my iron resolve started to rust a little bit. However, my pride would not allow me to return downstairs and let the other person feel the satisfaction of being right. I felt trapped and started to panick a little, for there was nowhere to go, no way to escape humility by trudging dejectedly back downstairs.

But where there's a will and a Reams' ingenuity, there's a way.

So I strapped on a pair of my brother's Tivos and jumped off the roof.

It probably wasn't the wisest idea, and it was a lot farther down than I had suspected in the dark, but in the line of duty to protect one's freedom (pride, ego?) one will do unwise things. I went on a walk and cooled down. Once my parent's realized I had seemingly disappeared into thin air, they did what any normal parent would do: wash the dinner dishes, put Braveheart on VHS, and let me be.

I have no awesome, deep spiritual analogy to go with that story, I just thought someone might relate. Being at this stage of your life is exhausting. You have to simultaneously figure out what you're going to do for a career, what kind of people you should be hanging out with, and the most difficult, who the heck you are. Sometimes you just need to jump off a roof. And that's ok.

After a rather long day at work, I cleaned out my car (long time overdue), and what would be sitting in the back seat but an unopened cigar? I was elated. I shared it with my brother. After all, you must give freely of what you have freely received, and he needed to learn how to puff. I am probably breaking so many rules by saying this, but I am firmly convinced that the Lord knew that I needed a smoke right then. He cares about the little things, and He knows our every need. 

Speaking of little things, (really, I am so sorry for my raging ADHD), I am starting to see the Lord in everything. I realized recently that I am and have been in a hurry for quite some

time, perhaps my whole life. I am always anxious to move onto the next thing and be with the next person and the next place, but after a time of doing that people start to not want to be around you anymore. They know that you are thinking about something you deem as "more important" than they.

Then I started thinking about Jesus, and how he was never in a hurry. He was busy, that much is certain. But he was never hurried enough not to notice the people who needed him. He stopped in his tracks to talk to the Samaritan woman at the well. In a throng of people, his apostles thought he was crazy as he noticed the woman who touched the edge of his robe to be healed. He sat down the night before he was crucified and ate dinner with his beloved friends. He ate dinner with them. I’m pretty sure if he thought being in a hurry all the time was a good idea, he could have justified it. After all, he was on the way to saving the human race. Pretty important deadline, if you ask me. But He was always focused on the task at hand, the person He was with, the place He was at. 

The thought keeps crossing my mind that there may not be a harder thing in the world to do than to not be in a rush, for that is how we miss the character of God. I could go on about how our society’s mentality is to be hurried, that it has classically conditioned us to be always looking forward to the next thing, but I know that it would be dismissed immediately. After all, we’ve heard all that stuff before. I think it's more than that. I think that hurry is slowly killing us. We need to ruthlessly eliminate hurry from our lives. If we were to slow down, to be present with the person we're with, (after all, to really care about someone means first of all to be present with them), radical things would start to happen. When our hearts are at rest, it invites others to come in and to discover the source of rest... the Almighty. It makes people feel like we want to be with them, allows their hearts to be at peace and whispers that everything is ok. The Father's heart is like that, I think. No striving. You don't have to be anyone you're not nor do anything special. Just be. Live.  And it is a wonderful person to be around indeed who has grasped that concept. You start serving the Lord in the small things… and then bigger things start to happen. When you stop and be with His children, you end up stopping to be with Him. You start to find out who He really is, what real love is.

So anyway... I am starting to see God in places I never have before. He's in the simple

things, the seemingly small and insignificant things the world passes by in their rushing about. He's in good food and fellowship, awful coffee, the sunrise, the cigar that you find under the seat of a car, the muddy footprints on the floor, jumping off the roof just because you feel like it, and the chaos at the dinner table. He's in sincere conversation and the giving of your heart and your possessions freely, and in a kind word that touches the coldest parts of the heart. I am humbled by what I see when I slow down and just look at life. I see hurting people that need Jesus and I see the opportunity to speak of him, but even more than that, I often see just how much love is around me that I have ignored in my hurry. 

