The End of Myself

The end. This was it: I could feel the precipice crumbling beneath my toes. I took no step back, only stood there looking into the thick darkness. Eternity was not forever, then; it stopped here, a dry, dusty cliff with a wall of black in front and down and on all sides.

I pushed against the wall. It pushed back—nothing to be done.

So? What now? To go back the way I came? Tell whoever's there (if anyone is left?) that I've done it, I reached the end of eternity and it is nothing but nothing.

Despair rose in a choking instant. I had hoped to find something when I pressed forward: a sign, at least, to guide me where I needed to go. But here was only cold dust on my feet, and everywhere a darkness so heavy I could have been blind. Perhaps I was.

A footstep.

I tensed, ready to run. Another step, closer this time. Warm light sparked, flickered, and illuminated a face. It was him.

"When did you get here?" I asked.

"I've been," he said.

Blessing

Something about the dimness of a rainy sky has its fingers rooted in my spirit, so that when the rain comes cold and trembling to the thirsty ground, it comes singing like a blessing. It draws me irresistibly outside to hold me close, to hold me shivering and happy, bare-foot in the muddy grass and face tilted to the sky-born water, calling out:

Oh wash my eyes and make me see!
Wash my lips and make them clean,
run down my chin and through my teeth
until I thirst no more!

Beneath me, the earth drinks deep until its pores are full and overflowing in cool streams between my toes. I am too small to do the same: this body cannot hold enough of anything to satisfy my heaven-reaching soul.

Someone’s voice is in the rain and echoes in my brain. It is a love song. It cries:

I love you, I love you,
I will quench your thirst both today and tomorrow,
when the sun returns to wither the grass,
and the earth’s wells run dry.

These words, falling heavy on my chest, steal the breath from my throat.
With my tiny voice drowning in all this thunder, how can I sing my reply?

Mirror

Back then, my days were black and dim, and my sky was a canopy of murky leaves.

I would stumble through that thick, dark forest and try to keep myself from tripping over the tangled roots that blanketed the ground. Sometimes I fell anyway--never hard enough to shatter completely, but painful breaks all the same. When that happened, I learned to kindle a smoky fire and press the smoldering branches to the broken pieces, clenching my jaw against the searing pain until the glass was whole again.
The fire could burn away a bit--just a little--of the mold covering me. I remember once, after fixing my left hand, how my fingers glinted dully in the fire's tiny flickering glow. It didn't last long. The mold always grew back quickly.
The angles were never quite right after I put myself back together. I stumbled on and on, crooked toes scraping at the dirt and knees cracking in the cold.

One day, unexpectedly, my darkness splintered and fled.

I met a woman who shone so brightly that I could see her coming for a long time. Her glass was new and clear, her face hidden in brightness. I thought I might go blind from looking at her.
"Where did you get your light?" I asked, staring though my eyes burned--because it was beautiful, because I had never seen anything like it.

"Oh," she said with something rapturous in her voice, straightening and sparkling even brighter. She lifted her clean hands like mirrors and pointed up. "Let me tell you about the sun."

Thoughts on John 6:60-71

Like Peter, I do not want to leave my Lord.

The world I see around me is dark, frightening, and powerful. In looking at myself, I have come to understand my own weakness--my helplessness to control anything around me. How, then, could I venture into that place without the protection of my Father's mighty hand?
The thought terrifies me.

The pleasures of this world are plentiful and persuasive in their promises. It would be easy to submit to their allure and let myself be drawn in until I hardly know myself. But I know from the stirrings of my soul that it will not be satisfied with such meager fare. I have tasted of a greater joy than the world can offer me. I will not leave the source of living water to drink at broken cisterns.

The Creator of the universe does not disappear simply because I turn away from him.
I am not guiltless. I am not shameless. I deserve eternal punishment.
To flee from the arms of my Savior is to expose myself for the judgment my sinful soul requires. Without my Redeemer, the knowledge of a holy God's existence is the most horrifying thing I can imagine.

Like a lost child come home, I do not want to leave this shelter my soul has found.
I am not afraid that I will. I know this:
Like steel melted onto steel, my Lord will never, ever let me go.

Frogs and Christians

Letter to an Incomplete, Insecure Teenager
by John Piper

click me!

