I am well aware that life on the planet is wrought with all kinds of "stuff" no one expected, wanted, asked, bargained, thought would happen to them, planned ahead, desired, wished, longed, awaited, anticipated, got giddy over or welcomed with open arms.  Sometimes life just seems hard.

I get it.  Hard is something I've walked in ... several times.

But, life is also full of times that take your breath away, take you by surprise, astound you, leave you with mouth gaping, provoke goosebumps, cause smiles to erupt, turn out just as you thought, are better than expected, blow your mind, cause water to drip from dry eyes, fill you with hope, surround you with peace, and give you such contentment you think you may explode.  Sometimes life just seems beautiful.

I get it.  Beautiful is something I've walked in ... several times.

As I get older, I do notice that usually the roads of life are marked with both the hard and the beautiful.  It's neither all bad nor all good. Along the road, there are moments of both.  It's the contrast of the beautiful in the middle of the hard that makes the beautiful more ... beautiful.  Even a small light in a dark place gets noticed.

I'm writing while walking a road packed with experiences that for me, are dual in beauty and hard.  Last week, while trying to get my head into a place of rest in the middle of being in church, I struggled.  The stuff from my week, and quite frankly just moments before walking into the place of encounter with Jesus sat at the forefront of my brain.  The brain was too big for heart and way too big for Spirit.  It had full command of all my senses.  I stood quietly while others around me expressed worship in ways too mobile for me to even entertain.  I was in a secret place doing battle.

I heard words from a familiar song about freedom.  Freedom, in theory, is beautiful but comes with a great price.  Someone always has to pay.  As I moved from brain into Spirit and heart, I got a beautiful sense that the One I had come to encounter was saying something to me in that place that seemed so kinetic.

I am free not to respond according to how I normally do.  Jesus took that to the cross, too!

I'm human.  Hard has to be processed through this nervous system and put somewhere.  However, because of the price Jesus paid for me on the cross, and because of the new life in the Spirit that I've been given, I don't have to be bound by the constraints of normal reactions.

Hard comes in.  I can process.  But then I've got a choice.  What do I do with the "hard"?  I can hold on to it, review it - over and over, analysis it, caress it, own it, personalize it, give it more strength than it deserves and idolize it.  Or ... I can do what I was created to do at the moment of conversion ... overcome it.  That's what my new identity in Christ affords me.  That's what my freedom, purchased with the highest price, bought for me - the ability to overcome.  And, the best part, it's not about self-effort.  It's not about being good, being better, being more, doing good, doing better, doing more.  It's about surrender.  It's about facing the incoming hard with the knowledge that I am not able, on my own, to do one thing about it.  But, giving the hard to the One that paid for my freedom to respond like a human and replaced it with the ability to respond in Him, through the Spirit, in a way that makes the hard bow to the beautiful.

Hard means facing a cross, knowing the price that it would cost, and surrendering anything of self and giving permission to the Spirit to react as it was intended.  That's the example of Jesus.  That's what I can set my sights on.

Our freedom didn't come cheap.  Our "hard" isn't meant to be trudged through with heavy feet doing the best we can.  That's not what our freedom purchased.  How dare we be uninformed about the cost that was paid and what the cost afforded us!  Freedom to go through "hard" not as we, as weak humans trying to find a way out, but as children set free by a loving God who has given us the ability to overcome!

Be informed, those who know Jesus, of the freedom you have!  Freedom is yours!  Choose it today!  Have the courage to activate that which was given to you, paid for with a high price, and offered to you as your right as one in Christ!

Singing a freedom song,
Christina

Because we are moving to the U.S. in a matter of weeks, questions have been generated.  By far, the most frequently asked question:  What will you miss the most? 

Think about your own life.  There is a rhythm.  There are things in your normal that has become innate, natural, part of who you are and what you do.  There are the big things in your life that demand attention like birthday parties or special events.  Yet, for the most part, life is usually most often marked by the normal.  The day-in-day-out routine that seems effortless until interrupted.  The dash living ... the living that takes place between the year of your birth and the year of your death.  If I live to be 90 years old, I will have celebrated only 90 Christmases.  Yet, in those 90 years, how many trips to the grocery store, routine errands or work days will have passed that were just part of my normal life?  Many.  Many days of ordinary that when taken into full account make up the sum of my living.

