Wishing writing could change me

Sometimes I think my writing can change me. And it always can, but only to a certain extent.

I want writing to bring me peace about a situation, but it's only temporary. I think of my smoking poem from last month. I used it to implore my boyfriend to stop smoking. He still smokes, and I no longer have peace.

It's not that I wanted the poem to change him. (I mean, yeah, a little.) I wanted it to make me feel better about the situation because at least I understood why I felt the way I did.

I want writing to revive my dry faith. I want to write a poem about how I feel about God (see "Eli, Eli") and get myself out of my rut.

But, it doesn't work like that. Writing helps, but it's not a world changer.

Still, I wish it were.

--

Everything I Am

love&hate

     together

bid farewell

to sanity

adieu, adieu—

   here’s everything I am

   here’s everything I am

It’s yours or fire

--

Scriptwriting Archive:
Broken-down Poetry, and what it means
The strenuous marriage of writing
Poetry as Therapy, pt. II
Imagination
Sh*tty First Drafts
Cross-train
Go get a life

Grace grows in winter

Grace doesn't grow in the springtime. Grace grows in the winter, when everything's dead, when life is the brown sludge beneath your rubber boots.

It comes as a surprise.

We talk about life as having seasons. In the spring, life is born. In summer, it's sustained. In fall, it starts dying and by winter, it's dead.

But what if that's not how it works at all? Maybe life is always about dying. Maybe it's about repeatedly dying to our worldviews, our theories, our ways of doing things, our attitudes, our agendas, our impatience, our sins.

I think the seasons of life take place between October and December. In October, we start dying, but not to the right stuff. We die to the good we've always known. In October, we sin.

Then by November, we've killed God. We have sinned enough to shut him out, to no longer care. We've let sin creep in, settle on our sofas and stay awhile.

In November we think we're screwed.

So we started messing around in October, now we're deep into this new way of living. It's easy to be short-tempered; it's easy to walk past you. We've become different people. We used to be, by the grace of God, patient people. Now look who we are.

Hope: it's gone. The trees stay green forever.

But in December, Grace grows unexpectedly. Up from the ground, under your feet, through the snow, through the dirt, through the frozen ground, Grace grows.

Thank God.

You don't need Grace in the summer when all is well. You need Grace when things couldn't possibly get any worse.

--

I wrote Late October first, while reflecting on sin -- my own sin -- and how it seemed unconquerable. A week or so after, I wrote Late November and Late December while plotting a way out of sin. I want a way out. I'm close.

It's been fall for a long time; now it's winter, and I've seen sprouts of Grace.

In the past week or so I've posted two of the three poems in this series. Here's the complete collection including Late December, my poem on Grace.

--

Late October

Late October

and the Norway maple hasn’t turned

red or orange or whatever color

Norway maples turn.

Today

and tomorrow:

an endless cycle of green

and green and green

and green and green.

Through the window

the masochists

slit their wrists,

crying but with bliss.

Late November

Late November

and God is dead

like the maple trees and the leaves

falling out of them.

I did it

with a handful of the

foliage of God, yanking leaves

one by one by one by one

—just so I know he’s gone:

he’s dead.

God haunts still,

like apparitions, and

he howls through crooked

branches, waving:

Hi, I miss you.

Do you miss me?

Late December

Late December

and grace grows

like heaths. It is the

dead of winter,

yet grace grows in the dead

leaves crushed to the ground

and stomped upon,

with booted feet,

crushed into snow

and slush: grey, black,

brown.

and green and green and green ...

II.
Late October
and the Norway maple hasn’t turned
red or orange or whatever color
Norway maples turn.

Today
and tomorrow:
an endless cycle of green
and green and green
and green and green.

Through the window
the masochists
slit their wrists,
crying but with bliss.

--

Author's note: "Things that cause people to sin are bound to come" [Luke 17:1a]. If only they weren't.

Hi, Heart.

I hesitate to blog anymore because my audience has grown so much. I don't mean that to sound like bragging, but since I went overseas and got a boyfriend, more people have been interested in what I say. That scares me. Gulp. Do I want you to read this?

I have one standard for my blog - honesty. I write what I believe (whether it's truth or not is another matter). I write in order to enact change; I write in order for my brothers and sister in Christ to agree, to say "Amen"; I write to vent or rant or ask questions. But I write with the intention of total transparency. I know I'm not always right. I know that what I say is often embarrassing or self-righteous or ignorant. I want this blog to be a testament of my brokenness. As long as it's honest.

