I'm, Like, Totally Buggin'

Wow. I can NOT focus on studying for tomorrow's mid-term to save my life. Really. This is ridiculous. I am in this awkward position where I remember all the stories we've read for 19th Century Russian Literature (I know the look on your face, but it's really not bad at all) but I'm not sure how much detail I'm going to have to pull out of my butt to get a good grade.

Frankly, I just don't feel up to memorizing a ton of things, or rereading everything that I've already ran my eyes over in the past. If I make myself reread anything right now, my brain is far too loopy to absorb anything.

On the other hand, for the first time in my life, I just want to pray. I want to get into my bed and pray for everything on my mind. So many things are on my heart: the girls in my bible study, my own personal walk with Christ and my understanding of God, my friends that I want to trust Him to reach through me and their surroundings, the circumstances in my life that get me down sometimes, the problems my closer friends have shared with me about their own lives, and the list could go on forever.

Yet that mid-term is nagging me in the back of my head.

This makes me wonder how much I've really entrusted the Lord when it comes to parts of me that I believe I control. I've made great strides in handing Him my relationships, for example; whereas in the past, I might obsess over working at making friendships or romance bloom somewhere through my own efforts, but now I am far more faithful that He will bring into fruition what should by blessing me with wisdom in how to conduct myself and interact with them. That sounds so deep and meaningful.

I'll be honest, though, when I say that I sure do not trust Him with my schoolwork.

Getting a "B" is surely not the end of the world. The vast, vast majority of people would say that this is a good grade and indicates future success at whatever I want to do. Getting a "C" isn't really the end of the world, although it'd make me shake my head.

Getting a "D" would make me cry, but this would not literally be the end of the world.

Even failing a class would not immediately poison my body and let me die. I would sob, and fret, and hate myself, and mope, and worry and obsess.

But life would not be over.

I mean, imagine the life of King David. What on earth could possibly be worse than losing an infant son? If I were presented the choice of failing a class or losing a child, I would not think twice about choosing to fail a class. The comparison is absurd. In the face of human life, something as flippant as a mark on how well I did on some tests and assignments doesn't stand a chance as something deemed "important."

And even though his son died, he managed to write over a hundred psalms in praise of the One True King. He was called a "man after God's own heart." He found reasons to celebrate with the birth of his next son, Solomon, and did not dwell in God's seeming injustice and cruelty in allowing that to happen.

Life did not end for him.

So, which is more important to me: getting an "A" (not even "A-," which definitely pissed me off last semester when it brought my GPA down to a 3.97) or having an intimate connection with the Lord, where I continuously share with Him my heart and petition Him to stay true to His promises and reveal to me what wisdom He desires for me to know?

The biggest thing I have ever seen up close is probably Big Ben. Standing next to it, I felt so small. Imagining God as at least as huge as Big Ben is daunting. I picture myself standing before this awesome, majestic God, as a tiny little loser at His feet. He looks down at me and waits for me to speak with open ears. I tell Him anything that I'm thinking about -- if I'm mad at Him, or joyous, or confused, or sad -- and He cares for what I tell Him. He's glad that I chose to share with Him what is plaguing my brain, and will reciprocate the honesty that I showed Him.

That image in my head is so, so, so powerful. What in the world could a grade at a public university mean in comparison to that?

I've read more than once in the bible study material the phrase that the Christian life is characterized by repentance and faith, repentance and faith, repentance and faith, over and over, until we are called home. Slowly, we find new lies that we believe about the Lord or ourselves, and come to confess our misunderstanding in exchange for a new faith in Him. The idol of success in school is hardly one that I had noticed until fairly recently, and I pray now that He will absolve me of fears that I will perish without being top of the class. I hope one day I can honestly say that He could do anything to my transcript if it would ultimately bring Him glory and move along His kingdom in some way, however ridiculous it might seem to me.

I already know that I have this issue believing that God will let me taste a blessing for a moment, only to take it away from me. I suffer from believing the stupid lie that He would bless me with gifts and desires to do certain things, and then pull the rugs I stand on from under me just for some sick, cruel sense of enjoyment. Because scripture does not promote such an idea:

"And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love Him, who have been called according to His purpose." -- Romans 8:28

"Delight yourself in the Lord and He will give you the desires of your heart." -- Psalm 37:4

"If you, then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask Him!" -- Matthew 7:11

Just to scratch the surface of the truths that I need to fill my head with. He will give me good gifts if I ask for them.

I guess asking through prayer should come first then, am I right?

I know Russian literature well enough to get by, and I have the morning to continue getting through that. But right now, I want to sit down in the radiance of God and take advantage of my privilege to speak to Him and have reason to expect an answer.

Hiatus, "I Hate"-us

So it's been a while since I've published an entry. I've actually started about 8 different entries since school started, trying to sum up what's been happening with me on campus and whatnot. Each time, I got going, outlining the most important things that I could think of, but I never felt compelled to finish up one with anything meaningful.

Maybe that's because it hasn't been meaningful.