With Mother's Day being yesterday, I did a little reflecting on my days spent with my own mother, on my days of early motherhood, and the slipping of time through hands that are unaware of the speed at which time travels.  The little things are the most remembered:  the way my girls would say my name before they reached puberty, the way my Mom's lips would press together when cutting material for a dress she was making ... for me, the way Sunday afternoons drift by, the way mornings rush in a hectic flurry, the way nighttime feels when good nights are said.  These are the things that capture my attention when time is given to entertain the simple treasures of life.

Recently, a friend lost her 14-year-old son in a tragic boating accident.  Another friend has not seen her 3 children in over 9 months due to heartbreaking circumstances.  What each of them wouldn't give for another moment.  I am reminded to cherish days.

Life will never be perfect.  There will be people you wished lived closer.  There are pounds that you wish didn't sit in obvious places.  There are bills left unpaid.  There are struggles left to battle.  Yet ... it's the magic of the ordinary days when captured through the right perspective that makes each day precious.  All it takes is the foresight to recognize the moments as a gift given by a good Father who uses it all for our good and presents each challenge with a promise of His divine and miraculous presence.

What will I miss the most?  The ordinary days lived in my corner of the world.  I'll miss them.  Yet, I'll be grateful for having lived them.  I will be grateful they were lived well.  I will cherish them and not pine away for them.  There are new ordinary days to be lived in the next chapter.

Turning pages into more ordinary,
Christina

99% of the time, I write from a place of inspiration.  I write because events have moved me to the point of expression that only characters in black and white set in 11pt font can articulate.  Lately, however, inspiration has not been lacking but rather hidden under to do lists, poor health, or sunny days that force me out of doors.

This week, a tragedy hit our community.  A vibrant young man is missing and our small school community is grieving.  Emotions have seeped out of places at unexpected times.  We all carry the weight of the grieve for the family.  Hard.

This week, I took my first load of junk to Carita's (a Catholic Charity similar to Good Will) and the Mistplatz (dump).  This was on my "to do" list for October.  It's May.  It was the first "in your face" action that highlighted our upcoming move.  Reality.

This week, I opened our windows open wide and realized winter is finally over.  Cool evenings and warm days have returned.  On the cement walls of my apartment, green vines grow without human intervention.  They once again frame my white paned windows and remind me of the urban setting that I've grown accustomed to calling home.  Lovely.

This week, we gathered at a friends house for a grill party.  Families gathered outside - the first time since last year.  We ate and laughed and ran toes through healthy grass.   Without knowing, we made more memories that will come back often as we each go out separate ways in the coming weeks.  These friends, who are more like family, have become an integral part of our lives.  Wonderful.

In one week, this happened.
There's more, but not so blog-worthy.

However, in one week, both hard and ugly and lovely and wonderful all took place.  Is it any wonder why human brains often need breaks just to take it all in?

In reading Joshua, most times when God spoke to him, He began with "Don't be afraid.  Don't be discouraged."  Joshua's human condition often wore him down to the most primal of emotions:  fear and discouragement.  Yet, God created him to operate from a different place ... a place achievable only in Spirit:  courage.  Abundant life promotes us from earthly living.  It's not achievable in our human condition or in our own self-effort.  It's a gift given by Jesus, a gift He left us with - the Holy Spirit.  When unwrapping this wild and beautiful gift we are left with courage.

Unwrapping,
Christina

I write pretty much every day.  I read my Bible.  I jot down notes, reflections, prayers, irritants, hopes, fears, and other letters that form words that attach themselves to how I'm feeling on a particular day.  So therefore, my journals that these words are written in are sacred time capsules.  I don't hold back.  I fear the day I am absent from planet earth and someone begins to flip through these windows into my soul.  It's raw.

So when I use up one journal the hunt to find another always proceeds.  And because I like to consider myself a plan ahead kind of girl, I've always got a new one on hold ready to go - just waiting to be used and written in with new secrets divulged.

