It's funny--as each day passes I find myself more attracted to the smaller towns of Surbiton, Kingston, Wimbledon, ext., rather than the glitz and glam of the city of London. There is a peace, a regard for family, and tradition that I have never found in the states. And yes, I do believe I am picking up my fair share of British jargon. So far I have transitioned from grabbing "some" coffee to just grabbing a coffee. I think things are rather brilliant and say cheers when leaving the pub. I also have finally started looking right first when crossing the road and never ask my waiter to split the bill.
There are honestly not many things that I miss, although I feel that the states are my home and it gives me comfort to know that I can go back. But why do I want to get comfortable? Isn't the whole point about living a life that is unknown and wild? My spirit has also been incredibly convicted as well.
I walk through museum after museum, seeing relics and artwork with such grandeur and detail, most of which echo some sort of religious story or image. And yet, so many seem empty--just an intricate scene on a canvas that is awesome to behold, but doesn't really get the point across.
I had a conversation once about art done just to make art and art created from a passion and a purpose. The difference is staggering.
But I want to take that a step further: I believe also that when religious art is made, there is a profound difference between those that are simply good at what they do, and those that are created to make art--and know that this is their purpose. I saw that today at the Victoria and Albert museum in a painting much more faded than the rest and not even as extravagant--but the emotion that it brought moved me more than any gilded alter piece. It was made with a purpose--it was created from passion. That is the kind of life I want to lead. One knowing that what I accomplish comes from my very core of being, that everything in me desires to accomplish this work, and that its purpose is solitary: to glorify God and lead men before his throne.
London was once a great city--one that seemed to understand this purpose as well. It got lost somewhere along the way. But God always leaves a remnant.
It is for freedom that Christ has set us free
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
Sunday, July 3, 2011
These feet were made for walking
And that is what I feel I have done the majority of my time in London: walk. I probably even get up and walk around my dorm room at night because I am so used to it...okay, well maybe that's a stretch. Seriously though, if I owned a pedometer it would be busted through, no joke.
What, you ask, has caused this college student to walk so far and so often? Well it all began with a sport.
Wimbledon.
Yes, that racquet and ball, visor, and tennis shoe sport that boasts some of the highest paying athletes in the world. This is what drew my feet to the endless walk of town and countryside. Sort of.
I actually never even saw a match at Wimbledon, and while I saw into the Center Court shopping area--I breezed right on past never really stopping to check the progress of sed matches.
Tennis really isn't my thing. I know someone else appreciates it all much more than this girl, but what do I love? Beautiful houses, beautiful parks, people watching, and eating ice cream. And that's what I did.
Oh, and these are the "Rugger-bees," like a flag-rugby team for little British tykes
Now that is a day full of power walking!
My day today, much more refined walking.
It began with experiencing the incredible church service of Westminster Abbey--so if you were one of those who clicked on the telly to see the royal wedding, I definitely heard those amazing choir boys again.
After Westminster, we went to the most logical place while still being dressed up: Harrods. And for the next 5 hours, we lived there. Our lunch was incredible, and all the food stalls and other shops blew me away. We were even there during the only sale they have all year long, and due to that, when I bought strawberry cheesecake at the dessert counter, I got another for free!
Harrods led us to another state of "I need to sit down" so we found a cool pub down the road, and again sat and realized how we were going to miss the pub atmosphere coming back to America.
What, you ask, has caused this college student to walk so far and so often? Well it all began with a sport.
Wimbledon.
Yes, that racquet and ball, visor, and tennis shoe sport that boasts some of the highest paying athletes in the world. This is what drew my feet to the endless walk of town and countryside. Sort of.
I actually never even saw a match at Wimbledon, and while I saw into the Center Court shopping area--I breezed right on past never really stopping to check the progress of sed matches.
Tennis really isn't my thing. I know someone else appreciates it all much more than this girl, but what do I love? Beautiful houses, beautiful parks, people watching, and eating ice cream. And that's what I did.
Yes, the day was as delightful as it seems.
We got to see the lovely town of Wimbledon from end to end, because while we were trying to get to the courts, we ended up going in the opposite direction from the train station. We ended up making it, and although it is a Wimbledon tradition to stand in the "cue" (the line), sit on the grounds, eat strawberries and cream, and drink Pimms, we vouched to save our money, and instead sat in Wimbledon park watching amateur tennis matches while eating ice cream and being entertained by British tots. After that, without meaning to--again--we walked through almost ever neighborhood in Wimbledon. We were able to see how incredible these houses and their gardens were, and if I someday run into a load of money, I know where one of my London houses will be.
Once we got on the train again, we opted to head to London. Our choice of free entertainment was the Science museum, and I must say, it was pretty cool.
I don't really know why, but when we were leaving the museum, a group of young children were being led around in cockroach outfits...weird.
After the science museum (this is when we began to verbally affirm our exhaustion) we went on the hunt for cheap London food, which is something hard to come by.
That time of walking is mostly a blur, but I can safely say we walked over 5 miles looking.
Eventually we found the cutest little Italian cafe called Gino's Coffee Bar, and I got my first order of fish and chips in London!
My day today, much more refined walking.
It began with experiencing the incredible church service of Westminster Abbey--so if you were one of those who clicked on the telly to see the royal wedding, I definitely heard those amazing choir boys again.
After Westminster, we went to the most logical place while still being dressed up: Harrods. And for the next 5 hours, we lived there. Our lunch was incredible, and all the food stalls and other shops blew me away. We were even there during the only sale they have all year long, and due to that, when I bought strawberry cheesecake at the dessert counter, I got another for free!
Harrods led us to another state of "I need to sit down" so we found a cool pub down the road, and again sat and realized how we were going to miss the pub atmosphere coming back to America.