It's not that I haven't been doing anything; I've studied, helped co-lead a bible study, been discipled by a good friend, made new friends, and worked on things with Volunteer USF, amid various fun activities. I was thrown at surprise birthday party at Chuck E. Cheese, gone roller skating, and other things that were a good time. Yet I couldn't really bring myself to detail any of these things like they were worth writing about. I have good friends, good school, good fun, but what does all that really mean?

It vanishes the instant my hormones change, or something goes the slightest bit off course from what I wanted or expected.

I am thrown again into the tailspin that characterizes life -- one mishap after another, the tiniest taste of chaos that brainwashes us of all the wonderful things we've known before, until the dread subsides for one more moment until the next.

I know that all sounds horrifically depressing, but tell me that it isn't true. We are so prone to emotional dips and highs, that the very cycle is depressing. Even if your life is an exact sine curve of equally high and distant hills and valleys, representing happiness and sadness, just thinking about how you will someday be unhappy again after having been happy will take the joy right out of you. It's pitiful how quickly we can be ripped from the most thrilling and joyous experiences by something either petty or horrific.

We can't just look at those little moments of happiness as if they define us, because they can be blown away like smoke by a slight gust of wind. Then again, we can't define our lives by the sadness either, because that does not last forever either.

What is constant?

That's what I really had the chance to explore this weekend on Fall Retreat. It's always awesome to get away from school to hide out in the woods and just refocus. It starts out tough and ends with such understanding and clarity for me. I am hesitant to meditate on the Lord at first, because frankly, I don't trust Him to teach me anything new, especially when I'm running on 4 hours of sleep -- which is my fault, so let's just take that for what it is, haha. But as Saturday wears on, I find myself thinking radical thoughts for a human being, ones that did not originate in my mind. They both go against everything I ever thought, but at the same time make more sense to me than anything I've ever encountered.

One of the biggest realizations I finally embraced this weekend was this: I am beloved. I am a cherished daughter of the One True King. It is one thing to read that and think, "Okay, I get it. I'm a child of God. Great." We imagine God as our own earthly father and smack all his traits onto His traits. I am blessed with an amazing, loving dad, but he is by no means perfect, and he knows that. It's easy for me to imagine God being upset when I do things wrong, not understanding where I'm coming from all the time, being too worried about me to let me taste adventure, and not being a super sensitive and mushy guy about our relationship. But I saw God as far less than my real dad, even, as absurd as that is. I kept seeing the things in my life that I thought were kind of crappy and blamed God for devising such situations for me to bring me to miserable ends. When I imagined the look on His face when He gazed upon me, it was one of indifference. I am one meaningless, pitiful, useless human being. I screw up all the time. I've done nothing worthy of being placed before the Lord of the universe.

With such a low opinion of my abilities and qualities, little did I realize that pride was holding me back from truly knowing the Messiah.

Did I think I was too bad to be saved? That I was so horrible and worthless that the God who created everything we see, touch, smell, taste, and hear couldn't handle me? That He couldn't transform me into something beautiful, let alone grasp me from dangling above hell like a spider? I might not have what it takes to earn a place in heaven by any work of my hands or lips, but if God has conquered our rebellion and sin for good, He can conquer little ol' me and wash away my filth and shame, replacing them with robes of pure white perfection.

I'm not bad enough to undo this work He has done in my life. When He sees me, He is delighted, because we are reconciled. He sees the perfection of His Son, who died in my place with a crown of thorns on His head, and He accepts me. He has always loved me, or He would not have pursued me so that I might turn around and fall in love with Him. But now I am a citizen of heaven, a daughter of the King of Kings, and Lord of Lords.

What momentary elation or misery can surpass the unchanging mercy and ceaseless love of the Lord?

Realizing this truth has set me free from worrying about finding meaning in the string of seemingly random occurrences that take me from high to low daily. I don't have to worry about whether life is sad or happy, or fret that I am not appreciating the value of either of these things. I only need to be concerned with how much God loves me, and what all He can do through me, and what is waiting for me at the end. If I can't even perfectly appreciate these things at times, nothing chances. He is the same; I am the one straying away again. He won't let me fall away forever in my times of forgetting and discontentment.

I can finally say that I believe that I am righteous to Him. I am right with God. He sees me and is glad to call me His child, and is excited to do good works through me. He trusts me to carry out a small part in fixing our broken world in His vision, and promises to take care of the things that I can't do alone. He made me the way that I am and loves me, flaws and gifts combined into the crazy weird combination of soul and body that I am.

This last part was so crucial for me to embrace, too. As evidenced by my last entry into this journal, I have had to work through being resentful about my gender as a whole. It's not that I didn't want to be a girl at all, but that I resented bitterly how we are treated, and the problems that we seem to face uniquely. I have gone through life thinking that God must have to hate me to make me so much weaker and prone to special abuses, from mere rude catcalls to wondering if any rustle in the dark is more than an animal, and that it was only natural for me to feel this way if God wanted the world to be this way.

Maybe it was only natural that I felt this way because I was designed with an idea of how I should be treated and viewed, and that idea has been so corrupted in the world we live in.

