The Exodus

The sun is suspended at its highest peak. It’s rays that where once welcomed in the cold of winter, are now burning the very skin I walk in.

Each step pulls the muscles tight in my calves, feeling as if the tendon will snap at any moment. The dust rises up as my foot stumbles against the parched ground. My lips crack as I pant. Sweat rolls like rain off my forehead, its saltiness stings my lips and eyes.

My destination is unknown. It is uncomfortably silent, except for the sound of my own heavy breathing.

I feel like I’ve been wandering, aimlessly in the desert a lot like the Israelites did. Except I do not see the pillar of fire and cloud. I do not hear the rumbling of the voice of God. Manna does not appear in the dew of the morning. My eyes are calloused to the glories of the LORD.

I have like a rebellious child, stubborn and assured that they know what’s right for them. I have taken matters in my own hands, assuring God that my little GPS in my brain is sure to get me out of this wilderness. I know exactly where my Promise Land is.

But now I’m lost, fading in and out of consciousness, thirsty and stumbling around blind. The wolves of the night are poised ready to sink their fangs in me. Rather than seeking help from Yahweh, I look up to the night sky and in a hoarse, straining voice ask, “Why God?! Why are you doing this to me? Why are you not blessing me? Where are you? WHERE ARE YOU?!”

I came across a quote that hit me pretty hard.

“ You can’t be connected with God until you’re at peace with who you are. If you’re still upset that God gave you this body or this life or this family or these circumstances, you will never be able to connect with God in a healthy, thriving, sustainable sort of way. You’ll be at odds with your maker. And if you can’t come to terms with who you are and the life you’ve been given, you’ll never be able to accept others and how they were made and the lives they’ve been given. And until you’re at peace with God and those around you, you will continue to struggle with your role on the planet, your part to play in the ongoing creation of the universe. You will continue to struggle and resist and fail to connect.”

You see … I’ve been disconnected from God for a while now.

I am upset with the circumstances God has put me in. I’m a well-rounded, intelligent journalist, with no job. Let alone, job possibilities. I’m like an athlete, trained, ready to go, with no race to run. I’m not at peace with where I am. I long to be anywhere but here. I am constantly looking to the horizon for some hope that might come. Some new adventure. A new job that might give me purpose to wake up in the morning. I am my worst nightmare, a 22 year-old college graduate, living at home, and jobless.

I hate the circumstances I am in.

But until I am able to be at peace with where I am at and where God is taking me … I will not feel connected to the Maker. I am sure that God gets tired of my complaining. But I haven’t really been seeking His direction, His will and to HIS Promise Land, not my own.

Instead, I am fumbling in circles in a place of thirst and hunger. Complaining and grumbling.

“During those many days the king of Egypt died, and the people of Israel groaned because of their slavery and cried out for help. Their cry for rescue from slavery came up to God. And God heard their groaning, and God remembered his covenant with Abraham, with Issac, and with Jacob. God saw the people of Israel – and God knew.” Exodus 2:23-24

God hears my grumblings. He hears every word. God knew. He understands what I am going through.

So … now I am looking to Him, not in anger and cursing where I am in life but searching for peace. Because, “God is not a God of confusion but of peace” (1 Cor. 14: 33).

I am desperately seeking His face, arms out searching to feel Him. I am more desperate for Him and His presence, to feel connected to Him again more than anything.

I am falling to my knees in utter desperation, crying out to the God of Abraham, grasping for glimpses of Him in my everyday life. Because I know that when I hold out my hand, blind, broken and lost. His strong hand will find me. He will pull me up off my bleeding knees, and pull me in close.

Then I will feel the closeness of my Savior, feel His heart beat. I will hear his voice again saying to me, “I am with you, my child. I was always with you. I have never left, but it was you who strayed far. But like a shepherd who loses a sheep, I searched for you. I chose you. I love you.”

Though I have not yet found His hand, I wait searching for Him. I know He is not far. Like the children of Israel, I am still wandering in this desert. This is my journey to God’s greater purpose in my life, what I was meant for. This is my journey, where God will appear in the desert with miracles. This is my exodus.

Calloused.

I think something happens to a woman when she isn’t romanced enough.

We become bitter, and really critical of romantic things. We groan about Valentine’s Day, and complain about how we don’t have boyfriends.

Then we talk about our friends that do have boyfriends. We pick at them for spending too much time with them, or talk about how much they show too much displays of affection around people.

We scoff at romance movies like 27 Dresses. We get a little nauseated by happy endings. We roll our eyes at hopeless romantic teenagers.

But when in fact, its out of pure jealously we do this. I know I’m guilty of it.

I had become calloused.

I joked a little about being a “Bachelorette until the Rapture”. But I know that’s a lie I tell myself to try and deal with this feeling.

We are just upset that we have been waiting so long for our own happy ending. We just want to feel the newness of being pursued. Because a lot of us haven’t felt that in a long time… a really long time.

We miss the butterflies when you hold our hands, and late night phone calls…

I went to a wedding a while ago …and was reminded of how much of a hopeless romantic I am… no matter the lies I tell myself.

