Pleasant Surprises and Great Expectations

Yes, everyone does a record of the past year and shares their hopes for the new year. This is my shameless attempt to do the same. :D

And for some reason, it is very link happy. I apologize in advance.

If I could describe my 2009, it would be that God never ceases to pleasantly surprise me.

I hope that continues in 2010.

For the most part, I had made my 2009 about a few things. (Yes, Kristin, Lost is one of them). In those things, I came across a few challenges, but for the most part, a lot of celebration and joy over how God has poured his blessings--even in midst of difficult trials. After coming out of 2008, I was unsure, and mostly anxious, over how 2009 would unfold. I am happy to report that this past year was better than I could have expected or planned.

I love the way you love me, Lord.

Like everyone else, when I look back over 2009, I am amazed at the number of things that have happened the past year. I won't share them all, but since this is a 2009 countdown, I will name a few of the notably pleasant surprises...

1. I rediscovered my love for music and my deeply rooted desire to make it a large part of my life. It started with my friend's choir concert last January, which paved the way for me to start leading worship for the 11am service for my church. I also found the beauty of other people enjoying their own love of music. To round out this return to music year, I also attended my high school choir reunion.

2. For the better part of the year, my faith and my choices on how I practice my faith has gone through some tough trials. I wrestled with my former Catholic faith, read a lot of Rob Bell, and listened to some sermons by Pastors Jon and Rob, and Mark Driscoll. But in the end, I came to realize how grateful I am for the choices I had made because in the end, it brought me closer to the God who loves me. I hope that what I had learned about grace would carry me through next year and for the rest of my life.

3. I am really grateful for my job and the organization for which I work. They provide me with so many opportunities to serve and projects that challenge me. But truly, it is the people that I work with that make all the difference. I absolutely enjoy them. You know who you are. And if you don't, I'll do better to show my deep gratitude.

4. Lost nights. Yes, I enjoy the show, but I truly love the company more. This show also helped me reconnect with my friend Kristin. And I wouldn't trade that for the world. It may be reason enough for me to appreciate Team Locke. Or not.

5. I finally went to Washington DC. I haven't had a chance to detail how it has inspired me, but I still carry the beauty of that city in my heart.

6. I was finally given permission to live the life I had always wanted. Now I'm just waiting for God to show me how that life will unfold.

7. My friends are the best.

True, I still hope for those things I had enjoyed this past year to continue and blossom in 2010. I look forward to the triumphs--and challenges (!)--I will face in music and the joys of relationships with those I love. I anticipate learning how to actually enjoy the life I'm trying to live instead of being afraid of it. I will be thankful for what I have instead of constantly wishing things were different. And I hope my days would not be characterized by my typical dark and broody but by my dance of joy.

Now, I am not foolish enough to believe that I will not experience pain next year. In fact, I expect it. But I also expect that in whatever I go through, my God is with me.

It's more than just a Christmas tradition: Emmanuel, God is with us.

Lord God, I believe you are good and sovereign over every detail of my life. And if I know anything, I know that I can wait in expectation of being pleasantly surprised by your great love.

I love the way you love me, Lord.

Delight yourself in the LORD and he will give you the desires of your heart.

--David, Psalm 37:4 (ESV)

Praise the LORD...who satisfies your desires with good things so that your youth is renewed like the eagle's.

--David, Psalm 103:1...5 (NIV)

Speak--and say the words no one else will ever say. Love--love like the world is over in a day. I'm gonna show you love like you never had before.

--Jars of Clay, "Show You Love"

oh...and Go Team Ben. I'm rooting for you in 2010. Sorry, Kristin, that Lost reference was for me.

Crushed

A joyful heart is good medicine, but a crushed spirit dries up the bones.

--Writer of Proverbs, Proverbs 17:22 (ESV)

I don't exactly remember when, but for at least several weeks now, I had run into a serious bout of depression.

I didn't realize it at first, but yesterday, when I was composing an entry for this blog (an entry, that obviously, I did not post) I came upon this surprising revelation. The list I had complied wasn't so much an inventory of warning signs; it was a blaring signal: Abby, you're depressed.

Yeesh.

I've had moments of being dark and broody, but this was different. I took no interest in anything about which I was passionate. It was coming to the point where it was debilitating. I slept for hours. I had little to no appetite. I was focused on busyness and work. I isolated myself and became disengaged from people.

Maybe now that I have had some time to think--or took the time to think--I was able to find out what had been bothering me. It wasn't easy, but to use a math analogy (!) I had to work the problem. Every problem has a solution; I just had to do the work.

Sidebar: I was a horrible math student, by the way. I wanted the answers to just appear. Logically, I could figure out what the answer should be, but I didn't do the work to actually produce the solution. And when it came to complex problems, I really did not--for the lack of a better term--do the math. There were many math tests that came back with the words, I know you know the answer. But you have to show the work. Sigh.

