Falling and Full

Put one foot in front of the other.
And soon you’ll be walking out the door.

But that’s don't get too comfortable

Because

You’re going to trip.

No matter how steadily you walk; placing each foot gently ahead of you,  avoiding the cracks and sidestepping debris.

You’re
Always
Going
To
     Fall.

Tread lightly.

Carry a torch.

Walk down the straightest paths, the ones of least resistance.

Do what you can to avoid the inevitable.

But you will
Fall.

Hear me well:

This isn’t a story of failure.

This isn’t a pessimist’s mantra.

This is a rare and honest look at your life to come.

Of your time on this earth that is uneven and mostly unlikely to rise up to meet you.

You are going to fall.

You are going to fail.

And yet this isn’t story of failure.

Because the point is really just this:

It’s allowed.

And it doesn’t define you.

You will mess up twenty something times today alone.

And none of it changes the fact that you are

Spectacular.

Rising above.

Completely messed up.

Totally adored.

Standing tall.

Your posture isn’t perfect.

Which is normal.

And ok.

Item 5: Expectancy

Christians should live in expectancy of redemption.

We do not lurk in the shadows waiting for the failure of our enemies.

That is satan's job. 

Item 4: The Final Word Was That It Was Good

I tend to read the creation story as a rapid progression of events:

SunRiseGodSpeaksSunSetGodSpeaksSunRiseGodSpeaksSunSetGodSpeaksSunRiseGodSpeaks

and so on.

As though each day took only minutes and seconds.

But our God is a God of consistency.

Those days were just as long and short as they are now.

The Sun stood, the Earth spun, and the day passed as any day would.

Then God cared as He designed and thought through and sculpted and molded and took His time.

And He saw that it was good. And there was evening, and there was morning, a full day.

Item 3: The Arrival

And the girl did indeed

keep moving forward.

For years and years she pressed on.

When suddenly

Graciously

There came a moment when she 

Looked up

And saw

That she had gotten somewhere.

Item 2: Super Powers

Everybody wants super powers.

We all want to be super heroes.

But the Batmans (Batmen?), Incredible Hulks, and Black Widows of this world

Are the Yous and the Mes who take our devastating, terrible, potentially crippling experiences,

And rather than letting them encourage us to fear the evil,

We use them to fight for good.


To be a Super Hero is simply to refuse to give your past power over your future.

Take those moments you'd rather forget

and use them to rescue your fellow citizens from the darkness you once knew.

Item 1: Battle

Once in a while

you're graced with a reminder

that you have a hero inside of you

and the monster is fighting a losing battle.

Not a Blog

I’m terrible at blogging. I admit it.

But I have a good excuse! 

Reason?

Excuse.

A friend recently blogged about how he is bad at blogging because he feels his blogs have to be blogged perfectly in order to blog effectively. And I get that. Because I do the same thing. When I blog. Blog.

It seems that the writing advice you both give and get most often is “edit, edit, edit!”

The issue here is that you can easily edit so hard and so much that your end product is something that you never even wrote.

Or worse

You don’t want to edit it, so it just fades away into that file of half-blogs that’s been squatting in your computer’s attic for years.

I think maybe the best advice that we give and get should be, “Just write.”

So here’s my solution

Instead of waiting for a blog to be perfect, I’m going to try not-blogging sometimes.

Not giving up.

But rather giving in.

To the idea that maybe you can have

A blog

Where you blog

But it’s not always a blog

Sometimes it’s a

Thought

Or poem

Or just some words.

I got the idea from one of my favorite writers.

If figure - if he does it

And he makes a lot of nice words

Then maybe there’s something to it.

Courage

It is easy to feel, much against what is true, that I am alone.

For some unknown reason, when something particularly difficult happens, we - humanity - take it as a sign that we are not in good company.

I do not know a single person, of whom I am particularly fond, who has not undergone some sort of devastating moment.

 The one where every bit of oxygen leaves you

 at the precise instant that the air on every side closes in

pressing

on your every inch.

Quite at the same moment

each atom in your body fuses hot and cold

creating an unknown and altogether unappealing sensation that you are 

drowning 

while you also 

happen to be on fire.

Spontaneous combustion seems palatable.

It is, in every way, the worst feeling.

