Saturday, February 5, 2011

Kindgergarten (4k) - 1990

I remember my first day of kindergarten. The memory feels so close that it's almost tangible, like an orb of images that I can reach out and hold in my palm. I was four, and it was almost autumn. I stepped out of the car and the laughter and giggles of other children filled my ears. I smiled and looked up at my dad for confirmation that this was the right place. I couldn't believe that I was a big girl now and I'd get to start school. The world was at my feet.

Another grown person approached my parents, and ten stories above my head grown-up conversations were being had about the daily schedule and lunch times and pick up times. Their voices were distant and sounded like giants mumbling above the clouds. My eyes were focused on the kids playing on the playground. Their giggles were infecting me with joy and excitement. I watched in wide-eyed wonderment. I had picked out my favorite outfit: my red and navy blue sweater with the red heart in the middle, my navy blue pants to match, my white laced cuffed socks and shiny black mary-jane style shoes that had a flower on the strap. My long hair was pulled back with a navy blue head band, but still the slight breeze playfully blew thin strands of my hair in my face. With my hand, I quickly brushed my hair back in place. I was ready.

A kind rumble from above broke my concentration, and I looked up, "Are you ready, sweetie?" My dad said smiling big. I smiled back and said "Yeah." My mom and dad took my hand and walked me to the sidewalk and stopped. The other grown lady followed us, then turned and looked at me, "Hey Megon, my name is Mrs. Hall. I'm the teacher, and I'm very glad that you're here." I looked up at her, then at the other kids, then back at her. "Well, we're going to go inside now and learn some neat things. Can you tell mommy and daddy goodbye? You can play for a few minutes on the play ground until we're ready to go in."
"Her name is mama. I call her mama." I stated.
"Ok, well, mama needs to go to work. Can you tell her bye? She'll be back later I promise." With this, she held out her hand to me.

I looked over again at two little girls on the see saw and then looked at my mom, "Bye, mama!" At that I broke into a wild run toward the gate. I reached for the handle, and then for some reason I realized that I was going to be here by myself without my mom and dad, and I didn't know when they were coming back. For a four year old, that terrified me. My heart dropped and I whipped around still hoping I'd see my parents there. And they were. I took a few steps toward them and then randomly said with a small quiver in my voice, "What are we having for supper? Are you coming back?" They obviously chuckled a little and my mom, holding her composure, stated kindly, "Your favorite. Hotdogs, and yes, we are coming back. I promise." And to me, that was good enough confirmation so, I hugged them goodbye and ran onto the playground.

The image of what happened next fades into a blurry mess and nothing is really clear after that. But I remember this portion and often confirm it with my mom. She filled in a few fuzzy spots, but in all, the dialogue definitely happened. It's so funny what the mind chooses to hang onto so vividly, and other moments just feel like they never happened. But I like this memory.

Friday, February 4, 2011

The Bridge-2005

For the next couple of weeks I'm going to try to post one memory a day in a blog. I started thinking today about different memories I have from my childhood or even memories I've made over the past year or two. Then I thought that it would be fun to share them... or at least have them written down in some form or fashion. So here's to hoping I can stick with this in a consistent manner. (Disclaimer: I know I'll miss a day or two here and there, but I do hope to do this pretty consistently if possible.)

A Good Place to Start: The Bridge.

It was the Fourth of July in 2005; I was 19 and ready to do crazy things. I had been out of high school for a little over a year, and I was impulsive. A friend from Florida was visiting in the area, so he was hanging out with my brothers and me. The day was hot, long, and a little too tame for it to be a day devoted to celebrating freedom, life, youth, and liberation. Naturally we began to construct some ideas of things to "get into" in hopes to quench our craving for adventure.

We were lounging on my parents front porch when I randomly suggested we jump off a bridge, preferably one that went over water. The idea seemed logical to all of us. The air was spicy and thick, and our clothing had started to cling in areas we thought weren't possible . So we piled into my brothers silver corolla, and road off with the windows down in search of a nice bridge to jump off of. It was a good idea, we thought. (Warning... I do end some sentences with prepositions. I'm not ignorant; it's just really late).

