Bzz.

Bzzzz.

THWACK!


That's what I heard all day long yesterday. A gigantic fly - you know, the ones that are so big you think it's a bee - kept smacking itself into the window in front of the couch I was sitting on. All day. Here's how it would go: I could hear the fly buzzing casually around the room, then a pause and CHARGE!


BZZZZZZZ...... THWACK!


Sometimes, I swear as it bounced off the window, I could see it shakes it little head, furrow its brow in an attempt to figure out what it was doing wrong, and why it could not get outside. All day long, this happened.

A keen reader will note that from the above illustration, that I, in fact, sat on the couch all day. Aside from the ten or so steps it takes for me to get to the bathroom and a few petrifying trips into the Basement of Doom to do laundry, this would be an accurate summation of my day. Some may lambast me for my laziness when there are so many things on my to do list, but truly I think I needed a day to just sit and look out the window.

And I needed to sit and stew on God. Who and what he is to me right now, and who and what I am to him, and what precisely I'm supposed to do with and about the answers to both those questions. In my last couple of real quiet times, the ones when I actually think about what I'm reading and really genuinely pray, in those times, I'm actually starting to be honest with God again.

To be honest with the fact that I feel pretty shitty in my heart, but on the surface I've been acting like everything is hunky dory.

To be honest with the fact that the advice I give other women, is not working in my life ( Here's a great example: If a woman told me she was feeling bad about x, y or even z, I would tell her that feelings are not real, they are part of our flesh and to stake her flag in the truth God provides in his word.)

To be honest with the fact taht I tell my friends I trust God, that I tell God I trust God, but somewhere, deep down in there, I really don't.

To be honest with the fact that I believe God has hurt me and I don't know why he did. (Once again, if a woman came to me with this complaint, I would tell her that God allowed the hurt, but didn't do the hurting.)

To be honest with the fact that I know, or think I know, the "answers" to these sorts of questions, but that I'm not sure if I believe them.

To be hosent with the fact that I am scared of God - not that I fear him, but that I am scared of him - and that is why I have been quietly angry at him for the last year.


Slowly but surely in these last few real quiet times, I've come to understand that this is the place my heart is in. I've been pondering about the dreadful thing in my heart, what I should do about it. What I should do. I am a very foolish girl indeed. Today I realized that there is nothing I can do about it, clinging to all of this nastiness and keeping it trapped down in my heart, going through the motions of my faith, That's what I can do about it, and that's what I have been doing for the last year.
So I asked God for help. For the reals this time.
I told him all of this stuff and I asked him to take out of my heart the thing of which I cannot let loose. And I told him I was scared of him. Because I prayed a prayer not too unlike that one round about this time last year and he shattered me. I'm not to well convinced he's put me back together yet, and I think it's because I have been resisting him. This time though, I asked him, begged him in fact to be gentle with me.

I believe He will, because of this verse:

Psalm 119:41

May your unfalining love come to me O Lord, your salvation according to your promise.

God gave that to me in my quiet time, just after I prayed that he'd gently take apart my heart. And I believe him. I think that's why I'm so confused right now. I genuinely believe God (not just in him, but I believe him) and I genuinely doubt him as well. It's a strange strange place to be.

Midway through Day on the Couch '07 I wrote the words "I am the Lord's." on my hand, something I haven't done for a long, long time. Maybe because i haven't genuinely believed it in an equally long time. I just started to write the letters without even really thinking about it. As I looked at it through out the day, there were some moments I knew it to be true and some moments I felt ashamed to have such a bold statement on my flesh.

But I think it's the start, the beginning of the new place God is taking me, that I certainly have not been to before...

The Silverware Anniversay

While packing my room getting ready to move for the umpteenth time my life, I came across some of my old journals. I flipped through them, one journal was from this time last year, one was from 2002 and one chronicled the beginning weeks of my new life in Salt Lake City. I found it appropriate to spend a little time this afternoon strolling down memory lane, since today is my five year anniversary of moving to Salt Lake City.

Looking over these journals, I was surprised by how much I have not changed. (Get ready, here comes a tangent ...) My handwriting has not though, which I find quite curious, I didn't think handwriting was actually supposed to change. And I don't mean it's gotten neater, or more like a grown-up's writing, I mean literally, the way in which I form letters has changed. Weird.

My prayers aren't all that different now from what they were five years ago, or three years ago, or even last year. I still spend a lot of time languishing over boys like a twelve year old girl. I'm still begging God to take over my whole entire heart. I'm still praying to be used effectively by him. And I'm still waiting.

I'm still waiting for a nice boy to come along and realize how bad ass I really am - in a Christian sort of way. (No one will ever be able to accuse me of having low self-esteem, that much is true.) I'm still waiting for God to take over my whole heart, because the further along this road I walk with him, the more I recognize the nastiness of my flesh. I'm still waiting to be used effectively by God, because there is so much work to be done.