At Fall Retreat, we had a women's seminar that sounded kind of sketchy at first. The speaker was our speaker for the weekend -- a guy. I've never been in a lesson specifically designated as "just for women" led by a man. It seems counterintuitive to set it up this way, because who knows more about how a woman should live than a more experienced woman? However, Steve set us up for some amazing new ideas by preceding his talk with the idea that he would know what's good for us as a father, just as God is a father too. And what followed this statement not only reinforced his authority on the position, but changed the very foundations of who I believe I am.

The world tells women so often that we are the least creation, and the church sometimes erroneously conveys the same message. We were made weaker, having only beauty as a bargaining chip to get anything. We see commands in the bible about standing behind men, the leaders, as helpers to their glory. Our femininity makes us something light and useless.

However, he helped me learn that our femininity makes us light and airborne. We are images of the beauty of God, which is something sought after and desired by men, and is endlessly powerful. Men lead because their job is to point to the beauty of God, and protect it. They are escorts for the embodiments of His loveliest creation, to ensure that they reach the end destination to the fullest. We women crave to share our beauty with someone else, as a gift. When we are robbed of it or resort to bartering it, we lose the joy that it can give. Our hearts grow callous with distrust and self-loathing when our ability to give this gift with joy is hindered. We hide behind a front that says we don't care if our beauty is cherished or not, because it's easier than exposing ourselves to the potential hurt of that gift being abused, or growing lonely in waiting for it to be the right time to give it.

But nothing compares to how it will be to reach the moment when it is not only safe, but glorious, to give the gift of feminine beauty to someone else, someone who will guard it with his life and delight in all its qualities -- especially its selflessness. Just as God rejoices in our willing choice to love Him, so the right man will rejoice in our love being from within, not coerced or manipulated.

He will not boast of his strength over me. He will not delight in exposing my innermost being only to pierce it. He will not stand before me and expect me to love him out of duty. He will not ignore my desires and wishes.

He will use his strength to protect my heart and spirit. He will revel in the special privilege to see more of me than any other person. He will gladly receive my loving actions and words, knowing that I mean them. He will pursue what's best for me with everything he has.

What could possibly be more contrary to what the world offers through traditional lenses of masculinity and femininity, and yet, what could possibly capture my deepest longings and beliefs more perfectly?

Such a vision of the future gives me the strength to walk the path the Lord intended for me with a grateful and patient heart. To look for such a partnership on my own would lead to the destruction of my God-given, beautiful spirit.

This beauty isn't the kind that has me pinching my stomach obsessively, counting the calories I put into my mouth, fixing my hair every time I step in front of a mirror, poking at blemishes on my face, and feeling nauseous when I see what I look like at whatever hour this obsession chooses to strike. It resides in my heart, from a deep contentment and joy in the Lord, and echoes out in a palpable way that cannot be ignored.

All of this would sound like complete horse-hockey to me if it weren't backed up with growing friendships with godly men, for the first time in my life. I am not the object of sexual jokes, or treated like a weakling. I am the recipient of compliments, opened doors, a seat where there wasn't one before, and carried luggage. They tell me to my face in all seriousness that they're sorry for what other guys do, and what they have done before, and that I should expect better.

How many different ways does the Lord have to show me that I am now worthy of every blessing He can give?

How many times will I stand in front of the Lord, pointing frantically at myself and yelling all of the things that He hasn't given me into His face, before I realize that I have everything that He wants me to have, and that if I had anything more or less, I would not have the fullest life that an omnitient, omipotent God has planned?

These are too many questions for me today. I'd rather sit in His radiance and smile with the knowledge that I now treasure in my heart.

A Sparkly, Pink Chill Pill

Having cooled off since yesterday, I've had a lot more time to think, and I remembered how things like this all point to one greater problem that I've struggled with for a long time.

Sometimes, I'm angry at God for making me a girl.

Don't freak out. I love dressing up, baking cupcakes, painting my fingernails, and watching handsome sensitive musicians with my fingers crossed. I am not a complete girly-girl -- not many of my clothes are pink -- but to be honest, I am a pretty feminine gal for the most part. I know how to work my smile and I know how to communicate through eyes with other surrounding females about what's going on, since they are the only other ones who understand how this works.

I love eye language, by the way. Nothing is funnier than two girls shredding some poor, clueless soul to pieces right in front of his face, all with a look and maybe some eyebrow manipulation.

These aspects of being a girl are great. I even love being allowed to expect people to do things for me. It's awful, but it's true. Having doors opened for me and occasional things paid for makes half of every month worth it (PMS is just as bad as the actual event, in my opinion). Despite how often I try to do things myself, there is still something cute going on in books and movies with a damsel in distress.

I love being protected and treated like something in a museum: beautiful, priceless, and classic.

The world, unfortunately, doesn't always demonstrate this kind of treatment, though, as shown yesterday. A man went into a gym in Pennsylvania, turned off the lights in an aerobic class, and opened fire, killing at least 3 people. He knew it would be full of women. He was bitter that he didn't think he would ever be loved by anyone, and took it out on women he didn't know.

If this isn't sick and depressing enough, this is only the tip of the iceberg when I think about all the things that women endure that is not fair. It sickens me that I have friends who were raped, friends with eating disorders, friends who were abused. This happens to both male and female individuals, but the statistics lean towards the latter bearing most of the weight. And the U.S. is a paradise compared to what women face in other countries. Having read A Thousand Splendid Suns, I have an entirely new perspective and burden for women in any culture where they are seen as property and where the law is not really concerned with their well-being.