But the glistening glory, the grain of sand that rebuilds an entire world, is the knowledge that this is but a moment that opens a doorway to a new kind of life. A life in which you live among giants.

Think of your heroes.

What was their tragedy?

And what is it that makes them your hero?
Surely it is their courage in the face of evil.

Tragedy, you see, welcomes you into excellent company.
But it is with courage that you earn your keep.

Courage is a funny thing.

You are given courage to begin with. It is in you. But it does not stay if you do not ask. And it certainly does not stay if you are unwilling to put forth the effort it demands. Courage must not only be actively chosen over and over again, but fought for. It offers itself in each choice, but it does not give itself easily.

In fact, usually, it is the quietest option. It waits to see if you will notice it's there, ask it to dance. Normally, to be honest, we choose fear, because look at the way it twirls in that dress. And flight, see the way it beckons you away? And, oh, revenge, how sweet it seems. But courage is the wallflower that woos us all.

Choose courage and you will be ruined for all the others.

And it is in this courage that you will one day look up and find that you have become the giant, and that you stand alone no longer.

Parade

Already in bed.

Dozing and texting.

Surrendering to the end of this today.

*clink*

No mind.

*clap*

Wait.

*crash*

It’s here.

Out of bed and through the door. Sleep didn’t matter and tomorrow could wait.

The first rain was knocking, and I wouldn’t miss it for the world.

It crashes over everything with a ready-or-not attitude, existing to touch and be felt and to change and move and pour over every inch it can reach, urging things clean and to grow and toward what is to come.

Rain, you see, in a word and in every way, is joy.

God did me a kindness when He brought me to an apartment with a back porch. Sitting feet-tucked-up, too-cold-to-move, silent-for-fear-of-missing-a-drop is the best way I know how to appreciate in genuine awe the first rain of the year.

Ripples in puddles that only just exist. Wind turns visible, showing it’s true nature is not to bite. And, oh, in a way that is past understanding, no sound falls sweeter than rain’s orchestrated cacophony of a voice

Calling me to remember the truth that, to me, it is joy.

Hang Tight

I wrote this post in September or October, I don't remember which. I opted not to post it at the time-but now, today, on this lunch break, I'm sharing a bit more of me with you. 

***

People keep asking me why I look different.

If I’ve changed my hair or…they just can’t put their finger on it. And then they look for a long second, examining me.  Trying to figure it out. I have nothing to tell them. My hair is the same, my make-up is usual, my outfit is typical.

But what I can offer them -- is that I am awake.

There is no good way to describe the way you feel when you wake up.

Let me clarify:

  There is no good-enough way to explain to people the feeling deep down of coming alive again.

I was caught in sleep for months, it feels.  Pressing the snooze button, slowly seeking consciousness. Deciding I could sleep a bit longer.  

But that’s not how sleep works.

Sleep is not for hiding-- it is for rest.

When the time came that I was shown that I was no longer resting, but hiding—I woke up. 
Thankfully, it was just in time for Autumn, the consistent time of year in which I feel most awake.

            When the weather turns cold

                            And leaves carpet the sidewalks

                                            And squirrels become particularly defensive.                                             (They’re even a little scary about it. But that’s their thing to work through.)

It’s as though the tectonic plates of your life have shifted and you begin to feel your life quake.

Things are moving, sliding, rushing, creeping, to places you never would have expected. All the while things are moving back to places you thought were permanently barren.

Life springs forth, and moves forward.

Life goes on.

And so do you.

Hang tight.

Rafiki

Do you remember that time when your uncle orchestrated the wildebeest stampede that murdered your father and then told you it was your fault so that you would run away and doubt yourself and your abilities for the rest of your life? 

No you don’t. That happened to Simba. 

But.

You can probably relate to him on a basic level.

 There is something that happened to Simba the 90’s dream lion that I think has happened to a lot of us. 

In the midst of supposed failures and a desperate search for who his peers and culture thought he was supposed to be, he lost who he actually was. Mm. Well. He didn’t lose it. He just forgot it.

Fortunately for all of us, a crazy stick-wielding baboon and a swirling-clouds-in-the-sky-with-diamonds-apparition of Simba’s father, Mufasa each had a heart-to-heart with him reminding him to…

“Remember who you are.”  

