Gratitude

I feel like I am in kind of a lonely place right now. I don't feel abandoned or left out; I just feel a little like I am doing life alone. A couple months ago, I would have said it was a very painful place to be. Now I think I'm actually learning some from it. God is making me look at things differently. I'm more appreciative. I remember praying and asking Him to get me out of the crap I was dealing with within myself. He didn't answer that prayer, and now I'm thankful for it. He opened my eyes to something I have known my whole life, but didn't appreciate in its fullness until now: I am fully aware that God answers prayer. However, He also knows what is best for us and where he needs to challenge us, and what we are praying might not be in line with that. So I am learning to desire His best for me rather than my own agenda. Funny that it took me until now to actually put that into practice; heaven knows I have heard it enough times. Nichole Nordeman has a song that really summed it up for me. (Unfortunately, it left me crying while driving down 610 one afternoon--not a safe combo for me...)

Send some rain, would you send some rain?
'Cause the earth is dry and needs to drink again
and the sun is high and we are sinking in the shade.
Would you send a cloud, thunder long and loud,
let the sky grow black and send some mercy down?
Surely You can see that we are thirsty and afraid.
But maybe not, not today;
maybe You'll provide in other ways, and if that's the case,

We'll give thanks to You with gratitude
for lessons learned in how to thirst for You;
how to bless the very sun that warms our face
if you never send us rain.

Daily bread, give us daily bread.
Bless our bodies; keep our children fed.
Fill our cups, then fill them up again tonight.
Wrap us up and warm us through,
tucked away beneath our sturdy roofs.
Let us slumber safe from danger's view this time.
Or maybe not, not today;
Maybe You'll provide in other ways.
And if that's the case,

We'll give thanks to You with gratitude.
A lesson learned to hunger after You,
that a starry sky offers a better view
when no roof is overhead, and if we never taste that bread.

Oh, the differences that often are between
everything we want and what we really need.

So grant us peace, Jesus, grant us peace.
Move our hearts to hear a single beat
between alibis and enemies tonight.
Or maybe not, not today.
Peace might be another world away,
and if that's the case,

(fabulous key change here)

We'll give thanks to you with gratitude
for lessons learned in how to trust in You,
that we are blessed beyond what we could ever dream
in abundance or in need.
And if you never grant us peace,
but Jesus, would You, please?

A beggar's kingdom

"We dream of Christ's love for His bride reading like Romeo and Juliet; two equals enflamed in liberal love. I think it is more like Lucentio's pursuit of Bianca in The Taming of the Shrew. That is, the groom endearing the belligerent bride with kindness, patience, and love.
Our 'behavior' will not be changed long with self-discipline, but fall in love and a human will accomplish what he never thought possible. The laziest of men will swim the English channel to win his woman. I think what Rick said is worth repeating that by accepting God's love for us, we fall in love with Him, and only then do we have the fuel we need to obey.
In exchange for our humility and willingness to accept the charity of God, we are given a kingdom. And a beggar's kingdom is better than a proud man's delusion."
-Donald Miller, in Blue Like Jazz

I love this. That's all.

I love my job

My seventh hour reading class is a great reason for single mothers not to have 32 kids. I almost lost it today. Well, I did lose some stuff. My patience, my tact, my desire to be a teacher (for 45 minutes, anyway). But in the end, when all was quiet and I could actually hear myself talk, I realized that deep down, on an individual level, they are pretty good kids. They are just children, for Pete's sake.
I'm just a child. Sometimes I am stupid. How fortunate for me to have all the patience in the world from a loving God. I should be taking notes.

Heaven minded

I found out yesterday that my high school best friend's dad died last week. It affected me more than I would have thought. It seems like it often takes death to make me realize just how precious life is. It shouldn't take that, but it does. I was at a funeral for a family friend's mother last month, and I left with the overwhelming desire to tell everyone close to me how much I love and appreciate them. We simply aren't guaranteed tomorrow, and we often ignore the fact that time is a God-given gift.
If I let my mind wander around this whole deal, I begin to dream of heaven. It's a weird place for me to be. It's hard to think about. We weren't created to comprehend forever, but gosh darn it, I'm going to try. The fact that there will be no end boggles my mind. But that's what it is supposed to do. It's supposed to make us think. It's supposed to make us look forward to it. Not in a morbid way, but in a "that's going to be one heck of a home for a while" kind of way.
In A Severe Mercy, Sheldon Vanauken writes, "Golden streets and compulsory harp lessons may lack appeal--but timelessness? And total persons? Heaven is, indeed, home."
I want this stuff to stay with me. I don't want to forget about it until the next time I hear someone has died. Father, keep this in my heart.