One night, I dropped to my knees and cried, thanking God that I was born in a country where I am mostly treated like an equal. I can go to college, my parents love me, my dad doesn't hurt me or my mother, I can trust people around me to help if someone tried to hurt me, and I don't have to get married when I'm 15 and I can choose who my husband will be when the time comes. I hate that not every girl on this planet will be as lucky as I am, but I'd be a fool not to be grateful for what I have.

Yet, I'm still kind of terrified sometimes. A little over a month ago, two guys followed me while I was driving until I make a good maneuver to get away. I've been approached and called at late at night on campus, when I was too stubborn to accept the offer of some of my guy friends to walk me back to my building (I'm an idiot -- he's cute too). I have 3 years left at an institution every young American knows is famous for parties, spiked drinks, date rape, and variety of other things. Some of my friends live in an apartment together where there was a police impersonator banging on their door.

I don't know what happened to me in this lifetime to make me so wary and untrusting, but I guess it's better to be a little overly cautious than overly ignorant, right?

Having all this in mind has wired me to put walls up a lot of the time. In reference to yesterday's little rant-fest, I think one of the reasons that ticked me off so much is because I could never trust someone else to provide for me and make me happy. The idea of working gives me a place to be where I can ensure my own success and fulfillment. Because no one is perfect, I am not planning on recanting this view in the near future, or ever. But I wonder how other women, who dream about staying at home for a living, can even begin to have the faith it takes to believe that another person can be selfless enough to put your happiness first, when you are already such a useful servant to him around the house. All I can imagine is being used like a maid, a cook, and a courtesan, and not being loved enough to have my needs put first. After all, his needs look like the only ones that matter in this relationship to me. Am I crazy?

It's really a bit early for me to even begin being concerned about all this, especially because I know myself well enough to be sure that I wouldn't even consider being with someone who didn't let me have a say in anything. My mouth and my pride are both far too great to suffer such injustices. The very idea of all this, though, drives me nuts at night. When I start beginning to be upset about something, the first thing I do is go and yell at God.

Why would He let things be this way? Why would He want me to be too weak to really fend off people who could want to hurt me? Why would He let millions of women around the world suffer what they do, and let me be one of the very few who are okay? Will I be okay forever?

This all comes with a presupposition: that God wants all of these things because they are happening. I didn't want to believe this, but how could a good God let this happen?

Well, when I think about it, it's no different than God letting people die. Which has to happen. People blame Him for letting that happen, or letting disease or accidents happen, when everyone is going to die eventually. When that happens, I feel sad, but I tell myself that I believe it was part of His plan to let that happen. While He didn't make it happen, He let it happen. And people get mad at Him for not putting them into millionaire families so that they can have everything they want. I will sit there and talk about how those people are greedy and they should be thankful for what they have.

So I judge other people doing the same thing I do, telling them in my head that it's a part of God's plan and that He will use bad things for good, and that they should be thankful for what God has given them in this lifetime, because it's not all bad.

Stupid!

And all this came before I even read some scriptures that totally go against the very notion that God would ever love His daughters less than His sons. Isaiah 62 describes Jerusalem in a feminine way, and just hear the way she is described:

"For Zion's sake I will not keep silent,

for Jerusalem's sake I will not remain quiet,

till her righteousness shines out like the dawn,

her salvation like a blazing torch.

The nations will see your righteousness,

and all kings your glory;

you will be called by a new name

that the mouth of the LORD will bestow.

You will be a crown of splendor in the LORD's hand,

a royal diadem in the hand of your God.

No longer will they call you Deserted,

or name your land Desolate.

But you will be called Hephzibah,

and your land Beulah;

for the LORD will take delight in you,

and your land will be married.

As a young man marries a maiden,

so will your sons marry you;

as a bridegroom rejoices over his bride,

so will your God rejoice over you."

Isaiah 62: 1-5

He will make us bright with righteousness, and see us as shining crowns, and delight in us. He will rejoice over us like a husband over his wife. Not only does that insinuate that we are meant to be treated by other men in such a way, but it insinuates that God does. His divine mandates concern love, and He expects love to be shown to His children, because He is love and designed us to be the same. He designed us to crave it and want it and sometimes, we will do things we shouldn't to become convinced that we have it -- girls in particular. He gives it freely and made the whole idea of relationships on earth based on the reciprocation of it, too.

Song of Solomon is a huge, epic love poem, which God reveals to us as an example of what love really is. It's super mushy and kind of ridiculous at times, it sounds, but the two lovers go on and on about how beautiful and cherished the other is, and tells everyone else about how they need to look for someone as great as this.

"You have stolen my heart, my sister, my bride; you have stolen my heart with one glance of your eyes, with one jewel of your necklace." Song of Solomon 4:9

God designed every little detail of the way you look, and did it for a reason. No matter what you think of yourself, He's nuts about you. It might be easy to read how God sees all people as equally valuable and not believe it when you look at the world around you, but you have to go back and read the true character of God when you're in doubt. It becomes plain as day.