(It's odd: I only half-realize that what I write is public. It's not until someone I don't know very well comments on a post that the regret kicks in. Should I have written that?)

But I've been doing this since I was 14, so no use stopping now. Even if this blog gets read by thousands - oh, maybe one day - I can't quit being myself. I can't quit pondering and wrestling and ranting. Am I not Ezekiel, God's mouthpiece?

--

I've been thinking about my heart a lot, because of this book I read. I finished reading Joy in the Morning by Betty Smith for possibly the fifth time. I lost count. 

The story is about Annie and Carl Brown during their first year of marriage in 1927. Carl is a third year law student and Annie is his 18-year-old bride. It's a rags-to-riches story, a theme popular in its time.

I love the book because I think I'm Annie. Rather, I view myself as someone like her. I know I'm not really that much like her. I either wish I were or I try to be. 

Annie's a writer. She's this quirky girl who gets way too excited about silly little things; she gets absorbed in projects; she wants to fit in; she loves reading; she loves observing people. She's a character.

What I love most about Annie - and how I relate to her the most - is her childlike heart. She seems so very young. She calls herself a dope all the time. Carl calls her his child-bride.

Annie's 18 in the book, 19 by the end, but her heart is still 12.

Her heart is a curious little girl who wants to read and write and play house.

She has conversations like this with Carl:

"Would you love me if I was a factory worker?" [asked Carl.]

"Of course. But you're not a factory worker. You are going to be a lawyer. You got to be a lawyer. I told the children their father's a lawyer."

"What children?"

"The children I'm going to have."

"We're going to have."

"I'm going to have them. You can watch." p.61

When I am confused about something or need to make a decision that my heart has a say in, I compartmentalize my Heart, my Head and sometimes my Body. I give them voices and let them speak.

I did it once for this blog. 

I let my Head speak for my rationale. I let Heart speak for my, well, heart. And I let Body speak for my impulses.

But I decided a few weeks ago that my Head, my Heart and my Body are different ages. Body is obviously 20. But Head is in grad school - 24, 25 maybe. 

Heart is 12.

I think my Heart's still a baby.

I remember when I first had that realization, when I was 13. When people asked me how old I was, I'd want to say 12. Sometimes I still want to answer 12. 

I don't know what that says about me exactly. I hope it's nothing bad. I hope it doesn't hurt my relationships or cause me to remain naive or pathetic for the rest of my life.

But I think it'll keep me like Annie. I think it'll keep me hopeful when life is stressful. I think it'll keep me writing even if I never get published.

--

A few years ago I began this quest to find myself. I wanted to know who I am stripped of every relationship, every label or stereotype, every defining quality. I wanted to know who I am via Jesus and no one else. 

Something happened, I think. I had it all figured out sometime last year. I felt cool. I felt confident. But then life happened. I started doubting God. I started doubting that he cared about me at all, that he had a plan for me. Or something. Man, I don't even know what happened.

So I'm back here again. What I started two years ago, I'm starting again. I'm trying to find myself.

Yeah, I know the basics. I know who I am as a writer. I know who I am as a student, as a woman, as a dreamer, as a friend. But I don't know who I am as a girlfriend. I don't know who I am as an adult, a professional. I don't know who I am fully. I only know in part.

I know my Head, but I don't always know my Heart. I never know what she's up to. I have to ask her, and when I do, she starts freaking out. 

I figure life is like this. I wrote a few years ago how my friend Adam told me that you can never fully know who you are, and I said that I didn't believe him. I believe him now. I won't always get myself. I'm peculiar, even to myself. But I can learn. And the learning may never stop.

Ezek.

Georgia peach

"We are most deeply asleep at the switch when we fancy we control any switches at all. We sleep to time's hurdy-gurdy; we wake, if we ever wake, to the silence of God." Annie Dillard

--

I am supposed to be in Istanbul right now. So for those of you wanting a recap of my past day (and a look into my next few days) here it is.

--

My flight from Indianapolis was delayed because of storms in Atlanta, but I board the flight only 45 minutes later than scheduled and all was well. My window seat is nice. I get to look out on the Neighborhood of Make Believe, or what seemed to be, with the tiny cars and all. And I read.

“That’s a great book,” says the woman next to me, who looks like Diane Keaton.

Jayber Crow. “Yeah! I’ve read half of it already, but it’s been a while so I thought I’d start from the beginning.” For some reason I tell strangers more than they need to know, or care to know. I spend the rest of the flight trying to guess her profession. (English education.)

