Big House Blues

Confession: I'm generally not a huge fan of change.

So when my parents told me that they bought a house across town I was not thrilled. I spent the last three weeks packing and lamenting the fact that I had to remove myself and my belongings from the house I grew up in. But my parents have been looking for a house for awhile now, and I guess I felt bad moping about it when they were really excited, so I tried to make the best of it.

Fast forward a couple weeks and here we are, all moved into the new house. And it's nice I guess. It's way bigger than our other house and the view is great too. But sometimes I'll close my eyes and imagine my old house, and I'll get a little ache in my chest. I can still see our tiny kitchen that kind of glows in the late afternoon sun. I can see the family room where my favorite spot to watch movies is about three feet from the tv on the floor. And then there's the basement that for most of my life remained unfinished. We could see all the pipes in the ceiling and the cement walls we painted a jungle scene on when I was about ten.
I know all the cranies and flukes that house has. I know which steps squeak and that the kitchen faucet needs to be in a certain position so it doesn't leak.
Is that what makes a house a home?

So needless to say I'm feeling a little displaced.

I think what really bothers me is that my family has evolved as all must. I'm the youngest and I just turned twenty. I don't live here for most of the year. My parents get to think about what they want for a change which is fantastic, they deserve it.

But when did we all get so old? (Not that my parents are ancient). But seriously, when did this happen? I'm the only kid who lives at home for any extended amount of time, and I'm only here for three months of the year. My brother's been out of the house for what seems a lifetime, and my sister has been in chicago for over a year now. How did this happen? It seems like yesterday we were throwing the football around the living room and my mom was yelling at us to get outside if we were gonna horse around.

Tell me to get over it already, right?

Confession 2: Sometimes I make a big deal out of stuff. Sorry. It'll pass right? Just a matter of time.
I'll just keep telling myself that.

*Sigh...

Divine Intervention?

So I'm writing a paper on J.R.R. Tolkien and the Lord of the Rings, when (get this) the Music score to the movie comes on my Pandora station.






Accident?



I think not.


Hopefully this means I'll get an A.

Spilt Milk

Pearly waves baptize the kitchen table.

They break upon the plateau’s edge and like the world of a bygone age,

Drip endlessly over the side, into No Man’s Land.

A voice from above, Almighty and Fearsome as God,

Rattles my ears and my heart.

Angry footsteps, clanking dishes assault this tiny earth.

They send Peace and Communion fleeing whence they came.

A Furry monster of the deep emerges and laps up the silent current.

Gravity has done it’s foul deed and so entices the hungry beast.

Again, that terrifying strain hails upon my red ears,

Now commanding the fiend back, back into it’s orange carpeted prison.

Order is slowly restored as the waves are swept back

By giant five appendaged, fleshy creatures.

They clasp snow-white Bandages and proceed to cover a multitude of sins.

This flat earth is whole once again, shining from its recent flood.

The only dripping now comes from my eyes.

I see a bleary hand reach for my shaking shoulders, and I hiccup in fear.

The anticipated rebuke is slow in coming though.

Indeed it is indefinitely delayed as my perceived terrorist

Draws me near and bowing His great head as though in prayer,

places a firmlipped kiss upon my unworthy brow.

                                                “Save that here,

Those are my best days, when I shake in Fear”

-John Donne, Holy Sonnet 19

Every once in awhile I think about dying.

It's usually when I'm on a plane, going to the doctor or some other "life-threatening" destination where I consider what it would be like to leave this body behind for awhile and see my God face to face.
I try to imagine life eternal, standing before the king, finally whole.

These thoughts usually bring immense joy and longing followed by a sadness. I always feel a bit guilty for this sadness. Shouldn't I be absolutely giddy at the thought of finally entering my Father's domain? I should long for it with every once of my being, right?

I was having these same thoughts today after going to the clinic, and that feeling crept up on me again. The usual guilt filled me but at that moment there was some clarity.

I don't want to die yet.

I don't want to die because I don't know who I am.

Alright, so theoretically I know who I am. We've covered this, I'm me, a child in the image of my father God Almighty.