The funny thing about this book of the Bible is that the very woman Solomon (or whoever) is addressing here is not very secure in herself either! She describes how she thinks her skin is dark and rough because of working outside because her brothers forced her to. She doesn't think she's fit to be seen around him. Which is, uh, exactly what I do all the time. I feel like I'm not worthy of other people or the Lord because of all the crap that I see going on around the world that would convince me that I'm not special or valuable. He's saying no, no, look at this! Look at what's written in this little book that you keep around!

I love you!

I'm bound to keep doubting this, keep acting like it's not true, and keep blaming God for crap; it's just what I do. I hope though that I'll be quicker at abating these stupid thoughts in the future.

I think that's kind of the story of the life of someone who is chasing Christ. We are not perfect, and we won't be on this earth, but we will get better at finding the right path and getting there faster after screwing up.

I just can't keep forgetting that everything about the story of a Christ-follower is as true for me as it is to Brother Joe over there.

Hold the Apron Just a Second

I love how crisis can hit me so early in the day. Granted, I woke up at 9:30, and then went back to bed until 11 because I had nothing better to do, but since I'm still in my PJs, I would categorize now as early.

I was perfectly fine this morning, even joyful, despite the fact that I have a dentist appointment this afternoon. I was eating a piece of toast with peanut butter for breakfast while watching Regis & Kelly. I was perusing my usual internet haunts, i.e. Facebook, my email, and this online magazine called Boundless.

Now, I am not knocking this entire website by any means. I've read some really great articles about a variety of subjects, especially in dealing with college and relationships. However, I've also read articles that incensed me, particularly concerning politics. But that's not really the topic that got me in such a bad mood today. What I read was an article tacking the taboo topic of a stay at home wife.

If you could hear me dictating all this to you aloud, you might notice the tiniest, unintentional drip of sarcasm hitting the floor from the words coming out of my mouth, and that's wrong of me. There's nothing wrong with a woman wanting to commit her lifestyle to holding down the fort, because no one should fault people for doing what they really want. The article comprised of a few letters that the veteran author had received about women who were afraid to admit that this was their dream job, and the author's response was to encourage them rather than expose them to more doubt and criticism. Fair enough, right? Why should Christian women be ashamed of perfectly godly desires, such as taking care of other people?

No, what got me was the long list of comments left by fellow readers. I don't know why I treat these like they are quality publications particularly, but I was curious as to what people would say in response to this article praising a stay at home wife/mom. Some people had unmerited comments insinuating that these women are lazy, which is pretty judgmental. Some people expressed that they were supportive of women either way, employed or not. But many people (all female, actually) not only worshipped the author for affirming their own beliefs, but also professed that they believed this was the only calling for a godly girl.

In response to the very notion that a woman could work outside the home, I quote one reader: "We women are just not wired that way."

My tiny little fuse burned up in a nanosecond. Without getting too fancy with my wording, my thoughts were very succint. "SHE DOES NOT KNOW ME!"

And that's true. She doesn't! She doesn't know that I am pursuing a double B.A. degree in International Studies and Economics -- two fields currently dominated professionally by men, which is interesting, now that I think about it. She doesn't know how I get excellent grades, and that I'm not paying the school for this education; they are paying me. I'm a National Merit Scholar, and in the Honors College, and have great relationships with the deans there who encourage me constantly to go for things like Rhodes or Fulbright or the myriad of other national scholarships. I wouldn't presume that she didn't have all these opportunities herself, because that would be equally ignorant, but I'm willing to bet that being capable of getting all these things would also indicate a sort of drive to use this education for something important.

I also feel like she was insulting my desire and motivation to work. While I do feel some gratification from being recognized as especially talented or intelligent, I am not looking for a job that makes me incredibly wealthy. I would be miserable if my only motivation for getting out of bed each morning was to ensure a $80,000 total by the end of the year.

What I want is a job where I know I am making a difference for someone out there. I am entranced by the idea of working for a nonprofit, or being a journalist that exposes injustices around the world, or being a lawyer fighting giants that oppress people. That's how I would want to be remembered when I die: "Lara spent her life in a line of work that changed lives. She could have been a business mogul or famous astrophysicist with her picture on the cover of magazines, but instead, she was more passionate about making sure that people had their basic needs met and their voices heard."

I'd make a terrible astrophysicist because I did not so much enjoy science classes, but that's not the point.

I won't repent from this idea, either. There is nothing ungodly or unbiblical about wanting to work as long as I used that job to serve God's purposes. I feel that I'm squandering God's blessings if I ignore my capabilities and passions, which are straight from His hand. I didn't make myself strong, driven, smart, or fixated on justice. There is plenty of scripture supporting women being active, which doesn't go against working outside the home.

I would never have a family if they weren't my priority, because that would be incredibly selfish of me, but let's put this in a focus different from what I had been reading on Boundless comments. So many women said that they found such joy in having the house spotless and relaxing, with dinner on the table, so that their husbands could be comfortable having come home from work. Again, this isn't a problem, because being concerned about the wellbeing of your spouse is important. You are called to love him as yourself. But because my needs are really not contained within a white picket fence, I wouldn't marry someone who was uncomfortable with me working anyway. I wouldn't want to spend my life with someone who was unwilling to pitch in to help do the dishes or at least have some basic knowledge of cooking, even pushing some buttons on a microwave.

