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xo.
Andrea
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Monday, October 25, 2010
burdened.
My friend murdered his roommate last weekend.
In the eyes of society he will always have "murderer" listed after his name - almost like a title. "So and so, the murderer." This title will forever linger. For this my heart is full of sorrow.
For the first time I feel true compassion toward someone who has committed such a vile and evil act. Never would I have expected this of him, that he would harm a person and leave that person on the ground, gasping at precious air for his own life. Never would I have imagined a rage to come from within him so deep that he could do such a thing. I'm appalled and yet deeply sad in ways I can barely articulate. There is not a word strong enough to wrap up in a neat descriptive package for you to understand. Grief has closed the depths of my mind so that my heart might begin to understand something greater.
Out of this circumstance God has burdened me with knowledge of His compassion toward us in our great state of depravity. To think that the Creator of the universe knows intimately our awful state and yet still loves us to such great heights that He might send Redemption...Oh how I marvel. And oh how I mourn. The Lord's is a heavy burden to try and comprehend, for I am merely human. I am created, not Creator. I alone cannot bear even a fragment of His work. And yet He has given me strength to understand - scarcely - His definition of compassion on us.
I challenge you to shift your paradigm - even slightly - to think from this place. We are depraved. We have either found redemption or have the opportunity to find redemption in the blood of Christ. The victim desperately needs to be rescued, but what of the perpetrator of evil? Does not their soul need saving? Does he not breathe as I? Does he not need food as I? Does he, deep in his soul, not crave mercy and love as I? Does he not need grace as I?
I believe he does.
In the eyes of society he will always have "murderer" listed after his name - almost like a title. "So and so, the murderer." This title will forever linger. For this my heart is full of sorrow.
For the first time I feel true compassion toward someone who has committed such a vile and evil act. Never would I have expected this of him, that he would harm a person and leave that person on the ground, gasping at precious air for his own life. Never would I have imagined a rage to come from within him so deep that he could do such a thing. I'm appalled and yet deeply sad in ways I can barely articulate. There is not a word strong enough to wrap up in a neat descriptive package for you to understand. Grief has closed the depths of my mind so that my heart might begin to understand something greater.
Out of this circumstance God has burdened me with knowledge of His compassion toward us in our great state of depravity. To think that the Creator of the universe knows intimately our awful state and yet still loves us to such great heights that He might send Redemption...Oh how I marvel. And oh how I mourn. The Lord's is a heavy burden to try and comprehend, for I am merely human. I am created, not Creator. I alone cannot bear even a fragment of His work. And yet He has given me strength to understand - scarcely - His definition of compassion on us.
I challenge you to shift your paradigm - even slightly - to think from this place. We are depraved. We have either found redemption or have the opportunity to find redemption in the blood of Christ. The victim desperately needs to be rescued, but what of the perpetrator of evil? Does not their soul need saving? Does he not breathe as I? Does he not need food as I? Does he, deep in his soul, not crave mercy and love as I? Does he not need grace as I?
I believe he does.
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Even More
There's a lot to say. Much has changed, all accredited to God. I love Him more than ever before and I'm confident this love will only continue to grow as the years progress. I asked my small group to write something - anything - to express why they cherish the sacrifice of Jesus in hopes that even if it's small now, the love and the reasons for the love would grow and abound in their hearts over the years. I can't help but put my example here. Imperfect in its hasty composition, but perfect in emotion and joy for all that it means to me.
The secret part of my soul
The secrets I speak of to no other soul
The wounds and sorrows
The ugliness of my self You know
I need not hide them
You lay them bare
And wipe them clean
You heal, redeem and restore
I love thee for thy Great Love
It wavers not
For You love all of me.
The outward life -
Life that is messy,
And human in desire and will
The one who burns with anger
Or weeps in sorrow
The one who sins
The careless hurt that seeps out
You call me loved
The mess is forgiven
I am a child, soothed and instructed
And disciplined in heart.
