seeminglyrandom

(disclaimer: if you have no idea what in the world a jolly roger is, stop reading now . . . )background:

for those of you who don’t know, i’m working at a daycamp this summer. (talk about going from the sublime to the occasionally riduculous . . .) this work environment, except on rare–very rare– days, is never boring.

so, on to the story:

due to unfortunate circumstances, one male leader at daycamp found himself temporarily stuck with all of the younger-aged boys (2-6th grades) yesterday in the locker room to the pool by himself. struggling to maintain some method to the madness while the boys impatiently waited to get wet, he wrangled as many boys that he could to sit until the lifeguards would let them in.

just as the decibels were returning to undeafening status, and the leader breathed a sigh of nervous relief, the outside door to the locker room opened.

who should walk in but . . . <<insert dramatic music here>>

patch the pirate.

the locker room ex-plod-ed.

“patch the pirate! it’s patch the pirate!,” the chorus of young boys sang as they jumped up and practically assaulted the fundamental celebrity.

the leader (according to his own testimony), vainly tried to resecure the premises as half-naked little boys who were changing jumped from stalls and showers to get a personal glimpse of the pirate.

“ahoy, mates!” the pirate chanted.

the chaos turned to mayhem as the leader, shouting, could not restrain the admirers in swimmies anymore.

luckily for him, the lifeguard opened the door.

recently my single cousin went to breakfast with her mom and our grandparents.

papa, always looking for an opportunity to create mischief, leaned over the breakfast table and whispered:

“somebody told me that you are getting married in january.”

my cousin, who doesn’t have anyone really “on the horizon,” leaned over the table right back at him and replied,

“i hope it was God!”

(no kidding, cuz, no kidding . . . )

as i am typing, i can hear my sister’s muffled voice weakly saying, “help . . . help . . . “

we aren’t quite sure how this happened, but the door knob to the bathroom, upon being locked, decided to stay just that . . . locked.

my mother and i are presently waiting for my father to get home in order to remove my jr high sibling from the restroom.

hey, i did what i could! i wiggled the handle! i tried to shove a screwdriver into the knob to loosen it! granted, i was laughing hysterically at the time . . . but i assure you, that didn’t have anything to do with the fact that i couldn’t get it to open!

so, seeing as there was nothing else i can do, i decided i would take this wonderful opportunity to share with all of my reading audience (all four of you) about the most randomest happening that has happened to my family in a while.

oh– my dad’s home. i want to go see how he gets her out . . . if there’s a chain saw involved, I’M SO IN!

(to be continued . . . )

i went to barnes and noble’s the other day with my sister. as i walked around, picking up random interesting titles and reading the back, i meandered to the center aisle where they have tables of books on display. it was then that i noticed a smallish table towards the back with a very interesting (at least to me) sign . . .

“the new christians.”

now, in my circles, “new christian” is synonymous with “new convert.” someone new to the Faith. someone who just confessed Christ as Savior.

this sign doesn’t declare that. it isn’t a marker for recently-saved people to find a devotional about Christian basics.

this table was full of new titles, hot off emergent presses. “in love with Jesus, but not the church?” one subtitle asks . . .

i find this all very interesting, as people complain about religion and long for relationships.

perhaps what’s intriguing is what the sign implies: not only new, but improved. almost like revamped salad dressing with a new logo design– “new look! better taste!”

as they say, “out with the old, in with the new . . . “

but what about those who aren’t old, but are definitely leery of the new? (a book on my personal beliefs on christianity probably wouldn’t find itself on the “new christian” table . . .)

if we (those of us who find ourselves in the land of inbetween) had a sign on a table at B&N on display, what would it say?

not quite finding the right words?

yeah.

me neither.

it’s been about a month since–

if you aren’t sure what i’m talking about, you don’t need to know. what’s done is done anyway.

besides, i’ve learned that there are things more important than the past.

what is important is how God uses the past to shape us into what He wants for the present and the future. it isn’t so much what happens to us in the past that is ultimately important (oh, that’s not to undermine what has happened–right or wrong); it’s our reaction to it. our response to the good or bad circumstances. our reaction to the pain or pleasure.

with that said, a lot can happen in a month.

wrong things happen. whether or not people do it intentionally sometimes doesn’t matter. the wrong still occurred. and with that, the wronged still feel hurt. still feel betrayed. still feel “bruised.”

(please note that the following is a metaphor.)

those who are bruised often try to cover it. they might be trying to protect the one who delivered the blow. they themselves might be denying that the incident happen. they might be assuming that if others can’t see the bruise, it might not hurt quite as badly.

no amount of foundation or cover-up can completely cover discoloration. it might fool a lot of people. however, there will be a few that look closely enough to notice the difference. and, as any make-up wearing girl can tell you, it is impossible to have flawless coverage all the time. it will wear off.

at some point, it has to be removed.

there were a few people, a month ago, that noticed my bruise. they could tell by my face that something wasn’t quite right. the coverage was more flawed at certain times and at certain places than others. some saw that there was something pained me.

but i don’t think that anyone, besides God Himself, knew how badly that bruise hurt me. perhaps it shook me more than it should have. whether or not someone means to inflict pain upon you, you cannot help but begin to take a second look at how that person treats you. you cannot help but be skeptical if they suddenly seem to grow too nice. you wonder about their sincerity. you wonder if/when another time will occur, all the while wanting the one “mishap” to simply be that– an accidental mistake that only happens once.