My heart was crushed. I told everyone I was fine, but really, I was heartbroken at the rush of critiques that came my way. I can live this life that I want to live, I can become this person I believe God wants me to be. My heart is a lot more resilient than I give it credit for.

Failure doesn't always mean defeat.

But first, I have to get out of this dreary cave I'm in and try again.

And that life that is laid out before us is filled with the glorious and the challenging.

--Hal Sparks, Thoughts on Summer

I think I can. I think I can.

--Watty Piper's The Little Engine That Could

Resolve

Dear Heart,

It's all right for you to feel every once in awhile. I promise.

I'll try not to hide in my work, cloak you in busyness, or needlessly avoid what ails you until you burst at the seams just to get my attention. I'll try not to let worry plague you. I wanted to have a life, and we should be able to live it.

I resolve to take better care of you. I resolve to not ignore you when you are broken, disappointed, or wounded. I resolve to feed you with joy, care, and thanksgiving.

There is a heart in this hollow tin chest. And you belong to me. Precious God, may you guard this heart with the presence of your peace.

Love,

Me

Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.

--Paul, Philippians 4:6-7 (ESV)

And reaching out my weary hand I pray that you understand You're the only one who's faithful to me. You're the only one who's faithful to me.

--Jennifer Knapp, Faithful To Me

Delight in Discipline

I'm a little unfocused. I'm easily distracted. I'm waving the procrastinator's banner.

The funny thing is, I'm not on deadline.

I've been trying to dust off my writing skills and give a good attempt at the story I've been trying to write. And all I have to show for what I have accomplished in the past hour is a blinking cursor and a smattering of nonsensical words.

Here's what I'm learning about a creative life: it requires more discipline than what people expect.

When I was in high school, (the good ol' days when I used to play the piano really well. Oh, Dear Talent, how I miss thee!) I had no problem sitting at the piano, going over difficult passages numerous times just to perfect the music piece. Granted, some of those ultra-disciplined practices had to do with the limited time I had to learn a piece ("Why yes, Giles, I can definitely learn this difficult piano accompaniment for the concert tomorrow...").

I'll admit, practicing piano wasn't always a joy. It was a loathsome chore, especially during the earlier years of piano lessons. I couldn't understand how hours of Hanon exercises could help me play the breathtaking classical piano pieces I loved. But if it weren't for those years of disciplined playing, I would not be able to love the piano the way that I do now.

I used to love writing as much as I used to love playing piano. I am a extremely rusty in writing, and it doesn't come as easily as the piano. I'm not as disciplined in this avenue of expression, and therefore, I am apt to swiftly succumb to distractions.

I suppose discipline is the same with a lot of things in life, creative or otherwise. Anything of true worth requires work. However, in my experience, discipline in the things we delight in rarely ever seem like work.

Gratitude

It has been a few years since I've written anything for Christmas Eve.

The last time I had written a play for Christmas Eve came around the time I started this blog. And as I look back at what I had shared on my blog then, I realize that my heart is full of that same gratitude today:

It is because of them, I had something offer that was of some significance. I have so much to share and these people were the ones who had lent their voices. Without them, I would be left with my voice full of silence, a heart full of love, and a head full of words.

Thank you, Denise, Bard, Kyle, and Skyler for lending your voices. You have no idea how much you have blessed me this Christmas. Thank you, Juli, for the opportunity to write something for my church family.

And to the wonderful Discovery Worship Team, thank you for letting me play piano with you. It is always a pleasure to be part of the team...you even let me get away with playing piano while hiding behind the curtain. :D

Points for Effort

Little darling, I feel that ice is slowly melting
Little darling, it seems like years since it's been clear
Here comes the sun, here comes the sun, and I say it's all right

--George Harrison, "Here Comes the Sun"

Keeping up with the theme for the past several days, the circumstances surrounding spending Christmas Eve with my family changed at the last minute.

My family ended up not going to Christmas Eve Mass.

However, I still wanted to make an effort to connect with my family on Christmas Eve. In some ways, it was harder, but I had to try a little. I was still late for dinner, but everyone seemed to understand. I played piano, I hugged them, I laughed out loud, and I played games.

Of course, it wasn't an idyllic moment every second. But when I looked at my family as they gathered in my grandparents' living room, I finally saw what I had been hoping to witness. We were trying. We were hardly perfect at expressing care, compassion, or comfort, but we were making some sort of effort to show love, to be engaged with each other, to connect.

It may not seem like much, but for me, it was enough.

My hope remains for my family that we would continue to make some sort of effort. Sometimes it's not about loving well, or enough, or perfectly. Even when we fail, even when things don't turn out the way that we had hoped or planned, even when the response is silence, in the end, it's still love when we try. One may never know how or when making that effort can make a world of a difference.