This morning, after a two week hunt for another replacement journal (long story but have hunted for two weeks for a new one to no avail.  I have found no happy medium.  They've been either way too expensive or way to cheap in quality.) I found a new one tucked into what I thought was used books only to discover that it was a blank, perfect, lovely new journal.  Happy day.  Happy writing.

I went to a place that has become my sanctuary.  It's a place along the canal about two blocks from my house.  There is a tree.  There is a bench.  It's private enough.  It's decieved me into thinking that I am not really in the middle of city but rather in a quiet corner of the world where I am alone with my thoughts.

Today I sat there, tears streaming down my cheeks as I face a struggle and muster the courage to lay it down at the feet of Jesus.  It's a struggle too hard and too personal to put into words.  As I sat in my sanctuary and let the tears flow, I read.  I read of a woman who had a struggle for 12 years.  She took her struggle to Jesus.  He called her "daughter".  He took her struggle and left her with peace.  I cried some more.

I cried most of all over what he called her:  daughter.  He could have called her woman.  But he chose to call her daughter.  This meant something to me today.  I need a Father's comfort.  I need to be reminded that a Father loves me - and my struggle.  In my struggle, I feel hopeless.  Somehow knowing my Father knows the struggle makes it better.

I then flipped over to Psalm 9.  I read that my Father "has upheld my right and my cause" (verse 4, NIV).  My right - as His daughter - is authority and victory.  When my Father sent his son to die on a cross, death and sin were forever put under Jesus' authority.  Because I am IN him, I, too have been given authority to conquer that which seeks to destroy me.

As a daughter, I choose to invoke my rights.  I choose to lay down this struggle and trust my Father.  The hardest part is believing, like I read the woman did in my above example.  She believed.  It was not her belief in the healing that healed her.  It was her belief in the One who could heal that healed her. She knew who held the authority in her circumstance.

My struggle, in my own eyes and logic, seems too big for God.  But, I lay it down.  I choose to act in faith that a Father loves me more than I understand and has given me authority over this ... And for that I am grateful.

Resting in being a daughter,
Christina

Not guilty.

Not guilty.

Not guilty.

Three times from John 18:29 - 19:6 Pilate tells the religious leaders who have brought Jesus to him to be executed that he - head guy who calls the shots - finds Jesus - not guilty.

Lesson:  There will be times when we are charged with an offense for something that we are found to be without guilt.

Facing Jesus, trying to look him in the eye with curious yet fearful gazes, Pilate declares to Jesus, "Don't you realize I have the power to release you or crucify you?"  This is good.  Pilate was speaking facts.  Truth, however, spoke louder than facts.

Here we go again with my reference to a great love of mine, the NLT Study Bible (p. 1811 referring to John 19:11 and then 19:30):

• "Although Pilate had the power to crucify Jesus it was only because God had given him temporary power so Jesus could advance to the cross."
• "On the cross Jesus was not a victim, but a servant doing God's bidding."

Yesterday I had coffee with a friend.  She is a new friend, a peer, and we were digging deep to find out the finer details about one another.  She comes from another culture but our similarities were too many to count.

In talking about siblings, she mentioned one of hers.  He is obviously well-respected by her family but also in the community in which he lives.  He has a very good job, reputation, and impressive credentials.  If I told you where he lives ...you would be totally jealous!

She mentioned that as a young man trying to "find himself", her brother would often tell their Mother he was tried of her "Kitchen Theology".  Later, it turns out, that after several university degrees -  including one in Philosophy - and living life with a few good lessons under his belt - his Mother's "Kitchen Theology" proved to be a solid and trustworthy foundation for living.

This got me to thinking.  "Kitchen Theology".  Most of my life up until this point has been lived preaching "Kitchen Theology" to my girls.  Stirring pasta, whipping up a batch of brownies, scrubbing left over gunk from the bottom the sink ...all have been podiums from which my sermons have been cast.

Recently, one of my dears shared a concern about a friend all while I attentively listened and interjected over pots and pans.  We danced about the kitchen as I grabbed milk or put away spices.  She continued to spin her tale as I collected each sentence with ears on the story and hands on the spatula.  At the conclusion of her discourse, she weighed two options.  Giving my rebuttal and a few good truths that I have learned through life experience she came to a conclusion that left her tasting the yummy goodness in my pot and hugging me around the neck before exiting my courtroom ...I mean kitchen.

