the origami thing.

"What's with all the birds?"

-anybody who has ever noticed how many paper cranes I make daily.

Well...

I need to be doing something with my hands
------ otherwise I have a hard time listening.

Possible ADD? Not sure...

I used to doodle.

Teachers got mad.

I started biting my nails.

Mom got mad.

In the 7th grade, I watched David Lee make a paper crane.

I watched and learned and began clumsily making little birds of my own.

Teachers didn't yell when flammable avians began appearing on their bookshelves, my mom could handle the tiny creatures cluttering the counters around our house (as long as you could see some white at the ends of my nails), and I was able to pay attention in AP U.S. History; everybody's happy.

As a bonus, my long nails are helpful in making irrationally tiny cranes, which other people always seem to get a kick out of.
After a while I could do it with my eyes closed.

It might be conservative to say that I make lots of them.

I don't know what my point is.

I've just noticed recently
that tons of people I know associate me with paper cranes.

I like it, I think...

But it's a little odd.

I suppose I can see how this random useless talent might be endearing to people. The end result --a paper bird-- isn't what I'm in it for; I just need to be doing something with my hands. Though, I do enjoy the look of joyful fascination on peoples' faces when I place a minuscule bird in front of them.

It looks a little something like this:

tee-hee.

Dear Mom and Dad (and other people that care),

I really love breakfast.
It turns a good day into a great day.
I found the best morning routine ever. It involves getting up an hour before I need to, reading my bible, getting dressed, eating breakfast, setting an alarm for 13 minutes before I need to leave for class, and crawling back into bed.
It makes all the early morning groggy feelings go away.
I still haven't used those coin laundry machines...
If my calculations are correct,
and I do, in fact, come home at least once a month,
I can last this entire year without using them.
It's a bit of a stretch, but I'm stubborn enough for it to happen.
Lactose-intolerance. Makes. My. Stomach. Hurt.
School work is getting a bit monotonous.
Sometimes I procrastinate... A lot.
Whenever I do, I freak out. And when it's all over, I just have to laugh at myself.
God has a sense of humor-- that's what I've learned in the past few weeks.
For example:
I waited until the day before to write an informative speech
about the effects of caffeine,
got three hours of sleep that night trying to finish it,
was completely tweaking on caffeine as I went to class to present,
aaaaand we ran out of time so I don't get to give it.
Yep.
Whenever it rains here, I am THE most prepared person on campus.
An umbrella + boots + a raincoat + a good attitude.
My umbrella is so gosh-darn pretty, everyone compliments me on it.
Thanks, Mom.
A pair of lovely friends have been plopped into my life.
They're not what I expected,
but they're just what I needed.
My Creator is so much wiser than I.
I bought this bag of candy corn that was on sale at Walmart.
I don't care for pretty much any sweets...
But I'm not gonna lie, candy corn is delicious.
And for some reason I thought it would last me for the entire month of October...
But it's definitely almost gone already.
I spend a lot of time reading.
But only half of that time is reading for classes.
I'm captivated by C.S. Lewis and Donald Miller and Jane Austen.
I can't leave them alone.
Suzanne and I go to the WRC to work out twice a week;
I usually bike so that I can keep reading.
"Exercising your mind and your body simultaneously!"
Our bathroom is very cold. It makes getting out of the shower unpleasant.
Brothers:
Do you have a giant box of legos?
Is your ball stuck in a tree?
Got a Nintendo 64?
How about a thick rope that's 100+ feet long?
Boom: countless hours of entertainment.
I have moments here when I think about how much and why I love you.
Luke-- on occasion, you use words like 'reputable' in text messages.
This makes my heart melt.
Matt-- we would make the BEST brother/sister Doo-wop duo EVER.
Don't you even try to deny it.
Reid-- I remember using Google on your computer once
and I happened to notice that the last thing you searched was "classy."
I can only assume a picture of you popped up.
Andrew-- you always try to solve my back problems
by giving me bone-crushing hugs...
It has yet to work, but I have faith for the future.
Last but not least, you all grow facial hair like grass.
These snazzy gentlemen have pinched, poked, sat on, tackled, made fun of,
and looked after me my entire life.
These tears? The ones I've got slipping down my nose right now?
They're mostly happy ones.
Fall is one of the best-smelling seasons.
The nails on my right hand are shiny, long and uniformly manicured.
The ones on my left (sans thumb) are very short and moderately janked up...
From playing the guitar.
It's always awkward when people I don't really know point it out.
Our bible study is nice. It's simple stuff,
but I feel like I learn more when I'm helping others understand things, anyway.
The leader wrote a comment to me the other day,
"You bring in some great insights (and cross references! I don't know how you do it!) that have really helped our study."
And I...
Well, I guess... I don't know 'how I do it' either?
I don't feel like I'm a particularly knowledgable biblical scholar or anything.
The only thing I can come up with
is that I was raised in an amazing church that preached the truth.
And for that I am extremely thankful.
I've started making paper cranes again.
Out of the pretty paper you two gave me for Christmas.
I love you.
One of the pieces of candy corn was super deformed....
And I haven't eaten it yet. It's just sitting on my desk.
I like it.
I miss my nieces so much it hurts.
I hear Ingrid is a thumb-sucker.
That girl knows what's up.
My dorm room is starting to feel like it's my own. It's colorful. It's cozy.
But I get swallowed up by the repetitive nature of my day-to-day life.
Some days I'm happy;
some days it feels like I'm suffocating.
Some days I laugh easily;
some days I'm ready to come home.
I'm fighting for joy,
but some days it's just hard.