The first bridge we drove to was one that my brother and I use to fish off of it when we were kids. It was a small bridge over a small lake.. if you could even call it a lake. It's location was what you would call "well off the beaten path". We found a small dirt area to park the car. We scanned the area before we got out to make sure there were no people around... we were pretty sure you could get into trouble for jumping off of bridges, which is why it made the idea so much more appealing. We didn't see anyone, so we crossed the road and made our way toward the bridge.

We could feel the heat rising off the pavement, and it only welcomed the desire to plunge into some cool water. From the edge the surface of the water seemed at least 20 feet below us, but it was actually only about 8 feet. It was a small bridge.
So now it was all down to who would go first. I think my brother and my Floridian friend decided to go at the same time. And so they did. I have to admit, I was a little nervous at first. My stomach churned a little at the thought of falling that far... but it was my idea and I couldn't chicken out. I mounted the guard rail, and with a small bit of hesitation I let go of my fear and jumped. I'm pretty sure I let out a high pitch shrill that was almost immediately swallowed up by the cool, silky lake water. I felt bubbles swimming all around me as I kicked my feet and thrusted my body up, up, up. I broke the surface and gasped for air. A smile spread wide across my face, and I stroked my way to the bank to do it again.

We jumped a few more times, my two brothers, the Floridian, and even my little sister who had tagged along as a potential lookout in case we were spotted. After a few more times, the leap didn't seem exciting anymore, so we decided to take my little sister and younger brother back home and then venture off in search of a bigger bridge with a higher jump.

And we found one.

The drop was an actual 20 feet this time, and it was on a busier road. The adrenaline was pumping, and I began to feel a little unsure. My brother and the Floridian decided they'd try it out first, and I decided I would just drive up and down the busy road in a patrolling fashion just incase we had to make a quick getaway. They immediately started ragging on me for chicken-ing out. And I blushed a little. But I patrolled as they made the first jump. Once they disappeared over the side, I parked and raced to the edge to make sure they were ok. I heard eruptions of laugher and screams of triumph... the bantering of kings.

They raced up the steep bank towards the shoulder of the road with smiles so wide it was contagious. I decided it was now or never. We waited till traffic cleared. We ran to the center of the bridge and mounted the railing. My head began to spin as I glanced down. My grip tightened and I wasn't sure anymore. My brother looked at me and saw my sudden hesitation and fear.
"Don't look down and don't think," he said. Then I blinked and he had disappeared over the egde, splitting the water's surface, and milliseconds later he bobbed happily 20 feet below. I took a deep breath. I didn't jump... it was more like a graceful fall. I felt as if I was suspended in nothingness. A lifetime seemed to pass by before I felt the initial contact of murky lake water.

The force of contact drove me deeper into the water. I felt the temperature of the water gradually drop by a few degrees as I sunk lower and lower into the depths of the lake. The dark cool embraced me and I let my body go limp. I decided not to fight the laws of gravity and let my body rest suspended in the coolness of the deep. It wasn't until the slimy seaweed tickled the bottom of my feet that I made my first attempts to resurface. Only 5 or 10 seconds had passed, but it felt like a few minutes. I sprayed water from my mouth and struggled to wipe away the hair that was glued to my face. I swam to the bank feeling accomplished and free. I smiled big and boasted a little about how awesome we were.

After that last jump, we decided to call it quits and figured we were lucky not to have gotten caught. It was time to make our way home. The ride home was different. The wind ripping through the windows left braille messages across our skin . The summer heat seemed inviting to our newly cooled bodies. We welcomed it a little more.

That night we ate homemade ice cream and shot fireworks in the back yard. We sat on the front porch sipping cola and talking about the day. We watched as the night slowly consumed us. We continued talking even when we couldn't see each other anymore. We didn't care that our eyes never seemed to adjust to the night.
Nothing persuaded us to leave this communal atmosphere. I sometimes think back to this day and become jealous. This is one of my favorite memories of my fleeting teen years.





Thursday, January 6, 2011

The First.

I was hoping that my first post would be a little sooner than now, but of course, better late than never, right?!

