A Note: If you do not like a girl, and have no plans concerning the persual of said girl, do not ring her doorbell “just because” and then stand outside on the sidewalk and talk to her while she’s leaning out her front window. It makes her mind think of things from Romeo and Juliet, or Rapunzel, and these things are dangerous when said girl is trying her very best to get over you.
That is all.
I think there must be something wrong with me. My hope switch is getting a little flickish and skittish and it’s just not working right.
I know I shouldn’t be thinking like this, and I know I should just let it go and move on with things, but I don’t want to. It doesn’t feel right, and I don’t know why yet. I saw him again tonight and things were fun, they were fine, and I’d love to have him as just a friend but something inside of me simply won’t give up yet. I don’t know what it is. And I don’t know why. There is something wrong with me.
I think sometimes I need to have a crush, a “like”, a something, just to keep my romantic spark from fading away and flickering out. Maybe I’m afraid I’ll get all dry and rotted like some prune by the time I reach twenty. What is the matter with me?!
I want to think there’s some kink in the works. That there’s a loophole in all of this, that something can get me out of this bind and get things working my way. But the universe just doesn’t work like that, and it’s high time I accepted it. Tonight we watched a movie and he had his head in my lap (until it got too scary and I started jumping and accidently kicked him in the head) and I kept thinking “WHY?!” Why did that situation have to come up? And why did it still have to feel so nice to have him close like that, even when I know he doesn’t want me, and he’ll never want me like that? I’m trying to get over this, God! So why all the situations where he sits next to me, ME, on the couch with four other people on it? And why my lap? And why do I still feel like I catch him looking at me all the time?
Is it my imagination? Is it my pride? My wishful thinking? I just don’t know! I don’t know what I’m supposed to do or think or say or anything. He prayed and God told him one thing. And now I’m praying and I just don’t feel like letting go so easily is right. Am I in the wrong here? Or am I supposed to learn something from this dull heartache? Is this a Moses thing? If I give him up now, does that mean I’ll get him back in the future? It feels so wrong to try and manipulate God like that, but I want to!
There are so many questions and I don’t have enough answers to go around. And the answers that I do have just don’t fit right. I can’t have him. According to the Wild One, that’s just not God’s plan for his life. But trying to fit that into my life right now is like trying to jam a puzzle piece into another that almost fits, and yet it skews the whole picture.
I was comforted last night, and the pain is taken away. Now there is just discomfort, a feeling that it just isn’t right somehow. And I don’t know what’s truth and what it is that I’m making up in order to make myself feel better. To be honest, I’ve never been very good at listening to the things that God tries to tell me. I tend to strike out blindly and hope for the best.
GOD. I JUST WANT TO KNOW WHAT IS UP, YO.
So I’m really beginning to realize that life just isn’t going to do the things I want it to.
I found out tonight that things with Mr. Perfect will never work out, ever. Not due to any worldly reasoning, or anything that has to do with me, but strictly divine reasons. So that means I can’t really be upset about it, but I am.
Surprisingly, I’m doing better with this news than I thought. The Wild One told me and I could feel my chest drop quite suddenly, and it was so hard at the beginning. But immediately, I felt God come down and hold me. So many times in the past I would have blamed Him for things not sitting right within my opinion of how the universe should be run. But I know that the comfort I felt was not from my own personal resevoirs of “happiness.” Because I was crushed.
I often find myself being just a tad bit over dramatic. If you know me, you’ll know that I’m lying and really, I tend to be very dramatic, and very imaginative, and really, utterly unable to control that part of me. It just runs away sometimes, sometimes because I let it and sometimes it feels like Satan chases it to make life just so much harder for me.
Tonight, for instance. As soon as the Wild One told me about that, I immediately began to worry and fret and pity myself because obviously now I would never find anyone, that I would be alone for forever and I would die an old woman with eighteen cats. And I still fear that sometimes, that no one will ever find me, or want me, or even think of me in a way that I long, deeply, to be thought of.