Home

The sunset sky last night was beautiful, bright red and orange and yellow streaked across a soft blue-purple canvas. I watched it through the black naked branches of the trees stretching up into the west, and it took my breath away. Just a day before that, crystal-white snow covered those same branches and blanketed the ground, while sparkling icicles hung from every twig and roof and windowsill.
There is something about the quiet beauty of Nature that stirs a longing in me, a yearning for something else. It is a longing that I have always had, but mostly stays sleeping within me, only awakening from time to time. I think this is a longing that everybody has, though each person has a different perception of it. It's perhaps funny, because many people look to Nature to satisfy that longing, but for me, it only makes the longing worse. I stared out the window the other day, thought of forested hills and golden moonlight, and wondered what I was looking for. Then it occurred to me.

I want to go Home.

It is as simple as that. I see the sunset and I think of a wider sky, perhaps painted with more colors. I see the trees and I think of taller ones whose branches will hold me without fear of falling. I see the rivers that we pass by while driving and I think of walking along one's side, marveling at the sweet clear waters and the joyful rushing sound, walking, walking under dazzling open skies and over higher, greener hills. Following the river on and on until I come to a shining city where the gates are always open.
What will it be like to open my eyes to a brighter world, to wake up free from sin, to finally run to my Father and feel His arms around me?

I can't wait to go Home.

Approaching the Bible

The Bible comes from God; God doesn't come from the Bible.

Our knowledge of God is a different story. What we know about God, definitively and redemptively, comes from the Bible. And that is, the Bible that comes from God, who himself comes from nothing.

These are the foundational pieces to understanding the doctrine of revelation, and therefore, the doctrine of Scripture. God, utterly independent and essentially revelatory, has made himself known. This is stunning. And it helps to read the Bible with it in view.

D. A. Carson writes,

To approach the Bible correctly it is important to know something of the God who stands behind it. God is both transcendent (i.e., he is "above" space and time) and personal. He is the sovereign and all-powerful Creator to whom the entire universe owes its existence, yet he is the God who graciously condescends to interact with human beings whom he has himself formed in his own image.
Because we are locked in time and space, God meets us here; he is the personal God who interacts with other persons, persons he has made to glorify him and to enjoy him forever. . . .
The point to emphasize is that a genuinely Christian understanding of the Bible presupposes the God of the Bible, a God who makes himself known in a wide diversity of ways so that human beings may know the purpose for which they were made — to know and love and worship God, and so delight in that relationship that God is glorified while they receive the matchless benefit of becoming all that God wants them to be.

"Approaching the Bible," Collected Writings on Scripture, (Wheaton: Crossway, 2010), 19–21.

From: desiringGod.org

Golden Birthdayyyyy

I was actually awake (though lying in bed) when the day turned from the 14th to the 15th.
At 11:58 or so, I had just randomly--and I mean really randomly--remembered the whole beer-can-in-British-accent vs. bacon-in-Jamaican-accent thing, so by the time 12:00am rolled around, I was lying there whispering "beer can/bacon" to myself and giggling.

What an idiot I can be sometimes.
Do I even deserve to be fifteen?

I guess, in the grand scheme of things, I don't even deserve to be alive at all.

So thank you, God, for giving me these fifteen years of life. I hope to serve you well in this sixteenth, and may my life glorify you as long as I have breath. 




(MOM: wailing softly. WAaaaahahhaaaaaaaaaa you're fifteen don't grow up I don't like iiiitttttt waaahahhaaa)

How to Read the Bible

I was looking through the papers in the back of my Bible and found this. It's from a Vital Life seminar I went to a little while ago. (Parenthetical notes) are my own additions based on how the speaker elaborated.

Reading the Bible for Change

DON'T primarily leaf through the Bible to find something that fits your situation. DO develop a reading plan that allows you to get a well-rounded intake of God's Word.
(The Bible is not "life's handbook")

DON'T spend your entire life in Read the Bible in a Year plans. DO develop plans that allow you to read at various paces over time.

DON'T rely on your own personal insights in reading the Bible. DO take advantage of good commentaries and resources to help you understand passages in context of the redemptive storyline of the Bible.

DON'T read the Bible as if it is a magic book. DO read it confident that the Spirit can illuminate your understanding of it for application.

DON'T allow any decision or perspective to be unevaluated by Scripture. DO seek to develop a Biblical worldview that will help you discern God's voice and God's will in the confusion of life.
(The Biblical worldview of having God at the very center is really important, because there are a lot of decisions and perspectives we'll have to choose that are not referenced specifically in the Bible.)