This, THIS is "Kitchen Theology" at it's finest.  It may spill onto the kitchen table, while shoveling spoonfuls of spaghetti into hungry stomachs.  It may end in a heated debate over homework being done at said table.  None-the-less, it's a classroom and I find myself not only the teacher but the learner.

As teacher, my "Kitchen Theology" gets dispersed in effortless strains of one-liners or mini speeches, but the message is heard in a non-intimidating setting.  As learner, my "Kitchen Theology" gives me a glimpse into the world of my dears - their struggles, their hurts, their world-view.

"Kitchen Theology": doing life and discussing it along the way.

rattling pots, pans, and words,
Christina

I recently attended a conference (http://thriveconnection.com/).  Their mission is to empower global women to thrive and to be their advocate.  While there, I met women from all over the globe who work with professionals, refugees, average Joe's in universities, hospitals, and slums.  It was a place that I could share a story, bear my soul, open my heart and find the listener shaking her head in total affirmation.  She got me.

There is a rich guy that wanted to try to attain a higher level of personal righteousness* instead of doing what Jesus suggested to be holy - repent.  He was a good guy ... a religious guy ... probably the average church goer.  Yet, he had made his riches more important than his heart.

Repentance requires the removal of anything that we place above God.*

If I'm honest, I point my finger at this rich guy.  His stuff was worth so much ... so much that he could not bear to part with any of it to follow God.  Hmph!

I'm not sure if God does this with you ... but He often times will give me an asterisk moment.  For me, because I love words and am a visual person, it comes when I'm writing something - noticing some fault with someone in the Bible - noticing how self-righteous they are - noticing how far superior I am because I don't have their "issue" ... and then God gives me the asterisk.  This morning I literally put an asterisk by the word money.  After pausing, I realized this was God giving me an asterisk moment.  He loves me so much.  He wants me to see my own heart ... so He can have it and continue to change it.  Not because I'm bad ... but because He is so good!

My issue, unlike our rich guy, is not money.  However, my children can often fight for first position of my heart.

Right now, our oldest daughter, Addison, would like to have her Momma close.  There's no cancer, there's no impending doom.  But there's a season in her life that's tough and having a Momma to fix her favorite meal and rub her feet and tuck her into bed would be nice ... really nice.

This Momma would love ... LOVE ... L-0-V-E ... to be there!  Oh how my heart has broken over the distance that keeps me from getting in a car and spending time over a cup of coffee with my first-born.

Then, it's in these times that I recount the cost of living a global life.  The women that attended the Thrive conference know what I mean.  Many of you do, too!

At the end of the story of the Rich Man, there is a question that is asked by one of Jesus' friends.  It seems too hard to enter the life of knowing God in a personal way.  You've got to give up too much.  You've got to empty yourself of too much.  "So who can enter?"  And then, I love what Jesus says ... because he gets the cost.  "Humanly speaking, it is impossible.  But not with God.  Everything is possible with God."

Humanly speaking, it is impossible to go through this season of my life apart from my daughter.  It's unthinkable.  Unheard of.  Downright despicable.  But, that's where God meets me ... overshadows my deepest needs and wants ... and makes it possible for me to live life on the other side of the ocean as my daughter.

This journey of faith requires constant asterisk moments.

here's to more *,
christina

*New Living Study Bible, Mark 10:17-22, page 1671.

I have the vocabulary down ... in my circles.  Faith is a word that is tossed about ... a lot.  When I was 19 years old, I stepped into this great unknown subject ... leaping into with eyes wide open ... this very real yet very unknown life of ... FAITH.

As with most things in life that we make long, committed, decisions about I knew the risks of choosing FAITH.  I had, afterall, been in the right environment to embrace it.  It wasn't so much the fear of the embracing of FAITH ... for me it was the fear of NOT embracing FAITH.

I'm 47 years old.  I'm not having a mid-life crisis ... (I don't think) ... but I am discovering that FAITH looks really different at this stage in my life.  FAITH at 19 took some guts.  FAITH to cross that invisible and tangible all at the same time boundary of committing my life to a Person and a World System that went counter culture to my ... well, my culture.