I’m desperately afraid of losing hope. I am an optimistic, hopeful, imaginative person and I thrive off of hope. Without hope, I wither. Without dreams, I start to die inside. And to have a hope taken from me so suddenly and without warning, I thought that I wouldn’t be able to handle it.
And yet, I find myself trusting Him and his plan. I didn’t expect to. It was really quite sudden and I think I surprised myself. But I think I now truly understand what it is to turn to God, immediately, and how much this really does help things. I find myself understanding that as wonderful and as great as I think Mr. Perfect (who is now in a desperate need of a name change) is, there is someone so much better for me out there. And everything, all things, will work for the good of me, a daughter and a Princess of the Lord.
As I grow older (just saying that makes me feel old) I’m beginning to realize that I’m not going to get everything I want. I’m not just talking about material things, either. I’ve known that for a while. My parents raised me well in that aspect, and I think I grew up with a very good and real understanding of what I could and could not have, as compared to what I need and all.
What I’m realizing is that there are certain goals that I may never achieve; certain dreams that I have that might not come to fruitition. There are things in this life that I have no control over, whatsoever. Even the things that I supposedly should be able to control, like my education or my living situation, who’s to say that something will happen tomorrow that throws my entire life into a new perspective or whatever. I suppose the only thing I have control over is the way I look at things.
I found something out last night that totally… ruined something I thought I had going for me. I found out something that upset me and made me want to cry and run home immediately and never talk to another person for… a long time. And it wasn’t something that I had any control over, whatsoever. It didn’t depend on me, on my looks or my intelligence or my social skills, my anything. It just wasn’t going to happen. Ever. And I can’t be mad about that. I just can’t. I’m still a bit discouraged, but with the immediate help of God, things aren’t so bad anymore. I see a light at the end of what felt like a collapsing tunnel. And soon, so soon that the rest of the journey out seems too easy to be true, I’ll find myself standing ontop of that pile of rubble, a better person for it all.
I wrote this yesterday. I apologize for the length and all, but suck it up. I reread Epic by John Elderege and this was the result. I hope I “got it right,” I think I did. So enjoy the tale of Princess Stella.
Once upon a time, in a faraway kingdom that could be just outside of your very own window, there lived a Good King. He was the very best and most powerful of kings, merciful and just and wise. The leaders of all of the other nations would come to him for guidance and wisdom in their times of need. The King was brave and a strong leader, courageous in battle and kind to the men who served him. The King had a Son whom he raised to be just like him, and the Son loved his father very much. He emulated him and everyone knew that the Son would grow to be just as fair and good as the King. The King loved his Son and took delight in the Son¦#39;s obedience and kindness to the people.
One day, when the Son was still very small, the King took him out to meet all of the people so that he would love them just as the King did. When they were traveling, they came upon a small basket, and inside the basket was an infant girl with green eyes. The King picked her up and held her to his chest, comforting the crying babe and kissing her forehead. The Son kissed her as well, the little boy that he was, solemnly promising in his heart of hearts that he would love the little girl until he died and beyond. The King took the baby girl home to his castle and raised her as his own, naming her Stella after the stars that shined in the night, claiming that she would shine like a star for his people. She would bring them hope through her beauty and love.
As Stella and the Son grew, they became the best of friends. The Son taught Stella how to love, like the King had taught him. The Son watched over Stella and all of her steps, ensuring that she was safe and happy all of her days, and the King watched his children with deep affection and pride. He treated Stella no different than his own Son, caring for her injuries and holding her when she needed to be held. He taught her wonderful things about his people, about their needs, about the world that he offered. And as the children grew even older, a new sort of love began to form, one deeper than friendship or family. The Son longed for Stella¦#39;s affections, despite her failings, but Stella merely began to long. She looked all around the kingdom for something to fulfill her longing. Knowledge, power, seclusion, company; none of them could quench the thirst that grew more dire every day.
The Son watched in sadness. Every night he would take her up to the highest tower in the palace to watch the sunset, offering her treasures that no one else could dream of offering. Most of all, he offered his heart. He would always be true to her and he would care for her better than anyone else she could hope to find. He already was, he said, he was longing for her to return the affections. But Stella said no. She claimed it wasn¦#39;t what she wanted, and she would find it on her own.