Sunday Morning Prayer

You know, the groups of people who stand in front of the stage, praying, before each service on Sunday mornings?
Early morning prayer is one of the things I want to start doing regularly. I need to learn to pray out loud in the presence of others, and it's amazing to listen to the prayers of the other people who are up there.
It so happens that I forget about Sunday morning prayer a lot. Thankfully, Stevie seems to have taken up the habit of reminding me every week, which is great--but I was thinking, why not invite all my other friends to come too? Occasionally, I'll go up in the morning and find a group of young people praying together and join them, and that is awesome...so why not make the group even bigger?
One thing I've noticed is that it tends to be mostly the young men from around my grade, and the girls are, well, not there. Thus, I'm inviting all of you guys (who come to CovFel) to join me and Stevie and everyone else in together drawing near to our Father's throne with our requests. It will be good for you. It will be good for me. We can remind each other. And it will be so encouraging to the adults who regularly pray on Sunday mornings.

Of course, praying in front of other people can be awfully scary. I'm still terrified of sounding stupid, being the baby in my prayer life that I am. But praying is really just about talking to God, and His is the only opinion that matters--not the people around me who are listening to me pray. I hope I can remember that more often.

Also! Speaking of prayer, the A Praying Life seminar on Febuary 25th!! SO EXCITING.






P.S. (completely unrelated) Today I came upon a stinkbug in the bathroom. As I watched, it proceeded to take one step along the wall, fall off, bounce on the mirror and shelf, and land on its back in the sink. Those things are unbelievably clumsy.

Absurdedly Paradoxical Pieces

These things. I forgot they existed. Then I looked through my Google Docs again, and I found a compilation of them by various authors, myself largely included. What are they? I don't even really know.
The absurdedly paradoxical piece, or the app, was a form of writing that was pioneered by my friend Asher quite a while ago, then taken over by my other friend Bethany and me and developed from there. Basically they were long paragraphs of carefully-crafted nonsense--as in, the sentences made sense grammatically, but only grammatically. Other than that, the definition is very fluid. Much of the time there were not many paradoxes within them at all (though perhaps some oxymorons), and the only thing absurd about mine is how proud I was of them.
Here is a sample of one of my apps:

"But does two plus two truly equal four? Think about it: put a cloud and a ninja together with a fairy and a rainbow (that's two plus two) and what do you get? Only the fairy, which is one, because the cloud could not dance, the ninja could not ripple, and the rainbow could not sing. Therefore, two plus two equals nine."

I am not sure so much about Bethany's, but almost every sentence in each of my apps was deeply symbolic, its surface-content linked back to the real content by about three or four stops on the thought-train so that only I could know what I was writing about. It was totally brilliant, or at least I thought it was. The problem is that now I can't remember half the things I meant to say, and my own words confuse me.
Anyway, my own path of developing apps turned into a strange method of journalling my thoughts and feelings--cryptic narrative poetic prose, of sorts. I will share one of my later apps with you: one that was inspired by something I don't quite remember, that is kind of prettily written (and slightly emo), and that certainly mixes fiction with my real sentiments. The only part I fully understand is the ending, and I do like the ending.

The flaming red mingled with deep blue was crinkled, deformed in my hands, stiff and stubborn in its misshapen state, the yarn limp and torn across my shaking arm. The firm border was gone, leaving frail white cardboard folded, showing jaggedly beneath the ragged, frayed cloth.
It got wet. Why? It rained. Why?
You never wore it much, anyway.
What does that matter? What does that have to do with my friend who flew across the world and brought that back for me? And so I lowered my head, trembling upon my knees, and wept, for the old memories now tinged with grief, for the death of any new ones before they happened.
Then I looked inside, and wondered, where am I going? Tears dropped from my eyes, stars beneath the rain, burning on their paths down my face, leaving streaks of fire. Were the spirits free? The answer is blowing through the golden meadows, a tossing ocean of melody within my dark, dark hair. Shall I run, or wait, so I may fly? My wings are broken because I tried to catch you--I implore you, don't speak of your shattered dreams to me. Don't you know I know, and hurt for it? I wonder why I wonder and wander, everywhere, nowhere, knowing but never speaking. And I wished I could turn to liquid, my movements flowing, fluid, a dancing river leaping over rocks and trees. Why?
Words are beautiful, but only because of the meaning they contain. And they can only hold so much. So I found another way to show what I meant, but then I saw those were words, too, and wept again, because what I want to say I cannot say nor show. Only see. But how can I see it if I cannot say what it is, to tell you? And so the years went by, and the mountains were swept to the sea, crumbling dust tumbling over the dry, dry sand. My wings were still broken, never healing, the pain never leaving.
Who could hold me gently enough to keep me, to bring me back to life, to show me beauty greater than words?
The One, He picked me up, filling the hole in my heart, and said to me, you're not guilty anymore. No more filth clings to you. I have healed you; your brokenness is gone. I set you free, you are no longer captive. You will find the greatest beauty in my love and new life in my death.
Never forget. Now you are Mine, and I will never let you fall from my gentle hand.
I wept the third time, for joy and beauty and all things good, for they came from Him, and I am His. My wings will grow back soon.
Until then I can run like the river, all the way home. 