i will ever be thankful for the few who noticed something was wrong and went out of their way to help me get through that time. they will always, always be thought of so highly– my godly mentors and friends. there were so many lessons that i learned through that– very deep and personal lessons that i could never begin, especially in one post, to cover them all.

however, the only One that saw me and my hurt entirely– all makeup removed– was my Father; One who was wronged and wounded Himself in ways we never can and never will be.

i think that we are more willing to understand bruises that are man-inflicted. men make mistakes. i mean, aren’t we all sinners? don’t we all do wrong? aren’t we all, at one time or another victims of each other’s misunderstandings, bad days, wrong conclusions. besides, we all have deposited more than our share of injuries on each other. (for my rhetoric-inclined friends, think Burke’s comedy . . . )

but what’s hard for us– or at least me– are the pains that aren’t delivered by a person. there are other kinds of pains– unfulfilled desires, undesirable circumstances, an unforeseen change in plans– that we can’t pin on a person. these are things that only Providence is responsible for.

so what then?

i don’t know about you, but i react the same way to these perceived pains as i do with human-inflicted injuries. i turn skeptical. i feel wronged. i feel like some grand injustice has occurred. i turn away from the Father that i ran to before– because now He is the one responsible, not some sinful, unthoughtful, or mistaken individual.

how quick i am to click and drag attributes of man to GOD! how quick i am to place Him in the same category as fallible man! how quick i am to assume the worst about my Creator and mentally– oh, never outloud (i wouldn’t want others to see this . . .)– accuse Him of the very things i accuse other “pain-givers” with! i accuse Him and see Him as unloving, good-lacking, merciless. as if my Father is fickle, caring one second, disregarding the next . . .

how quick i am to forget that this same Father that creates beauty out of any ashes, that constructs good out of any/man’s evil, gives nothing outside of His character. The denied desires, the change in circumstances and plans, are always inline with who He is– Good. Sovereign. Gracious. Loving. Merciful.

what might be construed on my part to be a heaven-imposed bruise is a God-sent blessing.

My Father knows how hard certain things are for me to see this way . . . He understands. There were cups He prayed would pass Him by. The cups I would pass by, He sometimes takes my hand and forces me to sip.

That– that is the absolute best thing He could do.

dad and i sang in church on sunday. i always love singing with him. i always love the songs that we choose to sing. i’m beginning to find it ironic how every song takes its place in my life– how i don’t realize how much i need the message of the songs we sing until maybe the day before we sing, or the day of, or the day after.

this was a day (or 3) after instance.

the song we sang was “none like you.” for those who aren’t familiar with the lyrics, they go like this:

Creator of the moon and stars, of mountains reaching high
Creator of the galaxies who hears a baby’s cry
eternity with all its years stands present in Your view
Alpha and Omega, Lord
there is none like You

You make the wilderness to bloom
and in the desert sand provide the gentle soaking rain, refreshing thirsty land
You send the warming of the sun, the fragile snowflake too
we bow in gratitude O Lord
there is none like You

You paint the rainbow on the storm and tell the wind to cease
You reach out with tender hand, creation is at peace
You speak Your Word and it is done
the universe obeys
but we are free to choose
Your children sing Your praise

Creator of the moon and stars, of mountains reaching high
Creator of the galaxies who hears a baby’s cry
eternity with all its years stands present in Your view
Alpha and Omega, Lord
there is none like You
there is none like You

i am beginning to think that maybe i need to choose my songs more carefully, for it seems to me that the lesson of the song is soon carried out in my own life. this time was no exception.

all of us face circumstances beyond our control. they sneak up behind us and wait, us unsuspecting, and pounce. our breath escapes in surprise and we are left, often speechless, often gasping, not knowing how to respond. unpleasant surprises rock our world, turn it upside down, and leave us dizzy and nauseous.

today, the rug was pulled from under my feet, and i literally feel sick.

i agree with david in psalm 73: “truly God is good . . . but as for me, my feet were almost gone; my steps had well nigh slipped.”

the message of the song, however, has replayed over and over again: the Creator of the galaxies hears a baby’s cry.

surely, He hears my cry today.   surely, He sees me as for what I am: a broken piece, doing my best to praise Him despite it all– my breathlessness, my gasping.

i believe that when He speaks his word, it is done– all of this could change in the flash of the eye.  it could.  the universe must obey.  there is no choice for it.

but there is a choice for me.

i am free to chose whether or not i will sing His praise.

my breath might be gone.  my voice may falter.  my song may be so weak that only His ears can hear and understand.

but despite it all– this broken piece, with her heart’s cry, chooses to sing.

last night was absolutely perfect. it was in the mid-70s with a light breeze. the full moon offered enough light to look and listen to a good friend as we walked and talked. the field, with its short, full grass, tapered drastically to our right.i looked over at my friend and said, “you know, i’ve never rolled down a hill before.” the shadows of her face revealed her astonishment.

“really?!”

“never.”

we walked a few more steps before i stopped and looked at her again.

“hey . . . i will if you will.”

we put our stuff down (i took my glasses off) and positioned ourselves at the top of the hill.

we counted down before we tipped ourselves, rolling until the field leveled itself again.

we finally stopped and sprawled across the grass at the bottom and laughed until the dizziness passed . . . or was close to passing.

i looked at the stars, my fingers lacing around the grass, and thought to myself, “this is a happy moment.”

it was . . . a simple, happy moment.

i’ve decided i definitely need more of those (especially when my mind finds itself heavy. unfortunately often, recently.).

however, i’ve found that simple, happy moments don’t take much . . .

just some spontaneity, a good friend, and a grassy hill.