I’m going to remind you of a few things I know for certain about you, things you might have forgotten. Or, maybe things you have never been told. And then, I encourage you to cling to those things and move forward with confidence in who you are – not who culture tells you to be. 

You are:

-Spectacular and unique, gifted with talents and skills that could change your world.
-Loved. Even if you don’t feel it/believe it, whoever you are, I promise that you are loved. And, if you don’t believe me, let’s talk.
-A human made by the same God who designed everything from supernovas to the tiny whatchamacallits that make up atoms. Not only were you designed by Him, but you were calculated in each step of the creation process to look like Him and reflect Him. Ain’t too shabby.
-By nature of being human, not alone. There is someone else dealing with the same things you are, and they’re probably closer than you think.  But, if you can’t find them, there is a God (the One mentioned previously) who became man for a time and suffered through the glory and agony that it is to be human so that you could always go to Him, because He gets it.
-To die for.

Ok. That’s that. I have a lot and a lot more to say. But chew on this and let me know what you come up with. Those things I just said were true of you. And if you can process through them and own them, there’s nostopping you. 

Remember who you are. Not who you think you’re supposed to be.

Headphones on the Elevated Tracks

It’s a nasty habit.

And I call it into action day after day.

I even rely on it.

I have a dependence.

On music.

I allow it to toy with my emotions.

                More than that.

                                I ask it to control them.

I want to feel a certain way

                so I play a certain song.

I want to remember a specific time

                so I peruse a specific genre.

I want to compartmentalize

                so I create a playlist.

I want to know God

                so I resurrect the same few songs.

                                over and over again

                                                and turn up the volume.

                                                                

But then it stops.

                click.

Internet blips or earbud falls

                and I remember reality.

The thing I can’t control.

The place I can’t manipulate.

The existence outside of myself.

And I wonder if any of the emotions I felt under my protective blanket of music were real.

So I begin to whistle.

And I escape the silence. 

Small, But Valuable.

Sometimes I go back and read old blogs, old journal entries (all three of them), old tweets, old letters, just to remember who I am. It’s not that I forget. No. It’s more just that I need to be reminded. So much happens day-to-day in this small life of mine that it is easy to lose track sometimes.

There are a handful of fictional characters I often compare myself to in a loose sort of way. My favorite and probably most wishful is Kathleen Kelly. This is of no surprise to you if you’ve known me long. And if it does surprise you, then I hope the comparison makes sense in retrospect.

There is a particular monologue that ties me to her more than any other part of her story (except for, perhaps, her appreciation of sushi and garnishes and children’s books).  She sits down to her computer one night, shrouded in thought and wrapped in a sweater and she writes this to her dearest friend,

“Sometimes I wonder about my life. I lead a small life - well, valuable, but small - and sometimes I wonder, do I do it because I like it, or because I haven't been brave?”

I think of that so often. Particularly the part about her life being small but valuable. It’s how I feel about my own life. I have no need to become famous. No desire to make millions of dollars or to travel the world. But what I do want is for my life to be valuable. I’ve learned a lot about what it means to have value over the last six months or so. It’s been an interesting experience. And the more I learn, the more I find I am reminding others. It seems we all wonder about our value.

No, I don’t think I’ve been particularly brave. I think I live my small life because I have been safe. And yes, I am doing stuff and making choices and pursuing things that are less safe just like I told you Iwould. (For example: I am writing to you from my bed in my new apartment in a Chicago neighborhood. Baby steps.) But I still have a lot of brave to learn.

What I have, though, is so valuable. My life is worth something. And what is fantastic about that is that I have nothing to do with it. My life has value because I am one with Christ because He wants me to be. My life has value because God has given me people I do not deserve. My life has value because I have been gifted with talents and skills that I can use for a better end. My life has value because coffee smells so good and the color yellow shines so brightly and music sounds so intricately and the internet is flooded with kittens in various types of clothing. My life has value because elephants exist and because I am not in control.

I think we find our value in all the wrong things.

That was a blanket statement. Sorry. Here:
I believe that all too often, modern western culture, myself included, places its value in things that are insignificant in the greater span of time.