I'll see you all in two days <3
((Can we have gyros?))

I cried today.

Because I realized I'm that person James was talking about.
That guy who studies his own face in the mirror,
and then turns and walks away,
promptly forgetting what he looks like.
I hear the word, but I don't do the word.

"IT'S NOT ENOUGH TO CALL YOUR SELF A DISCIPLE OF JESUS."

I say all these things, but do I really have the will to put them into action?

Or am I just reciting these truths--

these beautiful, perfect, flawless truths--
these truths I've learned but never fully bought into?
Because I've never truly applied them to my life--
Not in their entirety, at least.

"HOW DID WE GET TO A PLACE IN CHRISTIANITY WHERE PEOPLE CALL THEMSELVES 'CHRISTIANS' BUT LOOK NOTHING LIKE JESUS?"

I cried because I fall short.
Again and again and again.
For this I hate myself sometimes.
At least I hate the parts of me that aren't reflecting Christ.
Which, at times, can be a rather pretty overwhelming proportion.
And so I beat up on myself.
I cried because when I listen to myself, I hear:
I'll never be good enough.
I'll never be satisfied with myself.
I'll never consider myself to be valuable.
And then I realize that my thinking is completely backwards.
And that in my self-loathing,
I'm defiling something that God created to be pure and beautiful and holy.
Not my actions, which are sinful-- that's not what I'm talking about.
I'm talking about me.
Because my sin has been washed away.
I'm talking about the reality that I'm justified in the eyes of my creator.
He looks at my filth and sees Jesus' blood:
and it is finished.

Yet I continue to treat myself like garbage,
somehow warping truth & thinking I need to be punished for the crappy stuff I've done--
for my continual failures and shortcomings.
Thinking that I need to suffer for my wrongs,
as though they require more payment...
As though Jesus' death was somehow insufficient.

I cried today because I couldn't bring myself to accept His grace.
Not that I don't think it's adequate:
I know it's more than enough.
The insufficiency I'm overwhelmed with is my own.
I don't feel like I'm worthy of anything,
let alone perfect love.
Today is one of those days that I just have to remind myself...
The point of grace is that I don't deserve it.
Because when I'm utterly incapable on my own, that's when God get's all the credit.
And my self-worth should reflect the fact that I'm a part of God's kindgom.
The point of everything is for God to receive the most glory.
And that isn't achieved by me punishing myself;
it's achieved by complete humility, gratitude, submission and praise.