The air is cool tonight and smells like fresh cut hay. I think I'll just sit for a while.

With all my love,

B

Late night at the Beanery...

Day at the County Fair!

A Gray Day

 I woke up this morning a little sad. It just felt like the kind of day you stayed in bed and pondered the more serious things in life. Alas, I had laundry to do and a cup of coffee

calling my name, so off I went. My father, usually up at an ungodly hour and annoyingly chipper in the mornings, was grumpy and mumbled under his breath, something about stupid teenage boys and bacon. I knew to stay out of the way. The sky was overcast and made everything seem a little more gray. I even wore gray pants and a gray shirt. Yeah, that kind of a day.

I am not a romantic, by any stretch of the imagination. I do not like romanticizing ideas that were meant to be completely logical. I do not believe in finding a soulmate. I

sometimes hate emotions and the seeming inability to control them. I do not like it at all when a situation that is not extremely important is dramaticized to the point of nausea. But despite all this, after much pondering over my morning coffee, I have come to the conclusion that life is both dramatic and romantic. I don't have any sunset pictures or cutesy quotes to enhance my point, but you'll get the picture soon enough.

I don't know exactly what caused my bout of melancholy, but I have a couple suspicions. Life has changed quite a bit... different as of late. Many important life decisions have to be made soon and a few good friends have been recently absent from my life. While it is not an extremely dramatic situation, when friends are absent, a space is left that cannot, for a time, be filled with anything else. Once in a while I stumble across an empty space or two in my heart, and I am painfully aware of the absence. But this is not what I mean by life being dramatic.

Some mornings you wake up and you feel that your good mood, the reasons you had to be motivated and the confidence that comes from a full life, they have snuck away during the night and burrowed themselves in a hole somewhere, and you really don't feel like expending the energy to go find them. And you feel a bit panicked. "Where am I going?" you say. "I will never be what I want to be!"

And in the midst of that moment, The Lord gently touches that empty spot in your heart and says, "I can fill that." An unearthly peace settles over you. He shows you the course and span of your life and says, "Look and see what things we shall do together!" And then he laughs and touches your nose. "And don't make it about you! It has always been about my Kingdom." In one moment, all the things heavy on your heart are gone, and there is just you and Him. And that, my friend, is a beautiful thing.

It is in moments like this that I am made aware of my need for God. I may be able to pretend for a time, claiming that I need Him but not ever actually seeking to know Him. I may say to my friends, "Isn't He wondrous?" and then go on living life completely on my own terms. I may talk of prayer and reading the Bible until I am blue in the face, but not only do I not do those things, I don't even talk to the One whom I claim to know. This can only go on for so long before eventually my soul, my heart, my very flesh cries out for the Living God! David says, "When will you come and meet with me?" It dawns on me that I must have Him, in all his wonder! Every morning when I wake up to when my eyes close and my mind drifts into sleep each night, I need Him to function, to breathe, to laugh, to live this life He's called me to.

It is when we are aware of our deep personal need for God that our faith in Him grows. I do not mean beating ourselves up because we have fallen short. I am not hungry for God just so I can have my needs met. I did not wake up this morning and say, "Lord, I need you so much today so that I can be a decently happy person and be nice to everyone and do all the stuff I have to get done." I hunger for Him because I know there is a greater destiny than sorrow. I hunger for Him because I know that others before me have experienced Him, and I do not want to miss out. I hunger for Him because I do not want to worry about tomorrow, not today, not ever. I want to savor each day as a beautiful and blessed gift, for that it is. I hunger for Him because there are empty places in my heart where things once stood, and their vacancy only means more room for Him to fit. I am coming to the realization more fully that I can find complete fulfillment in God and God alone. 

