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.