2 Timothy 1:9-10

"[God] saved us and called us to a holy calling, not because of our works but because of his own purpose and grace, which he gave us in Christ Jesus before the ages began, and which now has been manifested through the appearing of our Savior Christ Jesus, who abolished death and brought life and immortality to light through the gospel"

( I Wonder by Leeland )

I’m in awe at the majesty of who You are

Your love is a seal burnt inside my heart

All of the day I want to be where You are

Holy Father

And it feels like there’s not enough praise inside of me

With all these words, all my heart can sing is holy

You are holy 

Jesus Christ

You bled Your love, laid down Yourself

And gave me life

In naked shame You hung and You were lifted high

Here I lay in awe and wonder

And I am afraid

For no one’s ever sacrificed and loved me this way

So on my face I fall under Your heavy grace

Here I lay in awe and wonder

And I wonder

We're at war.

Therefore, since we have been justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ. Through him we have also obtained access by faith into this grace in which we stand, and we rejoice in hope of the glory of God. Not only that, but we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame, because God's love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us.

(Romans 5:1-5)

Something I've been thinking about for the past few weeks, which has surfaced in conversations, books and scripture I've been reading, and songs and a few different sermons I've listened to: what is our attitude toward suffering? And what's our response? When we suffer, when stuff isn't going the way we'd like or the way we expected, we're called to have joy.

To REJOICE.

Easier said than done, I know. The world is tainted by sin so, sure, it sucks; but we can have confidence that there is a loving Father behind every aspect of our lives, including our suffering. And He does NOTHING without purpose.

That's something to be joyful about. And maybe not in the sense that you're always happy or always in a good mood, but in continually having contentment and peace in the understanding that the trials of this world cannot possibly overcome us if we are in Christ.

--John 16:33--
I have said these things to you, that in me you may have peace.
In the world you will have tribulation.
But take heart; I have overcome the world.

God gives us grace sufficient for each day. That's the only reality with which we can have complete joy, too: Our faith is in God alone to get us from day to day. Our contentment is not circumstantial. When we set our hope on God-- when it's no longer about us, but instead about what He has done for us-- He works through our trials to achieve good. Good for us? Sometimes, sure. But not always. Sometimes we suffer merely so we can empathize and share Christ with others in their suffering. In the same way, when God gives us comfort, it's so that we can turn around and pour out comfort and love on others.

We need to get our eyes off ourselves and fix our eyes on Jesus.

And it's hard. It's going against our nature. Our selfish narcissism gets in the way. Our pride, our self-centeredness, our sin. It's a battle; all day, errrr day.  Fighting to tear our focus off the circumstantial storms that threaten to blow us off course. The crucial thing is, though, that they only have merit if you accredit it to them. So I'll reiterate:

What is our attitude?

"God does not mean for us to be passive. He means for us to fight the fight of faith--the fight for joy. And the central strategy is to preach the gospel to yourself. This is war. Satan is preaching for sure. If we remain passive, we surrender the field to him. You must go on to remind yourself of God; who God is, and what God has done, and what God has pledged 

Himself to do..."

1. Realize that authentic joy in God is a gift.
2. Realize that joy must be fought for relentlessly.
3. Resolve to attack all known sin in your life.
4. Learn the secret of gutsy guilt - how to fight like a justified sinner.
5. Realize that the battle is primarily a fight to see God for who he is.
6. Meditate on the Word of God day and night.
7. Pray earnestly and continually for open heart-eyes and an inclination for God.
8. Learn to preach to yourself rather than listen to yourself.
9. Spend time with God-saturated people who help you see God and fight the fight.
10. Be patient in the night of God's seeming absence.
11. Get the rest and exercise proper diet that your body was designed by God to have.
12. Make a proper use of God's revelation in nature.
13. Read great books about God and biographies of great saints.
14. Do the hard and loving thing for the sake of others (witness and mercy).
15. Get a global vision for the cause of Christ and pour yourself out for the unreached.
     (From 'When I Don't Desire God' by John Piper)

"I hear so many christians, murmuring about their imperfections, and their failures, and their addiction, and their shortcomings. And I see so little war! 'Murmur, murmur, murmur; why am I this way?' MAKE WAR!"

