525,600 Minutes

Sorry that this update is rather late this evening. I've been talking with several friends and visiting with Shelby and Jordan and listening to music. All in all, a thoroughly pleasant evening! In any case, I shall not fail you, although this post might be rather shorter than usual.

"One of the illusions of life," so says Ralph Waldo Emerson, "is that the present hour is not the critical, decisive hour. Write it on your heart that every day is the best day of the year. No man has ever learned anything rightly until he knows that every day is Doomsday." 

I find this sentiment strangely resonating. You see, folks, today I would like to illuminate the fact that I'm grateful for this year. Rather a large thing to encompass, that, but the theory is sound and it's my blog. So there.

I look back on the past five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes (yes, the song from RENT is now totally stuck in my head) and I'm amazed at how different my life truly is now than how it was then. I'm almost done with the first semester of my junior year of college ... how odd! When one is a freshmen, one can never quite visualize themselves as ever being any older. Yes, you make plans for a misty future, but it never seems real. Life now seems real in a whole new way. Some doors are closed now that were up open last year. I've lost family, dreams, possessions and loves. But most of all, I've lost some of the burdens I've been carrying. 

This year has been so hard in some ways, but so joyous in others. How can I regret these passing days, when each day holds such a potential for beauty? Ralph Waldo Emerson speaks again in his omnipresent apropos manner: "To the attentive eye, each moment of the year has its own beauty, and in the same field, it beholds, every hour, a picture which was never seen before, and which shall never be seen again." (I love this dude.)

So I am thankful for this year. This brief period in the great expanse of time heralds some coming changes which I rather balk at facing, yes, but it also holds the potential for marvelous things. Don't bemoan how long a year seems. Instead, we should rather see that a year is far too short a time to contain all of the wonders that our futures might hold. Don't shortchange a year.

Heavenly Smacketh Downeth

I have something a little offbeat to be thankful for this evening. I actually meant to post about this a couple weeks ago, but it slipped my mind. Then I thought, hey! Perfect Thanksgiving post! So there you go, a post that's been saran-wrapped and stuck in the fridge of my mind, much like your turkey will be the day after tomorrow!

As you all know, I've really gotten into reading my Bible this semester. The results have been amazing, but also quite ... unsettling. You see, I finally realized that it didn't matter how much I prayed, how many chapters I read a day, or how many resolutions I made. I was still going to screw up, and screw up royally. How often was God going to listen patiently to the same old tired prayers of, "God, I'm so sorry I made the same darn mistake again. Please help me tomorrow to listen to you and not sin." 

And then, when tomorrow came, I would find myself saying the exact same thing.

If I'm this irritated with myself, I'm really glad I don't have God's job. If I were, I'd probably be sending a little divine wooden spoon action to the kid in Memphis that never can learn to keep her stupid mouth shut. 

Actually, it all started to really bother me. I like being salty, you see. It's part of my personality. I'm sarcastic, and usually at the expense of some kind of injustice or idiocy. I spent a good portion of my life hiding behind books. The results are a.) a wide knowledge of literature, which we know from Monty Python to be quite helpful for satire and b.) a huge distaste for cringing in corners behind a hardback edition of "Oliver Twist." I've lived that life, and I'm tired of it. I like saying what I mean and meaning what I say. But the thing is that the Bible is always saying this stuff about being meek and women being silent and ... yeah. Mesa didn't much appreciate that. I want to be a good handmaiden to God, but does that automatically require me to become Elsie freakin' Dinsmore?

Thank God, and I mean that quite literally, for Paul.

One night I was still tussling with this Christian womanly ideal thingy when I came across a verse in  II Corinthians that I literally burst out laughing out loud over. And I can't remember ever just laughing over scripture, but this one took the cake. Paul writes in chapter thirteen, verse ten the following marvel: "Therefore I write these things being absent, lest being present I should use sharpness, according to the power which the Lord hath given me to edification, and not to destruction." 

The New Katie Translation: "Be really, really grateful that I took the time to write you yahoos a nice, sweet little letter rather than coming over there myself. I ain't got a lot of patience, boys and girls. Either shape it up, or you'll get a rather strong reminder of the blessed fact that I'm bigger, I'm stronger, and I work for God. He gave me a mighty big stick to show to those who don't believe in the amen factor and need a little persuasion. Mind you don't make me use said holy yule log to beat you over the head with rather than using it to politely teach you your 'please and thank you's' to the savior. And remember, I'm praying for you!"

That there, folks, made everything clear for me. If Paul is immortalized forever in God's divine Word with such a smartass (sorry, only word for it) comment, then I'm allowed to be salty. 

And, oh boy! I'm thankful for it! Otherwise this would be one very quiet blog...

Give Thanks

So here we go again with Thanksgiving! I think this holiday is largely ignored by the modern human populace, and that's a shame. By this point in the year, all of the Christmas decorations are going up/have been up for weeks. We have Halloween, then we have Christmas for three months, with virtually a single by-line for Thanksgiving that goes as follows: Oh, yeah, and give thanks. And eat turkey and be gluttonous, for tomorrow we shop for Christmas!"

Pathetic.

Therefore, I will honor the tradition I set last year by spending the days leading up to Thanksgiving with posts about things things for which I am thankful. 

Today, I am thankful for scars. Yes, you read that right. Scars.

In case you haven't heard this already, folks, life is hard. Unless you're one of those benighted individuals that just seems to float through life knowing only two adjectives ("cute!" and "sad...") and having everything given to them, you're going to suffer. Sorry to burst your bubble. Welcome to reality. Life at some point either has shattered you or will shatter you. "There is no escape, Luke," life says. "Don't make me destroy you."

Lately, I've been contemplating the whole idea of suffering and beauty a lot, and what these concepts mean to life. I've come to the conclusion that suffering is beauty. To see that kind of beauty, we have only to look at the Man on the cross. He is scarred and He has suffered a kind of agony that no one can possibly understand -- not only has he gone through physical pain of the cruelest sort, but He has also experienced utter spiritual rejection from the Father. The pure and perfect Man became sin in all its ugliest forms. Still, who can look at Jesus' scarred hands and not see beauty? In those scars is redemption, as well as the hope of heaven that He bought for His children with his blood and spirit. What could be more beautiful?

I have scars on my heart. I admit it quite freely. They will always ache and cause me pangs, some days worse than others. Humans cry loftily "get over it" at the suffering and believe in empowerment and strength. I hate that phrase. Nobody can ever just "get over it." They can overcome their trials, yes, but they will never truly forget the pain that caused the scars on their hearts. The beauty comes in realizing that there is good in these scars that cause me pain. Each one of these scars represents a time when God didn't let me fall. They are a symbol of growth and change and love. 

My scars are a mere echo of the scars that Jesus' body bears. How can I resent anything that makes me more like Him? I cannot, therefore I must be thankful for my scars. Every time that I am made weak, God is made strong. My weakness allows me to be stabbed, that's true enough. I hate being weak ... but that gives God the room to work. When the heart is weak and pliable is when God can truly shape it in His image.

What scars are you thankful for? What times of trial are you resenting, instead of allowing it to be a time when God shows His grace in your life? I know that there are some wounds I've been licking, instead of allowing them to scab over and heal. A line will always show, but oh! What a beautiful line it will be!

A Week of Thanksgiving

Hello, folks. As you are all infinitely aware, next week we celebrate the holiday of Thanksgiving. Due to some discussion on the subject by friends of mine, I've decided that Thanksgiving gets ignored most of the time, and treated as merely a time to catch up on some sleep, eat good food, and have an excuse for watching the football games. But Thanksgiving should be more than that, so I've decided to celebrate it a little bit differently in my own little way. Every day up until Thursday I'm going to post about something I'm thankful for. So please read, for in all likelihood, YOU are going to be on that list at some point. I'm going to begin this week long diatribe with giving my thankfulness for something easily seen, but no less important-my family. Mom, I'm thankful for you. You've stuck with us, even when it would have been easier to get up and leave. But you didn't-you stuck it out through house payments, family meetings, homeschooling, depressions and church-hopping. These past nine years haven't been easy for you, but I can only hope that the best is yet to come. I want to see you go to school, get your degree, and find peace with yourself. I think you're well on your way, but I want to know that you are happy no matter what comes. We fight sometimes (even did a little tonight) but I hope you always remember how much I genuinely love you and support you. You're a special lady who deserves the world, but only ended up with four kids, dogs, and getting dumped on. I pray that the dumping is over, and that the blessings begin. Drew, I'm thankful for you. I'm thankful for your quirkiness, your moodiness, your obsession with Star Trek that we share, and your earnest desire to be the man that God made you to be. You and I had a troubled relationship as kids, but I like to think that now that we're both older and more mature that we've been getting along much better. I've always been proud of my big brother, even if I didn't always understand you. You're brilliant and yet so lost sometimes-you remind me of a puppy that's jumping through hoops just trying to please everyone. I hope that you remember that the only people you have to please are yourself and God. I'm proud of you already. Shelby, I am thankful for you. You and I have always shared a special bond. Some of my favorite memories are of you and I singing to each other at night after Mom had put us to bed. We made American girl and Barbie towns, played Runaway, School, and yes, Tree Cherokees. You were always ready to follow wherever my overly-active imagination led, and I love you for that. You've always been willing to help me when I haven't felt smart enough at school. You've forgiven me for my very obvious faults, and somehow, it is virtually impossible for me to be mad at you. I'm so proud of the wonderful woman that you've become. You have the world by the tail, and I have every confidence in your ability to grab hold of the angel and wrestle, saying, "I will not let thee go, unless thou bless me." Sacrilegious or not, personally, my money's on you. But despite your tenacity and determination no matter what you're facing, you're also gentle. I admire that so much about you, my sweet sister. Evan, I am thankful for you. You and I have always been so darn alike. Yes, I know that that's fairly obvious. Heck, we shared a womb. You've always been a follower, content to go wherever Shelby and I led you. But in the past year or so, I've watched a confident man emerge. You've always felt such responsibility towards Mom, Shelby and I, especially after Dad left. I appreciate you SO much. And it's more than just taking out the garbage or fixing sinks or crawling around under my car-you are willing to be our protector and friend. I hope and pray that you will continue to allow God to lead you in your life, like you have by following His will concerning our sweet Rachel. Let Him provide for you, bro, and you will never have cause to be sorry for it. Stand strong as His warrior, and know that your sister loves and appreciates you. NanNan, I am thankful for you. Your generosity towards us throughout my life never ceases to astound me. I will never forget those sweet trips we made as a child back to your house, and meeting you at the mall for lunch. You've had quite a large hand in shaping me into the person that I am, and I am deeply grateful for everything you've done. I don't know if I have, or ever can say it often enough, but thank you. I hope that I can be as fine a woman as you are someday. PawPaw, I am thankful for you. I know you can't read this right now...but I pray that someday when you are walking with the Savior, that He will allow you to read this and know how much your granddaughter appreciates you. You stepped in and became my father when I no longer had one. You bailed us out more than once with money, protected us when times were hard, and held us when we cried. You were always so quiet and so gentle, and always so willing to teach. It still haunts me that the last time you knew who I was, you looked at me with disappointment in your eyes. It was just after your surgery, and you said my name and knew me. I played some joke on Evan, and even though I know that you couldn't understand the joke, the look of sadness in your eyes I will never forget. Still, I will also never forget your phrases, your silly whistling, and how you would putter around with the cars outside. I have learned so much from you, and one of the biggest regrets of my life is that you will not be able to walk me down the aisle someday, as I so hoped you would. I love you even now, and I hope you can feel it, even though you are trapped within your own mind. As for you rowdy Arkansas bunch, I am thankful for you. You have never hesitated to support my family no matter what the situation. As I've gotten older I've realized how much I truly love you. You all exude many genuine qualities that are gone now. You are all truly seeds of Grandma and Grandpa, and your goodness and loyalty are unmatched. For my family, dear Lord, I offer my thanks.