i hate to say that i've lived most of my life in fear. miedo.
as a little girl, fear of monsters under my bed.
fear of when daddy came home, not knowing whether he'd be happy or angry in the next minute.
fear of waking up to a crying mama.
fear at not knowing how to console her.
in school, fear of not being wanted and accepted.
fear at failing at something once i had impressed someone.
fear that dad would come back and break the rhythm our household of women had created.
in high school and college, fear of boys.
fear of being loved, fear of being known and judged.
fear of having to share everything. todo.
now, some of the fears have remained. others have gone away, and new ones have surfaced.
today, i fear wanting to be known.
the want that is so insatiable. i crave for it, yet i fear risking my heart again.
i want to have deep, solid relationships.
for my hands to be held, for long abrazos from friends who feel like family.
to share laughter and culture over a meal.
i fear my values and passions being different and not understood.
questions not be asked, the depth of who i am not be sought.
tengo miedo.
i'm scared.
Showing posts with label church. Show all posts
Showing posts with label church. Show all posts
Monday, March 7, 2011
Monday, January 24, 2011
Shoreline
The beach has always been my refuge with sand that greets my feet with warmth, with water that is incredibly blue, and with gusts of wind that I can lose myself while I'm thinking, and while my feet walk parallel to the waves crashing onto the shore.
I love the beach, it's been where I go on days when I feel like singing so no one will hear, where I went when I got some soul stirring news...where I go to spend some time with my Papa.
It's where I rest.
It's appropriate that the church I find myself in is called, Shoreline. And just like my thoughts on the beach, Shoreline has become a haven. A haven in the middle of Westwood, amidst all the young college students who are figuring out life. I've found a haven.
Yes, it's completely and utterly different than what I pictured my church would look like after InterVarsity. It's not as diverse as I pictured, not as showy in it's love... but it's become the place where I rest.
Interesting, isn't it?
It's become the place where I anchor myself and ready myself for the week. It's where new, deep and real friendships have emerged from and where I grow with every new Sunday, every new teaching.
It's where I sing so that no one will hear, but that everyone might. It's where I am shyly learning to speak my voice and change the church with my gifting and insight.
I come here to spend time with my Papa, but also with my brothers and sisters.
:)
I love the beach, it's been where I go on days when I feel like singing so no one will hear, where I went when I got some soul stirring news...where I go to spend some time with my Papa.
It's where I rest.
It's appropriate that the church I find myself in is called, Shoreline. And just like my thoughts on the beach, Shoreline has become a haven. A haven in the middle of Westwood, amidst all the young college students who are figuring out life. I've found a haven.
Yes, it's completely and utterly different than what I pictured my church would look like after InterVarsity. It's not as diverse as I pictured, not as showy in it's love... but it's become the place where I rest.
Interesting, isn't it?
It's become the place where I anchor myself and ready myself for the week. It's where new, deep and real friendships have emerged from and where I grow with every new Sunday, every new teaching.
It's where I sing so that no one will hear, but that everyone might. It's where I am shyly learning to speak my voice and change the church with my gifting and insight.
I come here to spend time with my Papa, but also with my brothers and sisters.
:)
Friday, December 10, 2010
On a Friday.
I'm trying to keep up with the 100 Joys project, but it proves difficult with finals this week.
However, here are the ways I'm seeing joy.
My prayer since the beginning of October has been that I would find family here, in Shoreline (the church I attend), that our small group would feel, act and lean on each other as a family. It's happening.
We're learning to share things that we need to lean on each other, things that we need to share because they're joyful. Learning to trust each other though it's awkward and uncomfortable. Sharing about the search for jobs, why we're so excited for the holidays, telling and listening to each other as we share where God is calling us, feeling known [6].
I'm finding joy in the small things, like worshiping alongside these men from my small group, mingling my voice with their deeper ones [7].
UCLA has been quiet, for me, anyway. Paper writing is easy, even though it is time consuming, so I've spent a lot of time in my apartment. It has been my joy to have our apartment as a way to bless people [8]. Hosting friends who work late or just want space to hang out.
In the quiet, it's been great to have space to just sit. To be with a God who wants to know me in every way that is possible, that strives to satisfy who I am. Knowing that I have him as a father is wonder enough [9].
And in the spaces when the apartment isn't still, there are many adventures to be had with my roommate, Winnie. Spending time putting puzzles together, making hot chocolate, watching countless movies... every night is completely different [10].