Your mercy resounds.
The war that rages on
You are sovereign over.
The sinful and painful desires
In the depths of my heart You claim
You make them over and over again
Until they are right with You
The sin disappears in light,
in sweet redemption
in the cleansing of blood
The simplest peace settles
It claims the battle and calls it done
And I rest in Your might.
The once messy child
Is not coddled, but cherished.
She is loved in her nature
And slowly reared in the Way
Grown up to love her Lord
Only by His patience and care
His devotion and grace pave her way to Him
She knows His voice and
Sees the gentle work of His hand
And smiles up at His face
As she sits at His feet
There is no other love here
All has disappeared
And a life destined for destruction,
now sanctified and consecrated
At ready to reveal the Glory of the King
The secret part of my soul
The secrets I speak of to no other soul
The wounds and sorrows
The ugliness of my self You know
I need not hide them
You lay them bare
And wipe them clean
You heal, redeem and restore
I love thee for thy Great Love
It wavers not
For You love all of me.
The outward life -
Life that is messy,
And human in desire and will
The one who burns with anger
Or weeps in sorrow
The one who sins
The careless hurt that seeps out
You call me loved
The mess is forgiven
I am a child, soothed and instructed
And disciplined in heart.
Your mercy resounds.
The war that rages on
You are sovereign over.
The sinful and painful desires
In the depths of my heart You claim
You make them over and over again
Until they are right with You
The sin disappears in light,
in sweet redemption
in the cleansing of blood
The simplest peace settles
It claims the battle and calls it done
And I rest in Your might.
The once messy child
Is not coddled, but cherished.
She is loved in her nature
And slowly reared in the Way
Grown up to love her Lord
Only by His patience and care
His devotion and grace pave her way to Him
She knows His voice and
Sees the gentle work of His hand
And smiles up at His face
As she sits at His feet
There is no other love here
All has disappeared
And a life destined for destruction,
now sanctified and consecrated
At ready to reveal the Glory of the King
Saturday, July 17, 2010
The Curve of the Earth
I'm in a season where I appreciate being alone more than I ever have. I'm fine tuning how I spend my time. I am allowing myself time to get lost in my thoughts and turn those thoughts over to my Creator. I am listening.
All the while I feel trapped, stuck in a little eddy of life soon to be spat out further downstream on the next adventure. I'm trying to learn from the eddy.
Each day I focus on being content with where I am. Each day I think about faith and hope and wonder if I would have them if I were a Congolese woman. If I were enslaved in prostitution. If I were living a life in bondage. If I had less than I do. I wonder if my faith is superficial because my life is easy. I'd like to say that it isn't superficial, that my faith is an intrinsic part of my being. Maybe I'll find an answer to that question when I move to Central Africa (or India, or Indonesia, or Pakistan...). Or, maybe this is a time when God cultivates my soul and my heart and my character to be a steadfast and faithful servant to Him in the future.
Sometimes I feel wilted like a little flower that was deprived of water for a time, a flower that reaches for the sun in hopes of being revitalized to live as she were meant to.
And sometimes I feel like a heroine in the making.
Most of all, I feel human.
I wrote the following as I dreamt of a better tomorrow, as I prayed for my dear friend Marie-Claire in the Congo, as I allowed God to wash over my thoughts.
The Curve of the Earth
Every line, every arc
in focus, total clarity
complete mystery
imponderable strength
fear and questioning
deeper than the beat of a broken heart
still living, still moving
still pressing forth
a flower, reaching
slightly wilted
stretching beyond itself
gaining strength
from the warming sun
her hope rising
from the curve of the earth
as the days press forward
and her children
growing, learning
reminders of a blissful time
and anticipation for the better.
This photo I took in Santa Barbara. The little, slightly wilted jasmine flower just south of center and perfectly focused from stem to each petal was some source of inspiration for this piece. I look at this photo often. It takes me to another place in my heart, another adventure that exists within my own hope.