To be blunt, I know I would not be happy if I spent the rest of my life post-graduation in servanthood to another person, locked at my house, sans the occasional little women's bible study or convention for moms that homeschool (which I really don't think I'd ever do unless there were some really extreme circumstances).

I have been raised in a house with a happy childhood, when my mom stayed at home until I went to school. Honestly, I might even be able to live with that, as long as I could freelance or work part-time or do something, anything. I understand that. Children should know their parents and not babysitters or daycare workers better than the people who conceived them. My mom started working, and life was still good. My dad goes above and beyond what I've ever seen any other husband do, the way he cooks and cleans and fixes up our house right alongside my mom. They have a very healthy relationship and I've never had any doubts that they would always be together. My brother and I turned out pretty well, if I say so myself.

I have seen this work, and work out great. There might be struggles I can't see, but as far as I can tell, being a woman at work with a family can be done and it can be done happily. My mom doesn't seem to regret anything. My experience has given me some pretty high expectations for how great a life I can have without exactly following the footsteps of my Victorian ancestors. I don't know about every other woman on this earth, but I can say that I'm pretty sure that I was not wired like that lady.

I was pretty confident about all that. The crisis began, though, when I became horribly afraid that God doesn't want me to do anything but sit in a house and knit socks for my six babies. Worse thoughts kept coming.

How much must the God of the universe have to hate me to design me in a way that desires other things, but want me to do something else?

Do I just not trust Him to make me happy?

Or is He really okay with me the way I am right now, and I'm just going insane trying to realize that?

I wish I could tie this entry up neatly, but I can't. I don't know what the answer is right now. I keep thinking of things that people can be or want that are contrary God's design, and then I wonder how much He must not have loved them to make them that way, which is ridiculous. I know it's ridiculous. But why?

I have to rely on the things that I know.

"Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more important than food, and the body more important than clothes? Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they?" Matthew 6:25-26

"Delight yourself in the LORD and he will give you the desires of your heart." Psalm 37:4

A Voice in the Night... about Microsoft?

Something weird happened last night. Well, not weird in a way that should concern you or particularly surprise you, but weird in a way that defied what I expected.

See, there's this thing Christians do that I hate: they pray, and they tell me that God told them something. There was something that He "laid on their hearts." Actually, sometimes they don't even have to pray -- this just occurs in the middle of breakfast, or the drive to work, or going to the bathroom.

Such an event sounds wonderful and cool until I try the same thing, and nothing happens. I never feel sure that I've been given any new information. The proverbial list of objectives in my head doesn't seem to change. It bothers me because I feel like there are two possibilities. Either they are all using God as an excuse to do whatever they want, justifying their actions by professing that God told them something that no one else heard. Other Christians feel they can't question this claim because that has the potential to be a doubt against God, and who wants that? On the other hand, it could be that they totally have this little phone line with the Lord, and actually hear His voice in their heads, which means that I'm missing out. I'm not praying hard enough, or I don't have a relationship with Jesus like I thought I did, or He is just ignoring me. He has nothing to tell me.

I know, I've heard a million people tell me the whole schbeel about the Bible being God's message to His people. I have also heard this not only from a million people, but a million sermons, a million books, and millions of other things. (I am a really busy person.) But there is just something so mystifying about God speaking to me specifically. The idea makes me feel more secure about my faith, as if I've finally unlocked the truth of the universe, because the Creator of everything has finally shown Himself to me in a tangible way. If God did this all the time, then there would be no reason for faith, opening a Pandora's box of reasons why this wouldn't really make Christianity meaningful, but come on -- just once in a while would be nice!

Well, I've complained about this to God who knows how many times. I've heard such great stories about God telling people to do cool things that totally worked out in ways that could only have been divinely inspired.

I was beginning to feel left out.

Last night I cracked open this book that my friend lent me a long time ago that I accidentally took home for the summer. It basically profiles each world religion, belief system, cult, affiliation, you name it, so that you know the history and details of each one. It's really nifty, especially if you want to quick reference something about Islam or Scientology or whatever. I was flipping through a bunch of ones in the middle that I hadn't seen before, and I found that there was actually a section on atheism. This surprised me just because I didn't consider it to be a belief system particularly, but I guess it is, in an opposite sort of way.

The last page of each profile has a little section that lists some famous people who identify with that belief system, just for your little trivia box. The atheism page had more than a couple -- Angelina Jolie, Jack Nicholson -- lots of movie stars and such. But one stuck out to me for some reason.

I really can't think of a reason why I was surprised or even particularly stopped at his name, but it was Bill Gates. Now, don't get me wrong about atheists, because I do not belong to the school of thought that they are all bad, scary people, or anything of the sort. I have plenty of friends who identify themselves as believing in no gods and they are very nice, loving, dependable, trustworthy people -- sometimes more than Christian friends, for that matter. I just feel like I have things in common with Bill Gates. He has the appearance of being so mild-mannered, and he gives back so much of what he has to the community. He actually has to stagger his charity giving so as not to flood the economy.

