I find that I can't really focus, here's to hoping this'll help.
It's true, I haven't felt this way about a boy, ever.
One that truly inspires and challenges the way I look at Jesus and causes me to strive to see more of Him day by day.
He speaks, and my heart listens, wants to be lead. Being more than relieved that I am being lead, instead of leading.
And yet, as I sat across a new and dear friend after church on one Sunday, finally learning that 'boy' is not interested in me the way I am in him.
My heart breathed a deep sigh of relief.
Relief that I wouldn't have to worry about when, how, what this would look like if it (finally) worked out.
And suddenly, after having some time with my Papa...it all went away.
The feelings, the worry, the wondering, the wandering of my heart for 'boy'.
And as I started looking at mine and 'boy's friendship, I realized that our hearts aren't really compatible. At least not right now. My deep loves aren't meshed into his life, his plans for the future. My love of Latino people, my love of the city, my deep deep commitment to those that have walked life with me.
And I am grateful to Jesus, that he has walked beside me these past few years to know what I am needing more and more in the man I will eventually call Husband.
I need someone who 'gets me'...one who understands...
my commitment to those I have lead, served, served with...
my deep love of the city... I have fallen in love with both Fresno, CA and St.Louis, MO. I need someone who shares that with me.
my love of Latino community... I love my people, and I need someone who is willing to make a fool out of themselves as they eat spicy food, go salsa dancing and put up with my crazy (yet lovable) familia.
Yes, I'm grateful for this latest disappointment in a potential romantic relationship. Grateful because it's showing me more of who I am, more of what I need...and causing me to remember more of my friend L's words, "if it's not him, it'll be someone better!"
Thanks, Papa, for not letting me settle. :)
Showing posts with label Papa. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Papa. Show all posts
Saturday, March 26, 2011
Sunday, December 26, 2010
Happy Birthday, Jesus.
This was penned last night as the quiet of Christmas Day surrounded me.
I shared how wonderful it was to finally look at the Word like a school text. Changing the way I saw it, being able to ask my questions and answering a lot of them. Having a spiritual mentor say that my questions mattered. That it was important for me to see Jesus in a new way.
I learned that an open heart is important in knowing Jesus, but so is the mind; an understanding of who He is to the best of my ability.
I learned, along with 25 of great friends, how intentional Jesus was. How there was intention to every single thing he did. Every word he spoke, every bodily placement, his life is one of service, purpose. Intentionality.
And as Christmas Day ends, I am overwhelmed at how even the circumstances of Jesus' birth were intentional. Let no situation be wasted to declare God's glory, it seems.
Jesus was born to a virgin, immaculate conception. It is highly likely that her entire town eventually got wind of this and judged her as a harlot; deeming Joseph as a fool for not charging her with adultery.
Jesus' birth was foretold hundreds of years before his actual birth. An incredible feat in itself. Details like where he was born, under what conditions and the supernatural things that would be seen described and confirmed with Jesus' birth.
Jesus was born in a manger, and was dressed in swaddling cloths. He was brought into the world surrounded by barn animals, hay probably sticking to his small frame, the smells less than pleasant.
Why?
That's been my question today. Why, Jesus?
His quiet response has been, My love is as deep as my intentionality.
A friend shared with me that Jesus spoke to her that he loves her so much, that he created a new friend to be exactly what she needs. She's been blown away by the intentionality for Jesus to create someone for her.
Similarly, I revel in how intentional God was to have Jesus come down as a man. Yes, I'm amazed that Jesus came down from perfect glory... but the intention of such an act astounds me. It brings me joy to think that I have such an intimate, deep and real relationship with God because Jesus came down. Because the gap between humanity and God was bridged forever through Jesus who was born that night in Bethlehem.
In a way, my Father was born that day. Yes, God is outside of time and space and cannot have a birth-date, but if it weren't for Jesus, I wouldn't know God the way I do.
So I don't just say "Happy Birthday, Jesus" but as I celebrate, I say,
Happy Birthday, Papa.
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Come Home
Last week was full of mourning.
A few things were legitimate, the loss of one of my very best friends in high school, Caleb "Bubba" Manning, as well as the loss of my stepfather in the same year.
Two years now.
And although the third is just as legitimate, I spend a lot of time dwelling on it.
The loss of a relationship I've never known.
A relationship with my biological father.
It came on suddenly. I felt somewhat mopey and I thought it'd pass.
We'd spent the night in my church study talking about our names, the phrase "children of God" and what we, as Christians, stand to inherit.
I felt fine.
And then I read this post by Donald Miller.
The mopey-ness turned into a wave of grief, of loss, of want.
I spent that night crying, and the rest of the week reading more of Don Miller (I had committed to finishing Father Fiction) and taking time to actually engage with the deepest wound I feel I possess.
And it was ultimately through the grief, the knowledge of the Truth of being loved with an unending love, a love I cannot fathom...all while wrestling with all of my insecurities and questions,
came this.