But I want to know what I can do, what God can do through me. I want to give something to this world before I leave it. I want to say "Hey world, you suck sometimes, but here's a little gift from me to you. I hope it's made you a little brighter than before".

Who knows though, right?
Who the heck knows our final hour?

I can think of Someone, and I bet you can too.

So if it's in ten minutes, ten years or 52 and half years I'm not gonna complain.

Because regardless of the hour you can bet your sweet bottom I won't be thinking about all the things I didn't get to do here on earth when I'm before the King.

Thy Kingdom come, Thy will be done. On earth as it is in heaven.
.

I'm not washing my hands very well.

There is some dirt on my hand that won't wash off.

This dirt, however unbecoming, is a thing of beauty to me. It's a remnant of the amazing week I spent in Kentucky for spring break.
For future reference: When cleaning a basement that hasn't seen the light of day in twenty odd years, one should remember to thoroughly wash ones hands before starting. Especially if the task immediately prior to this was staining a rather large cabin.

Unless of course you are sentimental and that patch of dirt represents more than just twenty year old dust stuck to leftover stain.

Needless to say... I had a good time.

Life was simple in KY. We worked, we laughed, and we loved. The people are ridiculously friendly, so the loving part was not at all difficult.
I think the biggest thing for me though, was that it was a temporary escape. Things and people that had occupied so much of my thoughts simply disappeared. We were working for the Lord and His people, and that was all that mattered. I got to meet and get to know some truly godly people, not the least of which were part of my team.

And now that we're back, I find myself mourning the loss of that week.
I mourn the day when that patch of dirt completely disappears.
But more than anything, I mourn the loss of that feeling.
That blessed feeling that what you are doing is completely for the honor and glory of God Almighty.

Just one of the many lessons learned over spring break:
Doing the Lords work, with the Lord's people is intoxicating.

And the hangover left in it's wake is brutal.

Only six weeks till summer. Only six weeks till summer. Only six weeks till summer...

Sometimes life kicks your legs out from under you. 

And then proceeds to steal your shoes and extra change. 

There you are, flat on your back, gasping for breath as life goes skipping by in your shoes, whistling a happy tune, and counting your laundry money. 

Life is pointless.

Except that it's not. 

Because like everything else on this miserable speck of a planet it was created by Him. 

Life, however cruel and uncaring it may seem, has a purpose. 

Because once upon a time to live was paradise. Once upon a time man walked with God Almighty.  

So catch your breath and get back up. 

Because 'once upon a time' is soon to be 'happily ever after'. 

I for one, am willing to lose a couple loads of laundry for that. 

This makes my brain hurt.

When I was a kid I used to think really hard about myself. I would think of the combination of body and soul that made up who I was, but often I got hung up on the combination part. I would think of myself as either one or the other. Either I am my body, or I am my soul. I always had the distinct feeling after one of these episodes that I was not the person I thought I was. As one might expect, all this thinking only gave way to a massive headache and semi-permanent crossed eyes.
I was reminded of my childhood musings today. I guess I shouldn't call it 'childhood'. I've had these thoughts for about as long as I can remember but it seems to me it's been quite awhile since I've last pondered it. I'd like to say that's because I figured out who I am, but no, I'm afraid that's not it.
I mean, of course, I know who I am. Theoretically. I am me. (Me being a child of God). But it's much harder to think in these terms when considering my actions. More often than not, I do not act as such.  And as any Batman fan would know, "It's not who you are underneath, it's what you do that defines you".
Well crap. Big ole fail for Becca.
Who cares if you're a saint in your heart of hearts, it's what you do that makes a difference.
Sure, I can go on PLIA, work for a missions organization in the summer... But I guess I'm afraid that it's the little things that are the most important. Little everyday details that are overlooked by the vast majority of people.

God is not part of the vast majority.
And overlooking things is not in His line of business.

Double crap.
Maybe some of these same thoughts went through my good friend Death Cab for Cutie's head.