So far this year, I have finished the Harry Potter series! Now I must admit, I skipped books 5 and 6 simply because I've seen the movies, and I became too impatient. I anxiously desired to know how the whole conflict between Harry and he-who-must-not- be-named resolved itself. Needless to say, I was very pleased with the ending.

Over the past couple of days I've been wondering to myself what my plans are for this year. While I began conjuring up a list of resolutions and ambitious tasks, I was reminded of how foolish and arrogant it was of me to plan in a manner expecting these days ahead. So after each mindful goal I quickly inserted a "good Lord willing" to reassure myself that each day is not promised to me, obviously depends on the perfect will of the Father.

But as much as I'm reminded of how fragile life can be and how my sight of the near future is limited, I can't help but feel excited at what this year may hold.
John will be graduating in a few months, and our plans of serving Jesus overseas fills me up with anticipation and joy. What adventures await this scrappy couple, I do not know! But I trust that Christ will be by our side the entire way.

John and I just celebrated year 2 of being married, and I have to say that I love that we get to start each year celebrating our love for one another and the joining of our lives. Marriage has been a wild adventure, but gosh, I love my husband!

I plan to blog more over this year, mainly because of the amazing changes that will be taking place in our lives over the next months.
Let the journey begin...


Thursday, December 2, 2010

blooger

I have slacked off severely in keeping this blog up to date with all the goings-of-on in my life.

To attempt to update the many thoughts and emotions... ahhhh, I don't even want to think about how long it might take!

Instead, I'll leave you with the skeleton of it all.

Christmas is quickly upon us. I feel as though this year the season will be vastly different than all the rest. I'm learning more and more what love looks like. I'm peeling away the layers, and I'm finding that presuppositions and traditions that I've associated with Love are nothing but a facade. Let-downs waiting to happen. But the more that I peel away, the closer I am to discovering the true qualities/nature of Love.

I'm reading books. It has been hard to find the time these days, but I'm finding it refreshing.

Finally, I am standing face to face with my heart. With the help of Jesus, I'm beginning to tackle the callouses that have formed around my heart...

I want to go into more depth on this, but it is late and I feel this deserves more effort.
Check out this video from Francis Chan...

Sunday, November 14, 2010

A Missionary Call by Robert E. Speer

What constitutes a missionary call? It is a good sign that men ask this question. First, because it suggests that they think of the missionary enterprise as singularly related to the will of God. Second, because it indicates that they believe their lives are owned by a Person who has a right to direct them and whose call they must await.

But when we have said these two things, I think we have said everything that can be said in favor of the question because, far too often, it is asked for thoroughly un-Christian reasons.

For instance, Christians will pursue a profession here in the United States having demanded far less positive assurance that this is God's will than it is for them to go out into the mission field. But by what right do they make such distinctions? Christianity contends that the whole of life and all services are to be consecrated; no man should dare to do anything but the will of God. And before he adopts a course of action, a man should know nothing less nor more than that it is God's will for him to pursue it.

If men are going to draw lines of division between different kinds of service, what preposterous reasoning leads them to think that it requires less divine sanction for a man to spend his life easily among Christians than it requires for him to go out as a missionary to the heathen? If men are to have special calls for anything, they ought to have special calls to go about their own business, to have a nice time all their lives, to choose the soft places, to make money, and to gratify their own ambitions.

How can any honest Christian say he must have a special call not to do that sort of thing? How can he say that, unless he gets some specific call of God to preach the Gospel to the heathen, he has a perfect right to spend his life lining his pockets with money? Is it not absurd to suggest that a special call is necessary to become a missionary, but no call is required to gratify his own will or personal ambitions?

There is a general obligation resting upon Christians to see that the Gospel of Jesus Christ is preached to the world. You and I need no special call to apply that general call of God to our lives. We do need a special call to exempt us from its application to our lives. In other words, every one of us stands under a presumptive obligation to give his life to the world unless we have some special exemption.