Even though I didn't have to endure what I had been preparing for all week, I will never regret that decision to go with them to Christmas Eve Mass.

The ice is slowly melting...and it's all right.

George, you were always my favorite Beatle.

Strength

I am blessed with amazing friends.

The last time I was this terrified, I stayed inside of my house and didn't talk to anyone. My heart was failing, pouring out in tears, and there wasn't anyone to talk to.

This time around, I can say that is definitely not the case.

Today I didn't want to get out of bed. Today I wanted to hide. Today I wanted to give up and choose the easier path.

Thankfully, God reminded me that I have a purpose that will not be thwarted by a memory that I am trying to overcome. I have friends who bring me great joy and I always have a great time with them (thanks for making me get out of the house tonight. Zoolights was cold, but it was worth it). But most of all, I have a God who is the strength of my heart, especially when I feel like my heart is going to give out.

I don't know how it will turn out. I don't know what to expect or how I will feel or react. But of all the things I know, I am holding onto the truth that I am in the tender care of my God.

Whom have I in heaven but you? And there is nothing on earth that I desire besides you. My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.

--Asaph, Psalm 75:25-26 (ESV)

I love you, O LORD, my strength.

--David, Psalm 18:1 (ESV)

Twelve Days of Christmas

For once, I won't blame my emotional state on being tired and exhausted.

Vulnerability, at times, has its merits.

My family is a Christmas Eve family. In a string of circumstances and various levels of risk-taking, I found myself agreeing to attend Catholic mass with my family on Christmas Eve.

Surprisingly enough, I do not regret this decision. I had been told that the 12 year standoff I had with my family regarding Christmas Eve services was ridiculous. If I could make it to Mass, why wouldn't I go? This is family. And this is Christmas.

And so, I decided to join my immediate family for Christmas Eve Mass, and extend the invitation to the rest of my family. In talking about it with my sister, we came to a few conclusions:

1. We hadn't gone as a family (including my aunts, uncles and cousins) to Christmas Eve Mass in a long time. She had felt the disconnection, too. It just hasn't been the same since we left St. Stephen's.

2. Regarding my time constraints and other external circumstances, it just makes sense to attend St. Stephen's this Christmas.

I was faced with this choice: do I back down on my promise because I am too afraid or do I find the strength to attend Christmas Eve Mass with my family because this is the way I can show them love this year?

My sister asked me if it would be weird. I didn't lie. I told her it would be. I hadn't stepped foot on St. Stephen's ground for 12 Christmases. But maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Maybe enough time had passed where no one will remember who I am and what had happened that it would be possible that I could slip in unnoticed.

I left that conversation with my sister feeling confident and hopeful in my decision. This is family. This is Christmas.

I had admitted earlier in the week that I was tired of feeling isolated and disconnected from my family every Christmas. I want to love them again. I want to experience Christmas with them again. I want to be engaged with them again. And if showing up to Catholic Mass this Christmas Eve is a way to show love and communion with my family, I will do it.

But I must confess, I am afraid.

This overwhelming sense of fear didn't hit me until I was driving back to Tacoma to attend a Christmas party. I am scared to go back to St. Stephen's. I have avoided it for so long--why would I jump back in? I am terrified of this place and what it means to me. And not everyone in my family knows that, let alone understand it.

And yet, I still have hope that in going back, I will be able to reconnect with my family in a way that I have longed and prayed for. Perhaps in the place where I had experienced the deepest moments of betrayal, I would find the strength I never thought I had. Perhaps, this time when I leave, I will not become overwhelmed with grief and pain, but rather, grace and forgiveness.

It has been a long 12 years of being afraid, and I understand it will not wash away in one night. But, if I had learned anything in those 12 years, I can stand on the promise that I am not alone.

Emmanuel, God is with us.

A Half Step Away

Sometimes I just get lost.

I'll admit--I've been a bit dark and broody the past couple weeks. I've been sad, heartbroken, discouraged. I've hidden behind my busyness that I've forgotten who I am and why I do the things I do. I've failed in so many ways that I've become afraid of trying. And it's amazing how we can get lost in our misery and lose sight of the hope that will never disappoint us.

Last night, I decided to make an effort to climb out of isolation and make an effort to spend time with my friends. They were baking cookies for our church, so I decided there wouldn't be any harm in spending an hour with them. I planned not to stay very long.

Sometimes the road back is just a half step away.

Just because I had my keyboard in the trunk of my car, I agreed to an impromptu worship time. We sang the songs from the 9 AM set list, some new and old favorites, some hymns. We also learned new songs. And, of course, we sang some Christmas songs.