All the while I feel trapped, stuck in a little eddy of life soon to be spat out further downstream on the next adventure. I'm trying to learn from the eddy.
Each day I focus on being content with where I am. Each day I think about faith and hope and wonder if I would have them if I were a Congolese woman. If I were enslaved in prostitution. If I were living a life in bondage. If I had less than I do. I wonder if my faith is superficial because my life is easy. I'd like to say that it isn't superficial, that my faith is an intrinsic part of my being. Maybe I'll find an answer to that question when I move to Central Africa (or India, or Indonesia, or Pakistan...). Or, maybe this is a time when God cultivates my soul and my heart and my character to be a steadfast and faithful servant to Him in the future.
Sometimes I feel wilted like a little flower that was deprived of water for a time, a flower that reaches for the sun in hopes of being revitalized to live as she were meant to.
And sometimes I feel like a heroine in the making.
Most of all, I feel human.
I wrote the following as I dreamt of a better tomorrow, as I prayed for my dear friend Marie-Claire in the Congo, as I allowed God to wash over my thoughts.
The Curve of the Earth
Every line, every arc
in focus, total clarity
complete mystery
imponderable strength
fear and questioning
deeper than the beat of a broken heart
still living, still moving
still pressing forth
a flower, reaching
slightly wilted
stretching beyond itself
gaining strength
from the warming sun
her hope rising
from the curve of the earth
as the days press forward
and her children
growing, learning
reminders of a blissful time
and anticipation for the better.
This photo I took in Santa Barbara. The little, slightly wilted jasmine flower just south of center and perfectly focused from stem to each petal was some source of inspiration for this piece. I look at this photo often. It takes me to another place in my heart, another adventure that exists within my own hope.
Friday, June 18, 2010
And I call this place "shalom"
Today I made my way along a familiar, dusty road to a place my heart finds peace. I go there often when the sun has melted away the snow. I leave my phone and iPod behind. I bring only a pen, paper and my bible. Sometimes, if I'm lucky to have enough time to be there a while, I bring sustenance. This was a day I carried every one of those things in. Time. Journals. Bible. Pens and pencils. Fruit. Water. Whole grain crackers. I didn't expect much of an epiphany, for I went to listen and to let my mind rest from thoughts and worries. I went there for silence.
As I walked, I pretended not to see the signs that read, "Please stay on the trail. Help preserve the habitat." Today I was only one person in a world not crowded by trail riders, kayakers and tourists. I traversed deep into the reaches of the meadow where I could see only mountain grass, the towering and seemingly protective trees that line this small valley, the top of the lava flow that lies just beyond the western bank of the river - only a sliver of which I could see - and between the restless clouds the occasional snow-capped mountain.
It took me a while to adjust. Everything was quiet and undisturbed at first - until I was used to being alone. And then the ants and the bees and the creeping, crawling little bugs began to wage their curiosity upon me. It was almost as if they wanted to be friends. I gently brushed them aside until their interest abated. For a while I wrote and allowed my heart to meander in different directions.
And then, oh and then, I did what everyone should do and do often: I laid down and sunk my body deep into the grass. My entire being took in every single thing about this place that I love. The somewhat pungent smell of grass and dirt. The scent of the impossible to describe cleanliness of nature - which, in and of itself is revitalizing. My limbs tingled with joy. I grazed the backs of my hands on the countless blades of grass around me. I watched the clouds moving deliberately across the ever-blue sky above the meadow. I listened to the wind and its ever-changing moods: the roar through the mountains, the rushing above the trees, the breeze that blew just above me, tickling my nose and the tips of the grass. The wind left nothing untouched behind it. I wondered with the wind blowing as it was if I was threatened at all by the darkness of the clouds as the moved closer. I wondered if the dry dirt would soon accept a reprieve from the warm day.