New Year's Resolutions

I've never really made New Year's resolutions. I can't recall a single year when I made one, remembered it through the whole twelve months, and actually accomplished something about it by the end of December. Perhaps I didn't make resolutions because I was a little disillusioned, thinking that they didn't really work, and why do they have to be resolutions every new year? Why not just make resolutions throughout the year? Something like that. 
I still don't believe too much in New Year's resolutions--at least not as anything magical as I might be tempted to make them seem. Yes, I do believe that they can be useful, as in, the beginning of a new year is a convenient mark to begin implementing changes in one's life. But the changes can't happen all at once (though wouldn't that be nice?). It's slow. They'll take a while.

I am not articulating this as well as I hoped I would.

Anyway, I'm making New Year's resolutions and documenting them for the first time this year, because while they won't happen very quickly, at least it's a starting point. And starting points to slow change are better than not changing at all.

I want to draw closer to God.
This is my ultimate resolution for the year, the one that umbrellas over all the rest.
I had something of an emotional breakdown the other day, in which I basically realized that the way I'm living is all messed up--priorities, time management, and everything. It coincides with the fact that my spiritual life has been dry recently from neglecting to read the Word and neglecting to pray, among other things. I'm aiming to put my life back together in a structured way that optimizes my productivity for God's glory. And first things first, I need to put my Heavenly Father right in the middle of that structure. I need to know Him and learn to hear His voice, because without that, my soul will starve and search for fulfillment in all the wrong places.

In that vein, I want to read my Bible and pray every day.
The Bible is God's Word. The Bible is primarily how God speaks to me. Here, the living God is speaking, yet I so often forget to open these pages and listen to what He wants to say. If I want to know God, I've just gotta read my Bible! • THIS MEANS THAT ALL YOU READERS ARE GIVEN PERMISSION TO NAG ME AS OFTEN AS POSSIBLE TO DO MY DEVOTIONS DAILY. IN FACT, I ASK YOU TO. PLEASE.
And as for prayer... I read a Desiring God blog post a while ago that dealt with being spiritually lukewarm, which is to be self-satisfied with your spiritual condition: essentially, complacent. Complacency is one of the most dangerous places to be. The opposite? Needy. How do I know if I'm needy? Well, how much do I pray? Praying consistently, praying like a beggar who desperately needs grace in everything, praying as a child learning to talk to her Father, praying for joy, holiness, boldness--without it, I don't know how I expect myself to grow in godliness at all.

I also want to manage my time well.
I don't. 
Procrastination--and its cousin, time-wasting--have not served me in my attempts to read my Bible regularly or bless my mom by doing housework or reach for excellence in playing piano. I feel like I've allowed school to swallow my life, and it really doesn't have to. 
Randy Pausch has an extremely insightful and helpful lecture on time management. I am hoping to implement his ideas in my scheduling and planning as 2012 begins. I recommend bookmarking that video and watching it when you have an hour or so to spare. It is really, really good. (Alternatively, it's also available as an mp3 download on iTunesU.)

I want to get organized.
Right now, my desk is in okay-shape, but I don't have any concrete filing system for my papers, nor a good place nearby to put all my textbooks. Woe is me. Did you know that when your necessary materials for an assignment are not within an accessible distance, it becomes incredibly easy to procrastinate and just not do the assignment? Maybe that only happens for me, but oh does it happen. This is probably one of the things I'll need to spend a lot of effort on early in the year, so I can be prepared for the rest of 2012.
The other thing that needs to get organized is my room, which currently looks like a junk-pile with an unmade bed in the corner. I'm probably going to need to throw a lot of things away and designate specific places for everything else. Keeping my room clean, or at least making a system that makes it very simple to clean, is one of my main goals this year. 

