The Maxwell House Church

Uptown church met last night at the Stagg's house on Maxwell St. (affectionately referred to as the Maxwell House Church.) We've been meeting since August and kind of figuring out what our evening meal and gathering time is going to look like. I think everyone is slowly discovering their role, and it's been hard for me to know what part I play in this little community. A tradition has started that before the meal, Charlie asks the leaders of different households to share their testimonies with the group before we break bread and begin eating. The conversation after the meal doesn't have a rigid structure and we have a growing sense of community. There have been things that I've wanted to say but I hadn't found the right context in which to share; I've wanted to share Isaiah 40, a passage that has been particularly meaningful to me; I've wanted to share my struggles with sharing my spiritual gifts... I brought my guitar one Sunday to see if I could practice with another musician after the meeting. But one of the leaders promptly asked me to lead worship, and it was terrifying. It went perfectly fine, but I've been constantly struggling with putting myself out there as a new guitar player and not-a-singer, with how to bless the community of believers and not worry about my lack of skill. 

I said all that to say this:

Our meeting yesterday was amazing.

We gathered before supper and Charlie told me he'd like me to share my testimony and break the bread. I am a little girl. Little girls don't get to play roles like that at church... But this is a house church, so I guess we're blazing our own trails. After the meal we started the meeting and I once again lead worship. When we were done singing, someone felt compelled to share because of one of the lines we sang. I felt like God was actually using me-- He was working through the music to grow our fellowship and bring us closer together. Later, a new mom shared some of her struggles with feeling cooped up this winter and not being able to get in the word due to the demands of her current station in life, caring for a newborn. She mentioned wanting to open her bible and read a passage that really spoke about God's majesty and power, like Isaiah 40. I had to laugh at my savior's insight. When she was done sharing, I picked up a bible and read the passage aloud, though I guess I didn't need it because I memorized it last summer with some campers. We prayed for her and then a few others shared. Caleb went into a more structured group discussion on the use of spiritual gifts in the context of our community-- God presented a perfect situation for me to share what I'd been struggling with. Edification. The group's ideas, encouragement and insight flowed together flawlessly, as if it had been choreographed and tailored to each person's specific needs. And I'm sure it was.

I've never been more excited about church in my life.
This is it.
This is what it's supposed to feel like.
This is what Jesus and Paul and the apostles intended; I can feel it.

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.

Becoming invested..... and thirsty.

The general consensus of my mind has been that English teachers always make me over-analyze literature. We're forced to dissect it, and I would often let it ruin my own experience of the novel. Or poem, short story, essay, whatever. Just a few weeks ago, I had a teacher reiterate over and over again that every single word in a written work is chosen with care, specifically picked to convey a unique thought. And I called shenanigans. Every word? Not a chance.


But I'm sitting here, polishing the only story I've ever written and been mildly satisfied with, and I'm realizing the truth behind it all.


It's all in the subtleties, and my stomach turns when I think of someone skimming over this thing I've poured countless hours into, only to miss what I'm trying to say. To miss the feel, the message. There is no intrigue if I just come out and say it, that's how crappy novels are written. You have to discover it in the chipping paint, to peer through the keyholes and put the 299 pieces together to find the missing cardboard jigsaw. It's in the stolen glances, the memory of freshly brewed coffee's scent, snow drifting to the ground with quiet serenity, or the way she brushes the hair out of her eyes.


Don't dissect



Drink.

i use the word superfluous in everyday conversation

This turned into a resolution-ish statement. Not really intended to be... but whatever works, I suppose.

Six-ish hour car van ride happenings
(events, discussions, and my own meandering mind)
with myself, Stephanie Haila, and three sleeping persons.

Hour One: Hidden Acres Reminiscing / Story time/ Everything changes so muchhh.

My thoughts during hour one: 

I'm building a legacy at this place I love,

but who am I doing it for?

Is the legacy

"Grace was great counselor"

or is it

"This camp is 100% Christ-centered,

and I want my kids going there to strengthen their faith 

and to learn what fell0wship really looks like"

 well,

there are people who were around camp for years

investing time and sacrificing better-paying jobs

to impact kids' lives.

They were legendary counselors,

but nobody remembers their names after a few years.

What they left, though,

the thing that was immortalized,

was the effect they had on camp and the kids and the people they were working with.