This whole business of asking for special calls to missionary work does violence to the Bible. There is the command, "Go ye into all the world and preach the gospel to every creature." We say, "That means other people." There is the promise, "Come unto Me all ye that labor and are heavy laden and I will give you rest." We say, "That means me." We must have a special divine indication that we fall under the command; we do not ask any special divine indication that we fall under the blessing. By what right do we draw this line of distinction between the obligations of Christianity and its privileges? By what right to we accept the privileges as applying to every Christian and relegate its obligations to the conscience of the few?

It does violence to the ordinary canons of common sense and honest judgment. We do not think of ordering other areas of our lives on this basis. I think ex-president Patton of Princeton was representing the situation accurately when he used the following illustration. He said, "Imagine I was employed by the owner of a vineyard to gather grapes in his vineyard. The general instructions were that as many grapes as possible should be gathered. I went down to the gate of the vineyard and found the area around the walls well plucked and the ground covered with pickers. Yet away off in the distance no pickers at all are in sight and the vines are loaded to the ground. Would I need a special visit and order from the owner of the vineyard to instruct me as to my duty?"

If I were standing by the bank of a stream, and some
little children were drowning, I would not need any officer of the law to come along and serve on me some legal paper commanding me under such and such a penalty to rescue those children. I should despise myself if I should stand there with the possibility of saving those little lives, waiting until, by some legal proceeding, I was personally designated to rescue them!

Why do we apply, in a matter of infinitely more consequence, principles that we would loathe and abhor if anybody should suggest that we should apply them in the practical affairs of our daily life? Listen for a moment to the wail of the hungry world. Feel for one hour its sufferings. Sympathize for one moment with its woes. And then regard it just as you would regard human want in your neighbor, or the want that you meet as you pass down the street, or anywhere in life.

There is something wonderfully misleading, full of hallucination and delusion in this business of missionary calls. With many of us it is not a missionary call at all that we are looking for; it is a shove. There are a great many of us who would never hear a call if it came. Somebody must come and coerce us before we will go into missionary work.

Every one of us rests under a sort of general obligation to give life and time and possession to the evangelization of the souls everywhere that have never heard of Jesus Christ. And we are bound to go, unless we can offer some sure ground of exemption which we could with a clear conscience present to Jesus Christ and be sure of His approval upon it.
"Well," you ask, "do you mean, then, that I should take my life in my own hands?" No! That is precisely what I am protesting against! That is exactly what we have done. We have taken our lives in our own hands and proposed to go our own way unless God compels us to go some other way. What I ask is that, until God reveals to us some special, individual path on either side, we should give our lives over into Jesus' hands to go in that path which He has clearly marked out before His church.

I want to say one last thing.

I think love will hear calls where the loveless heart will not know that they are sounding. If there were a hundred little children crying, a mother would be able to pick out the voices of her own - especially if they were voices of pain and suffering.

There is a mighty keenness in the ears of love, and I wonder, after all, whether that may not explain a great deal that one is perplexed over in this matter of a special missionary call. Is it possible that, in many cases, it is just a matter of a callused heart, a reluctant will, or a sealed mind?

God so loved the world that He gave. It was need in the world plus love in God that constituted a call for Jesus. Do we need more than what sufficed for Him? If they were our own, would we hesitate and hold back?

Let us lay aside all double-dealing, all moral subterfuge, all those shuffling evasions by which the Devil is attempting to persuade us to escape from our duty, and let us get up like men and look at it and do it.

Students are old enough to decide to do their duty. They are old enough to decide to go to college. They are old enough to decide for law and medicine and other professions. They are old enough, too, to decide this question. God forbid that we should try to hide from solemn consideration of our vital duty behind any kind of pretext.

Tuesday, September 21, 2010

Ripe.

Monday, August 2, 2010

Forgive.

It's harder than you think. And it might have to be done more than once.

But I find that it's easier when you take a step away from yourself. When I think of the horrible things I have done, it's easier to forgive others. And when I think of the Love that God pours out upon me each day... how can I refrain from forgiving those who wrong me?

Easier said than done, you say? Yes. But if you are a believer, it can be done.

Life is too beautiful and fragile to let bitterness eat around the seams of your heart.


 

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