The value of our lives is not from ourselves. We play a key role in these existence we are gifted with, but we are not the star and we are not the only part that matters. I have been told time after time to live my life for myself, to take care of myself and leave other people and things and cares for another time. But that just seems wrong. We are created for a purpose and that purpose could not possibly revolve around ourselves. We have value because God says we do. We have value because we are made in the image of the God of the universe.  We have value that is inherently ours. It is so much deeper than any amount of likes or faves or retweets could ever attribute to us.

Your life. No matter how small. No matter what role you play in it. No matter what role other people play in it. Is valuable. Anyone who tells you differently is selling something. 

Inevitable Underdog

I ran away home for a day with the intent of forcing my soul to rest and my eyes to dry. I spent the morning (which started at noon) with my mom and my pets and then came to my third favorite place in the world to work on productive parts of life that I have been avoiding for months. What I really wanted to do was blog, but what my Mother, my Professor, and my brain told me to do was complete my resume. Upon arriving, however, my internet refused to cooperate. If I cannot access my resume, how could I possibly improve it?

In a time such as this, I ask you: What am I to do but blog*?

It’s about time for my inevitable blog about Autumn, I think. I’ve told you before that this is the time the world seems to remember to breathe, be it creation itself or the people who run it.  The trees are loosening their grip on the heydays of the Summer and allowing the passing of time to make their colors richer. Chicagoans welcome to relief from the humid air we have spent the last three months swimming through. Everyone’s hair looks better. Music seems louder. Lyrics matter more.  Driving seems to take on a new sort of joy.  Car windows retreat into hiding.  Stop signs aren't so annoying. Pauses are welcome.

                  Pauses are welcome.

I think that rings true for me in all of Autumn. No matter what stage of life I am in, Autumn is where I take a break and I make sure that I am still who I am and that I am becoming who I want to be. There is something about the crispness in the air that reminds me that I am alive and that there is hope and that I am called to tell a story with my life.

We were fashioned by a creative God who has orchestrated every thing that has ever happened. He is a story teller. He not only made us,but He designed us in His image.  We are a reflection of Him because He wants us to be. So shouldn't we be story tellers? Not just with our words and doodles, but with our lives? I don’t think anyone will ever pen my biography, but if they did, I should like to give them something to write about. I want plot twists and adventure. I want to do the unexpected and prove people wrong. And darnit, I want to tell people that social media isn't inherently evil (we are).

Do you see what this weather does to me? It brings out the best in me. It makes me breathe and reminds me to be a story teller. It lets me wear boots and consume caramel beverages. I’m so grateful that God invented Autumn. I think it’s my favorite part of the story. Like an unsuspecting character that doesn’t expect to change anything in life, but ultimately provides comedic relief and inspiration and an unexpected piece of advice that changes the whole story. Like Sir Cadogan or Fezzik or Emiline Harris or George (who spends time at the Nut shop, where it’s fun.)

Autumn is the underdog that changes the whole story, and I want to follow in its footsteps. 

*My internet began working seconds after I finished this post. God is funny sometimes. And always totally in control.

The Beginning of the End

Just another average day at Moody Bible Institute.

Class, chapel, chat, class, lunch, class, class, chat, meeting, meeting, dinner, library, people, sleep.  

Rinse.
Repeat.

A long night ahead, I scurry to Dunkin before the 99 cent special ends,  return to campus and begin my descent to the Library below. I round the corner expecting to see a friend at the desk… he isn’t there. That’s right, he graduated…

That’s ok, just one difference. I can do that. This week has gone by so quickly and so much has happened, I haven’t had to think about how much is changed. But little things begin to stick out.

I weave my way through the back of the library. It’s time to become reacquainted with my usual spot. A comfortable, famil…They’ve rearranged the furniture. And added bookshelves.  Ok. Breathe. Just another little change. No big.

The quiet of the library makes my mind race, finally dealing with the events of the day, the week, the Summer. Do I really have to face life now? I have so much homework to do! Can’t I just process in January after I graduate? I think that’s a really great plan.

It’s too late. The little changes have sparked a revolution in my reluctant mind. Every change, every familiar face gone, every brand new freshman that I am pretty sure is still 14. It all hits. SLAM. Done.