I realized in that moment something about this place: it is rather paradoxical. The serenity and stillness apart from the noise of the world has the ability to take over one's soul and give one the ability to be silent...and yet it is teeming with life and movement which draws the deepest part of the soul awake in ways nothing else can. The best word to describe this place may well be shalom: completeness, peace. The way things were intended. I begin to wonder if anyone else has experienced it the way I do...I can only hope.
As I walked, I pretended not to see the signs that read, "Please stay on the trail. Help preserve the habitat." Today I was only one person in a world not crowded by trail riders, kayakers and tourists. I traversed deep into the reaches of the meadow where I could see only mountain grass, the towering and seemingly protective trees that line this small valley, the top of the lava flow that lies just beyond the western bank of the river - only a sliver of which I could see - and between the restless clouds the occasional snow-capped mountain.
It took me a while to adjust. Everything was quiet and undisturbed at first - until I was used to being alone. And then the ants and the bees and the creeping, crawling little bugs began to wage their curiosity upon me. It was almost as if they wanted to be friends. I gently brushed them aside until their interest abated. For a while I wrote and allowed my heart to meander in different directions.
And then, oh and then, I did what everyone should do and do often: I laid down and sunk my body deep into the grass. My entire being took in every single thing about this place that I love. The somewhat pungent smell of grass and dirt. The scent of the impossible to describe cleanliness of nature - which, in and of itself is revitalizing. My limbs tingled with joy. I grazed the backs of my hands on the countless blades of grass around me. I watched the clouds moving deliberately across the ever-blue sky above the meadow. I listened to the wind and its ever-changing moods: the roar through the mountains, the rushing above the trees, the breeze that blew just above me, tickling my nose and the tips of the grass. The wind left nothing untouched behind it. I wondered with the wind blowing as it was if I was threatened at all by the darkness of the clouds as the moved closer. I wondered if the dry dirt would soon accept a reprieve from the warm day.
I realized in that moment something about this place: it is rather paradoxical. The serenity and stillness apart from the noise of the world has the ability to take over one's soul and give one the ability to be silent...and yet it is teeming with life and movement which draws the deepest part of the soul awake in ways nothing else can. The best word to describe this place may well be shalom: completeness, peace. The way things were intended. I begin to wonder if anyone else has experienced it the way I do...I can only hope.
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Just write something...
drowning.exhausted.challenged.hopeful.irritated.excited.antisocial.scared
it's not the has been. it's not the could be. it's not the could have been.
it's wonder. it's maturing. it's love. it's dreaming. it's difficult.
it is the heart beat.
it's wonder. it's maturing. it's love. it's dreaming. it's difficult.
it is the heart beat.
these words...if only I had a canvas and a brilliant set of oils...
The past few months have nearly slaughtered me. I'm content, yet ready to leave. I'm optimistic, yet scared. I'm being challenged in wild ways by the creator of the universe. I'm being challenged to stick to it, to persevere in what I know is right, in what I know I should do. Every day I must choose to be persistent through the hard stuff.
Honestly, I've taken a bit of a hiatus from writing. I've taken a break from art. I've taken a break to get my head back on straight. I'm learning the art of discipline. I'm learning the art of focus. I'm learning the art of investment (not the Wall Street kind). I'm learning to listen intentionally to God, not just yammer away toward heaven until I fall asleep.
I have nothing to say that would arrest you out of the quick skim you are taking of this blog. I have nothing to say that will enlighten you in a particular area of your life. I have nothing to say that will make this smattering of thoughts worthwhile. As well, I have made zero progress in any writing practice in the last month.
It's a combination of both the lack of discipline and inspiration to write that begs the question: what does God want me to say?
This my friends, is why I have been silent. And if I continue to be so, pray that it is a disciplined and intentional silence.
Friday, April 23, 2010
Worth
Worth: an essential and distinguishing attribute of something or someone.
Worth. How do you define worth? In yourself? In your life? In another human being?