This broke the Good King¦#39;s heart, for he longed to see his Son and Stella bonded forever through a holy vow. He cared deeply for Stella¦#39;s happiness, and he knew, being very wise, that his Son would offer the very best to her. And he knew that Stella would be good to his Son, once she finally understood the depths of his love. The King longed to see Stella as his true Princess, united to his Son. But the once-orphaned Stella persisted in doing things on her own. She turned a blind and selfish eye to the palace that had treated her so well and continued her vain search for something to satisfy her.
Far from the kingdom where the Good King lived, there was another far darker kingdom, one where it was nearly always dark and storming. The handsome prince that ruled the kingdom hated the Good King and was jealous of his wisdom and power. And so the prince decided that he would steal something precious from the King in order to hurt him and overthrow his throne. And so the prince disguised himself and rode to the Good King¦#39;s palace, posing as a merchant and bearing all sorts of wonderful trinkets and gifts to sell.
Stella was leaving the palace one day, on her way to continue her search for happiness and love (which she was sure she would find any day) when she found the merchant there. He was handsome in a way she didn¦#39;t quite understand, enticing in a way that frightened her yet drew her. She walked cautiously to his cart of wares, and the disguised prince knew that to take away the child of the Good King would hurt him and his Son more than anything else. And so he leaned in close to Stella¦#39;s ear and whispered promises to her, lies crafted from the dark parts of his heart, telling her all of the things that she wanted to hear. Stella¦#39;s eyes grew wide with amazement and selfish greed and that very moment, made up her mind to run away with this handsome man, who couldn¦#39;t possibly be bad since he was so charming, and wanted the same things that she wanted.
That night, she crept out of the palace, not knowing that from his window, the Son watched with a sad, breaking heart. Couldn¦#39;t she see how much he loved her? Didn¦#39;t she understand that he would give his whole kingdom for her to come and love him? He could have stopped her, but she would have been resentful. Both the King and his Son knew that if she were to fall in love with the Son, it would have to be of her own mind and heart. And so she left without a glance back at the palace that had raised her.
The prince was kind at first; pampering the adopted Princess with everything she could have hoped for. Where the King had taught her to love and care for the people of his kingdom, she now cared only for herself and what her wants and desires were. Self control was lost, as well as tenderness and mercy. She grew to rely on the handsome man she thought she loved, losing sight of reality and the conditions surrounding the rest of the world.
The prince was delighted to see the once honorable Princess sinking lower and lower, her mind and heart growing darker with every selfish desire that he helped to feed. Her beauty began to fade as her green eyes grew hollow from greed and her hands that once did such wonderful things took on the appearance of claws, constantly reaching for things that she did not need. She was lazy and gluttonous and entirely too absorbed with herself to even notice when the prince began to turn on her. His promises began to fade and instead he replaced them with lies and hurtful things. He hurt her, making her suffer in an effort to call the Good King to aggravation.
Stella grew not only selfish, but weak. Not only unloving, but she seemed to have forgotten what love was. The prince who had put on such a marvelous show for her now spat at her and laughed at her despair. She spent her nights cold and alone, shivering in the darkness of the tall tower that the prince kept her in. She cursed herself and the prince, and even the Good King and the Son, who she blamed for her predicament, ignoring the fact that she herself had made the decision to leave.
While Stella suffered, the Good King and the Son did as well. They worried for her, and were overcome with grief over the loss of her. Stella had offered something to them, someone to love and care for, and someone who loved them back. She had been their star, and good to the people of the kingdom. The whole land felt her absence, wishing she would return again.
The Good King could have gone after her, sending his legions of men to rescue her from the tower and bring her back home, but he knew that she would only resent him for it. He could not go to her until she called him, and so every night, from the highest point in the palace where the Son had made his many confessions of love, the two men watched the prison-tower from afar, waiting for the day that Stella would call to them for a rescue.