Dancing in my living room [11]. Dancing because today I got a call from my soon-to-be boss. I have applied, interviewed and waited for timing and skills to workout so that I might land a job. Or should I say, for God to provide the right job. I have a job I will probably start in a week. Infinite possibilities. And a lot of learning. :)
Having a (large) community of people to share good news with [12]. I was able to instantly call friends (that's you, J), share over GChat and update folks on Facebook. It has been so joyful to have folks celebrate with me after a season of waiting and perseverance.
Glory be to God.
Amen.
However, here are the ways I'm seeing joy.
My prayer since the beginning of October has been that I would find family here, in Shoreline (the church I attend), that our small group would feel, act and lean on each other as a family. It's happening.
We're learning to share things that we need to lean on each other, things that we need to share because they're joyful. Learning to trust each other though it's awkward and uncomfortable. Sharing about the search for jobs, why we're so excited for the holidays, telling and listening to each other as we share where God is calling us, feeling known [6].
I'm finding joy in the small things, like worshiping alongside these men from my small group, mingling my voice with their deeper ones [7].
UCLA has been quiet, for me, anyway. Paper writing is easy, even though it is time consuming, so I've spent a lot of time in my apartment. It has been my joy to have our apartment as a way to bless people [8]. Hosting friends who work late or just want space to hang out.
In the quiet, it's been great to have space to just sit. To be with a God who wants to know me in every way that is possible, that strives to satisfy who I am. Knowing that I have him as a father is wonder enough [9].
And in the spaces when the apartment isn't still, there are many adventures to be had with my roommate, Winnie. Spending time putting puzzles together, making hot chocolate, watching countless movies... every night is completely different [10].
Dancing in my living room [11]. Dancing because today I got a call from my soon-to-be boss. I have applied, interviewed and waited for timing and skills to workout so that I might land a job. Or should I say, for God to provide the right job. I have a job I will probably start in a week. Infinite possibilities. And a lot of learning. :)
Having a (large) community of people to share good news with [12]. I was able to instantly call friends (that's you, J), share over GChat and update folks on Facebook. It has been so joyful to have folks celebrate with me after a season of waiting and perseverance.
Glory be to God.
Amen.
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.
Sunday, October 31, 2010
MOMENTUM: New Community
This is the fifth entry in my Momentum series, a conference where I was serving and hearing a lot from Jesus as I learned how to transition out of community. Please follow the link to read the first entry, MOMENTUM: Behind the Counter.
She left her phone number and email, just like she said she would.
It still didn't explain why I was so excited.
Michelle from West LA Baptist Church had spoken with me and three other women previously involved with InterVarsity about their Women's ministry.
She said they were looking for "younger" women in whom to invest.
God had been speaking to me that it was time to find a solid group of women to get connected to.
Hence, getting excited over Michelle.
I felt like this was the nudge I needed to admit that I needed a new community of folks to live life with.
Yes, it'd be hard, but necessary.
And it has been.
Although I have not committed to West LA Baptist, I have begun my journey in a new community.
It's been difficult and awkward, but it's been worth it.
I mentioned at the beginning of this series, that I had to leave BCF so that I might grow.
So that my spiritual life wouldn't deteriorate.
And I have found that I have been welcomed, challenged and supported as I've entered this new area of my journey with Jesus.
As I've committed to investing in the new family I've found at Shoreline.
I have found my love of the Word to be one that has grown stronger as my community group and I tackle questions and epiphanies that we've had since hearing Sunday's talk, and it's been amazing to see how we're able to support each other as we face joys and heartache.
To God be all the glory.
Amen.
God had been speaking to me that it was time to find a solid group of women to get connected to.
Hence, getting excited over Michelle.
I felt like this was the nudge I needed to admit that I needed a new community of folks to live life with.
Yes, it'd be hard, but necessary.
And it has been.
Although I have not committed to West LA Baptist, I have begun my journey in a new community.
It's been difficult and awkward, but it's been worth it.
I mentioned at the beginning of this series, that I had to leave BCF so that I might grow.
So that my spiritual life wouldn't deteriorate.
And I have found that I have been welcomed, challenged and supported as I've entered this new area of my journey with Jesus.
As I've committed to investing in the new family I've found at Shoreline.
I have found my love of the Word to be one that has grown stronger as my community group and I tackle questions and epiphanies that we've had since hearing Sunday's talk, and it's been amazing to see how we're able to support each other as we face joys and heartache.
To God be all the glory.
Amen.
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