I burry my head in my hands and reach for the nearest bit of God I can grasp. “I rest me in the thought

of rocks and trees, of skies and seas; His hand the wonders wrought.”

A bit of break. The eye of the storm.

What’s this? Channel change? Oh good. My mind, a thing of its own, has progressed to life after Moody. What will I do? Who will I be? Where will I go? What will I have left behind? It probably doesn’t help that Kammerzelt reminded my Senior Seminar class today that all of our plans and dreams are likely futile. Senior Sem… that’s right. I have to write a paper for that. And I have to read for another class. I have homework to do.  So much homework.

A couple of friends visit, satisfying my need for community and providing much needed distraction. My brain settles, moving steadily back in to homework mode. I can breathe again. Back to homework and music and twitter and a handle on the peace that’s past all understanding.

 I think we’re gonna make it.

*Gets text. Checks email. Begins freak-out all over*

Happy last semester of college. Where God is good and change is hard.

Muchier Muchness

In high school, you look in the mirror, secretly wishing that someone else will look back at you. Someone different than who you perceive you are. You would give anything for your teeth to be a little straighter, your arms to be a little more toned, for your hair to fall the right way. You discern that your identity is determined by who looks back at you from the mirror. You’re always disappointed that it’s just you in there. No matter how hard you try to beat your reflection to the mirror, it always greets you. And it’s always you.

In college, it’s very much the same. You wake up, roll out of your bed, stumble across your dorm room, and flip the light on. Half alive you turn to the mirror to deduce what must be done to make yourself socially acceptable. You’ve come to expect nothing. It’s just you on the other side of the glass, and that’s ok. You’re content with this now. You’ve accepted it. You can’t really change it. You can cut your hair or change your eyeliner, but it’s still you staring back in the morning.  

But, one night when you’re tired and a little hungry but also a decidedly too lazy to do anything about either  one of those things, you’ll look in the mirror and be surprised by the reflection. It’s still you…but it’s…you? This weird version of you that you haven’t seen before. *tap tap* Hello? Did I miss something?

The nose is the same, the eyes still can’t decide on a color, that one tooth is still quite out of place. But something’s… different. Unsure of the change you give yourself pardon to look a little longer. Is it the new hairstyle? No. The almost tan? Uh uh. It’s deeper than that. Muchier than that.

Muchness? Is that really what this spiral of thought is coming down to? A reference to a movie I don’t even particularly enjoy? Muchiness. Alright. Fine. Let’s go with that.

It’s like suddenly you’ve become a muchier version of yourself.  You’ve got more than grades and politics defining you. More than music taste and denomination.  You’re not even sure what it is. But you know that somehow you’ve become something different. Something better? Hopefully.  You’ve always known that you look like your dad, but for the first time you see your mom in your face. (I hope you’ve accepted by now that the “you” is actually me. Sorry for any confusion. But if you’ve seen your mother in your face recently, that’s good.) That’s enough to make it not scary. “Ok,” you think. “I can do this. This ‘adult’ thing. I presume that’s what this is. I’m almost 23, so it’s probably time I become an adult, right?”

It’s not even that you’ve decided to be an adult, like when you’re 13 and you now have a “teen” behind your name, which means you know all the things. It’s like you’ve only just now realized that you’ve grown up and you’ve almost graduated college and you are an adult now, darn it, I don’t care if you don’t like it. But you don’t really like it. Unlike when you’re 13, you don’t know everything. You know more than you’d like to, actually, and quite not enough of what you should know. But, none the less, new adult you is looking back at you.

But, what’s that? Is that confidence? Shoot. Your reflection has time-given confidence and that means you have it too. There’s no looking back now. You’re an adult and you have to act like it. Well, ok, so you’re a grown up and you have to add grown up things to your schedule.

Now I guess it’s time for the moral/point, right? Let’s see…

You’re still you in the mirror. The same you that was there when you were 14.  You’re still very aware of the flaws but -- you have found a way to be confident in them. You can’t beat yourself to the mirror. It’s always going to be you looking back.  You may not always like the parts of you, the “flaws.” But that’s normal.  (Those “flaws”, by the way, are probably only deemed such by some silly celebrity of sorts, and I wouldn’t worry about them. They’re beautiful. ) Just make sure you always like the person that is looking back at you. Let your reflection surprise you with good things. But never let someone look back at you that you aren’t proud to call your reflection.