The adopted Princess lived a miserable life. She had all but forgotten the life that she used to have, where she was loved and lovely, wanted and needed. Now she merely wallowed in self pity and the only world she knew was one where she was the only person who mattered. Her skin turned a gray color and she moved as one already dead. She forgot how to sing, how to laugh and how to smile. The prince from the dark kingdom watched with glee as life and vitality drained away from his prisoner.
At the darkest hour of night, when all but the last threads of hope had been cut, Stella managed to drag herself to the window of her tower, her steps heavy and labored. Far across the land, as clear as if it were directly in front of her, she could see the light of a thousand lamps shining from the palace she once called home, and on the topmost point stood the Good King and his Son, watching her, their faces grave and sad, yet hopeful as they waited for her to call on them. Her heart seemed to break in that moment as she remembered the love that they had shown her. She remembered the King sweeping her into her arms when she fell down, how he would hold her near until the tears stopped. She remembered the honest and true professions of unending and eager love from the Son and his gentle guidance over her years.
As her heart broke, she was only able to utter a single word: ¢Help.¢ That was enough, however, for the King and his Son. The wind carried the gentle plea over miles and seas until it reached the two men in the palace. The King could have sent armies, he could have sent battleships and cavalries and canons, but he knew that would never ensure the safe return of his Stella. The dark prince had deeper and more sinister plans, the King knew. The King turned to his Son and told him that he must be the one to go, to take Stella¦#39;s place, to save her and bring her home. Such was not a duty befitting the Son of so noble a King, but he readily agreed, more than willing to venture to save his beloved, no matter what injustice she had done him by leaving. Within minutes, the Son was riding towards the tall tower in the distance, his sword at his side and his brilliant armor reflecting the cool, pale light of the moon.
The prince of the dark kingdom and Stella¦#39;s captor had heard the fateful whisper as well and had called his own dark army to his side. He would stop at nothing to keep his prisoner and the thought of the chance to slay his enemy¦#39;s Son in battle thrilled him to the bottom of his very dark heart. All around the tower he stationed his armies, ten rows of men thick, while the desolate and dying Stella cried from within its high walls.
The Son arrived in record time, his steed urged on by the passion and urgency in his master¦#39;s presence. His sword was shining, a magical sword spoken into existence by the power and majesty of the Good King himself, and singing as it sliced through the night¦#39;s darkness. The King had trained his Son well, and the Son had learned well from his Father, how to fight the enemy and how to wage a battle. A dozen of the dark prince¦#39;s men would fall at a single stroke of the Son¦#39;s blade. The sword cut through, down to their very hearts that pulsed slowly, black as ink, and left the evil men in awe and fear of this Son.
The sounds of the battle roused Stella from her quiet desperation and brought her to the window where she watched the fight with unbelieving green eyes. He had come for her, and so soon, after all she had done to him. She watched him fight for her, and she could see, even from the top of her prison, that every thought that passed through his mind was of her and her rescue. But she feared he would be too late. Her breath was coming shorter now and the pain that spread through her body was far greater than anything she could imagine. Perhaps it was better if she died. She was no longer beautiful or good, while he was both and more. Stella felt unworthy and shamed to look at him.
And yet he fought on, undefeatable. Finally, he came face to face with the dark prince himself and demanded in a loud, clear voice, befitting the Son of a noble King, that the adopted Princess be released, or the jailer would face terrible consequences for his lies to the loved one of the King. The dark prince laughed at the Son, claiming he had never lied, and the Princess was free to leave any time she wished. But the Son knew this to be a lie; he knew that Stella could have never escaped her prison on her own. It had merely become to close around her until all that filled her vision were the walls around her. The Son raised his sword at the dark prince and the battle continued.
The prince fought sneakily and underhandedly, but nothing could stop the Son, for the fierce love that burned in his heart would not let him fall. He would save his beloved, for he knew that he was the only one who could. The dark prince began to panic as his strength began to wane, and he swore oaths and promises to the Son, much like he did to Stella. But the Son rebuked him and slashed with his silver sword, driving the dark prince away from the tower.