I saw the look of pure joy and love on my friend’s face when he saw his bride glide across the grass. Then something stirred in my heart again … I wanted someone to look at me like that.

Later that night we made our way to the reception, where there was dancing.

I, again, forgotten how much I love dancing. Though I really can’t dance at all, I love it.

But then there are bad memories of high school dances, standing in a line of girls against a wall. Waiting and praying for him to pick me. But there was always a crushing reality, that he never seemed to pick me.

But not this time.

There is something that blooms deep within a girl’s heart when a guy asks her to dance. We feel beautiful as he spins us across the floor. No matter how goofy of a dancer she is, or how bad he is, she feels like she is on top of the world.

As he twirled me, I felt the hopeless romantic knock on my door and introduce herself back into my life.

So here lately, I listen a little more to Sinatra, Buble and good ol’ Dean. Rather than being bitter and wishing someone would sing these romantic songs to me, I simply enjoy the future hope that maybe, one day, I might get to dance with you.

I close my eyes and a smile comes across my face thinking of you, as I hear Sinatra belt out,

“And that laugh that wrinkles your nose, it touches my foolish heart …Keep that breathless charm. Wont you please arrange it? Because I love you, just the way you look tonight.”

Dress Up.

The oversized heels clacked loudly on the wooden floors in my home. I shuffled through halls, searching for the final addition. The necklaces that hung around my neck draped down to my knees. The bright green blouse fell loose. The sleeves covered my hands.

At last, I found it.

I grabbed for the bright red lip stick and smeared it haphazardly onto my lips.

The perfect touch…

But that was then… and this is now.

Tomorrow is the big day. I get to live the 9 to 5 American life. I get to drive in 8 o’clock traffic in the morning. Then drive home in 5 o’clock traffic.

Hopefully I won’t be crunched into some small cubicle with four other interns. I hope I don’t end up eating my sand which alone in the bathroom. I hope being in an office all day doesn’t crush my creativity.

Gosh. It’s like high school all over again. Except this time, it’s for real.

I don’t know why I’ve been so anxious lately. I mean, it is my first job. Ever. I know I can do it But there is always that voice in the back of my mind.

Doubt and fear have been rearing their ugly heads, and whispering not-so-sweet things in my ear.

I know better than to worry about nothing. If birds and flowers survive, then I’ll make it okay. But I know that God didn’t open this door for nothing. I know that He has a plan for all of this

You knew how You would save me before I fell dead in the garden. You knew this day long before You made me out of dirt. That He can’t plan the ends, with out planning the means.

I got to keep pressing into Jesus.

The woman was dressed for business. She wore a white button-down blouse, with a pencil skirt and black high heels with briefcase around her shoulder. Hair pulled back, as her bangs fell over her left eye. She brushed them back slowly.

I took a second glance at the mirror and realized that the woman… was me.

I can look the part, but I guess I still feel like I’m just a kid playing dress up. Except this time, the shoes actually fit.

The oversized heels clacked loudly on the wooden floors in my home. I shuffled through halls, searching for the final addition. The necklaces that hung around my neck draped down to my knees. The bright green blouse fell loose. The sleeves covered my hands.

At last, I found it.

I grabbed for the bright red lip stick and smeared it haphazardly onto my lips.

The perfect touch…

But that was then… and this is now.

Tomorrow is the big day. I get to live the 9 to 5 American life. I get to drive in 8 o’clock traffic in the morning. Then drive home in 5 o’clock traffic.

Hopefully I won’t be crunched into some small cubicle with four other interns. I hope I don’t end up eating my sand which alone in the bathroom. I hope being in an office all day doesn’t crush my creativity.

Gosh. It’s like high school all over again. Except this time, it’s for real.

I don’t know why I’ve been so anxious lately. I mean, it is my first job. Ever. I know I can do it But there is always that voice in the back of my mind.

Doubt and fear have been rearing their ugly heads, and whispering not-so-sweet things in my ear.

I know better than to worry about nothing. If birds and flowers survive, then I’ll make it okay. But I know that God didn’t open this door for nothing. I know that He has a plan for all of this

You knew how You would save me before I fell dead in the garden. You knew this day long before You made me out of dirt. That He can’t plan the ends, with out planning the means.

I got to keep pressing into Jesus.

The woman was dressed for business. She wore a white button-down blouse, with a pencil skirt and black high heels with briefcase around her shoulder. Hair pulled back, as her bangs fell over her left eye. She brushed them back slowly.

I took a second glance at the mirror and realized that the woman… was me.

I can look the part, but I guess I still feel like I’m just a kid playing dress up. Except this time, the shoes actually fit.

Scars

When I was little my father was very strict about things. While other children bounced happily on trampolines, I sat on the grass merely watching. My dad claimed that  I would probably break my arm. He is a doctor and apparently many mangled arms are trampoline related.