When we approach Atlanta, the captain announces that the storms would keep us from landing. We hover over the airport for a while (I don’t know if planes really hover; I just imagine it like that) then fly 180 miles west to Huntsville, Alabama where we sit. On the plane. For over an hour.

Meanwhile I'm sending text messages to Daniel, another intern, who's at the Atlanta airport waiting for our flight. He keeps me updated on delays. I tell him I think I'll make it back just in time; he tells me the captain announced that they're waiting for our plane to get in before taking off.

We make it to Atlanta by about 5:00. The captain on my plane asks for only those who needed to catch flights to get up and get off. Everyone gets up and gets off. I’m in the back of the plane. I squeeze in front of Diane Keaton and shuffle off the plane and begin looking for Gate T3. Other side of the airport? Awesome. I run. (Power walk.) I huff and puff all the way across Atlanta's airport only to find out that I just missed the flight.

Breathe, girl. In and out. In and out.

I wait in line to get my flight changed. Turns out the next flight isn't until 4:20 p.m. the next day.

[I'll fast forward through my minor freak out, eating dinner, paying $10 for Internet access and getting a call from Jessica who asks me to fly in a day later even so I can arrive with Lydia, another intern.]

I wait in that long line again to talk to Draga, the Delta exec. I talked to the first time I was in this line. The one who told me that I couldn't get on a flight until Saturday evening.

Me: Is it okay if I fly in a day later?

Draga: No, we can't do that.

Me: But the people I'm meeting can't pick me up any earlier.

Draga: Sigh. Talk to her. (Points to woman next to her.)

After this woman finishes talking to the most adorable elderly couple, who speak only Italian, I ask if I can move my flights back a day.

Woman: Of course you can. (Click-click-click of her computer.)

Me: And can I get a hotel for tonight?

Woman: Yes. It will be free for tonight, but will cost you tomorrow. You'll have to ride back on the shuttle to get another voucher.

Me: Okay. Thank you. And how do I get to the shuttle?

Woman: I'll take you there myself.

Nicest woman ever. At least compared to Draga.

I wait outside for my shuttle. Finally it hits me that I'm in Georgia - what a pretty state. I remember thinking that as we flew above it a few hours before. The sky is a pinkish blue color now; the weather is 70 degrees and breezy. I get into my shuttle and daydream about perusing the town for a cute coffee shop.

The driver asks where I'm headed - Days Inn. He calls me Days Inn Girl the rest of the trip. I tip him two dollars because I like my new nickname.

--

I spend the rest of the night either laughing on the phone with Molly or sobbing on the phone with my mom. I am one emotional cookie. We were having issues changing my flight out of Istanbul. But $600 later, we get it figured out.

--

Earlier this week I was thinking about the book of Job and how maybe we try to find hidden truths within it, truths that aren't really there. We take verses out of context; we try to figure out what God means about this and if it justifies that. But if we look too deep, if we look too hard at the details, we might miss the big picture.

It's a simple story: Job has it rough, but things end up okay.

Maybe the conversation between Satan and God was metaphorical. Maybe Satan didn't do the taking away; maybe life happened. And maybe Job thought he had everything under control and he realized he didn't. Maybe God needed to talk some sense into Job in the end, to call him out in the middle of the storm - in the middle of the chaos - to say, "Job. You're not a god. You can't control everything. Let go and trust me."

I'm not saying that the story isn't literal - I don't want to cause a theological debate. But if we look at the story of Job in its purest form, we see a guy who's met conflict, didn't handle it right, but still made it through in the end.

I see myself like him.

What happens to Job will happen to me. I have experienced conflict, yes. I've handled it wrong too. But I'm going to be okay.

So far, so good.

Iraq, here I come. 

(Just later than expected.)

Lauren

Child, I don't remember.

Saturday I felt more human than I had in a really long time.

Dr. Smith in World Civ. talks about the importance of having a big view of sin in order to have an even bigger view of Grace. Saturday my view of sin grew big. And I felt small.

Jacqueline and I watched Lars and the Real Girl (in Elder Hall on the big screen - heehee) and it reminded me of my humanity, my sinfulness, my inadequacies.

The movie is about Lars, a socially awkward guy who lives alone and hates being touched. One day he decides to order an anatomically correct doll/manikin and makes her his girlfriend. He's having a delusion - he thinks she's real - and everyone eventually goes along with it. The whole movie is about their relationship.

Lars believes this manikin, Bianca, is real. He talks to her. He loves her. He buys her things. If someone told him that he was going crazy, he denied it.