The sun began to rise and cover the fields and tower with it¦#39;s rosy light. The dark prince was blinded by the brilliancy of the sunbeams off of the King¦#39;s sword and when he stumbled, the Son went in for his kill. Black and corrupted blood leaked from a wound straight through the dark prince¦#39;s heart and he cursed the Son as he died, but no curse could ever harm one so noble as the Son. Sword still in hand, he burst into the tower and seemed to fly up the stairs to the very top of the prison where his beloved Stella sat in a chair by the window.
Indeed, she was not the beauty he had known her to be in her innocence. Hair that had once been as brown and as rich as new earth was thin and streaked with gray. Her once-vibrant green eyes were lifeless and hollow. Her skin was ashen and her hands shook as she reached for him. But the Son saw none of this. He saw straight through her skin and into the depth of her heart of hearts where the little child he had sworn to love still laughed and ran in circles, and needed to be held. He went to her, leaving his sword behind and gathering her into his arms, holding his dear one to his chest and murmuring words of true love into her ears.
But as joyous as this made Stella, she could not hold on any longer. Lifting a frail hand to touch his cheek, the adopted Princess closed her eyes and took her last breath, exhausted from such a long time of suffering and pain and hopelessness. The Son stared in pain and horror and disbelief as his beloved faded in his arms, feeling the warmth of life drift away from her heart. He could not let her die. She was far too precious to him, and to the Good King, far too important and valuable and worthy to be taken away from them forever.
And so the Son called the power of his Father, the King, up from the very bottom of his heart. Very gently, he kissed his Stella on the lips, lightly, a true kiss of utterly true love and devotion. Within that kiss, he passed to her his own life and took on hers. Slowly, Stella¦#39;s eyes opened and her lungs expanded. She watched in confusion as the handsome Son¦#39;s golden skin faded to the gray that hers had been, how brilliancy and vitality were pulled from his face and hands and body and passed into hers. She could feel the power from the Good King filling her up to her fingertips, and yet the Son, the one who loved her so dearly, was dying before her eyes. ¢Beloved, you are worth this. I will return to you,¢ he said quietly, taking great pains to make his voice heard. He drew out all of her pain and loneliness, despair and hopelessness until it cracked his heart and he, too, closed his eyes and submitted to the cold hand of death.
Stella cried out, pulling him near and begging for him to wake up, to open his eyes, to kiss her again and to make her laugh or smile. But the Son¦#39;s thin eyelids remained closed and his body grew cold. The Princess cried and screamed, her fists clenching in anger. Why? Why should he, who was so good, die? Because of her? She was sure he had never wronged a soul in his life, and to die in such a way, from a heart broken of grief and self pity was dishonorable. She would not stand for it.
Gathering her wits, the Princess drew the Son to her, his body frail and light enough for her to carry, and cradled him gently as she made her way down the steps of the tower and out into the new light. She passed by the corpses of the enemy that the Son had slain, staying far from the body of the dark prince himself. Carefully, Stella set him atop his horse and thus began the journey back to the palace that she had left so long ago.
They walked for days, three to be exact, and she shifted between moments of fear, for what would the King say when he heard that his only, and deeply loved Son had died for her treachery, and sorrow, for now she knew that he loved her so, and she found that she loved him as well, and hope, since he had promised that he would return to her. Stella was confused and frightened as she carried the body of the Son to her Good King.
Upon seeing the girl whom he had loved and raised as his own blood, the noble and powerful King leapt from his throne and rushed to meet her, gathering both his living daughter and dead Son into his arms. ¢My child, my child,¢ he said with tears in his eyes. ¢You have come back to me. How I¦#39;ve missed you.¢
¢My King,¢ she said, ¢Your Son is dead.¢
The Good King nodded and took his Son from Stella, cradling his boy as if the Son were a mere infant. The King opened his mouth and spoke a Word, a Word that Stella, nor anyone else in the palace, or the Kingdom, or the whole world had heard before and it made them all fall to their knees in awe of the King¦#39;s mighty power. With the utterance of that single Word, something wonderful happened. The sound of it lingered in the throne room of the grand palace, taking the place of the air and making the whole of the moment feel richer and more real than any other moment has ever felt since. And at the sound of that Word, the Son opened his eyes and Stella was amazed to see that his beauty and goodness, which she was sure she had taken from him, had been restored by the King. The Good King kissed his Son and set him on his feet. The Son immediately ran to Stella and gathered her in his arms, joyful to have his beloved once more. And Stella found herself melting into the Son, having finally found what she had been looking for all along.