FAITH as a mature* adult (*no poll taken to proove the adjective I just self-prescribed ) at times takes more guts.  My enemy is experience and self-reliance.  At my age, when the One who I committed my life to at 19 calls my name ... I use experience and self-reliance as my filters.

This morning, as with most mornings, I sat in my cozy chair with my coffee and read some statements that started my pulse racing, my palms to get clammy, and my head to nod in up and down motions of silent agreement.  I'm afraid.  When new things come my way ... I tend to see the outcome of the new thing on one side of a fence ... and me, with all my trying and tiredness and catching up to get it right ... on the other side of the fence.  Here's what's weird.  Usually, I see God on the side I'm trying to get to ... waiting for me to do my trying and get all tired and get it all right before I can come to Him ... to where He is ... to His side.

Wait for it ... this is where my new 47-year-old FAITH comes in ... kinda like a super hero ... and barges down the door of my wrong thinking.

• "I will help you learn to follow me confidently rather than fearfully."  (Jesus Lives by Sarah Young, pg. 356).
• "If the Lord delights in a man's ways, he makes his steps firm; though he may stumble, he will not fall, for the Lord upholds him with his hand."  Psalm 37:23-24

I went to my local grocery store down the street.  Shocked by the price of toilet paper, I decided to go across the street to another grocery store to compare prices.  In hindsight, that when the GPS of my upcoming experience was set into motion by my Creator.  What was my plan now became a prime opportunity for Him to take action.

Nestled between two large apartment complexes, sits a quaint little park. Just enough room for two benches, a few feet of green grass and oceans of pigeons that feed on whatever people have thrown down.  On one of the benches sat a woman I've come to know.  We've established a relationship of sorts. She speaks very little German.  She is from Romania.  She sells newspapers for a living.  I've never seen her wear anything other than the same layers of clothes ... in cold weather and warm.  She keeps her head covered so I make assumptions she has some sort of Muslim religion in her background.

I've given her money.  I've given her food.  I've uttered prayers every time I've seen her.  Recently, I saw her in my neighborhood but she was not in front of the grocery store that is her territory.  She was walking, without her bundle of papers, and when she saw me on the other side of the Strassenbahn (street car) tracks she began waving.  I waved back and smiled.  I like my friend.

A few months ago on one of our encounters, she pointed to her heart and said "Krank" (sick).  She looked bad.  She looked fevered.  Yet there she stood, in her layers and layers of clothes, in front of the grocery store selling her papers ... her only income.

I went about my grocery shopping and asked the Holy Sprit to show me what she needed:  orange juice, herbal tea, bananas, and some bread.  I left it with her and prayed for her in the silence of my heart ... much like the many other time before.

Just yesterday I passed her store and noticed she hadn't been there in a while.  I shot up prayers on her behalf and went about my day.

Today, my GPS got reset to encounter her on the bench.  Her face was unusually red and flushed, her eyes looked awful and she looked listless.  When she saw me she didn't have the usual smile.  I asked her how she was doing.  She pointed to her heart again.

I instantly put my hand over her heart and prayed.  I prayed in English - it wouldn't have mattered if it was in German because she speaks so little German.  I asked Jesus for total healing of her heart.  I stared right at her as I prayed ... and she stared back.  Every time I spoke the name of Jesus, she nodded.  When I said "Amen" she said "Amen" and then something in Romanian.

I was overcome with emotion.  I hugged her tight.  She kissed my cheek with the familiarity that a Mother kisses a child.  Tears were in her eyes.  And in mine, too.

As I left her on the bench, I saw the significance of Easter:  A risen Savior.  A Savior who rose to give new life ... abundant life ... who bore not only our sin ... but our shame ... and our sickness ... my friends heart sickness ... every sickness ever known to man ... to me.  This was why He came.  To set captives free.  To speak love in every language.  To know us and be known.

thinking of Easter a little different this year,
christina

It's normal again.

That girl of mine has started school, her job, her life apart from mine ... and that's as it should be.  The tears that poured down my face creating puddles around my feet are gone.  The ache of wanting to be near her is in it's right place.  Normal life has resumed.