I've been afraid to play piano and sing as of late, but this was different. This wasn't a prepared set list or just another typical Sunday morning. This was just a group of people who love God, who love spending time with each other, singing songs that mean so much to them because it drew them closer to the God they love and worship.

It's moments like this when I am reminded of who I am and why I do the things I do. It's moments like this that spurs me to try to be more than what I've become. It's moments like this that heal my heart.

Sometimes I get lost.

And sometimes the smallest of steps can turn into a leap of faith.

Anticipating a Major Key

O Come, O Come, Emmanuel and ransom captive Israel.

--Latin Translation by John Mason Neale, 1851.

Lyrically and musically, this is one of my favorite Christmas songs.

Typically, the majority of this music piece is sung in a minor key. However, there is one change at the chorus when "Rejoice!" is sung with a major chord. The true beauty is found in the whole; in the tension between the two parts. The beauty would be lost if either of the parts were missing. The song needs both the mournful anticipation and the joyful resolution.

In midst of darkness, there is hope. While waiting during an seemingly endless time of sorrow, joy is found in a promise that the wait will be over.

Today is the first Sunday of the season of Advent. A few stories came across my path that broke my heart. Some of it was personal, some of it from those close to me, and some came from those I don't know but call the town I share with them "home." It breaks my heart to hear these stories, especially at the beginning of the Christmas season.

My heart is broken over the events of this specific day. There are some things I can't understand. There is despair and pain and sorrow. I can't make sense of it in my mind; I can't make it fit in my heart.

My hope for those going through such hard times is that they find comfort in their family and friends; that they find hope in a promise that it will not always be this way. There will come a time when we will reach the end of this, and we will sing in a different key.

Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep.

--Paul, Romans 12:15 (ESV)

Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel shall come to thee, O Israel.

Choosing Tradition

I'm not sure if I am characteristically a traditional person, but as of late, I am fascinated with tradition.

The sociologist part of me could not stop the flooding questions: How do traditions begin? How does one integrate people into their family traditions? What is the process of changing traditions? Why do some traditions stand the test of time and others fade away?

And the very personal part of me had questions of her own, surrounding one basic question: If and when I have a family of my own, how will my holiday and family traditions change?

It's been ten years since I moved to Tacoma. In that process, I have developed my own traditions, a melding of my church family and my own family. I try to honor both families, doing my best to participate and connect with the people that mean the most to me. However, that process has been a long and hard one. I have hurt some feelings whenever I chose one group over the other.

Sometimes those choices don't exclude the other. Thanksgiving, in particular, is one that I am lucky enough to participate with both families--Turkey Bowl with Kristin in the morning, dinner with the Colliers in the afternoon; Thanksgiving dinner with the family in the evening.

My mind has been awhirl over what I think and feel about my life; what is really important to me--including these holiday and family traditions. In whatever way my life changes, one of the things I am looking forward to experiencing is creating family traditions of my own.

Love Like an Ocean

A list could not contain everything for which I am thankful.

But that doesn't mean I won't try. My heart is still an overflow of praise for my God.

O to grace, how great a debtor...

1. Friends. I learn so much from them. They bring me silly joy and peaceful comfort. They remind me of what is truly important. I am not well-versed in expressing affection and gratitude, but truly, I have nothing but pure love for the group of people I am honored to have as friends.

2. Work. Sometimes I can't believe how blessed I am to have my job. I have been given so many opportunities that I am humbled by how much they trust me. I hope that I am a blessing to those I work with. I always wish to serve them well.

3. Family. They are a unique brand of crazy. But I belong to them. They say you can't choose the family you are born into. Even so, for everything I have been through with them, I will always choose to love them. They mean so much to me.

4. Music. I love that it is back in my life again. It took me awhile, but because of a few people who reminded me how much I love it, and for those who give me the opportunity to try, I have an ongoing song in my heart.

5. Grace. There are so many things that have happened this year that would not have happened if not for the grace of God. And when I look at what I have and joyfully anticipate for what is to come, I know that I truly do not deserve any of it. The only reason why I have any of these things I listed above and the things I have treasured in my heart is because God graciously calls me His.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone. Be blessed.

O my words could not tell, not even in part, of the debt of love that is owed by this thankful heart.

--Matt Redman, "I Will Offer Up My Life"

On Peut Toujours Espérer

In the day of prosperity be joyful, and in the day of adversity consider: God has made the one as well as the other...

--Writer of Ecclesiastes, Ecclesiastes 7:14 (ESV)

Today was difficult. I had a very rough beginning, my mind was plagued with needless worry, and I wasted too much time dwelling on my wounded pride. But those circumstances shouldn't squelch hope. It took me awhile, but when I finally took my lunch hour, I realized that I just needed to stop thinking and I just needed to trust God. Granted, that's not a new perspective, but it's probably going to take me a lifetime to learn.