It was like a breath of fresh air. To not just feel loss and want of something I never had, but to actually work through it. It was a small victory despite the pain. The first time I actually saw something beautiful come out of the pain, the hurt, the messiness.
I'm not saying a neat little (or big) bow was tied. The week got harder, there was more God wanted to work through; more I didn't want to show him. I wanted to avoid the pain of touching my bruise.
I personally thought we were done. I thought the band aid had been secured and I was free until the next time symptoms of this severed relationship popped up again.
I was wrong.
I like music; I like listening to music before I go to bed.
I decided to listen to a song I had listened to, and really liked.
"Come Home" by OneRepublic and Sara Bareilles.
And although I doubt the song is meant to illustrate a little girl's plea for Daddy to come home, that is just what it meant for me.
That phrase stopped me, "and the fight for you is all I've ever known". It made me think that is the way I've lived my life. My fight for my father is all I've ever known. I don't know what it looks like to live without fighting for my father. I've lived my life waiting, yearning, wondering about my father. Wanting my father.
And then I saw myself. I saw myself standing in front of my earthly father, Jesus standing between us. The song still played in my ears, and I saw myself reaching around Jesus, reaching for my father. My reach was close, but far enough that I couldn't actually touch him.
My reaches became frantic, slamming my body against Jesus' undoubtedly bruising myself. Hurting Jesus in my zeal to reach my dad.
Wanting so much for my father to come home. Come home to me.
And suddenly I lunged one last time.
One final reach for my father.
And almost as if I knew it wouldn't be enough, my final reach melted into Jesus' body.
Weeping, I finally allowed Him to embrace me.
My brokenness, my dreams, my pursuit of redemption.
I spent the next day sitting in that.
How much time have I dwelled on what I don't have instead of what I do?
I've spent years letting the lack of this relationship define who I am, instead of letting the reality of my Heavenly relationship tell me who I am.
I had to realize that my non-existent relationship with my biological father
is a part of my story,
it's not the story.
I can look forward to the journey my Papa is taking me on,
the adventure He has for me,
the people and places I love meshing into one.
The untold story of the woman I am becoming.
And for what's to come,
I give Him all the glory.
Amen.
A few things were legitimate, the loss of one of my very best friends in high school, Caleb "Bubba" Manning, as well as the loss of my stepfather in the same year.
Two years now.
And although the third is just as legitimate, I spend a lot of time dwelling on it.
The loss of a relationship I've never known.
A relationship with my biological father.
It came on suddenly. I felt somewhat mopey and I thought it'd pass.
We'd spent the night in my church study talking about our names, the phrase "children of God" and what we, as Christians, stand to inherit.
I felt fine.
And then I read this post by Donald Miller.
The mopey-ness turned into a wave of grief, of loss, of want.
I spent that night crying, and the rest of the week reading more of Don Miller (I had committed to finishing Father Fiction) and taking time to actually engage with the deepest wound I feel I possess.
And it was ultimately through the grief, the knowledge of the Truth of being loved with an unending love, a love I cannot fathom...all while wrestling with all of my insecurities and questions,
came this.
It was like a breath of fresh air. To not just feel loss and want of something I never had, but to actually work through it. It was a small victory despite the pain. The first time I actually saw something beautiful come out of the pain, the hurt, the messiness.
I'm not saying a neat little (or big) bow was tied. The week got harder, there was more God wanted to work through; more I didn't want to show him. I wanted to avoid the pain of touching my bruise.
I personally thought we were done. I thought the band aid had been secured and I was free until the next time symptoms of this severed relationship popped up again.
I was wrong.
I like music; I like listening to music before I go to bed.
I decided to listen to a song I had listened to, and really liked.
"Come Home" by OneRepublic and Sara Bareilles.
And although I doubt the song is meant to illustrate a little girl's plea for Daddy to come home, that is just what it meant for me.
come home, come home
'cause i've been waiting for so long
so long
and the fight for you is all i've ever known
'cause i've been waiting for so long
so long
and the fight for you is all i've ever known
That phrase stopped me, "and the fight for you is all I've ever known". It made me think that is the way I've lived my life. My fight for my father is all I've ever known. I don't know what it looks like to live without fighting for my father. I've lived my life waiting, yearning, wondering about my father. Wanting my father.
And then I saw myself. I saw myself standing in front of my earthly father, Jesus standing between us. The song still played in my ears, and I saw myself reaching around Jesus, reaching for my father. My reach was close, but far enough that I couldn't actually touch him.
My reaches became frantic, slamming my body against Jesus' undoubtedly bruising myself. Hurting Jesus in my zeal to reach my dad.
Wanting so much for my father to come home. Come home to me.
And suddenly I lunged one last time.
One final reach for my father.
And almost as if I knew it wouldn't be enough, my final reach melted into Jesus' body.
Weeping, I finally allowed Him to embrace me.
My brokenness, my dreams, my pursuit of redemption.
I spent the next day sitting in that.
How much time have I dwelled on what I don't have instead of what I do?
I've spent years letting the lack of this relationship define who I am, instead of letting the reality of my Heavenly relationship tell me who I am.