A tree in a story about a forest

Yes I know. I suck.
Ten days is quite a large break, I get it. Just because I let myself off the "Post-a-day" plan doesn't mean I get to ignore the entire blog, I know.
Let me tell you about my week.
Actually... suffice to say, it was busy. UBER busy. And now I'm sick because that's what my body does when stress round house kicks me in the face.
Yesterday was when I finally got a break from everything. I was trying to catch up some reading, and I suppose God saw it as a good time to do a little ninja work of his own.
Remember that Donald Miller book I was ranting about earlier? A Million Miles in a Thousand Years if you don't. Well I was reading it again, and once again some Truth came knocking on my door. Pounding, really.

Think about pain for a moment. Not "My week sucked and now I'm sick" pain. Real pain. "My parents are a getting a divorce" pain. "My best friend just went off the deep end" pain. "I just got dumped" pain.

Go to that place where you're most vulnerable, and hang out for a minute. If you can.

It's not easy, is it? It sucks.

Now think about this. You are one tree in a story about a forest. You are one character in a story about an entire planet full of characters. I'm not trying to belittle the pain, really I'm not. Pain is defining. Pain makes a person who they are. No one ever changed because they experience happiness every day of their life.

Miller talks about Job and how it's supposedly the oldest book of the bible. Remember Job? He's the one who's life REALLY sucked.
Understandably Job asks why.
"Go does not answer Job's question. It's as though God starts off his message to the world by explaining there are painful realities in life we cannot and will never understand. Instead, he appears to Job in a whirlwind and asks if Job knows who stops the waves on the shore or restores the snow in Wichita every winter. He asks Job who manages the constellations that reel through the night sky... He says I know what I am doing, and this whole thing isn't about you"

So maybe you're a tree with broken branches scattered around you. Maybe sap is running down your trunk and spring seems a thousand years away. But take a look around. You are not alone, and some day spring will come. That's something worth living for.

I may have been a tad ambitious with this whole post-a-day shtick. The weekend sort of did it in for me.

Alright, so change of plans. I'm gonna post as often as I can without having to drop out to do it. Fair enough? Gonna have to be, you don't have a say. 

So. 

I heard a sermon yesterday that is probably going to stick with me for awhile. It was about... drumroll.... forgiveness. Of course it was. 

Confession time: Sometimes I don't feel like going to church.

But one thing that usually gets me there is this phenomena: I am always blessed whenever I get off my butt and do it anyway. Always. 

Well, on this ordinary sunday morning I did not feel like leaving my bed. But I did anyway and miracle of miracles, the dang sermon was freakin convicting. Of course it was. 

As I said. Forgiveness. 

Confession #2: I am not generally inclined to this particular trait. 

Needless to say, God saw me coming from... well I guess you could say from eternity ago and decided to have Mr. Preacher-Man talk about Philemon: Forgiveness 101. I didn't know the story behind this book, so I'm going to assume you don't either. Dangerous thing, assuming. Hopefully you won't be too offended. 

Basically Paul is writing to a friend of his (Philemon) about a certain servant of his (Onesimus) that had runaway. Apparently this Onesimus met up with Paul on accident and stayed with him awhile. Eventually the truth came out. By this time Paul had become quite attached to the young man, even calling him his "heart". He pleads with Philemon to forgive Onesimus his betrayal, to take him back as a brother in Christ. It's quite likely that Onesimus himself carried this letter to his master. Imagine the fear Onesimus must have felt. It was a capital offense for a slave to run away. Philemon had every Roman right to make an example out of him. 

Now imagine how Philemon felt. Onesimus was no ordinary slave. He was in all probability a slave by choice. In those days when you couldn't make ends meet you sold yourself as a slave until you could. Philemon was doing Onesimus a favor by allowing him to work in his household. They must have been friends. 

When he ran away, it must have been a terrible blow. A betrayal in every sense of the word. And Paul expects Philemon to just forget about all that?

Of course he does. 

But more importantly, God expects it. 

Just think for a moment. When the last time you sinned? It might be tough, but just think. It wasn't all that long ago, was it? And right at this moment, you are considered whiter than snow to the Almighty. 