Something in my life shifted - and I remember the exact moment - when I learned the invaluable lesson regarding the worth of another human being. Suddenly my life was no longer about me. Suddenly I realized I had to give some of my dreams away (trusting they would come back around somehow) in order to pursue the truth of this new understanding. I couldn't just sit back and allow life to happen, I couldn't just pursue my own goals, I now felt the excitement of helping pursue dreams that belonged to others, dreams I don't know, dreams that haven't even been birthed.
To those of you that were willing and able to participate in my last post, thank you. Whether you realize it or not, you have justice in you. You have love. You have decided that someone outside of yourself has worth. That is beautiful. Thank you, whoever you were, for the amazing help that you gave. It matters.
To those of you still seeking ways to get involved with something, here's a thought:
Recently I joined a program through Women for Women International which assists women in war-torn regions with financial aid, job training as well as educates her about her rights and her worth. I'm still waiting for her name (it takes about a month), but I'm already praying for her. A couple of rad things about this program for the sponsors:
1. You get to choose the country of the woman you sponsor. Maybe that seems a little superficial, but think of it this way: if you have a heart for women in Afghanistan, God has placed that specific compassion there for a reason. Through the specificity of this part of the program you have the opportunity to ACT on what God has begun in you. And really, if we all do justice for the sole reason of feeling like we SHOULD (and sometimes that is appropriate), the authenticity and beauty dissipates - or it is never there in the first place. There's something to be said for a calling on your heart. Think about that.
2. You have the ability to interact with her. It's an opportunity to cross oceans and cultural lines and many other barriers to tell her because of God you love and value her. You're able to show that through your financial support as well as in the time you take to write to her. Admittedly, this part makes me the most nervous. I'm going to write a letter to a woman in the Democratic Republic of Congo. Me. I will be writing her letters. A white, privileged woman who has never faced a tragedy even similar to hers...what in the world do I talk about? Well, that's something I am sure God has all worked out.
Check out the website and let it simmer...or just do it.
Happy Friday, friends.
Worth. How do you define worth? In yourself? In your life? In another human being?
Something in my life shifted - and I remember the exact moment - when I learned the invaluable lesson regarding the worth of another human being. Suddenly my life was no longer about me. Suddenly I realized I had to give some of my dreams away (trusting they would come back around somehow) in order to pursue the truth of this new understanding. I couldn't just sit back and allow life to happen, I couldn't just pursue my own goals, I now felt the excitement of helping pursue dreams that belonged to others, dreams I don't know, dreams that haven't even been birthed.
To those of you that were willing and able to participate in my last post, thank you. Whether you realize it or not, you have justice in you. You have love. You have decided that someone outside of yourself has worth. That is beautiful. Thank you, whoever you were, for the amazing help that you gave. It matters.
To those of you still seeking ways to get involved with something, here's a thought:
Recently I joined a program through Women for Women International which assists women in war-torn regions with financial aid, job training as well as educates her about her rights and her worth. I'm still waiting for her name (it takes about a month), but I'm already praying for her. A couple of rad things about this program for the sponsors:
1. You get to choose the country of the woman you sponsor. Maybe that seems a little superficial, but think of it this way: if you have a heart for women in Afghanistan, God has placed that specific compassion there for a reason. Through the specificity of this part of the program you have the opportunity to ACT on what God has begun in you. And really, if we all do justice for the sole reason of feeling like we SHOULD (and sometimes that is appropriate), the authenticity and beauty dissipates - or it is never there in the first place. There's something to be said for a calling on your heart. Think about that.
2. You have the ability to interact with her. It's an opportunity to cross oceans and cultural lines and many other barriers to tell her because of God you love and value her. You're able to show that through your financial support as well as in the time you take to write to her. Admittedly, this part makes me the most nervous. I'm going to write a letter to a woman in the Democratic Republic of Congo. Me. I will be writing her letters. A white, privileged woman who has never faced a tragedy even similar to hers...what in the world do I talk about? Well, that's something I am sure God has all worked out.
Check out the website and let it simmer...or just do it.
Happy Friday, friends.
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