After about a 45 minute tube-to-tube-to-train-to dorm trip, me and Marianne took and evening jog around the Thames, running across a fox digging up some garbage on the way back. He wasn't fazed at all while we gawked at him for about 5 minutes. Then it was off to room to finally get some much needed R&R.
I hope my mom is up for giving me a foot massage when I get back...hint, hint.
Friday, July 1, 2011
The London Chronicles: The city, the school, and the jet-lagged student
The journey begins...
My latest adventure--leaving for another country, nay, a continent! And so far, this journey has been nothing close to what I have imagined it to me...it's better.
I arrived on a rather hot southern day to Tyler Pounds airport. After a farewell to my mother, I was Dallas bound, and met up with the London crew themselves: Rikki George, Darby Williams, Marcus Sams, Emily Duncan, Marianne Pickins, Caleb Howard, Sonya Barret, and Ethan Davis . We sat in anticipation before boarding our 777 plane for our 9 hour flight to Heathrow/London airport. I got a window seat (although the man next to me was not quite sober), and after a nice dinner of microwavable chicken and mashed potatoes, Red Riding Hood, and an Ambien, I floated through the next three hours quite solidly.
Before we knew it though--we had landed in the UK. After about a 4 hour wait in customs (a exaggerate a tad) we take off through the terminal to find Kingston University staff with signs for Kingston Summer School Students. We then proceeded to wait for the bus to take us to campus (while I paid with pounds for my first purchase in the UK: what else, coffee), and then were dashing through the thoroughfare to Seething Wells Hall, our place of residence.
And when I say dash, I mean speed through tiny little streets, bolting through lights, pushing pedestrians aside, and driving on the wrong side of the road. Seriously, I will NEVER drive a car in London. I would die. Immediately. But the sights we saw along the way to Kingston....amazing.
Upon arrival, we receive our welcome packets, find our rooms, unpack, I talk with my family, get our 18th century "mo-bile phones," and have a lovely baguette sandwich on the grass. Then we take a little tour into Surbiton, the nearest city center to us (5 min. away) and after grabbing groceries and getting ourselves settles, we go for Italian at a little place called Zizzi's in Surbiton and toast to the best month of our lives. Then we promptly hit the hay at 8.
Our first full day in London is orientation day! This means we get all of our city passes, learn about what is expected and get welcomed by the Kingston staff, head to downtown Kingston for some touring, eat a lovely beef burger and Pepsi at a Kingston pub, then head to London for a "photo frenzy" scavenger hunt. After figuring out the tube, learning to despise the buses, and watching Charlie Chaplin draw a mustache on a child, we found a little hole in the wall for dinner. Me and Sonya split some amazing duck and then the group found a dine in Hagaan Daz, where you were actually served like a restaurant.
Day 3, we got this down! Class is at 10am, and we talk about what British culture is made of, as opposed to the common stereotypes (FYI, they are really sensitive about the teeth thing). Lunch is free, yea! Then it is into the shops of Kingston for a day, though we found a beautiful little church hidden away and fell in love with Costa, the best coffee ever! See ya Starbucks. The London group had a family dinner, and after much laughter (most on my part) we headed to the Fox and Hound to spend the rest of the evening with locals out on the patio.
Three day--it feels like it has been a month. I can't imagine leaving. The weather, the flowers, the food, the people. Relaxing, talking, taking time, watching ducks, hawking fruit--I have returned to the motherland!
My latest adventure--leaving for another country, nay, a continent! And so far, this journey has been nothing close to what I have imagined it to me...it's better.
I arrived on a rather hot southern day to Tyler Pounds airport. After a farewell to my mother, I was Dallas bound, and met up with the London crew themselves: Rikki George, Darby Williams, Marcus Sams, Emily Duncan, Marianne Pickins, Caleb Howard, Sonya Barret, and Ethan Davis . We sat in anticipation before boarding our 777 plane for our 9 hour flight to Heathrow/London airport. I got a window seat (although the man next to me was not quite sober), and after a nice dinner of microwavable chicken and mashed potatoes, Red Riding Hood, and an Ambien, I floated through the next three hours quite solidly.
Before we knew it though--we had landed in the UK. After about a 4 hour wait in customs (a exaggerate a tad) we take off through the terminal to find Kingston University staff with signs for Kingston Summer School Students. We then proceeded to wait for the bus to take us to campus (while I paid with pounds for my first purchase in the UK: what else, coffee), and then were dashing through the thoroughfare to Seething Wells Hall, our place of residence.
Upon arrival, we receive our welcome packets, find our rooms, unpack, I talk with my family, get our 18th century "mo-bile phones," and have a lovely baguette sandwich on the grass. Then we take a little tour into Surbiton, the nearest city center to us (5 min. away) and after grabbing groceries and getting ourselves settles, we go for Italian at a little place called Zizzi's in Surbiton and toast to the best month of our lives. Then we promptly hit the hay at 8.
Day 3, we got this down! Class is at 10am, and we talk about what British culture is made of, as opposed to the common stereotypes (FYI, they are really sensitive about the teeth thing). Lunch is free, yea! Then it is into the shops of Kingston for a day, though we found a beautiful little church hidden away and fell in love with Costa, the best coffee ever! See ya Starbucks. The London group had a family dinner, and after much laughter (most on my part) we headed to the Fox and Hound to spend the rest of the evening with locals out on the patio.
Three day--it feels like it has been a month. I can't imagine leaving. The weather, the flowers, the food, the people. Relaxing, talking, taking time, watching ducks, hawking fruit--I have returned to the motherland!
Monday, June 27, 2011
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
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.
Thursday, June 9, 2011
"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?"
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?"
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
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."
"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."
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