**My blogs have turned personal and introspective lately. I think this might start happening from time-to-time. Just a head's up. ALSO: The Mulan-likeness of this post did not escape me, I just couldn't work it in.**

It's My Favorite Part Because -- You'll See.

So.

Here’s the thing.

I am scared to death about my future.

I’m going to graduate from college in just a couple of months!

And then I’m going to…

Well. That’s where the fear kicks in. I don’t know what comes next.

See, I know God has a plan all set out for me. I don’t doubt for a second that He has already routed every path I’m going to choose. And I know He has pre-configured the coordinates into my feet for each step I am ever going to take. But that doesn't mean that I have any idea where I’m going.

I want to do radio. That’s not a secret to anyone who a) follows me on twitter b) has talked to me for more than three minutes. I've already begun researching jobs. I point out antiques and say things like, “That will be so cute in the apartment I am going to have!” I secretly practice radio things in my head and when I’m alone. I’m so excited at the prospect of jumping into radio and living on my own in my own little apartment and maybe getting a cat. Definitely getting a cat. Or a squirrel. We’ll see.

But, a midst the excitement, here’s the fear: What if I get a job in radio, but it’s in some state that I’m not even sure of the abbreviation for? What if I don’t live somewhere that is in my comfort zone? Or even, what if I live somewhere completely in my comfort zone?  I want adventure! In the great, wide somewhere! I want it more than I can tell! But, what if the adventure I want and the adventure God wants -- are different?  

I don’t think I have a resolution for you. Or for me, for that matter. I just thought I would share that I am scared about the future.  Not in a bad way. God’s in control. Just in a… scared way.

I am very small and God is very big and I will end up precisely where He means for me to. 

That’s what I need to remind myself of, and that should be quite enough. 

What Would You Do If I Sang Out Of Tune?

I spend a lot of time talking to people. I’m an extrovert – or at least that’s my excuse. But I really just enjoy interacting with souls wrapped in bodies. Watching their faces light up when they tell a story. That split second of awkward when someone cuts them off just before their punch line. The look of feigned frustration when they’re tempted away from their diet. And the light in someone’s eyes when they’re sharing a bit of something they’ve learned about God.

It’s amazing the way  each person reacts to things in a way that, though a mashup of others, is unique to them. No two people tell a joke the same way. And they certainly don’t see things through the same eyes. Sometimes people even laugh at the same joke for completely different reasons.

I don’t have much of a point to make with this post, I suppose. I just think that it’s interesting the way people work. I’m constantly amazed by how much I have to learn from people. If even in passing…

That man at BP reminded me that it’s OK to smile at strangers. The boy who stopped by the desk I work at to adjust his headphones taught me that you should allow yourself to be proven wrong. My advisors at my internship have caused me to feel like anything more than a four word sentence is altogether too long. The guy by the elevator told me that scientists are working toward making 7of9 a real thing (or something like that). And who knows who taught me that it’s ok to laugh your way through the hard stuff. -- And then sometimes, like just now, anyone can teach you that the person who just walked through the door is more valuable than whatever you’re working on.

I guess I do have a point. Take it and do something good with it. Ready? Here it is: Learn from people. Listen to them when they talk. Make eye-contact. Care. When they’re sharing their thoughts, listen to them before you come up with your remark. Their talking time is not just for you to think of your come-back. (That’s something I’ve learned from observing, too. This isn’t algebra, people. You’ll use it in real life.)

So, friends, go forth and listen. 

"I remember it like it was yesterday"

In the tradition of story-telling, to say that “it feels like it happened just yesterday” indicates that the teller has a deep familiarity with the occurrence. That they are so connected to said thing that it is almost tangible to them.

I just came across a quote from Martin Luther that reads,

                “I feel as though Jesus died only yesterday.”

What a thought. To be so intimately acquainted with the story of Jesus’ death and resurrection that you live every day with it as a functional and living part of your life.

I try not to be the type to generalize American culture in any serious way, but I’m going to break my mold here for a second.

We (myself very much included) are so saturated in unappreciated blessings that we forget the very thing that fuels our existence.