The Son and Stella were married, and the celebration was the largest and most joyous feast the Kingdom had ever seen. The lovers lived in the grand palace with the Good King for all of eternity, bestowing blessings on their people and ruling with a just, loving hand. And it truly came to be that they lived happily ever after.
I was at an Ice Cream Social that was hosted by the Navigators on Tuesday, talking to a bunch of friends, when a girl I hadn’t seen since last year spotted me and came over to say hi. The first thing she said was “My goodness, you’re so beautiful.” I can’t tell you how wonderful that made me feel.
Yesterday, I met up with my friend the Hippie and we were having coffee at Starbucks during my hour break between classes, and we were talking about God, and she said something along the lines of: “You’re so beautiful. You know when a woman is with God, she’s just prettier? Like how Captivating talks about how a woman at peace with God is just more inviting? That’s what I get from you, Stella.”
And so I’m happy. I’m so happy. Others can see God in me, they can honestly see the way he works in my life, the peace that he gives. Living with these two other girls has been amazing. It’s only been about three weeks, but I can already see a marked difference in my attitude, my spirituality, my boldness, everything. It makes me excited, thrilled. I feel like I’m on my way to being the heroine of a story.
Speaking of boldness, the whole ask and you shall recieve thing is quite true, actually. Lately that’s what I’ve been praying for. So many freshmen come to Navs at the beginning of the year, and they fall away because while it is a great group if you have your niche, a lot of people don’t find that niche, and it’s no fun. But God has given me words and joy and laughter and silliness to share with some of these freshmen girls, a serious, completely real joy that spills out over my edges and trickles down me and I can spread it and share it. I’m happy. God has made me happy.
And now for the Only Me story of the day…
Yesterday, I really had to pee. I mean really. So I was on my way from meeting with the Hippie to French class when I figured I had enough time to make a pee-stop at a bathroom near my class. So I head to the ladies room (btw, it was like walking into a slice of banana cream pie. Yellow walls, yellow floors, yellow doors…) and find an open stall and I hang up my bag and drop trou and so I’m squatting and peeing like normal. Until something hits me square in the face!
I look up and see that it’s actually the door. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, the door to the bathroom stall has swung inwards, hit me in the face, and left all the world enough space to see all of my world.
So, I hurry and shut the door again, utterly embarrassed because there are like four other people in this bathroom. And it’s not even like I could squeeze my legs together to hide the goods. This was full squatting position (because who knows what those chem nerds in Rievschl do in the bathrooms?!) and that is not a position to be caught in with your pants down.
So I’m nearly done, having to get over a bit of stage fright now that my trip to the bathroom was suddenly turned into what felt like a bad burlesque show. And the door opens again! This time, I managed to catch it before it opened too wide, but I doubly checked the lock this time. It was locked. Firmly. I did it myself.
So I’m fixing myself post-pee when the door opens again, catching me off of my game this time and so only stopping when it smacks against my still half-clothed body. I locked the door! I LOCKED it! I don’t understand. Apparently there’s a ghost in Rievschl who wants to either embarrass me or see me nakie. Needless to say, I will not be using that stall again.
Today is the first day of my second year of college.