(Tedashii)
I make war

Cause sin never sleeps

It's got me in a trance

You can see it in my dreams

I make war

Man, I beat my flesh

To the death

Every breath

Like I beat my chest

I make war

Sun up

I make war

Sun down

I make war

Time in

I make war

Time out

I make war

Against lust
I make war

Against pride
I make war

Against me
I make war

Until I die

Dear Mom and Dad (and anyone else who might care),

I'm all settled in my dorm...
There are lots of nice people in my hall.
We just watched a movie with a projector on a giant screen under the stars.
And by we,
I mean hundreds of people that I don't know who also happen to go to UNI.
It wasn't a good movie, so I watched the cosmos instead.
I'm done with my homework.
I get it done early.
My teachers are all normal human beings.
Some of them are even kind.
I couldn't find one of my classes on Tuesday and I didn't tell anyone.
It wasn't my fault or anything; my schedule had the wrong room number on it.
Don't worry, I figured it out. Eventually...
And went and talked to the professor,
to apologize for my freshman-ness,
and see what I missed and how I could be prepared for the next class:
I handled it by myself.
I felt like a grown-up,
and a scared little kid,
all at the same time.
Every morning I wake up a little too early.
So I go to the union and eat a muffin and drink some juice and read my bible...
And I wait for my day to begin.
People smile at me.
I smile back.

It's been a while since I hit my head on my loft.

A while translates into roughly 6 hours.

I clipped my nails today, because I couldn't play my guitar.
Someone tell my nieces that their aunt loves them, okay?

I'm scared to try to use the coin laundry machines.
I stay up later than I mean to every night.
I miss my brothers.
Advice from my first week: if your biggest pet peeve is air blowing on you,
don't live in a place that's SO hot you're forced to have fans on you 24/7.
I've been eating remarkably heathy meals each day.
My love of spinach is accredited to Earl Taylor.
Thanks, bud.
This morning I awoke to discover the astonishing fact that
both my watch AND the clock on our wall had stopped working overnight.
I proceeded to freak out, thinking I had overslept,
only to find my phone, which had fallen on the floor, revealing the time to be
5:38 AM.
Yep.
I've been quoted in two peoples' Facebook statuses this week.
Reading one made me cry...
The other one was:
"We're church shoppin' like it's Black Friday!"
Explanation:
At the end of the week,
I will have gone to precisely 11 church-affiliated events.
Separate churches.
Separate events.
I'm tired.
I miss my house church.
I miss my Mother church.
I miss...
Remind me to buy batteries.
And more tea bags.
And probably some instant oatmeal, if it's on sale.
I went on a run the other day.

My ancient phone has been working well-- I know you were wondering.

The desk lamp I got from Goodwill has a warning about UV radiation.........

Should I be concerned?

Luke: I've had some time to read C.S.,
but I don't know if I'll be done by Labor Day.

My heels hurt when they touch the floor each morning.
Not so sure what that's about...

Today I called my high school French teacher,
and I thanked her for preparing me so well.
Many of the people in my classes can't pronounce basic vocabulary...
I feel like a French wizard--- magically capable of helping them out.
Sometimes I break pens.
Pencils, highlighters, staplers...
Mom... Should I be watering our plant more? How much sunlight does it need?
I miss your morning hugs.
And the other-times-of-day ones, too.
So far I've only made two paper cranes during my entire time here.

I have a terrible feeling that that's symbolic in some horrible way...

I want a best friend.

I want a best friend who lives near me.

I want a best friend who lives near me and loves Jesus.

I want a best friend who lives near me and loves Jesus and shows it.

I've said my name, majors, hometown and grade more times this week
than my junior and senior years combined.
Dad, you know what a feat that is.
... and I have a picture of us
skating when I was 11 years old
framed on my desk.