I used to wait for God to pursue me. I thought, "Lord, show me open doors and set me up for encounters and use me!" Then I started running into closed doors, and I wasn't finding many encounters or opportunities. I was perturbed at the seeming inadequacy of my request.

Then I saw God, perfect in all his ways, seated on His mighty throne, smiling at me. I immediately knew why. I knew in that moment what He wanted of me: pursuit.

Sometimes God opens a door for us, but sometimes He wants us to break the door down. Sometimes he could show us revelation, but he waits until we seek so He knows we really want it. Sometimes he showers us with affirmation and encouragement and gifts, then sits back and waits for us to utilize them. Some Christians I know (including myself) have become lazy, expecting God to do all the work and give us everything. I think he waits for the long hours spent in prayer, the worshipper up early in the morning, the broken heart burdened by sorrow, and the heart turned toward Him, asking, "I am waiting for you still. What do you have to say right now?" We lay in bed and say, "Lord, I will never get to where I want to go. I want something more exciting." And He says, "I am exciting. Come and find me." 

So while I do not like romanticizing or dramatizing any situation, I am certain that there is something extremely romantic and dramatic and compelling about the relationship we can have with Christ. I am convinced that I am in desperate need of Him, every hour of every day. I am assured that I must be with Him, or else I shall die. (Well, my soul will die, which I think is a lot worse than bodily death.)It takes work, and like any functional relationship, it is never one-sided. Blood, sweat and tears. Sacrifice. After all, you must lose your life to find Him. Doesn't sound like everything is handed to you. I could make some extended parallel about how Jesus is my boyfriend, but I'll spare you. In Hosea 2, He says, "And it shall be, in that day, that you will call Me 'My Husband,' and no longer call Me 'My Master.'" If that's not romantic, than I don't know what is. 

Just philosophizing,

B

The Kid in Me

O men, grown sick with toil and care,
Leave for awhile the crowded mart;
O women, sinking with despair,
Weary of limb and faint of heart,
Forget your years to-day and come
As children back to childhood's house.

-Phoebe Cary

I often wish I could go back to the summers when I was a kid. There was so much to explore, so much to see, so much to learn. I often lament as a maturing young adult, as I'm sure that many adults do, that life can't be simpler. Work, school, bills, deadlines, children, the list goes on. Dishes pile up, laundry doesn't get done, and you still haven't taken that nap you promised yourself. It has come to my attention that many adults just survive at life...and I'm not sure that I like that. What happened to being a kid? What happened to thriving?

There are a few things that prompted this thought, but I will get to that in a minute. In other news, we got a new stove from Chris the Californian. It's a Turbo-Mega-5000 Kitchenaid wonder that doesn't take 5 hours to boil a pan of water. We are spoiled now. Next thing you know we'll get a normal refrigerator that doesn't freeze your food, or drive (*gasp*) a normal car or two. Speaking of cars, Steve the Ford Tempo has something wrong with him. He is an old geezer of a car, and pants up hills like he's going to have a heart attack. And he uses way more gas than he used to. But no matter how many funny looks I get, I don't have the heart to put him down. Probably the wrong phrase for that analogy. Oh well. In any case, I need to start looking for a new ride.

Our cousin Easton has been here for about a month now, and has acclimated quite well to Parker culture. It probably helps that he is from the backwoods. He and JJ often go fishing, or swimming, or crawdad hunting in the dark. Dangerous stuff. For me, I mean. I tried to fill up my water bottle in the sink yesterday morning and came face to face with about 10 large crustaceans, eyes bulging, claws clacking, still alive and pinching. Yeesh, is nothing sacred?