That really nice guy who built a Microsoft empire doesn't believe in God?

And then, without really knowing whence the thought came, I felt it hit me: "Pray for him."

I prayed for him. I just felt like I had to. It's always good to pray for people, sure, but I just felt like I had to do it right then, and it had to be for him. And I felt like I had to keep doing it. "Keep him in your prayers."

Who'd have thought that I would feel the overwhelming need to pray for Bill Gates, the most famously wealthy person in the country?

Well, regardless of how strange it might sound or feel -- I still don't quite understand -- but I think that it might have been God laying it on my heart to pray. For all I know, He could be sitting in heaven shaking His head at my guessing His will, but at least I know this is something that He would want anyone to do. Pray for people in the world.

I am praying for Bill Gates' family, health, and that he sees the face of God. Somehow, somewhere, I am petitioning God to reveal Himself to the man who has everything. It's between the two of them, and not me, but even rich geniuses need a Savior when all worldly things blow away with the sands of time.

Whoah, I just had another revelation! Right here! Right now! This is big! Check this: if I am so sure that Bill Gates needs to know Christ, then how stupid am I for always trying to live without Him? I mean, I sit here all the time thinking about how smart I am for getting this grade, how pretty I am for making that guy look at me, how comfortable I am laying in this bed with a feather pillow. God has given me plenty. Not billions of dollars (...yet), but plenty. Still, all those things can disappear in an instant. Humility is a lesson that shouldn't wait for an accident or tragedy. Ultimately, no matter where I am in life, either a mountaintop or a dark pit, the God of the universe extended His hand towards me to a better life on earth and an eternity in His palace, and who am I to say "no, thanks" to such an offer?

Basically, I'm an idiot. I believe in the one true God and I still sometimes get all self-sufficient and pacified by earthly crap. Being able to hand all that I have back to Him so that I can live happily with just the love of the Lord on my shoulders -- that's the goal I need to run towards.

I'm praying that my pal Bill Gates one day might do the same.

Maybe God will speak to Him like He spoke to me last night.

Headline: I Am Psycho

So this is the entry. The one that's like hitting the side of a ship with a bottle of champagne to send it off on its journey. Do they use champagne? I really don't know. I already don't know what I'm talking about.

Well, I hope the way this entry feels when anyone reads it is like a nice, delicious, fancy champagne rolling down their throats.

That sounded gross. Back to business.

This summer has been odd. Neither good nor bad, at least at this point of retrospection; I guess there's time left for some definitive event to force me to categorize it one way or another. Regardless, it has been weird, and I think I know why: I've had a lot more time to think than I usually have.

The recipe for this nonstop thinking begins with me not being able to have a job. That was pretty much the one thing I was looking forward to when school got out, since my ambition to go to South Africa on a Campus Crusade Summer Project was shot down by my parents. (I'm working on releasing that resentment still... I'll let you know when I'm done getting fed up with my parents. Which may be never, as any normal child can probably attest.) I always feel like I need to maximize my time so that I can get a bigger job, or a better internship, or a greater title at some point down the line. Which makes me look better, working or sitting around at home all day for the months I have off from school? Consequently, not only do I feel valueless, but I also have myriad time to devote to trying my best to make up for that time. I need to plan. I need to analyze. I must figure out ways to make up for that lost time.

Funny, because I end up wasting more time thinking about doing things instead of -- gasp! -- don't things. It's just so much easier when someone else is telling me what to do, right? My self-motivation is next to nothing. If I can employ someone else to hang a grade or responsibility or deadline over my head, I will dance like a dog under my master's hand holding a piece of bacon. (Hahahaha. I like that mental image.) Basically, if there's an easy way to make myself look better, such as following someone else's instructions, then by all means I will take that way.

Wow. So I've laid out the backdrop pretty well. The issue that seems to come up every time I open my mouth or type a paragraph is the idea that I need to look good. I mean, this self-centeredness problem surely is not exclusive to me, but it sure feels like I am the queen. Now, I play this overconfidence off in a cool way when I'm around other people. I use cockiness for comic effect. The goal is to make people think that I do believe in myself, but that I'm down-to-earth enough to be sarcastic about thinking I am a goddess -- mocking myself, being fun to hang out with, etc.

The weirdest part of being like this is that I use self-depracation to form another image of myself so that I'll look good. I will be someone people want to be around. I will garner admiration and friendship and whatnot. By making fun of myself, I will look the best. So much for really trying to jump off a pedestal. It seems like whether I'm being serious or not when I talk about myself, one thing never changes: I AM STILL THE CENTER OF THE SENTENCE. Is it really that hard to focus on something or someone else? Apparently, it is, or I wouldn't be devising ways to become this persona that I imagine to be the best possible one. But let's get at the truth.

Hi, my name is Lara, and I'm addicted to myself.

If I'm right, I want people to know it. If I'm wrong, I want to play it off like I don't care so that no one can look bigger than me. If I'm busy, I want everyone to see how in-demand I am. If I'm having a slow week, I want it to look like I want it that way so I can't be rejected. I don't like when I don't look smart, attractive, funny, strong, whatever the appropriate adjective is for the moment. My day-to-day goal is to use any means necessary to be as perfect a human being as possible, at least to the outside spectator.

