Escapade or Escape?

   Well, it would be putting it lightly to say that the past two weeks have been very interesting. In fact, it would be more accurate to say that I have been on a roller-coaster of emotions, one that has me chilling out at the bottom of what seems to be one giant climb.
   Some background info: I began, two weeks ago, my normal routine of get up, work out, go to a coffee shop, read, look up stuff on London, go home or hang out with friends. A reasonable summer, I should think. Then Wham, Bam! My grandpa has terminal cancer. Wham! I have my first freelance writing assignment. Bam! My trip for London is looming closer as is my article deadline. Slam! My grandpa dies.
    Now, I am not the world's best actor when it comes to how I feel. I normally cannot hide anything or pretend to feel a way that I don't. But I have found that when it comes to high stress situations I can stuff my emotions back and muscle my way through pretty much anything.
    What I forget--it doesn't go anywhere.
   So here I am, dealing with two-weeks of high stress emotional blockage, which I honestly forget I stuffed back there. Also I am facing not only the loss of my papa, but a kick-off to my study abroad in London, my first article floating somewhere is cyber-space to my editors, and the feeling that I am not prepared or adequate for either.
     Now what?
    Enter my life verse: Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith. For the joy set before him he endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God."
    This is the race, what I train for, what I receive rest for. The reason I was home the first half of the summer. The reason I felt called not to have a job. The reason I am now going to London. The reason, the purpose, the plan, the race.
    Isn't is funny that they say hindsight is 20/20. Now that I know, what can I do with this ball of emotion that is freaking my mom out and is leading me to write this post? I give it over to the Lord.
  
   Jesus, there is no way I can do this on my own right now. I pray for your peace that transcends all understanding to guard my heart and my mind. You alone can take these burdens away. You can fill my spirit and give me the endurance to make it through this valley. Father, in you alone I put my trust, and from you alone I find hope and purpose. Your child

   It's incredible what seemed to be welded to your body simply drops off in the presence of the Almighty God.
   Peace. That transcends all understanding. I prayed that for my papa as he was suffering through his last battle to cancer, but my mom also prayed that God would open up heaven to him, so that this peace would manifest itself not only in his soul, but before his eyes. I believe that this prayer was answered as well.

   Now, with these new-found lessons in mind I keep running. Literally too, I am training for a half-marathon, which has more spiritual parallelisms than I could ever say. I have chosen to slowly jog up this next hill, but I feel a sprint coming on as the reality of London offers a rest at the top.

  My next adventure is a day away. The Lord is faithful. Pass the Kleenex.

                                           Me and my Poppa, Grammy, and sister at Thanksgiving '10

"My name is Rachel, can I earn your love today?"

   The topic today is Grace. A concept that I understand intellectually. I can spout off to you why grace is different from mercy, how we are saved by grace and not by our own efforts [please see Romans], heck, I even went to a school named after this concept. How is it then that when I look back at my life I see a pattern of continual striving? Somewhere along the line, I missed the point.
    As I sat in Cafe Taza today mulling over my thoughts with help from Sarah Young [Jesus Lives] and a vanilla latte, I began to realize how I have allowed fear to distort my view of grace and the Savior who died to give it to us. I allowed my thoughts to follow the path of this idea and it led me to Jr. High. I quickly retreated thinking, "This is a horrible place, why did you lead me back here brain?" but then something other than the electrical impulses of my mind was gently tugging me back to the repressed memories of my tweens. I supposed rightly that this was the Holy Spirit. With this knowledge I allowed myself to be pulled back to 6th grade Rachel--brave, fun, a little weird, but unaware. Then something happened. Expectations started to arise from her peers. Lies started to be spun in her head, and words from others experiencing the same insecurities began to affirm these lies. Suddenly, she felt inadequate. Bravado gone, this once bold, brassy girl turned timid and awkward, perpetually embarrassed and a new word was introduced into her vocabulary: strive. Strive to be pretty, strive to impress, strive to be funny, strive to get that boy's attention, strive to receive the love of "friends" strive to make fun of that teacher, strive, try, earn. There is no one who will accept you for who you are. It was a different kind of innocence lost. It was the loss of a heavenly identity.
   It's crazy to me how something that happened so long ago can influence me today. I try to cover these scars in me with words like "oh, I am a perfectionist" or "I just want people to know that I am nice" and even "I just want everyone to like me." The truth is I am filled with pride. Not the" I think I am blatantly better than everyone and everything" pride, but the hidden "I am consumed with my actions and words and thoughts and the opinions of those around me about me, so really, I do think I am more important than everyone, but I just can't admit it to myself"...that kind of pride. Huh...so listening to lies about myself way back when not only distorted my view of grace and God, heaped insecurities upon my head, and gave me a perfectionist complex, but it also gave me pride??? Well...that sucks.
   So where does pride connect to fear which connects back to grace? And how has this Jr. high girl still lived inside of me for so long? My pride turned into a shield around me--protecting me, but cutting me off from God and from the plan I was created for. It also began slamming down in front of friends and family--trying to protect a fearful heart from pain, while causing it all the same. Pride is what keeps me from admitting that still today, I am afraid. I am afraid that I am not worthy, for love, friendship, relationships, God's plan...anything. I am afraid that what others think really does dictate who I am, and I am afraid that my fear will eventually paralyze me. And this fear cloaks the all important grace. Grace that came and saw a scared, style-inept Jr. High girl and said, "I choose you." Grace that says, "I am sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness," and I in response shall say, "I will boast all the more gladly in my weakness, so that Christ's power may rest on me!" [2 Cor. 12:9]
   I think about 10 years of striving is enough for anyone, and I am pretty much done. Instead I will allow my God to meet all my needs according to his glorious riches in Christ Jesus [Phil. 4:19] And if my God says that I need not strive for His affections, what one earth am I doing striving after the affections of people? I mean, really? So the next time I meet someone, you can expect my thought process to be:
   "My name is Rachel. I am a daughter of the King. How can I show my Father's love to you?"