Grandma and Grandpa are visiting from the Bay Area in California, and we do our best not to hold that against them. They are sleeping in my room for a few days, so I am exiled to the couch, which would not be all that uncomfortable, except I'm not a midget. The household is even more chaotic than normal, if that is possible. The din is never-ending. There are crawdads in the sink, buckets of blackberries waiting to be eaten, muddy footprints all over the floor, and so many cars in the yard it looks like a parking lot. Easton runs around asking for money to buy a Glock (12 years old, c'mon), J.J. elbows Dad in the ribs and makes him angry, Dad asks for someone, anyone, to wash a dish or two. Grandpa talks investing with Mom, Grandma squeezes someone's cheeks and tells them how cute they are (it's not really cute at all, it actually kind of hurts). It's a scramble for who can be the loudest, who can drive each other crazy first. All annoyance aside, it's really a beautiful thing, having a family such as this, but I sometimes, just like Bilbo Baggins, would just like a quiet place to finish my book.

The skies are fair and the valleys are green here in Oregon. The temperature hovers around 90 degrees and the river is just cold enough to give you a shock when you jump in. We've been canoeing and hiking and swimming all over the countryside, and I can't help but be taken back in time to when summer meant only blackberry picking, smoothie-making, and jumping off of the diving log into Grandma's swimming hole. It can't always be quite that carefree as you enter adulthood, of course. Things are more complicated, I guess. But no matter how many hours I work, no matter how many kids are screaming in my house, and no matter how many dirty dishes are in the sink, I think being a kid is an attitude of the heart. Of course I don't miss the spankings or the limited dessert, but no matter if you're Bill Gates or the poorest sucker in Poverty Flatts, you need that carefree love and uninhibited imagination in your life.

A grownup is a child with layers on.  ~Woody Harrelson

Jesus said once that unless you become like a child, you cannot enter the Kingdom of Heaven. I think Jesus wants us to enjoy life. Funny concept, I know. He doesn't want us to just get by, he wants us to thrive. Some would make it a hard command to keep, and perhaps it is for some. There are some conditions to being a child at heart. One must not be grumpy. One must eat lots of cookies when not supposed to. One must cry sometimes, but then stop and go on with life and be happy about it.  Instead of moping about with my head hung low, complaining about how many things I have to do, I'd much rather go play in the sunshine (or in the rain, it really doesn't matter). Instead of approaching Him thinking of how sorry and sinful I am, I would much rather approach my Father with laughter and ask him for his help, knowing that he is a loving Father and will answer me. It doesn't seem like there is a contest to me, the latter seems infinitely better in every situation. In fact, I'm going to live life with blackberry smoothies, swimming holes, and crawdad feeds in my heart, ready to give them out freely to whoever needs one. And I think I'll have a cookie too.

The soul of a child is the loveliest flower
That grows in the garden of God.
Its climb is from weakness to knowledge and power,
To the sky from the clay and the clod.
To beauty and sweetness it grows under care-
Neglected, 'tis ragged and wild,
'Tis a plant that is tender but wondrously rare-
The sweet, wistful soul of a child.

Be tender, Oh gardner, and give it its share
Of moisture, of warmth and of light,
And let it not lack for the painstaking care
To protect it from frost and from blight.
A glad day shall come when its bloom shall unfold;
It will seem that an angel has smiled,
Reflecting a beauty and sweetness untold

In the sensitive soul of a child.                                              
-Author Unknown

The Best Life: The Farm Life

There's something about being back on the farm that brings life to my soul. Yesterday was a beautiful day. Beautiful land, the beautiful smell of harvest, and beautiful people. The sun was behind the clouds and the heat was bearable. 

I miss working on this farm. Everything has pretty much remained the same. The rumble of gigantic machines that you get to drive and name weird names. The funny inside jokes you have with your co-workers over the short-wave radios.The dust and the seed that gets everywhere- in your cab, in your clothes, in your food. The lunchbox full of goodies that you wait to eat until the lunchtime traffic update comes on. The Country Top-40 that you know by heart. 

Zap, with his respectable handlebar mustache, is still one of the nicest men I have ever met, and he still drives around in his fix-it truck with the uncanny ability to immobilize any possible conflicting situations with his gentle spirit. He still brings his two little girls with him from time to time, who aren't as little anymore. Hans is now the supervisor of the harvest crew, and walks around the field with his new black lab puppy, Widget. He specializes in the sarcastic. Casey stopped by with a new grass seed truck and talked for a while, even though he had to get on a windrower at 3am the next morning to work night crew. Although he is not as sarcastic as Hans, he is still the Master of Making Fun. Oh, and then there's Stefan. First summer on the farm, he's doing pretty darn good driving truck and learning everything in a language that's not German. With his dry wit and ready laugh, he fits right in.

Elle's still driving the bank-out wagon, and drives that thing better than anybody. Donald did do some adjustments this past winter, so it now is not quite as bouncy but only goes a whopping 2 miles per hour at top road speed. She laments about now being the slowest piece of machinery on the road, but I can tell she wouldn't trade it for anything. Emma no longer drives a combine and has now been promoted to truck driver status. In honor for "Trucker Tuesday," she even dressed the part, complete with a Kenworth hat and cowboy boots. All she's missing is the beer belly and 3 ex-wives. 

There's something about sitting with your best friends in dusty machinery, putting in a hard days work (well, they were, I just sat there) that's good for the soul. Playing catch with some wrenches. Watching the sun go down. Heading in for the day. Talking by the truck. Riding with the windows down and letting the evening air blow your hair on the way back to the house. Helping Dona set the table while Keith Urban blared in the kitchen. It was when we joined hands for dinner and we thanked the Lord for everything that my heart overflowed with the joy of being blessed with friends such as these. The food was hearty and satisfied something deep inside. Donald cracked jokes and we all laughed. The day was done and the day had been good. 

Emma and I walked down the road by the moonlight and talked about dreams and hopes and plans. Some people in your life bring out the best in you. They do not demand of you, but instead remind you of who you really are and flame that passion for life that sometimes gets quenched by everyday life. We talked of travel and adventure, love and true joy. We also hid behind bushes whenever cars went by, though that probably looks a lot stranger than just walking down the road like regular people. Sometimes we get caught up in what life is supposed to look like. What we're supposed to be doing, what we're not doing, how we are failing at this or that. Moral of the story is this: We are made for unending joy. The fruit of a life with Christ is first and foremost joy. Generosity, kindness, excitement, love, an overflow of happiness. We are so very loved by God and we are redeemed! Therefore, let joy flow out of every pore of us, and let all anxiety and feelings of sadness be kept on their knees! We are children of light; let us live transformed lives!

This life is the best life. It's a hard life, full of long days and early mornings, tears and sweat and sometimes blood when a finger or two gets caught in a gear. It's a culture of teamwork, a culture of hard work, and a culture of respect. As Elle puts it, "It's Agriculture."

Signing off,

B

Sweet Summertime

I have a feeling this is going to be a good summer.

I am back from Redding, and my heart feels alive, fresh, and new. I feel ready to conquer the world for Jesus, and at the same time sit with Him and do nothing all day long. He has called every believer to live in the glory that he paid the price for! There is so much that I wish I could explain more, but I will wait until another time when I can go more in depth.

The river is finally warm enough to swim in, and JJ and Easton go down to the swimming hole multiple times a day. The river may be muddy, but there is nothing like the Luckiamute on a hot day. The cows are fat from eating too much green grass, and the garden is flourishing. Dad finally got rid of all the goats, so I don't have to worry about guests being terrorized by the filthy little creatures anymore. The old house stays cool in the day, if you make sure to draw the curtains and not leave any doors open. The railroad tracks stretch on for miles, and the dogs still howl at the passing midnight train.  Angel is the newest addition to our clan of canines, and I suspect she has something to do with the steady decline of the feline population. 