With Colossians 1:9-12 and "Do good" written by it.

Sometimes I just feel like crying.
You know what I mean?

Use it.

This whole blog thing, I think it's good. For me. It's Vick's VapoRub for my soul, or something. Okay, maybe not the best metaphor. Whatever, I'm trying to mull through a few ideas right now and string them together in the process. Forcing myself to write out my honest thoughts for others to see has been really hard for me. Which is odd, cause I'm incredibly vocal about my opinions 98.3% of the time.

But it's these ideas-- and I now realize this is what Stephen King was talking about--- it's these complex issues I'm struggling with that get at the heart of me; the destitute truths buried down deep somewhere I'd rather not have exposed to sunlight... That's the stuff that people need to see, and it's also the stuff that's hardest to let people see. It's much more comfortable for me to hide behind this facade of carefree lunacy and sarcasm, never taking anything seriously and bursting into cachinnation when anyone takes me seriously.. I promise that's genuinely a part of who I am, and both my creator and my brothers have had profound influences on that part of me developing. But it nags at me sometimes, that some people only see that side of me. And there are weird quirks to my personality that I do need to mold; there are moments, quite frequently, when I, like every other sinful human being (which is all of us by the way), realize that I'm not being an accurate representation of my savior. Not even close. And it breaks my heart, little by little, until I feel that I shouldn't have this gift I didn't deserve in the first place-- Why didn't Jesus pick someone better suited to shed his light on an unbelieving world? 

I was sitting in a doctor's office yesterday, waiting for my name to be called, and I overheard a woman talking with the receptionist about an elderly man they both knew. It was the woman's grandfather, and the receptionist had met him a few days before. And the way they described this man, the way he treated everyone around him... He would see someone looking a little down and, no matter where they were or who it was, he would take their hands and pray for them right there. His gift of kindness and gentle wisdom and a joyful spirit... I could close my eyes and picture his wrinkled, friendly smile just pouring out Jesus' love. They both spoke with such conviction about what an astonishingly godly man he was, the legacy his actions shouted from the rooftops. 

I have these gifts, these seemingly random, sometimes frustrating gifts that my gracious Savior has blessed me with, that I occasionally shove to the back corner because I'm afraid to do what He created me for. I led worship at my church two nights ago. I can't tell you how terrifying it is for me to get up in front of people and display what I perceive to amateur guitar skills and an incredibly mediocre singing ability. I seem like the type of person who would love getting up on stage and performing... False.

I cry.

I'm crying just attempting to type how it makes me feel. Inadequate is the word  the tempter is screaming at my subconscious. When it comes to my gifts, I have an insatiable lust for perfection, recognition from others, satisfaction with myself... And it's crippling. It shouldn't be a hard way to bless others. Music. Art. Written works. It seems basic enough... But I am inherently either petrified of something not being good enough-- me not being good enough-- or, if by some miracle I'm satisfied with whatever it is that I'm doing, I completely soak up the glory and approval of those around me like a glass of ice water on an Iowan summer's day, when the heat index is like 117 and it hasn't rained in two weeks. I cannot find balance. I cannot find balance on my own. Cowardice and pride, two things that, for me, appear to be two conflicting feelings, are my two greatest sins. And it happens when I haven't centered everything I do around Christ.

I'm going to paint a picture today, and I'm going to paint it for my Savior, to bless and uplift those around me. I'm not going to punish and berate myself when it isn't perfect, and I'm going to rebound any praise I get right back at my Lord and Master, the Creator who is ultimately responsible for every single piece of fruit the labor of my tiny, uncoordinated hands that He has graciously given me produce. Thank God for my ability to even hold a paint brush. To even have a voice. To be able to convey my ideas, to be able to learn new instruments with slightly above-average ease. Nothing I do comes from me. NOTHING I DO COMES FROM ME. I am NOTHING. This life is NOT a story about me. I am a wave in the ocean. I am a speck of dust in the wind. I will be gone in the blink of an eye-- but with a shred of help from my Master, maybe my sinfully proud, feeble self can leave a glimpse of a legacy that glorifies Him, that points straight to the cross and undeniably cries out that Jesus rose; because that is the greatest and most noble thing I, or anyone, could possibly accomplish in this life.