I’ll be exceptionally honest in saying that last year, my walk with Christ was lukewarm at the best when it came to being bold and taking up my sword in the mission that God has given to me. I didn’t fall away, I didn’t do things that I shouldn’t, but I just wasn’t living the way He wants me to. I suppose part of it is because I’m shy, and I’d rather go unnoticed in a crowd where I don’t know anyone. But God can use my weaknesses for His benefit, for when I am weak, then I am strong. I need to rely on him to give me the boldness, to give me the words, to calm my clamoring heart when I feel like I’d rather crawl under my desk and hide away. But I know something has changed inside of me over this summer, and just these past two and a half weeks of living in a Christian house with two amazing Christian women who encourage me and truly are helping me become the woman that Christ wants me to be. I am bolder and I am more on fire for God. I almost feel like I’m blazing.
And now for an Only Me story…
So I clogged our toilet last night. It really wasn’t even my fault because it wasn’t even that BIG, but nevertheless, the toilet was clogged. I don’t even think it was my fault, but whatever. So the Rev and I were on our way back from the ice cream social on campus when we call the Model to see if she wants any Starbucks. The Model says no, she went to Starbucks earlier to get coffee so she could use their bathroom. But ah ha! says the Model, Starbucks has a plunger! She noticed it when she was using the bathroom.
So the Rev and I get our drinks and we’re waiting for her’s to get made, when the Rev says to Mr. Starbucks “Hey, can we use your plunger?” Surprisingly, he said yes. So Stella has to go into the bathroom, get the strange plunger and run through the ghetto to her apartment, unplug the toilet and run back to Starbucks. Because that wasn’t an odd experience at all.
Needless to say, we need to invest in a plunger.
I’m so confused. And I don’t know what’s the matter with me.
It’s like every time I turn around, I’m being thrown another emotional curveball. Or maybe that’s just what I’m seeing them as. But it’s making me dizzy and blurring my vision, and I’m getting so confused.
Why can’t everything just go my way for once?
And don’t bother answering. I already know.
Paul’s letter to the Romans says: “Be honest in your estimate of yourselves, measuring your value by how much faith God has given you.” This verse caught me by the throat and has not let me go. Paul might be warning us not to think too highly of ourselves, due to the whole “the last shall be first” thing, but I see it differently. The chapter goes on to tell us, encourage us and inform us that each of us has a special and specific purpose in this life, specific gifts. This verse tells me, personally, to not discount or discredit the person that God has made me.
We are to be honest. Deep down inside, all of us know the truth. We know that we are good at some things, and we know that there are things that we are bad at. But so often we are taught that to recognize the good in ourselves is vanity. To acknowledge that we are good and gifted is arrogance, and so we deny our gifts and strengths in order to keep this façade of humility. However, people who believe that they have nothing to offer will offer nothing.
God calls us to use our gifts. This does not mean that we are not to be humble servants. We are to be humble in understanding and knowing that our strengths are in no way our own, and that if we were our own, we would be as weak as the world wants us to think we are. However, Romans 12:6-8 is a specific calling to put our gifts to use. The verses cite gifts including prophecy, service, teaching, encouragement, generosity, leadership and kindness, but there is a vast variety of other gifts that each of us have been given, a talent tailor-made to fit who, where and when we are, and to complement and build up the people around us. This is what the Christian life is all about: loving others and building them up, helping them grow closer to Christ or leading them to Him to begin with.
Paul goes on to tell us that we should take delight in honoring one another. And if we’re really going to love people, then it can’t be fake love. We have to genuinely put our hearts on the line, to dig deeper, and to “go there.” So many times we’re afraid to get close, to get down into the nitty-gritty of a relationship. That sort of commitment to a person can be terrifying, and it’s certainly not as fun as having tickle wars on the couch. And yet to truly love someone, to pour ourselves as an offering before them merely leaves more room inside of us for God to fill up.
This year, I want to love. I’m beginning to realize that it is my responsibility to love people. It is my gift. I have the spiritual gift of mercy, I am good at taking care of people’s needs and helping them to feel loved. But I can’t stop with just the people I feel comfortable enough with. It is my duty as a confident, Christian woman to break away from my comfort zone and go where the old Stella wouldn’t dare to set foot. This is my privilege, my duty, my responsibility, and my honor.