Mom's car is acting up again. Something is wrong with the ignition switch, and I often receive unexpected calls asking for assistance starting the darn thing. I don't know what Reams' have against owning normal, nice cars, but something about us repels that. The following is a poem written by my Aunt Bev about this problem:

How about Them Reams Cars, ain't they unique?

Mufflers burned out and their radiators leak.

Water in their oil pans, two flat tires,

Busted taillights and shortened wires.

Cracks in their windshields, holes in their floors,

Rips in their fenders, dings in their doors.

Got no elegance, got no class,

Stove-in springs and busted glass. 

Lookit Them Reams Cars, ain't they hideous?

Nothin' like a Reams Car, rot is insidious.

Petrified french fries, coffee spills,

Mushy brakes to give you chills.

Front seat ripped and back seats gone,

But plenty of dog fur for sittin' on.

Want to get a Reams Car? Here's how to do it:

Be a Reams, drive a car. Ain't nothin' to it.

Mom's friend from high school, Janine, is coming to visit today with her genius boyfriend. Last time they were here, he fixed Dad's motorcycle, and there were never any complaints about him after that. I don't like visitors that I don't invite. They bother me. They come to the farm and think that it is cute, they get this idea in their heads that they want to move here and set up a little farm operation with cows and chickens and 40 acres. I laugh a little on the inside when I imagine them milking a cow at 5:30am, or shoveling compacted goat poop with the short pitchfork. Does wonders for the lower back.

Nothing much else to report. I tried to run yesterday and almost died from heat stroke. I finally broke down and bought a cowboy hat, right after having a vehement discussion about stewarding money. I am applying to the Linfield School of Nursing to start in the winter. The blackberries are ripe and ready to make pies with. Oh, and an old friend is getting married in August! Life is good here in Parker. Quiet. Steady. Good for the soul.

Here's to the best summer yet!

Love B

Asking For More

"It would seem that Our Lord finds our desires not too strong, but too weak. We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea. We are far too easily pleased.”

-C.S. Lewis

Well, the day is finally here. I have successfully procrastinated writing anything at all for the past three months until finally, I am forced to write, for if I wait any longer, you will be completely lost as to what has happened to my life, and that would not be at all productive for the linear thinking of a blog. I address this because I think that the next time I write, I will not be quite the same. But before I make any scary assertions, let me explain.

Somehow, being 20 isn't exactly how I pictured it would be. Looking forward to the "decade of adulthood," I imagined myself drinking Ethiopian coffee and travelling the world. I imagined myself discussing philosophy with passion and drinking fine wine (never mind I am still not 21).  I imagined that I would be knowledgeable about things like investing, relationships, temptation, the shades of gray that make up the bigger portion of the world in which I live. I imagined the woman I would be: beautiful, mature, discerning, and happily living in the plan of the Father for her life, which I somehow imagined I would be knowledgeable of.

I will save you from unnecessary details, but being an adult is not what I expected. I have been pulled, stretched, and other uncomfortable verbs associated with growth. I feel like my soul is a 14-year-old teenage boy going through puberty; it's an awkward and sometimes humiliating experience. Cynicism aside, the reality of 20-year-old life is that coffee makes me irritable, wine makes me sleepy, travelling costs a lot of money, and relationships are hard work, no matter which way you throw the chips. I still really wish I knew what the Lord had planned for the next few years of my life. I often act like I am a child simply because I am tired of being a grown-up. Instead of the patience that I seek so avidly, I find myself at my wit's end more often than I'd like to admit. Reality is this: I still don't have it figured out. 

But let me get to the point. Today a new chapter of my life begins. Today I am embarking on a journey. For two weeks, my dear friend Mackenzie and I will travel to Redding, California and learn to worship in Spirit and in Truth from church leaders at Bethel Church. Though it is only for the next two weeks, I feel in my Spirit that when I return, I shall never again be the same. To quote a dear friend, "it is the feeling that you know you are going to go through a process that remains unclear and undefined, because God is a mysterious God and He loves giving surprises." 