We are back to 7 hours time difference, random pictures and messages on "What's App", experiencing each other's life after the other has lived it ... all what we've come to know as "normal".

What I'm left with is an almost holy awareness that times spent submerssed with the ones you love is sacred.  Had my home address been in the same area code as hers, the time she spent home for her Christmas break may not have been so ... sacred.  That's my gift ... this long distance creates in all of us a knowing to savor, hold tightly, submerge ourselves in the fleeting moments that we get to be close enough to touch each other.

Off to my normal life ... and to send a long-distance text to that girl of mine,
christina

This week I had a profound experience.  As Libby and I sat down to do her homework, she declared that we needed to begin with prayer.  She led the holy words to a loving Father.  As her language of an 11 year-old drifted from vocal chords into the ready ears of God, I sat in awe.  It was a holy moment.

My Libby taught me a whole lot about total dependence on God.  Before we tackled graphs and charts, vocab words, and reading summaries, her soul knew the importance of aligning itself to the true source of all Wisdom and Insight.  She knew only God would give her Momma patience.  She knew only God could diffuse what tends to be a stressful time.

My Libby is not perfect.  Her performance is not perfect.  However, in that tiny moment that she appealed to the Creator and I had the profound opportunity to be present as she petitioned Him ... it revealed a heart that is PERFECT in her position as His child.  She knows from where her strength comes from.

Oh my word ... the things He allows me to learn.

grateful for an 11 year-old teacher,
christina

Since being back in Vienna, the struggle to get into normal life has been just that ... a struggle.  Doing, working, making, planning - all these activities creep into my life like a rogue thief.  These acts steal my strength, my focus and wear me flat out!

Vocabulary Note:  Flat out; Oklahoma derivative, adjective:  extreme exhaustion.

Yesterday, while hanging wet clothes on my indoor clothes line, I had an encounter with the Holy Spirit.  I love these encounters ... and pray they come on a more regular basis!  Anyway, as I was grabbing for another clothes pin to secure another pair of underwear ... SHAZAM!

My working, my fearing, my planning, my worry, my (fill in the blank with any kind of works) is a learned behavior!  Over the years of being a human, my brain is still set on the "panic" default when something doesn't feel right.  If there is lack of comfort in my soul then fear, worry, works peak their ugly heads into my life to get me to ... fear, worry and work!

As I grabbed for the next clothes pin, this time pinning an apron that previously had spaghetti smeared down the front, the Spirit reminded me of the story of Jesus in the boat during a storm with his 12 friends.  The storm caused the 12 to fear, worry, work.  Jesus slept.

SHAZAM!  Again ... the Holy Spirit showed me that IN HIM I can have and do have a new default.  Rest.  Rest is the opposite of my natural tendency but the perfect response as I live in His Spirit.  And then I thought how strange REST feels.  I am resting right now in a situation that has caused my heart to have some fear, worry and the need to work.  However, I've chosen to rest in it ... and it feels really good and really weird at the same time.

I feel like I'm uncaring for not fearing and worrying and working!  Isn't that the logic of the evil one?  When we choose to rest ... if we are not used to doing it ... it feels weird!  No more!

If you dare, choose to reset your default back to the original source ...
christina

 This week, I had Parker snap this "selfy" as we all headed out for the morning.  As I took a look at the photo on my new fancy phone, I was struck by what my friend Dawn calls "the new normal":  there are only four in the picture.

On this sleepy, grey, and rather wet Saturday morning ... it seems fitting that photos should tell stories rather than my words.  Enjoy ...

A sleepy birthday girl eating her birthday breakfast!

The blowing of the candles with her BFF Alyssa!

While walking downtown, we were interrupted by the filming of "Mission Impossible 5"; the small, dark figure at the center top we believe to be ... Tom Cruise! ... at least that's what I think ... and my friend, Greg thinks ... so there!

On my way home from the grocery store ... a little written demonstration.

on my way home ...

My faithful grocery cart, I affectionately call her "Granny".  I'm on your right ... the colorful one.

On my way home.  To your right is the Augarten ... a beautiful park.  In front of you is the Energy plant ... we call it the "Willy Wonka" building.  Libby thinks her friend, Carson, would think it's the coolest building ever!