I had to realize that my non-existent relationship with my biological father
is a part of my story,
it's not the story.
I can look forward to the journey my Papa is taking me on,
the adventure He has for me,
the people and places I love meshing into one.
The untold story of the woman I am becoming.
And for what's to come,
I give Him all the glory.
Amen.
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Some days I actually get a glimpse of
whole.
Feeling perfect goodness, grace, and mercy in every fiber of my
being.
Ready to follow His whisper and what he has for me,
wherever He leads.
Everyday is the question,
what do you see in me?
The question of a little girl whose hand still reaches out
to see if Daddy will grasp it.
The need to know that you see me,
that you find my laugh gracious, that you see me as delightful.
Some days tears fall from my eyes because
I'd like to think that I'm a catch.
A woman who has grown into a mature, beautiful, courageous
woman of God.
Yet doubt lingers in my head, my heart, and demands more and more
of those I love, those who love me.
Everyday is the yearning to follow, to know,
to believe.
To suddenly feel Your hand already in mine, your eyes swelling with pride
as you see me.
And to hear you say,
"Doubt no more, you are mine,
beloved."
Feeling perfect goodness, grace, and mercy in every fiber of my
being.
Ready to follow His whisper and what he has for me,
wherever He leads.
Everyday is the question,
what do you see in me?
The question of a little girl whose hand still reaches out
to see if Daddy will grasp it.
The need to know that you see me,
that you find my laugh gracious, that you see me as delightful.
Some days tears fall from my eyes because
I'd like to think that I'm a catch.
A woman who has grown into a mature, beautiful, courageous
woman of God.
Yet doubt lingers in my head, my heart, and demands more and more
of those I love, those who love me.
Everyday is the yearning to follow, to know,
to believe.
To suddenly feel Your hand already in mine, your eyes swelling with pride
as you see me.
And to hear you say,
"Doubt no more, you are mine,
beloved."
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Smoke Signals
That Friday night after watching "Smoke Signals" I cried. I cried a lot.
I cried more than I had all Spring quarter, I think.
The themes of the movie are: poverty, adventure and the loss of a father (death and emotional detachment). As soon as Todd spoke the themes, I was already groaning.
I knew God was going to do something in me that night.
As I watched the movie, I felt wounds being uncovered to be aired out and dressed again. Wounds that I had avoided for far too long.
The question by Victor in the movie, "Did my Dad ever talk about me?"
It floored me.
I've asked that question to myself so many times. I have wondered if Dad ever thought about me, wondered what I was up to. If he ever asked about me.
I wonder that still.
I wonder if he thinks of me, if he cares what's happened to me.
And then I started to cry.
I cried 'cause I am frustrated with myself that I still wonder.
That I still hope that he's thought of me now and again.
I still cry on occassion 'cause I wish he did.
I cry 'cause I wish I was further on the journey towards healing.
The part where I didn't need my Dad.
And if you're wondering if there's any resolution, the answer is not really.
I have a lot of feelings that feel as if they'll never go away, but I also hold onto the hope of two pieces of Scripture that have been given to me.
"You, my Daughter, are called to be free" (Galatians 5:13). I know that freedom is near, that the journey is meant to be one that I walk and sometimes run, but I always have my Papa right there with me.
"Let the beloved of the Lord rest secure in him, for he shields her all day long, and the one the Lord loves rests between his shoulders" (Deuteronomy 33:12). And I know that in the midst of the chaos and madness and frustration, I have a steady place to rest my head, to sleep in the arms of my Papa.
I cried more than I had all Spring quarter, I think.
The themes of the movie are: poverty, adventure and the loss of a father (death and emotional detachment). As soon as Todd spoke the themes, I was already groaning.
I knew God was going to do something in me that night.
As I watched the movie, I felt wounds being uncovered to be aired out and dressed again. Wounds that I had avoided for far too long.
The question by Victor in the movie, "Did my Dad ever talk about me?"
It floored me.
I've asked that question to myself so many times. I have wondered if Dad ever thought about me, wondered what I was up to. If he ever asked about me.
I wonder that still.
I wonder if he thinks of me, if he cares what's happened to me.
And then I started to cry.
I cried 'cause I am frustrated with myself that I still wonder.
That I still hope that he's thought of me now and again.
I still cry on occassion 'cause I wish he did.
I cry 'cause I wish I was further on the journey towards healing.
The part where I didn't need my Dad.
And if you're wondering if there's any resolution, the answer is not really.
I have a lot of feelings that feel as if they'll never go away, but I also hold onto the hope of two pieces of Scripture that have been given to me.
"You, my Daughter, are called to be free" (Galatians 5:13). I know that freedom is near, that the journey is meant to be one that I walk and sometimes run, but I always have my Papa right there with me.
"Let the beloved of the Lord rest secure in him, for he shields her all day long, and the one the Lord loves rests between his shoulders" (Deuteronomy 33:12). And I know that in the midst of the chaos and madness and frustration, I have a steady place to rest my head, to sleep in the arms of my Papa.
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