Trusting God

I was in my room studying for what I knew would be a difficult exam a couple weeks ago. The class is Audio Electronics, and, while it comes quite easily and naturally to some of the other students in my class, I struggle more in that class than any other class since Music Lit. This would be the second test of the semester in this class, and I was very grumpy about having to study for it and take it in the morning.

Less than a week prior, I had scheduled for classes for spring semester. For those of you that don't know, I'm a double major in Psychology and B.A. Music. My schedule was full of music classes, and a few psychology classes that seemed almost "on the side." Music has always forced itself onto the front burner of my college career because that department is so intense at my school, even though my particular major is considered a "light load." But my biggest passion is, and has been since I began my higher education, psychology. I was frustrated before I even began that I couldn't focus on it more because the music was so all-consuming. I thought it would get better, but it didn't.

In high school, I loved music. I joined everything I could involving music, and I was good. I wasn't the best by any means, but I was good. But when I got to college, I came to a tragic realization: I wasn't praising God in my music. I was just doing it for fun, for me. I never even intended to make a career out of it. I was a music major for the sheer pleasure of playing music, yet I got no pleasure in it anymore, no deeper fulfillment, and gave no glory to God.

I thought this was a problem with my heart, so I prayed about it this year, because as 1 Corinthians 10:31 says, "So whether you eat or drink or whatever you do, do it all for the glory of God." I got a little better at it, but not much. I still didn't ever want to practice or even care about the music classes I was in. But maybe the issue wasn't in my heart, but in what I was doing. Maybe I wasn't supposed to be in music at all.

All these thoughts came to me as I was studying for this audio electronics exam. I thought, I can't do this anymore. I need to be done. It's way past time for a switch. After all, I was already through two and a half years of school.

After talking to several close, Godly friends, as well as a couple professors, and my mom, I knew I needed to at least look into actually dropping my major.

I found out it would cost me $14,000 in scholarship money per year.


Meanwhile, I was trying to figure out where God wanted me to go. I was feeling called to attend a Christian conference over Christmas break, which costs a little less than $200, to go to an abroad spring break mission trip, about $1700, and a summer-long mission trip on the other side of the country, about $1850. Although I knew I would be relying on mostly fundraising for these things, I still had some anxiety over it. I felt called to go, but held back by the funds.

I told a few people about this, and they said that I should trust God and he will provide the money. Hmmm, I just wasn't sure about that. I have gotten good at trusting God with more abstract things, like relationships, my "future," his "plan for my life," even things like talking to people that I didn't initially want to reach out to. But trust him with something as concrete as money? I have never had to do that before and didn't know if he would do it, at least for me. Of course I have seen it happen in the Bible, and even in the lives of people I know, but I have always have everything I need and I was used to just having it without needing to ask for it. I have never had to trust. I have tried to be grateful for the things I have, but trusting God to provide those things is different.

But he gave me a well-paying job a month or so ago, which was something I had asked him for, and he provided it. In the past he has provided something as concrete as a roommate when I needed one. I knew what I needed to do, and that was to trust God to somehow, some way, provide the money that I needed to do what I thought he was calling me to do. I decided to apply for the mission trips, register for the conference, and, gulp, drop my major.

"For God did not give us a spirit of timidity, but a spirit of power..." 2 Timothy 1:7

Lo and behold, a few days after I made this decision, Mom called me with the amazing news that, although I would lose my music scholarships, I would also get back the academic scholarships that I lost at the very beginning of my college (since they were replaced by music scholarships), resulting in a loss of only about $500 a semester. In addition, not being a music major also meant I won't have to take any more lessons, which cost almost $500 per semester in addition to my regular tuition. It comes out almost even, an awful lot better than a loss of $14,000 a year.

It was the concrete relief I needed. Two days later I got all the papers signed to drop my music major and changed my spring semester schedule. I even had enough room in the time I have left in school to add a second minor, so I picked up a creative writing, which I'm pretty excited about.

As for everything else (my trips), I know that God will provide the money through fundraising or other means and that I shouldn't be afraid to pursue those dreams and answer that calling.