Echos in a Hollow World

     I am walking the streets of London, soaking in the sights and sounds: the whiff of deep fryer sputtering up fish and chips floats across my nose, a gleaming antique tea kettle winks at me through the shop window. I wander through the crowds of commuters and vendors, tourists and families, searching through the sea of humanity washing up upon the sidewalks again and again. There--I spot it. A pregnant girl--alone--at the bus stop, clutching a shabby backpack to her stomach and letting her eyes roam listlessly across the urban sprawl unfolding before her. I reach her and carefully place myself next to her, unzipping my backpack and pulling out a sandwich, water bottle, and letter.
     "Here, this is for you." Her tired eyes reluctantly fall away from the numbing activity of the city streets and fall to the items I have set next to her on the bench. She grabs the food and water and stuffs them in her bag, and after a hesitating look, carefully picks up the letter as well. She clutches it in both hands and furiously reads the first couple of lines before I hear a small catch in her breath. She pulls back the letter and with tears rolling down her face stares at me.
     "Miss, I believe you mistook me for someone else. This is not a letter for me." I smile reassuringly, gently pressing the letter back into her hand.
     "You're wrong. This letter is specifically for you. It's about grace."


    So clearly I am a dreamer. I think flowery thoughts and write flowery words. I make grandiose claims and over commit myself every single day. I am a perfectionist and strive for a level of self discipline that will regulate my life. If I could--I would save myself.
    But for some reason, I have a call on my life. I heard the whisper through the uproar of this world, and I made a choice to no longer hold my life in my own hands but offer it up to the one who made it in the first place. I laid myself down on the alter so that I would no longer live, but Christ would live in me.
     Again, flowery words. In truth I am a pretty simple person, and while I describe my salvation experience let me describe where I am right now and why on earth I decided to write this blog.
      Right now I am in a Barnes and Noble racing to finish this post with the 20 min. I have left on my laptop. I am staring at my empty java chip frappachino through Jennifer Lopez glasses and alternating facebook checks with texts on my cellphone. I live in a nice house just outside of a nice town in America and worry more about staying fit and losing weight than I do about those who may not eat for days at a time. So much for laying my life down on the alter right? That is why I am writing this blog. I know I was given the opportunities I have in life for a reason. I know that God has blessed me for a purpose...and I am determined to find out what the purpose is! So I am waiting. And praying. And learning how to fight with everything I've got against the one who is dead set on keeping me from the purpose I am intended for.
     A couple months ago I heard another whisper. It said, "Why do you seek a tame version of yourself, Rachel, when I created you to be wild?"
     I want to know what it means to lived an untamed, wild life pursuing the Lord...to find the freedom in the sacrifice. So here I go, taking for first step toward wild....hood.
     I love this quote in Elizabeth Elliot's book Let Me Be A Woman:
     "My freedom will be so much greater and more meaningful the more narrowly I limit my field of action and the more I surround myself with obstacles. Whatever diminishes constraint diminishes strength. The more constraints one imposes, the more one frees one's self of the chains that shackle the spirit."