How they glorified Christ through their words and actions.

I don't want to do anything for me,

I want it all to be for Him.

My sinful selfishness gets in the way.

but I'm working on it.

 *end thoughts*

 

Hour Two: Steph = driving. Me = joining the other slug-a-beds in a brief slumber.

Hour Three: Listen to all Jon Foreman's season EPs. Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.  
 

My thoughts during hour three: 

I have a rock 

that I need to depend on

MUCH more than I have been.

Why would I want my future to be in my hands anyway?

- - - - -

Nobody likes it when a relationship begins rapidly and flawlessly.

Seriously. It's the worst.

Pam and Jim finally got together,

got married and had a baby...

what happened?

>> Steve Carell leaves <<

And the office starts to look a little bit

like the plane 5 minutes into Madagascar 2.

hillarious, but depressing.

also, shut up. I know it's not the best analogy. 

- - - - -

I WANT CONFLICT

and thennnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn

I WANT RESOLUTION
I want  a written, choreographed, real-life journey.

"Oneday,

I will walk with you,

Across this bridge,

We're building,

And my heart will say,

What can't be said.

But for now

I'll keep my tongue tied,

And let the pages unfold,

If time is against us,

Our love will be young,

When we're old."

I want to struggle and lament and wrestle with my singleness.

And find peace.

And THEN, well.

"Whatever, God...

Do with me as you wish."

I want to give my life over to Him,
but I still have all these things that I'm longing for;
I want to take the wheel,
...But I wouldn't know where to go if I had it.
"We're either riders or fools behind the reigns" 
It's a work in progress.

 *end thoughts*

LUNCH BREAK!

HOUR FOUR: What are Grace's life plans for the next five years? Gab gab gab. What is going on in Steph's life? Gab gab gab gab gab. Lot's of quality catch-up chatting. (shocked that we didn't start with this? samesies.)

My thoughts during hour four:

I know where I want to be

I know who I want to be

I have no clue where I'll actually be

But I know without a doubt that,

if I let Him,

my God will shape and orchestrate me and my life.

So where will I be in five years?

Where ever He wants, I guess.

It's a hard thing to have complete faith in.

but I'm working on it..

it's a work in progress.

*end thoughts*

HOUR FIVE: personality analysis  = my favorite thing. It's my favorite thing.

Thoughts during hour five:

I am SO motivated by recognition.

At least in terms of creating something,

I'm 100% fueled by positive acknowledgment

it scares me a little bit.

It's unstable,

unreliable. 

It reminds me of how human I am.

"This blood is fire rushing through my veins"

It's just another example

of how much I cling to worldly things,

opinions, expectations.

Last night I made a new page in my book

with a poem someone in my church wrote, 

and a song someone at my church performed..

And then I sat in my room

and cried.

Thanking God for the inspiration that came straight from Him

to bring different mediums together,

all intended to glorify Him.

I want to channel all that praise back to the original Author,

but it's hard when that pride is my energy.

I can't pry it from my clenched fists,
though;

I want my heart to be in the right place--

I want to give it back willingly.

sincerely.

genuinely.

I'm working on it...

it's a work in progress.

*end thoughts*

HOUR SIX:  Listen to Mark Driscoll on Joy in Suffering.

Thoughts during hour six:

Suffering isn't God punishing me for my sin.

I sometimes get tricked into feeling that way.

But my sin has been bought.

It's been paid for.

Jesus was tortured and murdered for it,

and He is no longer in the grave.
HE IS NO LONGER IN THE GRAVE

Suffering is an opportunity.

The way I react to it entirely determines the fruit of it.

If I get bitter and angry at God,

I'm no different than the world.

If I take it with continuous joy and patience

and let a love that I could never comprehend pour out of me...

"You shine like stars in the universe."

I have to constantly remind myself to be a lighthouse.

That's why I'm here.

 And it's not easy, but it's not my own strength that I'm depending on, anyway.

It's hard, but He's helping me work on it.

*end thoughts*

Andddddddddddddddddd..... I'm HOME! 


Jesus,
Thank you for suffering.
For directing
orchestrating
shaping
uplifting 
encouraging
and loving me more than I could ever,
with this earthly body and human mind,
comprehend.
Help me behave like a person who has received more than I could ever deserve
Help me shine. 
Always, only, ever for You.