It's really nice to finally be pursuing something that I'm good at, that I love, and that I think will bring glory to my God. I plan to live a life worthy of the calling I have received (Ephesians 4:1).


God bless.

Red

This is a poem I wrote called "Red". Don't freak out, it's not about me or anyone, I know; I was just following a prompt for my creative writing class. But I hope it makes you think at least a little bit about the hardness of the world and how our society reacts to pain.

I wrote a couple much better (and happier) poems for that class that I would love to share with you, but I am going to have to wait to do so.

I think the door to poetry has been reopened for me, and I'm excited to try to get back into it. Expect more on this blog from now on, and hold me accountable if I don't supply you with at least monthly poetry.

Without further ado,


Red

I felt the tiny bump

Of the chipmunk under the tire

Of my pickup truck,
And I laughed.
Seeing thousands

Of tears
From my broken-hearted mother
Hardened mine.
For even in her womb,
Her sobs angered me
When her compassion
drew her to a bloody chipmunk
facing death on a sidewalk.
Bloody indeed!
The cracks drink it in and the sidewalk cries out in terror
And my mother answered its call
Tending to the worthless body before her
Her mountain crumbled but I am a volcano.
And I grew up
Hating tears,
Hating animals
And tenderness.

God bless.

Skirts vs. Pants

I am a woman who loves a purdy skirt. Let me tell you why I love skirts but usually wear pants.

Pros of skirts/ cons of pants:
1. Skirts are pretty and make me feel likewise.
2. Skirts are comfortable unlike pants (except sweatpants).
3. Skirts are feminine.

Cons of skirts/ pros of pants:
1. Pants are warm
2. You can climb and run and sit in awkward positions in pants.
3. Pants are more socially acceptable as casual daily attire.
4. Pants more frequently have pockets than skirts.
5. Pants (blue jeans, specifically) match more things than skirts do.
6. You can't wear whatever shoes you want in a skirt. But you can wear crapshoes in pants.


In my opinion, the pros of skirts outweigh the pros of pants, but I must admit that pants are more practical. Thus, I wear pants more frequently.

In closing, I urge you to please click this link:
http://www.googlefight.com/index.php?lang=en_GB&word1=skirts&word2=pants


God bless.

Definitions

We are creatures of definition and we allow/seek many things to define us.

You already know this, I'm sure. But would you like to hear me talk about it? Good. Here I go.

Appearances define us. Our clothes and makeup tell others our opinions of ourselves. Our hair is a good indicator of our personal hygiene. Our weight boasts our greatest struggles or our greatest accomplishments. Our posture proclaims our mood.

Music defines us. Oh you listen to country? Does that mean you grew up on a farm? Oh you listen to rap? You thug. Oh you listen to rock? What a conformist. Oh you listen to jazz? You really think you're that cool? Oh you listen to _______? You must be _________.

Home defines us. Do you live in a city, suburb, or the country? Is your house big or small or nonexistent? How do you decorate? Is your place a mess or is it tidy? Is your lawn mowed? Is your dorm door open or closed? Why is that poster/painting there? Is home full of pets? Is it full of plants? Is it full of people? Are you alone? Do you ever have visitors? What do you keep in your fridge? How furnished is it? What are the colors?

Gender defines us. I can't [wear that/say that/eat that/read that/go to that place] because I'm a girl.
I can't [wear that/say that/eat that/read that/go to that place] because I'm a guy.

Sexual orientation defines us. That guy is so flamboyant, he must be gay. Why is that girl wearing clothes like that? Is she a lesbian? That guy is definitely straight; look at how he ogles those ladies. That girl is such a slut, I think she likes guys a little too much. "I am sexually confused and don't want to be made fun of..."

Wealth defines us. Anywhere from the vast populations of poverty-stricken countries to the few billionaires. How much money do you make? How much did that cost for you?

Actions define us. My college major is ______. My job is ______. My hobbies are ______. Over the summer I will be doing ______. In my spare time I ______. One time I _____.

Our creations define us. What you build, make, sew, paint, bake, grow, or concoct is a product of your imagination. Our internal being is reflected and expressed in these external, tactile items.

Religion defines us. As an elementary student I clearly remember being asked on the playground, "Are you Catholic or Christian?" (Whatever that means.) But what about the girl that wears the hijab or the guy who wears the Wiccan pentacle around his neck? Who do we pray to?

Childhood defines us. Were your parents loving and caring providers or were they abusive and neglectful? How did the kids at school treat you? Did you have exciting fun experiences or were you bored in front of a TV screen? Was there a traumatic experience that haunts you to this day? Did you love something? Did someone die? Did you have siblings? Did you get yelled at for bad grades or did the teacher tell all the other kids that they should follow your example? Did you laugh?

Names define us. What do people call you? What do those names mean? How do they reflect your character?

Friends define us. How they act, how they dress, how they talk, how they influence us. From getting high to sitting in a pew, we follow their lead.

What we love defines us.

~

Many of us, I'm sure, would say that these "definitions" are a bad thing. And for the most part, they are. The extent the world leads us to take them to is definitely bad. We take them way too seriously. However, at the same time, we need them. We need to be defined, because if we had nothing with which to define us, everyone would be in a heck of an identity crisis.

We need to be our own person, definitely. We need to express ourselves and we need our quirks and uniquenesses and our stories. We need those to be us. We are allowed to change ourselves and make decisions about who we are.

But we also are creations. We also are ourselves products and expressions of creativity. So how can we let that define us?

Psalm 139:13-16 says:
For you created my inmost being;
you knit me together in my mother’s womb.
I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
your works are wonderful,
I know that full well.
My frame was not hidden from you
when I was made in the secret place,
when I was woven together in the depths of the earth.
Your eyes saw my unformed body;
all the days ordained for me were written in your book
before one of them came to be.

Allow yourself to be the person you were born to be and allow yourself to be changed for the good.

Be you.

In closing, I would like to share some things that came up in the comments on my recent facebook status. I asked, "For a blog post: What are things that 'define' us?"

Garrett P. said, "'Its not who I am underneath, but what I do, that defines me.' -Batman from the Batman Begins"

Amy B. said, "Depends on who's doing the defining. God defines me as His child, and a saint (righteous). Sometimes perhaps a very childish saint. I define myself according to my mission: I am a witness for the Savior. I have to be careful not to let my self-definition devolve into my WORK, which is infinitely inferior to my mission. The world defines me by what they see; some see a teacher, some a healer, some a dog lover, and some a really obnoxious, prideful stinker. And we are all correct. In the end, only one will matter. I'm counting on my Father's mercy and justice."

and, of course, Amber B. said, "aliens. aliens define us. manta rays are also a big factor, as well as clowns. clowns define a lot of people. just sayin." She later added, "the history channel defines us...horoscopes...fossilized remains of wooly mammoths...watermelon...."

Be you.

God bless.

Bad Relationship Advice

Someone once told me, "You'll know you've found the one when it doesn't feel like work."

I smiled and nodded at the time to appease this person so that their advice would seem appreciated (as I was not in a place with this person that I felt comfortable arguing). But I took it with a grain of salt.

On the contrary, any worthwhile relationship is work.

For example, your relationship with your friends requires time, a listening ear, making an effort to show you care, driving around, paying for something you don't really want to pay for. Work! Worth it? Absolutely, but it is work nonetheless.

What about your children? Even as someone with none of her own, I understand at least a fraction of the gravity of work it takes to raise a child. How much sacrifice could that possibly take? Thousands of dollars, missed sleep, feeding them, clothing them, teaching them how to take care of themselves, actually teaching them pretty much everything they need to know, driving them around, drying their tears, cleaning more poopy bottoms than you ever wanted or could imagine. Sacrifice. Work. And hopefully well, well worth it.

Your relationship with God requires work. As any Christian  will probably tell you, it's not all sunshine and rainbows and a perpetual spiritual high. It's persecution and conviction and humbling and striving and work. Worth it? Yes, every second. Amen and halleluiah.

Why would a romantic relationship be any different?

Should a romantic relationship always be skipping hand-in-hand through a field of lollipops? Should it always be hugs and smiles? Should there always be agreement and never any argument or conflict whatsoever? Should it just be a happy trip from dating to the glorious walk down the aisle to perfect kids in a perfect house into the peaceful happily ever after? Is that realistic? Well, maybe it would be nice, but no.

It's not going to be easy. It's not always going to be fun. It's going to be work, and it's going to piss you off and make you want to cry and curl into a ball and stress you out and frustrate you. But if the relationship is worth it, you keep working. You keep pushing. You keep investing time. You keep loving. You work on intimacy. You work on friendship. You work on encouragement. And yes, it will actually feel like hard work sometimes. But, like the paycheck you get from your job at the end of the month, sometimes the work is well worth it.


God bless.

The Hang Drum

The hang is a drum reminiscent (in my opinion) of steel drums, but not as bright-sounding. It sounds very soothing and can be accompanied by a variety of exotic (usually percussive) instruments. 

(photo from Wikipedia)

And I love it.

You can learn all kinds of fun facts about the hang from Wikipedia. But that's not why I'm here right now. I am here simply to tell you about my newfound joy. Because you probably care enough about me to hear all about it. Right? Right.

I was introduced to hang music back in the winter by my good friend, Alex, and thought it was great but promptly forgot about it.

However, a week or two ago, I rediscovered it (reintroduced it to myself) and have been listening to this gorgeous and relaxing "stoner music"a lot since then--mostly by completely abusing YouTube.

Funny thing, I was listening to it and thought Alex would like it, totally forgetting where I had heard of it, and posted a video on his facebook wall, only to be embarrassed when he told me he was the one that introduced me to it. Bad friend award for me. The end.

Anyway, I thought I had a lot more to say on this topic, but I guess I don't.

I feel like I have weird musical interests. Because I'm a music major, people think it's appropriate to ask what kind of music I like/listen to. I hate this question. My favorite band will always and forever be Relient K, but I also like bluegrass, and apparently now hang music. I'm not even sure of what genre that falls under. Oh, and I guess I like Johnny Cash. And Adele. And Queen. And organ music. And that one horribly depressing but awesome-sounding song that my sister introduced me to.

So yeah. Please don't ask what kind of music I like. I won't know what to tell you. But I love music, and now I love the hang, and that's all I have to say.


God bless.

Restlessness

Every now and then, but not frequently, I want to run away.

It's not that I'm dissatisfied with my life... well, not really anyway.

It's just that I'm bored. I've never had a ridiculously traumatic experience or am living a terrible life. I just sort of feel like I'm living a boring, predictable life. And I should find great comfort in that. In fact, I usually do. Things could be so much worse for me. But sometimes, that is, once in a blue moon, it's not enough and I hunger for more.

Right now is one of those moments.

Several people at church asked me tonight what I had going this week that I was excited for, or looking forward to, or that I could use prayer for-- and I had no real answer to give them. On the chalkboard section of the wall in the bathroom (at said church), someone had written, "What are you waiting for?" I didn't know. I was waiting for nothing. So I wrote, "Something to happen." I wasn't trying to be melodramatic; I was trying to be honest.

So I came home and I have been sitting in my room staring into space for 20 minutes while Amy does Bible homework, and thinking about what the heck my problem is.

I still can't say what that problem is, but the ingenious solution I came up with was running away.

So goodbye everyone, I'm going to Brazil or India or possibly the deepest, most remote part of Africa, and I am going to learn another culture and become someone different instead of merely the person I have learned to be. I am going to take God with me (of course, because I take him everywhere with me, he is my beloved constant companion), and we are going to experience something other than Ohio where I drive a car and eat food that is given to me on a plastic plate with silverware and napkins. I am going to see an incredible animal and hear and play new music and dance boldly with all my might around a fire at night under starlight and eat my meal sitting on the ground with no shoes on. I want to communicate with someone through laughter alone, someone whose language I do not know (yet).

Also I am going someplace warm because I am grumpy that winter is impending here.

I will miss everyone terribly and I will write you all letters and hope to receive a reply but I do not know when I will see you again... here, there, or in the air, I guess.


...What does God want of/for me?? Why do I feel this restlessness?


God bless.