 

I don’t remember ever falling off a bicycle, or doing many other adventurous things when I was little that consisted of me hurting myself. My dad was great about keeping us from things like that. I was almost so afraid of getting hurt that I don’t have many adventuour memories …

 

I don’t have too many scars either because of this.

 

Though recently I have begun to live the “dangerous” life of biking and boarding. Resulting in scars. Because if you don know me well, I tend to be very clumsy and not graceful.

 

I have a new scar that runs along my left elbow down my arm. Its pink color has yet to fade. Being a girl I consider it to be unattractive and repulsive. But for some reason boys love it, as soon as they see it the response is normally.

“Wicked scar! What happened?”

 

Then I proceede to tell of my embarrassing story of being too confident in myself and skidding into sidewalk.

 

Anytime I look at the scar Im reminded of the instance of how it happened. Its almost a warning to watch what Im doing, that maybe next time it might result in a broken bone, or worse.

 

I feel like we also have other scars deep on our hearts that people cant see. Scars that guys wont compliment on. Deep hurting wounds that sometimes get busted open and begin to hurt again.

 

But we do such a great job at hiding these scars because we are embarrassed.  There is only one who can see these scars and heal them.

 

His beautiful salve can mend every scar and cut.

 

The thing about wounds is that sometimes in order to heal them you have to put some sort of medicine on them. But the thing is that this medicine doesn’t always come as a cozy feeling.

 

I often times poured hydrogen peroxide onto my scrape. If you don’t know a thing or two about this stuff is that it burns, intensely!

 

Sometimes we have to endure the PAIN of HEALING in order to get over these scars. Christ needs to get his hands deep inside and to gather up the infection and heal us completely and wholly.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A little hill and pride.

I flung open the door and let the bright morning sunshine beam on my face. I smiled and took a breath of that cooler air. I took a step out and grabbed my longboard, my trusty steed, convinced to conquer the pavement of our new neighborhood.

 

I placed the bamboo board on the sidewalk and lifted my head up and gazed down the hill. I guarded the sun with my left hand, almost looking like I was saluting the horizon. I stepped on the board and pushed off with one great push.

 

I then placed the foot back on the front of the board and guided myself to and fro. I smiled and felt the wind brush against my face.

 

A man drove by, staring at me almost in disbelief that a girl could skateboard. I puffed up with pride and smiled at him.

 

Slowly the road began to decline, and the board began to increase in speed. I didn’t panic at first, liking the new fast past. I smiled and kept my straight path, enjoying the challenge.

 

But suddenly I began to realize that the pace was in fact, increasing ever more. I slightly had a deep feeling in my gut that I was about to break my arm or worse, crack open my skull and die.

 

Slightly over exaggerated, but I was thinking it.

Clearly I thought that I had tamed this wild thing, but I was hanging on for dear life and about to get thrown off.

 

I began to run through case scenarios of how I was about to get off of this run away mustang. I thought maybe I would just hope the speed would decrease at the end of the hill and would come to a stop, but I couldn’t take the speed much longer. I then thought that maybe I can do what I always do and jump off and let the board go.

 

I braced myself and jumped.

 

Next thing I know I see the sun fly above me and the ground greeted me with its hard rocky asphalt.

 

I lied there on the ground, feeling the rush of random amounts of pain shoot through my left side. I gazed at the blue sky, not moving. Wondering if I could move.

 

Did I die?

 

I sat up and saw my board lying in the grass. I sighed and pulled myself off the ground. I felt all the blood rush, and felt woozy. I then realized that I was about to pass out in the middle of the street.

 

“Oh crap.” I muttered under my breath as I leaned over and put my head between my knees.

 

I waited a while and as I lifted my hand I noticed dark red stains where my hand had been. I looked at my hand and realized that parts of skin on my palm where missing. My gaze moved down my arm to my elbow where a bright red scrap was. I winced and walked over to my board. I picked it up and hobbled home.

 

I sadly placed the board on the stone bench at the front door, and came inside the house.

My dog wagged her tail, she strangely had a concerned way about her. I assured her I was okay. I was just stupid.

 

I sat down on the couch, too tired to actually get up and tend to my wounds. I sat thought through my stupidity.

 

I think that sometimes we need a little fall to remember that we aren’t all that we make ourselves out to be.

 

I know that Im not as cool as I wish I was. That even though I can make it from my apartment to my class, doesn’t mean Im the great asphalt surfer I wanted to be. That no matter how many times I go to the coffee shop that I cant know everyone there. It doesn’t matter how much music that I buy on iTunes, that it never really will satisfy me.

 

That I need a lot of times I need to get knocked off my feet to realized that all I need is Him. That no matter how cool I try to be, its not what matters in the end. That it will fade in the end and chances are people will figure the real me out and realize Im not so great.

 

But I think instead Christ should be the one people see in me, that when people really do find me out they see Him. That when I am proud, I do so in Christ. Not because of some image I try to paint, or some new thing I have done.

I just sometimes need to admit that I am human, and that I struggle with pride.

But Praise Jesus for those hills that we fall down. So He can pull us back up.