Does that mean God hasn't answered any of these prayers? At first, after glancing over these journals, I thought maybe it did, but that's just my current dissatisfaction with life affecting my perception of the truth.

The boy thing? Well, that's sort of it's own punchline between me and God (and my closest friends) at this point in time. I can't guard my heart worth a damn, but I certainly can sit on my hands.

In regard to the last two issues, the ones that really are more important than whether or not I ever get married, I think it comes down to this: Yes, I am depressed. Yes, I am disappointed in my current state of affairs. Yes, I am disenchanted with God. All of that is true, and I don't think there is a single shred of harm in admitting it.

Because I have admitted it, and owned up my frustrations, I find myself in a bizarre place with God, somewhere our relationship has never gone before. Simultaneously, I feel that Jesus Christ is both my only hope for anything good to come out of my life and the only person in whom I can put all of my trust in as well as my greatest adversary. (I understand theologically that he is not, I'm just be honest right now.) The very fact that I can tell God that I'm frustrated with Him and what He is doing in my life, but continue to seek His face, continue to follow His word, and continue to desire him, well that has to count for something, right?

Right?

Fan Numero Uno

Last night Sierra and I met Lovedrug!!

Well, really we met Michael Shepard and the other guitar player, but Michael is prett much Lovedrug, so you know, we met Lovedrug!

Let me explain: Lovedrug is my favorite band. In the universe. They are so good that I can already rule out any future Martian or Venetian music with out even giving it a chance.

So, my favorite band in the universe came to town, and I was there in the front row. Somehow during the course of the night I reverted back into adolescence, if you watched my actions alone, without looking at the stage, you might have thought I was actually watching my long beloved New Kids on the Block. Okay, I wasn't that bad, I didn't cry or anything. But ...

When Lovedrug was on stage doing sound check Michael was setting up his piano right in front of us, Sierra and I giggled together at his presence when she said, "Say something to him." We bickered a moment over what to say, and who should say it, when finally holding her hand, I counted "1, 2, 3 ... Hi Michael!" Yep.

At the sound of his name, Michael looked into the crowd, slightly confused, or mayhaps irritated. Hard to say. To catch his eye, I waved fervently. I might have jumped up and down too, I'm not quite sure. He say me, smiled awkwardly and waved back. For lack of anything else to say, I shouted "We love you guys!" Yep. I turned fourteen just then. Fourteen year olds aren't really known for their social tact.

I didnt' have the time to explain to him that my love of his band has nothing to do with him personally, I'm sure he's great and all, or maybe he's a jerk. It doesn't really matter to me either way. The music he makes has changed my life (dramatic, I know) and is nearly as important to me as Jesus. I'm sure my stalker-like shout from the crowd explain that clearly.

I can't really go into detail about the show. I don't have words to explain it. They are amazing musicians, and actually sound better live than the do recorded. And they are passionate when they perform. Michael in particular doesn't even open his eyes during a song to see the crowd because he so thoroughly absorbed in song. It was tremendous.

As they left the stage, I turned to Sierra and expressed my wishes that they would be at their merch booth. Then I squeezed my eyes shut and aloud said, "Dear Jesus, please let them be at their merch booth. Please." I meant it too.

Sierra and I parted ways to go check on various friends. Chatting with a few people about the overall awesomeness of Lovedrug, my pocket vibrated. It was a text from Sierra, "Talking to Michael. Get to the booth." I ran. I've always had a theory about that venue in paticular, there is only one exit, and while barrelling through a crowd after a show, I've often had the thought that if there were ever a fire there, everyone would die. Turns out, when there is something important at hand, one can make pretty good time through that venue.

I pushed my way through the small crowd behind Sierra at the table exclaiming, "It's okay. I'm her friend." Because that clearly gave me authority to cut in line. Then there he was. I caught my breath for a second because I couldn't believe it. Jesus had answered my prayer. Then I blurted out. "We're going to see you in New York!" Michael smiled and said, "Yeah, that's what she said." We both looked awkwardly at each other. Then I became fourteen again, although I tried really hard to hide it this time.
"I know this is cliche, but I just want you to know that you are genuinely my favorite band in the entire world, and I genuinely love your music with all that is within me." Yep. I said all that is within me. Pretty smooth, eh?
We chatted for a few mintues, the guitarist was much more talkative, and they both signed our tickets stubs. It was strange, because he fully didn't know how to have a conversation with his fans. He seemed uncomfortable. But he did like my David Bowie t-shirt.
We said good-bye, and that we'd see them in New York, and walked away from the table. Sure, I wasn't best friends with them leaving that night, and maybe they won't remember us in New York. But I met someone who has impacted my life, and I was able to express that to him. And Jesus answered my prayer. That's a thought I could write pages about, the simple rewards and blessings that God gives us, that God gives me, simply because he loves me. There is no doubt in my mind that last night was one of them.