I want to take good care of my body.
Mostly meaning exercise more and sleep more. I've become a weak vegetable of a human lately from sitting around all day. I did two pushups a few days ago, and it made my arms sore. It's absolutely pathetic. That needs to change. Exercising my core muscles will also probably help with my back pain that comes when I stand up too long. I strengthened that before when I was actually doing physical therapy for my back, and it worked. So I'm gonna try to do it again. And more pushups. I hate how weak my arms are.
Sleeping is equally, if not more important. I know it's essential for any teenager, but I also know that fatigue triggers my epilepsy, so I think I have to be more conscientious and careful about my sleeping patterns than I have been for the past few years. Time management plays a lot into this!

I want to learn to be a joyful servant.
To family, friends, and community at large. 'Nuff said.

Aaaand that's all I can think of for now. 
Welcome, new year! 
I am gonna DO stuff. 
 

 

December Days

This time of year, the world swirls and scurries
like no other month.
I stand and watch,
and I hear so many voices calling--
buy this, or maybe ask for that,
and after all the shopping,
we can frolic in the snow.
If you're well-behaved,
then Santa brings you things,
unless you don't think he exists.
Then other people give you things,
and you give them things too,
and everyone is positively bursting
with all the holiday spirit--
And this is what we call
Christmas.

I stand and listen,
and I hear a soft voice speak,
telling me a story I've heard before.
Years ago, on another bustling night,
where quiet was all but impossible to find--
innkeepers busy with new guests,
shopkeepers with new customers,
as people traveled near and far--
the angels were singing in the fields.
Peace, they said.
Glory to God and
peace,
because Immanuel has come.

So while the world is hurrying and worrying,
I will look upon a Savior,
One who came unnoticed
in the midst of a season more like this
than often we might think.
I find my peace
because a child was born to die
for me--
For me!

This is what I will know as
Christmas:
Christ the Lord is here.

Breathing is Good

I never realized how beautiful it is to be able to breathe normally until last night, when I couldn't.
Maybe it was some sort of virus brewing since my first signs of a cough on Saturday. Maybe I overexerted myself doing something.
(In retrospect, maybe going iceskating wasn't such a good idea? Oh well, it was such a good time that I don't regret it.)
Whatever it was, I couldn't breathe last night without my lungs hurting like I'd stuck them in a freezer, where they were burning with the cold. It's one of the worst kinds of pains ever, because if you hold your breath, it hurts too in a different way, and you'll probably die. So you're in anguish every few seconds, either way.
It kept me up until roughly five in the morning. The most annoying part of not being able to sleep was that "Come Home" by OneRepublic was stuck in my head. The same song, all night. And my breathing didn't match with the rhythm. Gah.
I was only able to fall asleep when I deliberately pushed the song out of my head and replaced it with another. Or perhaps it wasn't exactly me who replaced it. I had been praying for much of the night--ranging from friends and family to babblings about my life, but by that time it had turned into a desperate repeating of God, I just want to stop hurting, stop the hurting, stop the hurting.
And it was this song that popped into my head:

My heart is filled with a thousand songs
Proclaiming the glories of Calvary
With every breath, Lord how I long
To sing of Jesus who died for me
Lord take me deeper into the glories of Calvary

I had to stop and think about that. With every breath? Is this perfect for my situation or what?
But...do I really long to sing of Jesus who died for me? When was the last time I longed to sing about this wonderful gift? When did I cease to be constantly amazed that the very Son of God would die for me?
My greatest problem has already been taken care of, when my sins were nailed to the cross with Him and were thus atoned for.

Sinners find eternal joy in the triumph of your wounds
By our Savior's crimson flow, holy wrath has been removed

What a miracle that I can even speak to God now, that He is my Father and listens to me.
I lay there thinking about the glories of Calvary, and though the pain in my lungs was still there, I didn't mind it as much. I finally slept with those thoughts on my heart.

I am mostly okay now. My breathing is good and doesn't hurt too much anymore. I don't, however, want to leave the sharp, clear view of the gospel that came with the pain.
A thousand songs I would sing.

And I really did want to sing, but I've lost my voice D: