An Inspiration

The AC hummed while pens all around the room skidded across paper. The assignment: the typical, yet ever asked "What do you want to be when you grow up?". She felt her green plaid skirt pushing against her stomach as the question floated through her mind. Suddenly and promptly, she straightened her spine, took hold of her pen, and scribed "Photographer" on the white, blue-lined paper. She stared at the word written in black ink for a couple heartbeats. Then, her eyes fell under it, to the 27 empty blue lines. Without another thought, she crumpled the paper into her palm and put it in the corner of her desk. New paper, new word. "A Mother." True, but we need something more. And then there were two paper spheres in the corner. Again. She scribed "Writer." No. No, no, no. More, deeper, truer. The desk's corner then had a party of three.

The chair constantly reminded her that it was made of plastic as it dug into her back. What do you want to be? Then the word came to mind, flew in, and took hold of her. She couldn't position the pen in her hand, couldn't bring it down to paper fast enough. After loops and swirls, dotted "I"s and crossed "T"s, the answer laid -- almost stood on her paper. "An Inspiration." She knew, then, why she loved to sing, read, capture, create; to talk, share, and learn. "I want to be a voice," she wrote, "a voice that comes out of silence. A voice of reason that doesn't sound reasonable because it doesn't sound normal at all." She wrote and she wrote and she wrote. The wet ink clung to the side of her hand as she filled one line and then the next. "I want to be a woman who knows defeat, and who overcomes it. I want to be a woman who shines with the victory that comes from her Jesus. I want to be a conqueror, an endurer, a difference. I want to be a beauty -- not from my hair or eyes or mouth, but from a determination, a Spirit, and a knowledge that I am capable of change because of the One who changed my heart so completely and irrevocably. I want to be an inspiration."

And she was.

Ladies, This is an Appeal

I think we're doing something wrong. Actually, I know we're doing a lot wrong. We know what we want, we know our way of getting it, and yet the execution of the plan doesn't unfold the way we had envisioned. We're not as high maintenance as people think! Our hearts aren't as complicated as made out to be. Hormones don't help our case, but I think we can agree that the needs of our hearts are few.

Here's the deal: We're walking around with broken hearts. And I know I'm not the only one who knows that it's not necessary and is avoidable. (I know, it sounds like some kind of female-code-blasphemy to imagine.)

We all know how much faster we mature than guys. We know. It's not a secret. And I find that as we follow Jesus and are in the Word, we slowly but surely learn what a Godly relationship is supposed to look like. And we want it. We want that husband that multiple authors of the Bible wrote about. So we look for that in the guys around us. This is where problems fly in like grenades, and with a rumbling explosion our hearts break. Now, I'm not picking on young men, they certainly make life... colorful. But they simply, for the most part, aren't where we are. (On the plus side, they kill bugs and are about 30% stronger than us.) Simply put, a lot of them aren't ready to want to be our Biblical hero husbands, and a lot of them simply don't have what we're searching for. YET. They're growing a few steps behind at this age. They catch up though, Jesus told me.

Now, here's the part you don't want to hear: We're growing still too. I resisted this for a while. I knew everything already, of course. But after we accept this, I find that so much more fulfillment and freedom will be found. The job of a guy's spiritual growth is in the hands of our God and their parents. We can't change em, ladies. And we're not supposed to. It's a humbling blessing if we do, but if we focused on planting ourselves in Christ and blossoming there, our hearts will be filled and comforted beyond the level any man could accomplish.

Trying to impress him with drugs, drinking, or sexual knowledge won't get him to love you forever. Experience in the sheets won't make him respect you more. If Cinderella could get her Prince Charming without taking her dress off, so can you. Swearing, listening to "cool" music, or taking him back after mistakes won't guarantee you a ring on that finger. If anything, you can count on them starting to talk to someone else after you give them all that at this point in their maturity.

So, what would this one stumbling but striving Christian teenage girl do? Keep your body in your clothes, and let some Scripture out. You'll weed out the losers from the winners in no time. Otherwise, it will be hard to do, and your heart will break more times than necessary. Most of us know guys are our weakness, and don't believe for a second that just because we're young Satan won't use that against, ya sister.

Unfortunately, Prince Charming doesn't ride up on a white horse when we sing enchantingly like in fairy tales. They're not that easy to find, especially today. But they're out there. When we follow Jesus, people who also want to live for Him, want a Godly relationship, and seek love forever will come into your life -- in God's perfect timing. And maybe, if you're lucky, one will even ride in on a white horse.

Those Days

I want to be 16 forever. Even when I squeeze my eyes shut and clench my fists, willing for everything around me to stop, for some wild reason the world keeps spinning.

I was babysitting my cousins yesterday. It was raining. Naturally, I figured I’d turn on a movie for them. Suddenly, five year old Lucas yelled while running outside, “Let’s dance in the rain, Lizzie!” That’s what I want. I want to dance in the rain and not worry about the Earth that's rotating under me. I want to be free, have my hair wave behind me, and do nothing. I didn’t realize how much I missed being annoyed by wet blades of grass sticking to my feet.

I’m going to look at a college to finish my degree at next week. Not a big deal. Except, oh wait!, it’s in Georgia. GEORGIA. My home, my church, my friends, my life is in Florida. I’m praying that I’ll hate it when I get there. The scary thing is, I’m fairly certain I won’t. This college has “Elisabeth” written all over it. I have that feeling that Jesus is leading me there, that feeling that people beg for in their lives. Yeah, it’s tearing me to pieces.

Today, I’m in Michigan, on my grandparent’s farm in the one of the smallest of towns. It’s been my home since before I could walk. It’s the perfect time to be here, before I have to start thinking like an adult. This place has always accepted me as I am. Through all the houses and states and countries I’ve lived in, through all the stages of my life, God has blessed me so much through this place. My days have been filled with peace here. It’s been those reading-and-writing-for-pleasure-rather-than-for-a-professor days. Those having-time-to-give-myself-a-manicure-in-a-comfy-chair days. And those being-able-to-do-nothing-as-long-as-you’re-doing-it-with-family days.

It is here I see that Jesus is taking care of me. Even though I’ll inevitably be 17 in five short months, even though I’m (for some crazy reason) looking to live in the mountains of Georgia, He’s taking care of me.

Whatever my lot, Thou has taught me to say, it is well, it is well with my soul.

She Lets Her Hair Down

I picked up my sister from gymnastics the other day. I got there fifteen minutes early to watch her run, jump, and fly through the air. As I weaved through the gym moms to find a seat, she yelled "Sissy!" across the gymnasium. Sure enough, there she was in her leopard print leotard, waving her hands fanatically. I hadn't showered, wore no make up, and was wearing mom jeans (mom jeans: n. high, loose jeans), and yet she was willing to advertise our relationship. She loves and adores without shame or condition.

The girls had to do an exercise in 15 seconds and as hard as she tried, Mia did it in 20 and needed to do it a second time. I could tell she was holding in tears. I know how badly that competitive 10 year old wanted success, and I know how crushed she was when she didn't reach it. She puts her whole heart into everything she does, not afraid of heartache.

On the way home we chewed gum and sang our favorite songs. I knew she was in Heaven. Corinne Bailey's song "Put Your Records On" sounded from the speakers. I told her that that song reminded me of her because of when Corinne sings about having a pretty afro hair do, just like Mia's. In reality, that song reminds me of her because of the theme about letting your hair down and loving life. My sister lives her days true to who she is and without fear. She keeps no walls or masks up. Mia lives with her hair down.

I found I have a few things to learn from her.

My eyes flew open at 2:03 am this morning. I laid in the silent darkness for a good 30 minutes before going downstairs and turning on my computer. That's when I saw it, the words on the screen, "Massive mudslide between Petionville and Rou Frere, homes buried with people inside. First corpse found minutes ago."

A chill ran down my back as my heart began to weigh a thousand pounds. And I did the only thing I could do, and that's get on my knees. They could use your prayers too.

Pounding Nails

She lied. She sinned. Ultimately, she broke hearts. The pain could have been reaped for years if we had let it. I didn't think our friend ship would ever be the same. I found it essentially impossible to put trust in her words after viciously deceptive ones left that same mouth. Part of me would have rather not cared to try at all.

No matter how much I wanted to, forgiveness hardly appeared to be an option.

I was holding fast to a heart with clenched hands, suffocating it. I was what stood in its way of freedom. That breathless heart was mine. It was a captive to my fear of her lies that could resurface if I forgave her. Then I felt a whisper against my soul, what made me so much better than her? What made me the victim?

I thought of my Jesus, whom I claim to love. Putting work, chores, luxuries before Him -- at that I am an expert. I read my Bible and cross it off my to-do list like it's a burden. I find time for Him when He is always waiting expectantly for me to turn to Him, and always wanting one more sweet moment to spend with me. I wonder how many times a day I hurt His heart. I wonder how many times in my 16 years I have put pain in His eyes. I thought of all the times I had little affairs, choosing that song, task, word, or person before Him; just pounding that nail deeper into His hand.

Upon that I realized, finding forgiveness for her may not be so difficult after all.

Let Them Sing Love Songs

I was slapped across the face the other day. Not literally, but I believe the impact of a friend's words hurt more than her hand would have. Here are her painful words: "I remember when you were a poetic, romantic, love-loving girl; lately, you've been sounding like a jerky teenage boyfriend." The sad part is, I knew this was true for it was intentional. I love being a girl; but there are things that come with having two X chromosomes that I don't like. And I find most of these things are a part of relationships with the people around us.

1) I hate being vulnerable. (That "Publish Post" button is looking very daunting and orange right about now.) The possibility of heartache and break over shadows the pros that come with talking to someone deeply for me. I often find it easier to be sarcastic. I don't like trusting people. It's so bad that I yell at my iPod when male lead singers "try to serenade me" with their songs and acoustic strumming. I get discussed because I assume that I'm being lied to. (Now, I know they're not really singing to me, but just let me have this one.)

2) I detest crying. And girls do it. A lot. (No matter how many times I tell myself that I don't have hormones, they still seem to show up.) My policy? If no one saw it, it didn't happen.

3) I don't like wanting to be loved. I wish I didn't care that much. I wish I didn't worry that my feelings, with everyone I come across, would be returned to me. My "jerky boyfriend" self lets it roll off my back, telling myself that I don't care how people think of me, and I'm not romantic whatsoever.

But then the other day... I heard the most beautiful, romantic song on the radio the other day. I bought it and listened to it 2432354257925 times. And I remembered that I love love songs.

That's when I realized something I read a while ago in the book Captivating. God sends us messages about who He is through men and women (Genesis 5:1), and the message we receive through my sisters and me is quite incredible. The vulnerability, emotion, and romance that I try to suppress are all parts of who Jesus is. I thought it was all weakness, but it's a glory that reflects the heart of God. Women want to be desired because God wants to be desired! There is nothing more vulnerable and emotional and romantic than when my God left the Heavens to our broken world, let Himself be hung on a cross for all to see, and still to this day asking me to love Him on a daily basis in return. (1Tim 2:3&4)

On that note, I'm off to sing my new favorite mushy-gushy, nauseatingly romantic song. (: