Love? Love... Love.

Love. Yeah, i just went there... Love. What are you going to do about it? It’s everywhere, isn’t it? According to everything around us, if we’re not in love, we should be in love; if we are in love, we need to be more in love. Love love love love love. Love.

I’m probably not the greatest expert on this subject. I don’t intend to date until I’m 23, and I’m extremely picking about what my man will be like when I actually do start dating him. As an RA in the Upper Columbia Academy dorms, I always told my freshmen girls “Boys are smelly, throw rocks at them.” Luckily, I never had to apprehend rock-throwing girls before they brained groups of innocent boys, but I did get the point across over the course of a year. Those freshmen girls are almost seniors now and are careful about who and how they date.

But, did I write this column just to talk about my exploration of the freshmen mind? No. That would probably be an interesting column, but it’s not quite what I intended.

Love. There I go, saying it again. What are we supposed to do about this word? Is this word all about dating? Is it just this awkward, supposedly “all encompassing” description of God that the Theology Professors throw out there all the time? Did Jesus say I’m supposed to do this with my neighbor? When I love someone, does that mean I’ll grow old with them and be wrinkly in rocking chairs with them someday? How do I love people?

What’s odd to me is how the world around us tells us to fall in love, when flipping the card over reveals endless amounts of hate. Love. Hate. Love. Hate. Which one do they really want us to do? By their standards, love means sex... I’m sorry, but that makes it really awkward to love my neighbor... And hating my neighbor makes life irritating for both of us.

So, how about we forget the world’s perspective of love, and we just focus on God’s perspective of love. It doesn’t get much easier. In fact, I think it gets harder. But it gets so much more beautiful.

This past summer I was lamenting over the idea of love. The idea of loving others. When I read my Bible, I see Jesus telling me to love like God loves... So how do I do that? It was quite a huge task laid down before me, and I felt lost to pursue it aimlessly and hopelessly until He came the second time to find me not loving like I was supposed to and therefore not worthy... Lame. That’s a sad ending to the story. And I hate sad endings. So I started talking to God about learning to love like He did. I wanted the heart of God. He was pretty darn straight with me about it, and began slowly laying out in front of me what that would look like. There was a lot of stuff I was uncomfortable with. He said that to get to know Him, I had to get to know people. He said that if I wanted to get to know people I had to get to know Him. Both are scary. Because if you want to get to know people... if you want to get to know God... you have to be willing for them to get to know you. That, my friends, is no small matter. I mean, I don’t mind spending all day telling you how wonderful you are, but turning around and telling you how much is wrong with me... No. Not so easy... and definitely not pleasant. At all. Uncomfortable is an understatement. But I told Him I’d do it. I said yes...

I really wish that my last paragraph could describe to you in detail how much of a saint I’ve become, that I love everyone unconditionally, I never judge, and how I never have struggles, so telling people about myself is easy. That would be grand. But, that would be a lie. And lying is a sin. So, I won’t lie to you... I judge. All the time. I struggle opening myself up... all the time. I struggle choosing to love... all the time. But the other side is that God slowly, day by day, gives me more of His heart. Day by day He gives me more love. I see more hurting people, and fewer social rejects. It’s a scary way to live. The search for God will lead you to people. The search for people will lead you to God. You have to be ready for both. And you have to accept them even more willingly than you feel. Acceptance isn’t what you feel, it’s what you do in spite of a feeling. I accept you because you’re a person, because you’re a piece of God, and because as we accept each other, God will meet us and show us His heart. I’m a fan of that.

The world will keep pervading us with their ideas of love and lust, with all of their ideals that all lead to hate. I’m just glad that I don’t have to be a part of that. I’m glad that I’m free and I can choose to love. Even when it sucks... Even when I don’t want to. And I guarantee there are times when I don’t want to. But I can meet God. I can meet you. I can love.

MELODY OF YOU (Sixpence None The Richer)

You're a painting with symbols deep, symphony

Soft as it shifts from dark beneath

A poem that flows, caressing my skin

In all of these things You reside and I

Want You flow from the pen, bow and brush

With paper and string, and canvas tight

The ink in the air, to dust Your light?

From morning to the black of night

This is my call I belong to You
This is my call to sing the melodies of You
This is my call I can do nothing else . . .

I can do nothing else.

You're the scent of an unfound bloom.

A simple tune

I only write variations to sooth the mood

A drink that will knock me down to the floor

A key that will unlock the door

Where I hear a voice sing familiar themes

Then beckons me weave notes in between

A tap and a string, a bow and a glass

You pour me till the day has passed....

This is my call I belong to You

This is my call to sing the melodies of You

This is my call I can do nothing else . . .

I can do nothing else.

Something To Give

It’s a loud, busy place. I would usually consider myself a confident, outgoing, unafraid university student who can blend in with almost any social structure. But every time I step through those doors and immerse myself in the crowd, I get nervous.

Every Tuesday I go to Wa-Hi and eat lunch with the high school kids. More specifically, I am eating lunch with the students currently attending the after school program and youth group every week at the City Church. Part of my job as a leader is to go and hang out with my kids every Tuesday in the midst of mayhem known only as a “public school lunch room.” The crowd is intimidating, the meals are barely palatable, and my job description is obscure. It’s an odd place to find an Adventist teacher’s kid who has been brought up in private schools their entire life. But, this is exactly where I find myself every Tuesday.

I must admit that I always end up enjoying myself as I mingle with the students. It’s refreshing to be immersed in an environment that is less. . . mature. Odd, I know, but true. Life is still mostly about fun for them and they aren’t afraid to let you know. They think that they rule the world and aren’t afraid to let you know. But I’ve found, in my interaction with them, that there are even more things they are terribly afraid to let you know.

What am I supposed to do about this? As I sat there at the lunch table, endeavoring to choke down what I hoped was chicken, I looked at all the young faces around me and I had to ask myself, “What do I have to give them?” By all accounts, it’s not much. I’m an over-worked college student who has $4 a month to her name. I hang out with a lot of other, over-worked college students who might have $14 a month to their names. We live in a world of over-worked people, who all work for over-worked people, and somewhere near the top of the food-chain there’s supposed to be someone who has it all figured out and can show us all how it’s done. ... I’m still looking for that person. I’m still looking for something to give.

In reality, when I look at those kids I see a lot of hurt. I see a lot of pain. I see empty eyes, beating hearts, and some clever masks. And the scary thing is, it looks a lot like my mirror. It’s too familiar. Far too familiar. So what makes me different? What am I supposed to give these kids? What am I supposed to do about this?

The truth is, I’m not any different. They’ve been hurt, I’ve been hurt. They need love, I need love. They are searching, I am searching. They mess up and make mistakes, I mess up and make mistakes. They fall and it hurts, I fall and it hurts. And I’m so glad that we are the same. Because I have been healed, so they can be healed. I have a God who chases me, and they have a God who chases them. I stand back up when I fall, they can stand up too. I’ve found something worth living for, and they can find something worth living for. Because there is a God who died for both of us...

I’m still not sure what I have to give to these kids, or to the world. Tuesday lunches will still be intimidating and hard to digest. But maybe the kid sitting across from me finds lunch time intimidating and hard to digest. And that’s all I need to know... God doesn’t need me to have a resume ready to hand people so they can hire me to fix their problems. I just need to know that I need Him. And I need to know that you need Him too. End of story.

FRIENDS

I have a lot of friends. I've been referred to as a "social butterfly" on many occasions... (What does "social butterfly" really mean anyway?) But I've been thinking a lot recently about those relationships that mean the most to me. The soul-mates that hold me accountable, the friendships that speak into my life, and the relationships that draw me to God. I love to see God in people. If I find a soul that draws me closer to God, they will be my friend for life. No matter what. I will cherish that relationship.

I am blessed with so many of these. I am surrounded by so many breaths of fresh air...

God's been good to me

Hangers

Tonight I attended the Walla Walla Symphony's dress rehearsal with my wonderful parents. As a child, symphonies put me to sleep and I would spend the entire performance getting elbowed in the ribs by family members because of my slumbering noises. It's not that I didn't appreciate the symphony. Not at all! But the humming of strings accompanied with the brazen noises of brass and the rhythmic patterns of tympani mallets had a calming, lulling affect on me that no other music had. I had hoped that as I grew I would become less prone to my sleepy symphonic episodes, but tonight found me struggling to keep my eyes open as I sleepily read the textbook propped up against my legs. It was time to come back to my cubicle of a dorm room and let slumber claim me in its proper place: my bed.

Being as tired I was, I took the elevator to the 7th floor of Foreman Hall with two other traveling companions. The elevator ride is relatively long compared to the average elevator ride because everything in Foreman hall is old and decrepit... Except, perhaps the people in it... The long ride means that Sacha Kravig must make more conversation because I hate the awkward "I-don't-know-who-you-are-but-I'm-gonna-try-not-to-stare-at-you-across-this-little-box-because-even-though-we-both-go-to-the-same-school-and-see-each-other-rather-often-in-this-elevator-I-don't-actually-know-you-and-I-don't-want-you-to-think-I'm-a-stalker" mentality that always accompanies long elevator rides in the dorm. Glancing around for some conversation starter, I noticed something in the corner of the elevator... it was a hanger. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, a hanger... Like, the kind you use to hold clothes in a closet. A white, wire hanger abandoned by some poor soul who saw no real purpose for it and chose to leave it alone and helpless in the great wide world of the elevator. I stared at it for a moment and then stooped down to pick it up. Holding it up just above eye level I paused and then said out loud, "Curious." The three of us began to make up stories deciding what a hanger in an elevator would be good for. We laughed, cried, and generally had a merry time until the elevator stopped on the 7th floor and we all exited.

I am now in my dorm room. Ready to fall asleep. There is a white wire hanger on the wall above my desk. And there are two new friends of mine living on the floor above my head. Friendships found on a hanger. Friendships hung on a hanger... Let's appreciate the little things. Like little white wire hangers trapped in slow elevators in Foreman Hall.

eat pray love

Eat. Pray. Love.

Having watched the movie and now attempting to read the book, I have come to some undeniable conclusions. Sacha Kravig is Elizabeth Gilbert.

Looking back at the movie “eat pray love” and realizing just how much of myself was compacted into those short 133 minutes, I wonder that I didn’t cry or become excessively terrified as I watched it. Looking back, I almost wish I had. But, instead, I am offered the same odd feeling one gets after watching movies like “Julie and Julia,” or “My Fair Lady,” or perhaps “Persuasion.” This queer feeling that you should have been in that story somewhere... that perhaps a deeper pondering of that story will unleash some hidden wonder in your own life. You hope that perhaps your own biography will someday contain hints of the enchantment your found in the lives of your strong female heroes. Or perhaps your strong female nemesis...

I found that I don’t always like the people I resemble. Usually I am scared of them and vow that I’ll never become like them. And then, later on down the road, I find myself looking at these people I loathe and feeling like I’m gazing into a mirror. Luckily for me, I do not loathe Elizabeth Gilbert. Luckily for me, as I watched “eat pray love,” I didn’t mind seeing a mirror...

I did not come out with an urge to travel the world. Surprisingly. I did not come out with some insane desire to go find the man of my dreams on some enchanted evening... Also surprising. But I did come out desiring to find myself. I came out realising that all of the restlessness on earth, and all of the traveling this world can offer won’t teach me who I am. It will just keep me running... I do need to breathe deeper, take in more, and care about people more, troubles less. But most of all, I need to be able to look into the mirror of my soul and not be afraid. I need to stop squinting. I need to open my eyes wide, take a breath, and be ready for the person I will see. I need to stop loathing, I need to stop comparing, I need to stop... just stop. Stop and listen. Stop and see. And then move on, and become what I’ve always dreamed.

I don’t think that my dream personality will be found half the world away... I think it’s here in my room. I just have to be ready to embrace it.