This pursuit is a lot like fixing a house. I am painting the outside, decorating the garden, sweeping the porch, little things that make it look beautiful. No one on the sidewalk can see how termites are eating away at the inside, where the carpet is rotting, the wallpaper is peeling, the ceilings are stained, and the lights are broken. Pretty curtains shut out all the ruin inside the house. Fixing the whole thing is too big a job for one person, so why not just make it look like everything is okay?

Having a nice outside doesn't make living inside any easier, though. I'm going to be honest, the inside of my mind is a scary place to be. I don't really think that I am any of the great things that I let other people believe that I think.

I let my intelligence be judged by grades, acceptance letters, recommendations, scores, you name it. I feel that if I don't graduate top of the class and get a job as the editor of the New York Times, that I've failed. I discredit my own brain if I don't have an answer for someone else. I'm not smart.

I let my attractiveness be judged by compliments, looks, invitations, angles. I obsess over calories and skip meals just to think that I won't get any fatter than I already am. I let myself think that I am the ugliest person on this earth for never having been in a relationship, as if that's what would prove my worth. I'm not beautiful.

I'm still talking about myself, as always, but at least I'm acknowledging the truth: the inside of this house is bleak, because my mind is warped and twisted by this world. It's so messed up that I can't help but keep working on the outside of the house and then sit inside and bemoan how ugly the inside is.

The solution to the problem, however, isn't working on the inside of the house; it's getting completely out of the house. Going somewhere more important. Seeing the world. Doing something bigger than fix my own space.

In the quietest hours, where I am on the floor, broken, insane, crazy, confused, there is a gentle but audible knock at the door. When I finally choose to answer, there he is.

"I knew this house was not as solid as it looks from the outside."

He sees the decay and the dirt, and how I am just wallowing in it. I got tired of fixing the outside for today and decided to retreat indoors, where I curl up and rock back and forth, trying to get comfortable in a mess like this. He looks me in the eyes with a gaze that gets me.

This isn't the first time he's seen something like this before.

"I have a proposition for you. Get out of this house. There is a big world out there. I'll fix things up back here while you go out there. I'll tell you what to do, and I'll make sure everything is sturdy when times get rough. You won't have to worry about holding down the fort by yourself anymore. I can free you from caring about that. Let me take over here."

It sounds easy enough, and desirable too -- I'm so tired of trying to take control of everything. It's seriously wearing me out. I'm not so good at the things that I try to do. He told me he's a carpenter, and his hands look like they've done a lot of work, and endured a lot as well. If he can handle nails being put through them, he can handle a lot more hard work fixing things up than I can. He proves himself trustworthy every step of the way.

Yet I keep running back to check on him, pulling the tools out of his hands, trying to take over again, as if he isn't the man for this job. He doesn't leave when I do this, even for weeks at a time as I labor over fixing my own life, but just stands by and watches, and holds his hands open for me to put the tools back. He isn't going to pull power back until I'm ready to let him. He says he loves me. His plans aren't to hurt me. He won't fight me on this, but tells me that I won't do anything better myself. I'm being silly when I ignore him. When I slump over and hand him back the control, he doesn't gloat or rub it in my face, and he doesn't scold me and punish me for breaking my end of the deal. He just gets back to work.

This will happen millions of times until I die, because I'm a psycho and I forget that I will never be perfect on my own. No matter how I make myself look to the world, on the inside, I'm as broken up as anyone else unless someone more capable has taken the reins.

Guys, this whole story of my life can't be just about me anymore. Someone else has stepped into the picture. A while back, that part of the script finally arrived where it said Enter: Jesus.

(Did I mention I love metaphors, even corny ones?)

I've finally met someone that can fix me if I let him. His power to heal and repair is beyond anything that I can imagine with my feeble human brain. This is all one big testament to the power and glory of the Messiah, the one who came to redeem humankind in all its glorious failure by sacrificing himself, only to raise from the dead and go back into heaven to prepare a place to take the children that sign into his family.

I'm adopted. I have a Father. Fathers pave the way for their children so that they can live the fullest, richest life possible, because they love their kids. Plain and simple. He said He has the power to walk me through life so that I can reach my destination at last: home. Heaven. An eternity in my Father's house. With the great things He's done in my life so far, it overwhelms me even to try to picture what it must be like to sit in His presence forever.

This is getting long, so I'll cut it out for now. The point of all that is to say that I am a dirty liar for pretending to be someone I'm not, and even caring about myself to the point that it consumes my mind. The happiest I've ever been was when I was thinking about the majesty of YHWH.

The ship has left the dock, folks! It doesn't need to come back to shore anymore. All the goods are supplied other ways. This is a segue to the verse that has been sustaining me:

"All eyes look to You, and You give them their food in due time. You open Your hand and satisfy the desire of every living thing." -- Psalm 145:16

I'm sure I'll be back here plenty of times to be more insecure, more confused, more obnoxious about other things in the future. Stay tuned.