How can we do any less? 

Now before you write me off as a big ole hypocrite and start throwing ice-cream (deadly stuff) let me get something straight. I'm no expert. I don't really know if I've ever forgiven anyone completely. Sure, life goes on, people get over it. But I'll always remember. Certain images have simply become part of me. But perhaps it can't be me who does the forgiving. In all likelihood its God who does it. He's the Pro after all. 

So did Philemon end up taking Onesimus back? 

Who knows. There's no follow up. But the fact that this letter is included and remains in the Bible is a good sign. 

It's a great story, isn't it? I'm half afraid that living a great story requires the protagonist to posses a good deal of forgiveness. 

It's a good thing the Great Writer has an everlasting stash.  

Back you fiends, Back!

Alright... I'll admit it. I missed yesterday. But I do have a good excuse, I swear! I was reading till 1:30 and really didn't feel like blabbing to you all afterward. Instead I embraced that beautiful invention commonly known as a bed. Can't say I regret it.
What, you may ask, was so important to keep me up all hours of the night without even saying hello? Well I'll tell you. My good friend Charlotte Bronte and her masterpiece Jane Eyre were audacious enough to keep me from you. If you're not familiar with it, google it. I'm reading it for Later British Literature and of course I'm loving it. I've yet to read a book I really hate. I read the first ten chapters about little Jane's misadventures as an orphan persecuted by her aunt and cousins, then sent off to a dreary school where she is incredibly happier though often hungrier and colder than when she lived with her relatives. I don't wanna give too much away (get yourself to a library and check it out!) but really, some of the things Jane endures in her childhood brought me to tears. Now if you've watched movies with me you'll know I usually have strong reactions to them. It's the same with books, but worse. I blame my faulty genes. My mom has been known to shed tears over a hallmark commercial.
Now if you know me well enough to have watched a movie with me, you might know how I feel about children. It's definitely a love/hate relationship. I had some... well lets just say some not so encouraging encounters with babysitting in my time. I always feel a little out of sorts when my friends start talking about having babies and such. The thought actually sends a little spasm down my spine. But when I read books like Jane Eyre, that ever so small part of me starts to speak up, whispering things to me. Things like "I could love a little person with everything that I am. I am capable of that." That's usually about the same time I very consciously bring back images of hot dog throw up, poop everywhere, and incessant screaming.
Let's just say as of now the hate part of that relationship is winning. But not by much.

Missing home...

If you think I'm taking an easy way out, when what's really going on is I just don't know what to write... Well there's a small chance you're correct. But I do miss seeing these mountains everyday. Hopefully inspiration will hit me tomorrow.

What would the world be, once bereft
Of wet and wildness?  Let them be left,
O let them be left, wildness and wet,
Long live the weeds and the wildness yet.
~Gerard Manley Hopkins, Inversnaid

Do you remember the fortress Helm's Deep in the Lord of the Rings trilogy? (if you don't you should get out more) King Theoden thinks it's unbeatable, and indeed it looks like it is. But there's one flaw. The foundation. That kamakazy orc does it in for Helm's Deep, and we're all thinking our heros and screwed. Imagine that, and you've got the mind. I guess I'm thinking specifically of my mind. I go to church, gift, chapel, any number of things and I can get my fill of God time. Not to mention devotions and such. But I feel like there's something wrong with the very foundation of my mind. Somehow I can hold two conflicting ideas simultaneously. I want God to be everything. EVERYTHING. And yet I feel like there's a tiny switch that can turn it off and on at will. Should one little thing hold that much power over me? Of course not, nothing, no one, should posses that much sway. But somehow this sick cycle continues and it's making me dizzy. I just want to see the world clearly, see myself as I truly am. Not my perceptions of how other's see me. It's exhausting. 

But do you remember how that battle ends? The one at Helm's Deep? Hope comes with the dawn. Gandalf on his beautiful white horse arrives the third day riding on the ray's of the rising sun. If that's not symbolic I really don't know what is. 