Lots of time reading and studying in my new favorite cozy corner ...

Do I need words here ...

... or here?

On the Streetcar getting ready to get off at my stop (Danube River in the background.)

My last elementary "Back to School" night.

I was recently talking with a new friend.  Sometimes when you're telling your story, you see yourself in a new light.  "It's nice that you can do that," was her response to me making a choice to trust God in a certain area of my life.

Her words still dance in my head two days later.  In reality, I don't see it as "nice" that I can stand in faith on the issue about which I spoke.  It's not nice to look like an unprepared adult.  It's not nice to wonder in which country you should enroll your children for school.  It's not nice to still live out of  a suitcase.  It's not nice wondering where someone should mail something to you because you are not sure where you will be living.  It's not nice waiting for promises that have value only in your Spirit.  It's not nice ... it's faith.  She helped me see that.

Faith isn't always fun ... requires surety in things that have only been spoken in your heart ... usually counters human logic ... keeps itself quite and expecting ... waits until the last minute ... keeps you up at night ... is rarely defined ... causes you to doubt ... is a noun and a verb ... that allows you to understand that God never - ever - lives in a box.

Feeling somewhat like a member of the crew of the Dawn Treader (Voyage of the Dawn Treader, The Chronicles of Narnia series) in the past I've looked at living by faith as entrance into the Dark Island, waiting for the Great Sea Serpent to attack, pull me under, and devour my life.  After many years of trusting God, He's redefined my faith by ... acts of faith!  Often we think living by faith will not be for our good, is out of our reach, or simply requires too much of us.  Lies, friends.  All LIES!  Every time I trust Him and choose to walk by faith I gain!  Going through the Dark Island and destroying the Great Sea Serpent brought the crew closer to the shore of Aslan ... the place that was their destiny.

I'm walking through my faith ... learning to ignore the things that cause me to see God as anything but the Rewarder of my Faith ... and pressing in to reach the shore ... the things He has promised ... which are my destiny.

If we, who say we know Jesus, and are being filled with life by His Spirit - would dare to live by faith - what, pray tell, would our lives produce in ourselves ... in others ... in a watching world?!

not being nice but holding on to faith,
christina

I love feet.  I especially love summer feet.  Summer feet make great pictures.

Because we have been given the use of this car, the Avenger, which makes me feel young, thin, and pretty ... and because I want to keep it in good condition, honoring the ones letting us use the "sweet ride" ... and because I am too lazy to get the bucket, sponge, and water hose out and do a little manual labor, I took my Avenger to a car wash.

A fresh faced college student took my money and washed the bugs off the front of the grill.  She then directed me to a line of white cones that led me to step two:  the wash.  Another college student directed me to align my tires into this metal conveyor belt thingy.  When my tires were perfectly aligned, he told me to put my Avenger in neutral, the machine would do the rest.  A tiny bit of unexpected panic washed through my bones.  After realizing I was safe, I recovered.

Going through the sudsy water, red cut up fabric that spin in constant circles violently slapped the car.  After another round of suds, I realized this process was nothing to fear.  I wanted a clean Avenger.  This was the necessary process to get the desired outcome.

Just when I thought I had reached the end of the wash, an unexpected blue, fuzzy, spiny thing appeared to softly skim the entire surface of the Avenger.  I couldn't see.  I knew I was nearing the end so I fought back the tiny bit of "O.M.G." and trusted the mechanics of this auto cleanser.

I suddenly emerged with a clean Avenger and another college student wiped off any excess drips of H2O the blower thing didn't dry up.  It was over.

The adrenaline rush ... the unexpected turns ... the out-of-the-blue surprises ... the knowing I was going to come out the other end but not knowing when ... the being in neutral ... and then the final result made me think of a modern day parable of following Jesus.

I want an outcome - to be like Him.  I have a process to follow - life.  The real kicker comes at the beginning - aligning my life and putting it in His hands.  I so often want to jump to the end of the process but don't get my "tires" on the conveyor belt.  I want to zoom through the wash when all I have to do is get those "tires" into the conveyor belt ... and He does the rest.

a little scrub here, a little wash there ...
christina