I, Stella, do so solemnly swear to avoid reading into things. I will stop looking for things that might or might not be there. I will refrain from letting my imagination run away from me, and I will stop trying to make life do things my way, no matter how slight my nudgings might be.
I will take comfort in God’s plan for my life. I will rely on a force stronger than anything human or worldly to guide me in whichever direction I am supposed to go. I will live my life the way He wants me to, and I will trust in an awesome plan that I have limited understanding of. I will walk the line, I will fight the fight, and I will learn to fly on invisible wings.
That being said, the TMD himself has advised me not to read into the occasional touch on the arm, or rubbing of the back. And so I’m not. I will not. And I’m going to stop trying to manipulate the world. We girls are terrible at that. We like to pretend to be the potter, when really, we’re just lumps of clay like everyone else. And yet we read into things, because we think everyone else is as manipulative as we are.
I will not read into things.
I will not read into things.
I will not read into things.
Yeah right. Like I won’t.
I’m still having fun pretending to be an adult.
Today I cleaned the bathroom, and made sure the kitchen was in order, and then I swept and swiffered the wood floors. I don’t think I minded so much, either.
And last night was the biggest accomplishment of them all.
I made chicken.
REAL chicken. I didn’t boil water, and I didn’t use the microwave. I made chicken in the oven. And it was GOOD! And most importantly, it didn’t get anyone sick! I can’t tell you how proud I was (and still am) of myself. Funny how something so small can mean that maybe, just maybe, I’m going to be all right on my own.
However, I’ve run out of things to clean, so I’m a bit bored. Funny, because at my parents’ houses, I never wanted to clean anything. Now I take pride in my clean floors, clean bathroom, my organized kitchen. My (developing) cooking skills.
Now I just need to find a job down here. I took an application to this Irish Pub across the river, and I think the hostess threw it out right as I was leaving. That wasn’t very nice, I don’t think, but perhaps I’ll call just to make sure. So, please, be praying for me. I need a job like I need Jesus. Well, perhaps not that desperately, but you get the idea.
In God news today, the Model and I had a really great little talk today about the armor of God. To quote Paul to the Ephesians:
“Use every piece of God’s armor to resist the enemy in the time of evil, so that after the battle you will still be standing firm. Stand your ground, putting on the sturdy belt of truth and the body armor of God’s righteousness. For shoes, put on the peace that comes from the Good News, so that you will be fully prepared. In every battle you will need faith as your shield to stop the fiery arrows aimed at you by Satan. Put on salvation as your helmet, and take the Sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God.” (ch 6:13-17 NLT)
I’ve been learning and talking and thinking and praying a lot lately about the word of God, and how powerful it actually is. In this passage, Paul says it is the sword. It is our weapon against the evils of this world. It is a shining blade that will never break, and never be defeated.
What I noticed most about these verses is that almost everything is for our protection. The armor, the shoes, the helmet, the shield are all to build us up, to edify us in the Lord, to protect us. But the sword, the sword is our weapon. The Word of God is our tool for defeating the enemy, protecting others, and advancing the kingdom of God. Memorizing verses, having that weapon readily at your disposal and knowing how to use it is crucial and critical to your effectiveness as a follower of Christ and a warrior in the Army of God.
I also think it’s interesting to notice the difference in weapons on either side. Satan fires flaming arrows at us. Arrows are long distance weapons. The archer can hide in the trees or behind a wall, or some other concealed place and out of no where, you’ve got dozens of these things coming at you, and you never saw them coming. But the sword, the sword requires a personal fight, something up close, something in your face. And arrows have very little effectiveness when faced directly with a sword.
We cannot as Christians sit back and try to fight the battle against Satan from a distance. That would be like waving our sword through the air with no target, and then you just look stupid. Or even worse, you grow lazy and tired and soon you’re getting shot with arrows and there’s nothing you can do about it. Instead, we have to get up, get on our horse and ride to meet the enemy. With our armor on, we can dodge the arrows and be protected from them, but we have to go meet the battle where it is taking place. That is the only way to be effective and victorious in this epic, massive battle that we have signed up for.