But really, here’s the thing: When it comes down to it, most of us just don’t really care about the Crucifixion. I mean, we do, but we don’t. (Bear with me.)  We appreciate the candy on Easter (usually in Rabbit form), and sing songs about how wonderful it is that we are saved, being truly grateful, but pay little mind to it in the day to day, moment to moment.

How differently would Christianity, would the world, would the lyrics to our music be, if we thought of the life and death and life of Jesus as something that actually happened, something that gives us power to live, love, breathe, overcome, persevere, be.

I hope I come to the point that I consider the cross as something so tangibly a part of my life that I actually care about it. And not just generally and distantly grateful -- But really, really care about it. That my every word and action reflect the fact that the King over all kings died for me, suffering more than I could ever imagine.

The crucifixion is not just a story. The resurrection is not a myth.

They come together into the Gospel that is the very thing that allows us breath.

In your day to day, don’t forget the Gospel.

Remember it like it happened just yesterday.

Pretty* Jason Birthday Time

Why is that dog barking? It’s a peaceful November night in the suburbs, there is no reason for that dog to be barking the way it is. Someone should tell it that is being rude…oh..wait…what is that 13-year-old girl doing with that toilet paper? Are those her sisters? I don’t understand. I hope they aren’t doing anything destructive, that’s such a nice family in that house. Isn’t he a pastor? Yes, yes, I think that’s right. And they have three children, such nice children, what a lovely family they are. I hope these shenanigans are harmless. Are those balloons? Oh I give up. I’m going to bed.

_______________________

Every late November since I was thirteen or fourteen I would pile into the car with my sisters (or once, just my father) and do some sort of Jason-focused prank (which inevitably meant that it was pretty*). See, Jason Phillip Kircher’s birthday is on November 25^th and I have felt since I met him that it deserves to be celebrated in a special way. Good friends are like that, you know, you want to do something special for them sometimes…like fill their rooms with streamers and glitter and posters, or their front yard with photographs of them and toilet paper, or give them things in Jell-o.

This year though, sadly, I write from a distance.

This distance means that, for the first time since almost I met Jason Kircher, he did not wake up with a prank waiting on his doorstep. I cannot tell you how sad that makes me. So, as an alternative, I decided to write a little bit about him and what his friendship has been in my life in the last 10ish years.

At the risk of sounding like an obituary, here goes…

Jason is one of the most faithful friends that I have. No matter what time passes and what events occur, I can always seek him out when I need fellowship or Jesus. He was always present as a sounding board in high-school for ideas about theology and life. In fact, he still is. I told him once that he is a mix between David Crowder and Jim Halpert. He’s a friend. He is a good and hilarious friend who I can always count on to be as godly or as silly as I need him to be. I think my favorite thing about him is the fact that at any time ever I can text him and ask him to share the Gospel with me.

The Gospel is essential to life. Every day life, it isn’t just a one-time thing, and God used Jason to teach me that. I’ve told you aboutthis before, but here it is again. Each time Jason talks to me about the Gospel he tells it to me a little differently. He doesn’t change the point and purpose of the Gospel, which is Christ, rather he discusses differing aspects as to how the Gospel works in our everyday life, the ways that Christ moves within His Church and in His believers.

Just the other night (Thanksgiving), he told me about Thankfulness.

“The Gospel isn’t something you are told about. The Gospel is a holistic experience of God working in your life, day in and day out. On a day like today, the Gospel is the epitome of what we are thankful for. Thankfulness is best felt and seen when we say, like the tax collector in Luke 18, “God be merciful to me, a sinner!” We recognize the great lengths we have fallen, and beg God for grace. And because He loves us, He gives us Jesus. The incarnational, satisfying Son of God. He made the great exchange of our sin for His righteousness possible, and now we experience life. Be thankful – your day, your breath, your family, your all, is a gift from a good Father who gives good gifts to His children. And if He gave up His Son for us, how will He not give us all things? So let your heart not be troubled and keep your spirits lifted. Your God, YHWH, is for you, and loves you. Be thankful today, and ask for more grace.”

So, all that to say, thanks Jason for the friendship we have and the friend you have always been. You’re good. And always pretty*.  Happy birthday, old friend.

*This is reference to an age-old, non-flirtatious joke.