My plan for today's list was supposed to be hope. However, in light of my day, I thought it would be apropos to make this list about challenges. It would be foolish to try to live life without pain; pain has a purpose. Pain, as much as peace, teaches us to hold onto the hope we have.

1. Change. I feel like this year has been full of changes. My role at church changed this year. I fulfilled a lot of roles at work and I am still transitioning into a new position full of different responsibilities. My friendships have grown in beautiful ways that both humble and bless me. Merely because it is full of the unknown, change terrifies me. And yet, the challenges of change only provided further proof that I can stop worrying because I can trust God. Whatever changes are in the horizon (which may be sooner than I may think) I know it will be good because I have a sovereign God who knows and cares about the details of my life.

2. Family. A year ago, my father was in the hospital for congestive heart failure. Today, he is still alive, and I believe that is by the grace of God. And the grace that sustains him is the same grace that allowed me to look upon who my father is and offer him the grace I had been given. A lot of healing still needs to take place in my heart regarding who my father was, but I've got hope. My sister and brother-in-law will be having a baby, which I hope will bring us closer together. My mom and I finally have an understanding of who we are. Thankfully, we are no longer at odds, and it appears that we are at peace with each other. The rest of my family may not understand or know me, but I believe that the ice is finally melting. I am learning to not hide from them, and as a result, they are starting to see me. And yes, I will always love my grandpa. It took us awhile to get to this place, but it's slowly getting better. I've still got hope.

3. Boundaries. Let's face it: I've got poor boundaries. Sometimes they're too high. Sometimes they're not existent. This year, I've run myself ragged because I had too many things on my proverbial plate. On the same token, I also learned some healthy boundaries and my adherence to those boundaries might have very well saved my life. I may not be good at setting or keeping boundaries, but I'm confident that I'll learn once I remember to keep what is truly important.

Here's what I'm learning about hope. Life isn't always what we had planned. Sometimes it's better. And yes, sometimes it's not. Hoping our circumstances would turn out in a certain way or different than what they are is the surefire way to be unhappy. Regardless of the circumstances, if I believe I can trust God...there is always hope.

On peut toujours esperer.

Why are you cast down, O my soul; and why are you in turmoil within me? Hope in God; for I shall again praise him, my salvation and my God.

--David, Psalm 42:5-6 (ESV)

Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up.

--Paul, Galatians 6:9 (NIV)

Peace Like a River

Considering my recent desire to find rest, I thought it may be appropriate for today's offering for the Thanksgiving List to be...

What Calms Me...

1. A cup of hot chocolate and a rainy day. Sometimes a rainy day is what it takes for me to slow down and take stock of what is really important. I also must admit, hot chocolate is delicious and beats a cup of coffee on certain days.

2. Long car rides. You can find out a lot about yourself. And if you're lucky enough to have someone to drive with you, you can find out a lot about someone else. It is always worth it.

3. Beethoven and Chopin. One is dark and broody. The other is lyrical and expressive. Both write music that is just beautiful.

4. Yo-Yo Ma. He rocks.

5. Laughing. Sharing silly stories, retelling an inside joke, and breaking into fits of uncontrollable laughter over nothing provides proof that peace doesn't always have to be experienced with silent solemnity. I cherish the people who make me laugh. Especially the ones that make me laugh over the things that I would typically take too seriously.

Peace and joy, my friends.

Joy Like a Fountain

In 2007, I started creating lists the week of Thanksgiving.

Last year, I was not able to continue the tradition due to family issues (has it really been a year?) but I thought I'd try my hand at cataloging this past year. Yes, I realize this is cheesy, but then again, this may be a refreshing change to my usually thoughtful blog entries. On a side note, I don't think there is anything wrong in looking back over the year and being thankful for what we were given.

Today's list is brought to you by joy...

1. Asher James and Evelyn Joy. These kids make me happy. Their families make me happy, too.

2. My friends. There are many reasons why you're all in my life; one of which is how much joy you bring me. I love laughing with every single one of you. If I haven't personally told you how much I enjoy you, I apologize. I hope I will be better at expressing my gratitude to you.

3. Playing piano and singing. I may not be the best at those things, but when I'm fully engaged in making music, almost nothing else brings me as much joy.

4. Rainy days. Yes, I love rainy days. I don't think I can explain the depth of how much joy they can bring me.

5. 11 AM Worship Team. They put up with me and how nerdy I get over music theory. (Yes, you should sing the fourth above the melody. Then it would be perfect! Oh! A perfect fourth! :::cue Abby's nerdy laugh and team members nervously exchanging glances and rolling their eyes:::). Really, I enjoy playing music with my team.

6. LOST nights. Yes, I enjoy the show. But really, it's also a chance for me to hang out with my friend Kristin and connect with her through this show. Yes, we're silly over our dedication to (some may obsession with) this show, but I wouldn't trade our connection over silliness for anything.