Also, who am I kidding? Vick's VapoRub is SUCH an accurate metaphor.

burn, burn

All I want is time.
Free, expansive, unimpeded time.
to do with as I please.
Time to play my guitar.
All I want to do is play my guitar until my fingers bleed.
And then I'll superglue them shut and play more, more, more.
I want time to create art,
as much as I want, in whatever medium I want
at my own leisurely pace,
with no one telling me that taking the ACT
and applying for colleges is more important.
My grandchildren won't care how many colleges I applied to.
They won't treasure my test scores and show them to their children.
My great-grandmother's paintings are hanging all around my house.
I want time to read,
and not, like, obscure excerpts from King Lear
or random short stories about racial tension that my AP lit teacher piles on us.
I want to get lost in scripture for hours
and not have to worry about anything but what is pouring into me.
Last night I was 34 psalms deep
...when I got a text from a friend.
There are other distractions in my life that I want to have the option of escaping from.
I want to re-read all my favorite books,
and I want time to sit for an hour after i've finished them,
and just revel in their poetic construction and meaning.
I want time to laugh with my nieces.
And not worry about all the other pressing, 'important' things I need to be doing.
I want to swing and play dress-up and sing for hours.
I want time to go on a walk.
just walk around
in the cold and the still and the silence
and marvel at my Creator's creation.
That would be the greatest christmas present ever,
besides maybe the guitar that my mom is trying to hide in her room,
if someone were to simply ask me if I would like to go on a walk.
where to?
where ever we end up.
nothing else to do today
nothing we should be worrying about
no deadlines to meet.
I've already taken the stupid ACT...
I want to take an entire day
to just call all the people I haven't spoken with since summer,
people whose lives I wanted to invest it to a great extent,
until I let my busy schedule get in the way.
There's no excuse for that.
There were ministry opportunities that faded away
as I watched from behind my planner
filled with scratchy notes and reminders.
I feel like there isn't enough time in the world for me
to do whatever it is I'm supposed to do.
to be whoever it is I'm supposed to be.
to blossom like a flower in early spring,
growing in my creativity
and my understanding
my faith
my love
my joy
my influence
my conviction
I want to grow into whatever sort of woman God wants me to be.
I want to calm the chaos
I want to invigorate the mundane.
I want to never say any commonplace thing
or settle for mediocre.
I want to be set ablaze
to have an insatiable thirst for more of beauty, light, love, my God.




I want more.




The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
...And miles to go before I sleep.

-Robert Frost

i am strange.

i fidget incessantly.

i hate the smell of roses.
i will spend days just reading for hours and hours.

i am always tired.

except when i have way too much energy,

which is really often.

i am an underground musician.

i am loud.
i am obnoxious.
but i also love spending hours in perfect silence.

i can waste astonishing amounts of time on art projects.

i'm quite irresponsible.
i frequently burst into song.
i am never satisfied with myself
i have an impressive lack of coordination.

i have seen almost no disney movies.

i am easily irritated.
i have an astonishing memory...
i can memorize massive chunks of scripture
and huge passages from my favorite books,
and i will remember them for years without trying,
but i forget things that people tell me almost instantly.
i say oof-da when i sneeze.
i whistle. a lot.

i make dozens of paper cranes every day.
i'm incredibly passionate about seemingly random things.
i love biking.
i think pictures tell the best stories.
i want to write a book with my camera.
i really love hugs. a lot.

i laugh at things that aren't funny.

i cry over things that aren't sad.

i argue about things that don't matter.

i constantly procrastinate

with almost everything,

but if i have a task that i'm set on accomplishing,

i will not rest until it's finished.

yesterday, i had at least three hours of homework that i could have done.

instead, i literally spent seven hours making christmas cards.