So maybe there's hope for me. Maybe even before Jesus comes on his own white horse. 

Here but not yet, right? I'm hoping, praying that's so.  

Well... now I don't know what to blog about. I said I would try to write one every day but I didn't anticipate not having anything to say.
Hmmmm...
Well I was recently notified that a song I had posted awhile back didn't work anymore. So I guess I'll just repost that for your enjoyment. Till next time.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0085_FUpics

Something to be thankful for...

I went to Faith and Film tonight. For those of you who aren't familiar with the term, it's just a bunch of people who watch a movie and talk about it afterwards. It was my first time and it was definitely well worth a friday night. We watched The Fall. Really an interesting story with amazing graphics. Everything a movie should be, if you ask me. Music was great too. To be honest I'm not sure where I'm going with this. I was really affected by both the movie and the discussion afterwards, but I'm not sure how to describe what it was for me. I really loved it. I guess that's the easiest way to put it. It was a combination of doing something I already love, with people I love, and having a great discussion afterwards. Usually discussions feel like homework for me. Or a class where I'm scared to voice my opinion. But it wasn't like that tonight. I had thoughts that I wanted to get out there, to see what other's thought about it.
Fellowship.
That's what it was. Ha, seriously, that word just came to me now. I don't know why I didn't think of it before. Fellowship. It's a truly a magnificent gift from God. Beauty in it's purest form.
That's something to be thankful for.

Just a feeling

Do you ever have moments, sometimes days, where you're heart actually seems to ache? I don't know, maybe it's just me, but every once in awhile I get in one of these moods and I swear I can feel that organ throbbing in my chest. It feels like I could cry, but somehow crying would be... a betrayal of the feeling. I'm probably not describing it very well, but there it is. If I think about it clearly and objectively, I can see a pattern to this odd "mood". It's usually when I loose focus on the big picture. It's when I forget just how much God has blessed me, when that certain person doesn't glance my way, that I get all caught up in myself.
The weirdest thing about it though, is that sometimes I like it.
Sometimes I want to feel miserable.
That's one thing I can't explain away.  

What am I thinking?

Happy New Year! Better late than never, right? I'm hoping so :)

In my last post I mentioned switching majors and how I was a little nervous but mostly excited. Well, as of now... I'm a little nervous... but mostly excited :) I love my english classes (minus one) and I think I did make the right decision in switching. I've discovered, or rediscovered I should say, just how much I love English classes. But more importantly, how much I love story. I've always loved to read, watch movies, write... I just live off that stuff. I love to be exposed to new worlds, and in turn create them. 

I'm taking a screenwriting class right now (which I absolutely love), and we've been reading a book by Donald Miller. Maybe you've heard of him. He's the dude who wrote Blue like Jazz. This one is called A million miles in a Thousand years. It's a really awesome book about how a couple writers teamed up with with Miller to write a movie loosely based on his life. Along the way we learn how to write a good script but more importantly how to live a great story. How we need events in our lives to force us into taking risks. AKA an Inciting Incident. It also said how writers need to write every day, even when they don't feel like it. Well I guess this is my inciting incident. I'm telling the world (haha) that I'm going to write a post each day just to keep in "shape" so-to-speak. I guess it's not much of a turning point, seeing as there's not much risk in the endeavor other than embarrassing myself if I fail. But hopefully it's a start. 

I've said before that all too often I give in to fear. This is still true, a fact of which I'm none too proud of. But with the start of this Post-a-Day deal, I'm hoping and praying God leads me into a story worthy of one who is the Great Storyteller. One where fear may be present, but not controlling. 

"It's true that while ambition creates fear, it also creates the story. But it's a good trade, because as soon as you point toward a horizon, life no longer feels meaningless. And suddenly there is risk in your story and a question about whether you'll make it." - Donald Miller, A million miles in a Thousand years. 

What am I thinking? Well I've been thinking that maybe living a great story is more important than fear. Maybe God's writing one for me right now. In fact, I'm sure of it. Let's not be a waste of God's own image any longer. Let's do something.