Hmm.

Richard Dawkins wrote a book a few years back, heading the New Atheism movement. The book is called, "The God Delusion." Hmm. There's that word again.

And I'm not denying God's existence. But I thought about it a lot while watching this movie. I thought a lot about Pascal too. He said that it's reasonable to believe in God, because if he is real, you'll get to heaven, but if he isn't, you'll be unaware of your delusion after death. Win-win.

Then I thought of Peter Abelard, Medieval philosopher. He believed in the importance of doubting and questioning one's beliefs. It's how you learn faith.

Then I thought a lot about love. How Lars treated Bianca so well and how I wanted a boy to treat me that well.

Then I thought about how imperfect I am. How I am just a girl, not a god. I am so in love with myself sometimes that I forget about other people.

And I thought about how I have lost all ambition, have been caught up in my silly little stories, and have no idea what I want to do with my life. I don't know if I want to change the world anymore.

Part of me wants that picket fence and 2.5 children. And a hot husband. A nice home. Lots of money.

Then the other part of me, not really standing for social justice, still hates American consumerism. Then I go and buy stuff for myself. And dream about being comfortable.

I know I'm under Grace, but I'm suddenly aware of all the rotten shit I do. (Like cussing. When did I pick that up? A few weeks ago, I think. Around the time Lindsey started calling Medieval kings stupid bastards. lol)

I guess that is what Grace is about.

We don't get excited about Grace until we realize how selfish, arrogant, dirty and self-righteous we are. Big view of sin, bigger view of Grace.

Then Jesus looks at me and says that he doesn't remember any of those things I just listed off. He forgets. He sees me as 100% righteous. Amen and amen.

And he likes it when I ask questions and doubt a little bit. He knows that this is a season. That this dry, lazy, disillusioned valley I'm in won't last forever.

--

Everybody's waving hands in the air

They're singing songs of Grace

But it feels so dead to me

Could it be that I just don't believe?

I can't let go what's holding on to me

This is just for show

'Cause you don't want to see who I am

Sure as hell not the better man

Sure as hell not the better man

I am naked, and I'm trying, but I can't make it

Oh Jesus, I'm doing all I can

I'm just a man ...

"Child, I don't remember

What you've done

Child, I don't remember

The things you're dying from"

Chaos

I ... am ... blogging in the middle of a crowded hallway. That kind of sounds like a joke or the introduction to an anecdote - but it's not. It's just true.

I was talking to my friend Molly last night, hashing out everything that I've been thinking about for the past week or so. Nothing is organized. My dear thoughts are all over the place.

Breathe.

I keep forgetting to breathe.

Madelaine L'Engle in her book "Walking on Water" talks about creating cosmos from the chaos. I think I want that. But how?

I've been really good at compartmentalizing everything. I reserve thoughts about school to the afternoon hours, thoughts about boys to the night. But I can't seem to do that anymore.

I want to detox.

I told Molly last night how I wish I could write poetry to get these feelings out, to express them in an appropriate way ... but all my poetry comes out as prose.

This is my poetry.

The closest thing to it.

Words that don't mean much.

It looks a lot like

Poetry,

but it's not.

When Jesus was on a boat during a windstorm, he slept. His apostles poked him and woke him. Sleepy-eyed Jesus told the storms to stop and they do. Then I bet Jesus went back to sleep.

God, teach me how to rest during this storm!

I was reading an old Xanga blog post of mine which talked about this topic. Even in my naivety, I understood the benefits of storms - to go through them, not to avoid them. Not to organize them. But to let them change me.

Dear God, I hate this chaos.

But let it transform me.

Get out your measuring cups and we'll play a new game
Come to the front of the class and we'll measure your brain
We'll give you a complex, and we'll give it a name

Why do you believe?

I'm debating on what I should talk about. What's been on my mind lately has been relativism. But I don't think I'm ready for THAT blog. I have a lot to think about still. Don't worry, I'll get back to it eventually.

In light of relativism, however, I do want to explore the age old question of Why Do I Believe What I Believe? Because, to be fair, I can't tell you what I believe about relativism before I understand why I believe what I do.

So back to the basics.

I believe Jesus is the Son of God because...

As Pastor Paul would allude, there are different stages we're at in our Christian journey: Childhood, Adolescent, Young Adulthood and Adulthood. Each stage answers that italicized question differently.

The Child:I believe Jesus is the Son of God because the Bible says so and my mommy and daddy told me that Jesus died on the cross for my sins and they said that if I say I'm sorry I will go to heaven and heaven is really cool. My Daddy said there I can eat aaallll the cookies I want. I love cookies. And cookie monster. I love Sesame Street.

Interpretation: The Christian child (and I'm saying that they're a physical child as they are spiritually) believes Jesus as their Savior because their parents did first, or possibly a Sunday school teacher or camp counselor. They do not go "searching for Truth" as a teenager or adult would--it's presented before them. I think it's fair to say that a seven-year-old will put his trust in Jesus if his parents told him to. That's the nature of a child: to believe what Mom and Dad say.

Also, a spiritual child (I'm going beyond the physical age of a child, but one that is new to Christianity) tends to have limited knowledge of Christianity. Their focus may be on salvation only or the forgiveness of sins, rather than any more complex Christian concepts.

The Adolescent: I believe Jesus is the Son of God because the Bible says he is and I have put my trust in him. So far I haven't had any reason to doubt him. Most of my friends believe in God too, and they go to my youth group. The ones who don't believe in him I try to get to go to youth group. I love learning about deeper stuff in the Bible like eschatology, the gifts of the spirit, angels, prophecy, and those crazy stories in Judges about fat kings and women with tent pegs. Sometimes I don't like youth group because it's dull and the music sucks. My friends and I like to come up with ideas on how to change it so that it won't be dry, but that doesn't really work.

Interpretation: The adolescent Christian (again, I'm speaking of age rather than just spiritual maturity) has an understanding of what they believe more than a child. They understand the basics and then some. Whenever there are trials, there seem to be only two responses: they either run to a friend or youth pastor for Christian guidance (and thus stick with the faith) or search for God in something different than religion (drugs, sex, friends, video games, pop-culture, etc). I don't want to say that all teenagers' faith is flighty, but even I had to rely on my peers and my mentors to keep me from falling from Christ. I needed Tom to remind me who I am (a leader!) and Ashley to keep me from willful sins.

A teenage Christian's spiritual undulation tends to reflect that of the youth group. Pastor Paul said this to the college age group, and though I hate to admit it, I think it's true. When one person felt dry, the rest of the group did. I remember Ash and I wasted hours of sleep talking about how we were going to "fix" youth group because it felt so dry. Everyone felt dry. And when we were on spiritual highs, everyone else was as well.

The Young Adult: I believe Jesus is the Son of God because not only does the Bible say so, but because I have committed myself to him, and I have seen the work he has done in my life. I don't always understand why I still sin sometimes or why evil is so prevalent in the world, but I will still rely on Christ. Sometimes it's annoying that I can't logically explain or understand God, but I guess that's where faith comes in. It's hard, but I'm going to trust Him anyway.

Interpretation: A young adult Christian has a firm foundation for what they believe. They have let God move in their life enough to see it in themselves, not just in the ebb and flow of the youth group. Young adults have the questions; they know they don't always have the answers. Some may struggle with always needing logical evidence for what they believe (i.e. ME) or others struggle with understanding why bad things happen to good people, but they are okay with not having all the answers. (Or, well, mostly okay.) They ask the questions, look to the spirit for guidance, but rely on faith to get them through.



And so comes the "Adult Christian." But frankly, I am not one and I don't think I could explain thoroughly because of that. I could make some guesses as to what an adult Christian is like: one that has solidified their faith enough to accept answer-less questions, or one that can expand other spiritual "age groups" to understand others. I don't know. If you have answers, feel free to comment.

I guess I just want to understand where I am at and where I am heading. I want to know my questions are normal. I want to know why I believe what I believe. Is it because of my Sunday school teachers, or my youth group, or truly because I believe it?





Ezekiel

nothing wrong with my changing world..

Last September God told me that this season of my life was going to be about change-- I believe that was an understatement.

I experienced change in about every area of my life since then: a new car, a new job, new friends, new hobbies. And... some bad ones: lost friends, lost a crush, lost hope. All were meant to make me stronger, I believe. I was wrestling, like Jacob, with each instance desiring to be changed--for God to touch my hip so I may walk out of here different.

And I kind of thought that that season was over.

I'm not really sure why, I just thought that all the changing had been done. But was I any stronger? Was I any wiser? Clearly not, because Sunday God reminded me of a thing or two...

I'm not done changing. The world before me is not done changing. And whether it is cliche to say this or not, it has really just begun.

Sunday I sat and I heard God called me out--via my pastor Paul--on my biggest crime: pride. I am "Know it all." I do believe I have it all together and everyone else is just a foolish sinner. I don't need a mentor (and if I did, it would be someone famous. Like John Eldredge. Or, Don Miller). I talk down to people; I tell people when they don't know what they're talking about. I'm condescending.

More change: I sat with a girl I consider a Samaritan (and enjoyed it). I bit my tongue during youth group. My heart got broken. I clung to new friendships.

And dear Lord, in eight weeks there will be even more change. And two months after that, even more. I won't have my mommy to make sure I'm up in the morning or have her buy me my favorite granola bars (unless she wants to fedEx some!).

Change is never going to quit either. Whether God moves me into another season of life, I will never stop changing, I'll never stop growing--hopefully toward Him, hopefully into a stronger girl of God.

As Matty said in his Devoted article (that never got published, sorry) EMBRACE change. Love it. What's going on right now may seem like it will breed only more suffering, but hold fast. This moment is just a rung on a really, really long ladder, stay strong and stay close to God and you'll move up the ladder.



[Find your faith and dive deep, through living gateways pass
Lined with death and ivory, and hold fast, hold fast]

the good Lord smiled, and looked the other way.

And so we are here again. Guess what, folks, it's time for a new triangle.

For those of you not too sure what I'm talking about, I'll explain: God teaches me things through triangles. WHY? Well, for one, I have a tendancy to draw triangles. Secondly, triangles have 3 corners--father, son, holy spirit. You know the drill

So I have reached my 5th triangle. I'm psyched. I love it when I enter a new "season" of life. Moreover, I'm excited that God tells me when it's time for one. So here we are new Season of life, how do you do?

TRIANGLE 1: The Slice of Pizza. <--Summer 2005

The summer after 6th grade I started actually making my faith personal. Yeah, it was far from a mature faith, or even a CHRISTIAN faith [so many questions, so many things I otherwised relied on] but through that period I grew so close to God.

My faith was about proving myself. I memorized verses, I prayed and prayed and prayed. I didn't know what it was to be a Christian so I made it up. I was a moral little thing.

The pizza represents Ashley and my idea of this "pizza part-ay in heaven". We're planning a huge blowout when we get There. BarlowGirl's invited. And Big Daddy Weave.

TRIANGE 2: The Pine Tree. Summer 2005-December 2005

The pine tree meant wilderness. And what's more accurate about the wilderness than its romanticism? Think The Last of the Mohicans. Intimate. Secluded.

This year [summer after my freshmen year into my sophomore year] I had my biggest crush and longest crush up until that point. I thought this guy was it. I had never liked a guy like this one. BUT through all this God showed me how to fall passionately in love with Him, through Jesus Christ. I learned what it was like to be intimate with Christ. It was this year that I first learned how to really listen to God.

TRIANGLE 3: The Mountain. December 2005-December 2006

This was probably my least favorite triangle. The mountain represents those cool times with God. When life is easy, talking to God is easy, and show tunes flow through your head constantly. But there are things called valleys.

This year [wow, all these last close to a whole year] I had probably the most valleys I had ever had. Ashley and I had our cahoots. Amanda and I had. I was single. When I dated, we fought. School sucked like noneother [think: the beginning of junior year--tough stuff!]. It was when I learned what a "bench moment" was: when there are times it is just EASY to talk to God... and then sometimes you just have to get off the bench (which is no fun).

I experienced valleys and they helped me appreciate the Mountain.

TRIANGLE 4: Delta. December 2006-September 2007

In Chemistry Delta [a little triangle] goes above the arrow in a chemical equation to show that the products were heated. There is this law in Chemistry... you know a chemical reaction takes place if light gives heat. [a flame, glowing neon, etc] Strangely enough there is a song called Light Gives Heat by jars of clay. And even stranger, there's a verse in the bible about light. It says to be a LIGHT UNTO THE WORLD.

And that's what this triangle means.

This season I learned how to live my faith out like never before. I started a prayer group. I was reminded of God's call on my life: to be Ezekiel, the watchman.

TRIANGLE 5: Change. September 2007-->

Mr. Adams used a triangle to represent the world CHANGE today in econ. I don't think there's a better triangle than that one for this part of my life. I decided to do things differently. I'm not going to cling to my usual things, I'm going to simply trust God. I'm clean. I have no hidden sins, I'm confronting them all.

It's definately a change for me. ;-)

God is pretty cool. I'm excited to see where He's taking me. For now, I know it's going to be something different. Wow, it sounds like I'm trying to add a conclusion to this blog. It needs none!

♥Ezek.