7. The Wizard of Oz and Singin' In the Rain. These two movies top my all-time favorites. On many a dark and broody day, these films never cease to make me feel better.

8. My Dance of Joy. I haven't danced my dance of joy recently. And not many people have seen this dance of joy. (Be grateful). But when I do dance this dance, it's nothing but pure joy.

Thanks for embracing the cheese.

Home Churches and Being at Rest

In the short time since my responsibilities at work changed, I grew accustomed to being busy.

There are some things we should just get used to. Leading a busy life shouldn't be one of them.

The ironic thing is, I led a devotion at work about staying still and the struggle not to be busy. As per usual, I struggled with the very thing I shared in front of a large group of people. I've got witnesses now.

Today is my Sunday morning "off"--meaning, I am not leading worship at my church this Sunday morning. I have no responsibilities. Last month, I was at such a loss at having nothing to do that I ended up doing something. This month, I was asked by my pastor to actually rest.

I realized that in order to do so, I would have to physically remove myself from my regular Sunday morning. And when I say "physically remove myself," I mean, I would have to leave town.

To many people, it may seem counterintuitive for me to go to my hometown in times of stress. But when times get really rough, I tend to travel north to my grandparent's home.

They are home to me.

And in a typical Abby-is-stressed-she's-escaping move, I headed to my hometown.

During my drive there, I got a few text messages that tempted me to come back and ignore this command to rest. But I had to keep going despite this deep desire to turn the car around and help where I was needed. That isn't exactly being still with God.

As much as I would miss my church family, I knew I couldn't rest with them this morning. Not yet. I hope I will someday. But for the time being, the temptation to maintain my usual busyness during my typical Sunday morning would be far too strong for me to overcome.

There was only one missing detail in my plan to rest. Although going to church isn't required to rest, I still wanted to go somewhere.

A few weeks ago, I had a conversation with a friend about home churches. And since I couldn't go to my home church where I grew up, I decided to go to visit his. I have my own memories of this particular church, and it wouldn't be the first time this church had served as a sanctuary for me.

I was a bit out of my element, but despite the fact that it was obvious that I was a first time visitor (that's another blog), the church members were very attentive and welcoming. I encountered God in a way that made me miss some of the traditions I had grown up with. I shared communion with a group of strangers that considered me family for that single moment. I met a few new people (yes, I gave them my real name). I drank a cup of extremely hot coffee in their quaint fellowship hall. One of them wanted to adopt me.

It reminded me of the better times at the church I had grown up in. It also reminded me of my current church family before I got used to my life of busyness.

By the time I drove home, I was at peace. Rested. Still. A little more connected than when I woke up. I remembered the God I had forgotten in my time of being busy.

So, thank you, Church in My Hometown that adopted me into their home this Sunday morning. You may not know it, but you helped me rediscover what I thought I had lost. Thank you for letting me rest.

And to my wonderful church family in Tacoma, I missed you this morning. It may take me awhile, but I will try not to let busyness get between us again.

Be still, and know that I am God. I will be exalted among the nations. I will be exalted in all the earth.

--LORD God to David. Psalm 46:10 (ESV)

I Wanna Put On My Boogie Shoes

My blogs have been full of deep thoughts as of late, so I decided to offer a lighter note.

It took me over a year, but for the little girl in me who adored the movie The Wizard of Oz in her formative years, I went outside of my typical conservative box...

...and finally bought a pair of red shoes.

I am not used to being silly over something like a pair of shoes, but sometimes you have to embrace the silliness. Thank you, once again, for indulging my inner child.

Blog title from "Boogie Shoes," KC & The Sunshine Band.

Name Calling

Yes, it's another pun. Really, I do hate puns.

Since Pastor Jon's sermon on the beautiful struggle of Jacob/Israel with God, I went on this obsessive research on anything about this particular story in the Bible. (No, I don't obsess much). Some commentators talked about the blessings of the limp, the beauty of struggle. Others talked about Jacob's character, God's strengthening of a boy who was yet to become a man. And others talked about the significance of the changing of names.

I do have a fascination with names. What they mean, how they were chosen, if it fits the person it was given to. I bought a baby name book once--a $4.00 find at Target--and combed through it to find the etymology of numerous names. I used that book when I used to write stories. I don't write stories any longer, and I have no idea where that book is now. (I must have misplaced it along the many moves between houses, dorms, and apartments). Yet, names still fascinate me.

Although this may seem to be another reason for me to bring up Rob Bell, I do want to share something from his offering on the Jacob/Israel story. It isn't anything new, but worth pondering:

In the ancient Near East your name was more than just words. Name was identity. Your name was reflective of your character, your substance, I mean the very fiber that made you, you. Your name told you who you are.