Anticipating what will happen in my heart these next few weeks, something in me comes alive. I feel the Lord preparing me, calling me, slowly pulling me toward him. I laugh more, not just aloud, but in my heart. I feel as if I am slowly waking up, as if I had been in a dream. His Presence has been steady, there when I wake up in the morning and remaining when I go to bed at night. I want to stretch every moment of each day and savor each detail, pick it up, hold it in my hands and make it last just a little bit longer. Life is beautiful. And worship school hasn't even started yet. 

My conclusion is this: I think that in the past, I have asked for too little from the Lord. It is as if He is my bank account, which can only clear so many checks before it runs out of funds. But to our Father, we are sons, sharing in the endless inheritance of the Father. I have unlimited resources available to me as a daughter of God; I am spiritually a billionaire! I have a feeling that he is wanting me to ask for more knowledge and more of His Spirit, just so He can shower it upon me! I embark upon this journey knowing that there is room for so much more of His Spirit in my life, and I welcome Him. I want all of God and all that comes with Him.
Here goes nothing...

To You,

Lord Jesus Christ

Who in grace and mercy have,

by the Holy Spirit

and

through the eternal Word

taught my souls to sing,

my heart to obey

and my spirit to soar,

as songs, strength and power

have been found

in worship

before You

at the right hand of 

the Father's throne.

-Jack Hayford

The Springtime Metaphor

I hate metaphors. I really do. This isn't, as you might suppose, because I am a creative scrooge, it is simply because writers often recycle the creativity of others, thereby cheapening the most profound and convicting of examples, and are sometimes even heralded for doing so afterward.

The metaphor of spring is one that I am particularly fond of, for I am becoming more and more acutely aware of the fact that winter erodes one's reservoirs of cheerfulness, even despite one's best efforts. My Great-aunt Winifred described March as "one of the most tiresome months of the year." Winter hasn't loosened its grip yet, and even though most of the snow is gone, there are still new storms, and cold.

Most of my ancestors were settlers, cowboys and mountain men, in the times of the Old West. Winter, for them, brought bitter cold and hunger, of which I am proud to say they thrived in. Murat Blevans, my great-great grandfather, was said to have given the shirt off his back to anyone in need, and did indeed once give his wool mittens to an old man driving a team in the middle of a snow storm. He'd go out onto the road and practically force passersby to come in and eat, even if he had barely enough for himself. I hope that will be said of me someday. The winters were marked with hardship, and spring brought life and the hope that they thought had long fled away.

And this simplest of things, spring, is synonymous with rebirth. Yesterday I walked back from class, and instead of holding my head down to keep the rain from hitting my face, I turned my face toward heaven and sang with all the angels. I rode my bike out toward Parker Road, and was reminded of just how nice it is to see the moon. The stars seemed to grab me by the throat and threaten me that I ought to tell the world of God's power and mighty love, as though I had forgotten in the long months of being under a cloud. The smell of the river pulsed through me, the dark branches of the trees overhead flew by. And I knew then that the winter was not going to last forever, and that spring was coming. 

I profess to love rain and the cold, and I do. There is something intoxicating about snow-covered mountains and oversized jackets. It makes you appreciate warmth. But spring... you don't have to hide anymore. It's glorious and wonderful and freeing. Your soul is reborn under the warmth of the Sun.

So as much as I hate overused metaphors, here goes: Springtime is like the Gospel. You see the Son face to face, and wonder what in heavens name you were doing before, being content to live in a shadow. New things are planted in your heart, and they now are free to grow. Your heart can't be cold anymore, it warms and is ready to accept new teaching and ready to be molded further by God. You can see farther, much farther into reality than you ever new existed before, because the fog is gone and the darkness has fled away.

It's always like springtime with You, making all things new,

Your light is breaking through the dark.

Your love it is sweeter than wine,

Bringing joy, bringing life.

Your hope it is rising like the dawn...