So far it’s been a year of taking science/mathy classes. God’s grace alone has gotten me through. For sure.
Time for a breather, and back in I go.
So far it’s been a year of taking science/mathy classes. God’s grace alone has gotten me through. For sure.
Time for a breather, and back in I go.
Faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.
Faith is the assurance [that it will for certain happen] of things hoped for [And I saw the holy city, new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, “Behold, the dwelling place of God is with man. He will dwell with them, and they will be his people, and God himself will be with them as their God.He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.”], the conviction of things not seen[ And you, who were dead in your trespasses and the uncircumcision of your flesh, God made alive together with him, having forgiven us all our trespasses, by canceling the record of debt that stood against us with its legal demands. This he set aside, nailing it to the cross. He disarmed the rulers and authorities and put them to open shame, by triumphing over them in him.]
Interview with Rosaria Butterfield—her experience as a lesbian English professor and the church. Very intriguing and encouraging story!
It was a foggy afternoon when I pulled out of the community college parking lot onto a perpetually busying intersection. I had gone to work in the clinic in the morning, then, sat through 3 hours of chemistry (which was a rather interesting experience because halfway though class the door jammed, and couldn’t be opened from either side, resulting in someone having to break into the classroom using something that resembled a mini-jaws of life). I was on my way to other work in Tustin, amped because this full day was going rather well for being kind of sleep deprived. Until I saw blue and red lights flash behind me.
I was extremely puzzled and pulled into the nearest parking lot. Sat there, thinking something had fallen off my car, or my trunk was open. The officer dismounted from his motorcycle and walked over to the driver’s side. I rolled my window down and said, verbatim, “did something happen?” I realize now how similarly I act around law enforcement as I do just some average Joe on the street; probably not a good thing. Anyhow, he said to me, ‘Ma’am, did you know that you just turned right on the red? And there were 3 different signs saying “No turn on red”?’ And of course he probably thought I was acting (maybe acting rather well), but I looked absolutely confused and said “REALLY? I had no idea”. Now that I’m typing this, this looks like the most typical statement anyone could give an officer after having sped, or texted, or running reds. But really, I had no idea. I must have been extremely dazed or out of it, but I did not see any signs when turning. Of couse what I didn’t see didn’t matter to him.
Off he went with my license and his pad of paper writing me a ticket. The whole time, I was slowly fuming into a ball of frustration and anger. My heart cursed, felt anxious about being late to work, analyzed the whole situation, and berated myself all at the same time. When he came back, he handed me a pick slip and had me sign something. Funny story is, I’ve never gotten a ticket while driving, so I didn’t really know what to do with the piece of paper he just handed me. I asked questions about it, he answered. He mounted his motorcycle and away he went. I sat there flabbergasted, insides boiling. I walked out of the car to see if I could see any signs on the intersection, but was too far to see. I crumpled the paper with my fists and shoved it into a corner of my car, and turned on the ignition.
As I drove, I was steaming out both ears. I was angry because I felt like this was an injustice. I curled my hands into a fist until the knuckles turned white, and I angrily spoke to the officer in my mind: “Are you serious? How long were you waiting at the intersection to get someone? How many people have you pulled over for this stupid thing anyways? Filling a quota? Do you have an idea how much I make? It’s no chump change!” And it went on and on. I then vented to God. Look, God, You don’t understand, I seriously had no idea the signs were there! Why do I have to get punished for something I didn’t even know I did until after the fact. Lame. Then, as if it were right on queue, a memory of an old post I wrote popped into my head. Something along the lines of talking about how in our ignorance of our sins, we are still culpable before God. And my mind was silenced. My heart was stilled.
How this incident was such a great life lesson to me! Even if I did not deliberately and consciously break the law, I am still guilty of doing so. And in my inability to see past my own side of the story, my heart perspective was skewed. I felt wronged and furious that someone would catch me breaking the law—especially one that I didn’t even realize was happening. I felt like I was the one wronged even though I did the wronging. Are we, as humans, not like this all the time? Especially us who do not think that God is offended by our law-breaking thoughts and deeds, even the ones that we are not aware are felonies against the Maker? I was so up in arms because my pride, my dignity, and my money, felt assaulted even though I deserved it. Even during this short time of reflection, God reminded me that my money is not even my own, so why be so sinfully upset that it was going to be lost to the city of Garden Grove?
As I drove, my anger melted away, and I was immediately humbled. Praise God for such a work in my heart at the instance!
I know that when I get the ticket in the mail with the actual penalty amount I will probably have to fight that anger again, so may this post be a reminder to myself.
I feel like I can’t make up my mind about whether or not I am the same person that I was two, three years ago. So much has changed around me, and in me, it’s almost hard to believe that I was a crazy hyper-active child, and a passionate, energetic college student with the ability, somehow, to pull all nighters, play outside all the time, serve at church, meet up with handfuls of people each week, and write elaborate blogs about life and my inner thoughts, all while still being a full-time student. I guess “young adult” life really gets you, and the tentacles of aging or whatever it is slowly pull you into a state of fatigue and constant desire to rest. Well, maybe for me, it’s more like the tentacles of four different octopi pulling me in different directions. And that’s not just a metaphor for life externally. Internally too. Sometimes, my heart is getting pulled a million directions and it wears on me. Like dough getting rolled out—it covers more surface area, but gets thinner and thinner.
I want a life of spontaneity and adventure, yet I feel like I need to buckle myself down and start driving straight towards my destination—which makes me think about whether my destination is really other people’s destinations and I feel obligated to follow.
I didn’t finish the book, Into the Wild, but there are days I want to be like Christopher McCandless (not the part where he dies in Alaska). He just drops everything and goes where the wind blows as he explores the beauty of the Northwestern Hemisphere. He meets people from all over the place, and uncertainty reigns. That life just seems so exciting. Of course, only for a little bit. Grass is always greener on the other side. I supposed where I’m getting at is that I don’t want to become a boring adult that lets her dreams and passions go down the porcelain abyss because working the 9 to 5 and having a family and a suburban house with a dog is the expected norm that I feel pressured to follow. But at the same time, those things appeal to me.
Yet, in all of this, where is my mention of my great desire to help those that are in need? To be a bearer of the Gospel to the marginalized, the broken? Where is the exuberant soul that so desired to find and glorify God in every single second of her day? The heart that yearned to right the wrongs, fight the waves of injustice? Has it been diluted by the things of this world? I really hope not. I cannot let it be. I don’t want to be a person that is beat down by the busyness of life, the spirit of timidness, or the rolling punches of guilt and despair for my failures and lack of passion, but the truth is that I find myself there at times. Some days more than others. I can be honest in this regard. And being openly honest to myself and others nowadays is harder than ever before.
I know that the truth of the Gospel is good, beautiful, and so necessary. I need to stand up again and know that I am righteous because of Christ, and by the Spirit, filled with hope, purpose, and love. That those things would take hold of my soul, shake it awake, and command it to move forward boldly and resolutely.