--Rob Bell, "Name"

Names brought a calling to your life. Rob Bell contends that during Jacob/Israel's time, when someone asked you "What is your name?" they are essentially asking you, "Who are you?"

What I love about the Jacob/Israel story was that he was given a new name. He was no longer the "deceiver," but "he who strives with God." He is a conqueror. He has become more than the name he has been given. He was called to something greater than that.

Now, I happen to like what my name means (source of joy). I often don't believe I live up to it, but it's a comfort to know that I am not limited or defined by my name. I am called to something more.

And you shall be called by a new name that the mouth of the LORD will give...

--Isaiah, about Jerusalem/Zion, Isaiah 62:3 (ESV)

Answering the question "What is your name?" is easier than providing an explanation of "Who are you?" However, I am learning to love this process of finding out the answer to that question. I've provided many answers to that question. Some answers I've liked, some I wish I never had been, some I have yet to become. Our answers can change because we change.

We are more than the names we have been called.

Reformation Day

When I was young, I knew everything.

--The Verve Pipe, "The Freshmen"

Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that by testing you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect.

--Paul, Romans 12:2 (ESV)

I'm not quite sure what happened this week, but somewhere, I snapped.

Do you ever take a look at your life and wonder, "This isn't working. Something's got to change"?

And then, for all of your thinking, you realize that the thing that had to change was you?

I needed a fresh perspective, to look at things differently instead of the way that it always...well, was. And I feared that if I didn't see things differently, I will remain stuck, spinning my tires in the muck and mire, going nowhere fast.

In my last entry, I said that I had shared my story about my limp. For some reason, the story still bothered me--but not in the way that I had expected. The story hadn't changed, but somewhere in the telling of it, I realized that I was the one who had changed. I am not that broken little girl or that scared young teenager any longer. So, if I am different, shouldn't the story change, too?

I pondered on this notion for a few days and a sudden revelation hit me. I had been trying for so long to make those in my story less like the villains and monsters I had feared, but rather, people. Like you. Like me. All in need of grace. Forgiveness. Hope.

Love.

The problem was, I didn't know how. I had to change my mind about them, about who they are as human beings and not mere characters in the story of my life.

We, including those who hurt us, are far more interesting than we give them credit for. Their story goes on, and mine should, too. And holding onto my fearful perspective of them will not lead to the freedom I so desperately seek.

Because your story is not over. The last word has not been spoken. And there may be way more going on here than any of us realize. So may you be released from always having to understand why everything happens the way that it does. May this freedom open you up to all sorts of new perspective. And may you have the wisdom to say, 'I spoke once, but now I will say no more.'

--Rob Bell, "Whirlwind"

My mind and heart is a mess of emotions because my perspective on the two specific people changed. I wanted to mete out judgment and punishment, but now, with a renewed heart and mind, I see them with the grace that only God can provide.

And that, I'm finding, is making all the difference.

Happy Reformation Day, everyone.

Walking Joyfully With a Limp

We should walk joyfully with a limp.

--Jon Fredricks

I really wish I had made up this phrase. Excellent job, Pastor Jon.

Today's offering was based on the story in Genesis of Jacob wrestling with God. He demanded a blessing, and instead received a limp and a new name.

I will not be able to give today's sermon justice, and there are so many great lessons that they all couldn't possibly fit into one blog. However, one of the lessons that stayed with me was about Jacob's limp. Jacob/Israel's limp was a reminder that beauty can come from ashes. Weakness doesn't have to mean defeat. We can struggle with God and overcome. We can prevail even if we walk away joyfully with a limp.

A year has passed since I shared my story of my "limp," so to speak. Despite the freedom and blessing I found after sharing the whole truth, I never spoke of it again. I often elude to it in conversation. I keep the story vague, but never get into details.

Yes, I'm hiding.

And so I offered the story. It was still difficult, but it's getting easier. I'm not dancing on rooftops over what I had gone through and what I hope to become--that joy is still yet to be found.

But at least the limp isn't as painful as it used to be.

Legacy

One of the most inspiring people in my life is my high school choir director.

Giles (er, Tony--I'm sorry, Giles, it's going to take me awhile to get used to calling you Tony) played a huge part of my life, specifically in my junior and senior years of high school. He saved my life more than once and he shared with me how I was instrumental in his. While he and I reminisced and reconnected during the KR Choir Reunion this past weekend, I realized that if asked to do my senior year over again in the same manner, I would.

But maybe that time around, I would remember to sleep every once in awhile.

During our day of rehearsal for the following concert that night, I was struck with joyful memories of choir rehearsals in high school. Giles is still a bundle of energy, always teaching and seeking to connect with his students--or in this case, his colleagues--through music. Although a decade (or more, for some) had passed since we were in his classroom, it did not take long for us to respond to his direction and teaching.

We were, in essence, well-trained.

As I watched him conduct and teach, I couldn't help but laugh to myself at the numerous mannerisms I had adopted from him. I direct in the same way. I tilt my head when the notes are a little flat. I break into little teaching speeches of the importance of music, the composer or arranger, the history of the piece, and the musical (technical and artistic) elements at play. I am found frantically running around to address the last minute details right before a performance. I double-book myself and am busy with numerous obligations (I'm sorry, Giles, I ended up doing the very thing you warned me not to do. I'll try to do better). I also arrange a set list in the same way.

However, this isn't just my story. Everyone in that room that day had been affected by Giles or another former director, Don Barrows. Giles had been influenced by Mr. Barrows, and so essentially, everyone in the room was part of Mr. Barrows's legacy. All of us were touched by their passion for music and that passion continues with us.

As Giles often said during our reunion, it wasn't the music that brought us back. We came back because of the connections we had made while creating beautiful music together.

At least for me, I wanted to thank Giles for everything he did for me in my musical and personal life. He was one of the few that stood up for me during my junior year, and he was the one who challenged me to find my way back to music after a seven year absence. It was a joy to sing with him in school and it is a huge honor to have a chance to sing with him as an adult.

I know he was touched by this first of hopefully many reunion concerts. I couldn't imagine what it was like for him to see those he had taught throughout the years come back and sing with him, but I do know that he was overwhelmed to see his legacy and passion for music continue. In our conversation at the Homecoming game, he said he felt blessed to have so many of us to come back and still enjoy each other and the music.

In reality, Tony, we were the blessed ones.

Script Change

I've been praying for something specific for a few weeks now.

In the past few days, a few questions have crept into my mind, altering my static perspective. I can't possibly articulate the numerous questions that plague my mind as of late, but this particular question has surfaced:

Have I become too comfortable with my life that if asked to change it all, would I obey?

I hadn't realized that things I have been praying for would result in dramatic changes in my life. As much as I look forward to see how God will answer my prayers, I wonder if the time came, would I leave the comfort of the status quo of my life and step into the unknown?

I'm not good when the script changes and the scene I had expected to come next is no longer there or has been completely rewritten. But then again, our lives are not scripted. They are dynamic. They are fluid. They can change.

We can change.

I suppose that's the beauty and strain of having faith in a God who is both good and sovereign. To trust God is to trust Him with his good plans and that he is sovereign over the details.

Especially when the script changes.

And in my experience, what he creates is better than what I could ever imagine.

We must be willing to be rid of the life we had planned so as to have the life that is waiting for us.

--Joseph Campbell

The Last Time I Sang in a Choir

This weekend, I will be attending my high school choir reunion.

Contrary to popular belief, I am quite excited about this venture. I am looking forward to singing in a choir again, learning new choral pieces, reading new music. I'm excited to meet alumni from other years than my own. And yes, I will also have to hold myself back from running to the piano to plunk out parts and take the lead. (I was always the bossy one...that shouldn't surprise anyone...)

And when I see my former choir director, I won't be ashamed that I had dropped out of music. I will have a better story to share with him.

In true Abby-fashion, it didn't occur to to me to tell anyone--friends, family, or circle of influence--about the free concert at the end of the reunion. I never put two-and-two together until I received an e-mail from the reunion committee to encourage the attendees to invite their family and friends to our free concert. I didn't feel guilty about my silence until today when my mother asked me what I was doing this weekend.

When I was talking with my mother, I remembered that sometime during my high school career, I had stopped inviting my family and friends to my choir concerts. I always figured that they were

1. Not interested in attending.

2. Not expecting anything different from my other numerous concerts.

Then again, I have always been known for keeping things close to the chest.

Which brings me to the last time I sang in a choir. It was my senior concert; the last high school concert of the year. Not only was it the last choir concert, it was also supposed to be the last musical performance of which I would take part. For these reasons, my mother and sister chose to attend the end of my musical performing career.

I will never forget their faces when Giles handed me my award for the night. When he had finished, they stared at me in shock and disbelief as the audience around them rose to their feet for a truly shocking and unexpected standing ovation. In that strange mix of humility and delight, messy tears and smiles, I felt guilty that the only two people who didn't understand why I was being honored were the two people in the audience I was related to.

It was a strange sense of betrayal. While people congratulated me after the concert, my mother and sister had to endure pretending to know what was happening while they awkwardly accepted the accolades that were extended to them.

Like I mentioned before, I'm a private person, especially with things that mean a lot to me.

Apparently, some things haven't changed in the ten years since I last sang in a choir. However, I am confident that things can change. I want to learn how to share the things that are important to me with those I love.

I may still keep things close to the chest, but what I take joy in shouldn't be one of them.