Baseball has a way of reminding me about what’s important. It pulls me back to the “bases” when my heart and mind go wandering around in no man’s land for something unknown. Yes, I know that I’m a girl. And yes, girl’s don’t play baseball. But just because we can’t play the game, doesn’t mean we can’t love and appreciate it. Good talk.

I played for the Rangers. I was missing my two front teeth and had a mullet that would have made Pat Benatar swoon . When the other girls were playing softball…ole Harry put his foot down. Daddy said, “If you’re going to play this game, you’re going to play the real one.” And that was that.

So there I was, a teensie thing with a little sweat under my cap as I walked to the plate. And had some wicked butterflies in my stomach too, for that matter. Daddy showed me all the basics of winding up, keeping my weight in proper torque, a little left foot tap action in preparation for my pitch… I was ready.

Vance was on the mound. (Coincidently, this same kid was the reason I was impeached as 4th grade class president a few years later…but that is neither here nor there…) He stared at me through his triple-thick glasses with clip on solar and glare-free shades, spit a loogie to his right, and punched the heart of his glove. Gulp.

I did my little routine, followed by a nervous wiggle, and took a deep breath. Battle time. It was time to separate the men from the boys on this field…and I was sure that I was the one to part the waters.

First pitch. I let that sucker fly on by (because Dad told me to, duh), and let out an audible laugh, as if saying to ole Vance, “that’s all you’ve got in that arm?!” Set back up. Pitch number two. Ball. My eyes sparkled with delight as I put my arm in the air asking the ump for a little time to reset. Vance winds up for pitch three and I knew this was the gem I was looking for. In matrix-style slow motion that pitch made it’s way to me; tearing through the air making way for it’s path to meet my bat. SMACK! Perfect trajectory tweener over the head of the short stop…I ran as fast as my little bod would let me. I was so inspired by my jaw-dropping bomb, that I rounded second instead of surveying the scene. Ball got to third before I did. And I panicked. I looked at second which seemed way too far behind me…and made a break for it.

Towards the outfield. 

I remember thinking to myself, “this Vance won’t catch me. I may not be gloriously basking on a base in safety…but I still have my wit! I will run like the wind!!” I proceeded to run in the outfield for almost five minutes while various little players chased after me to tag me with the ball. We looked like a social experiment gone bad. And my dad…well, that was my last year of baseball.

So, why does God love baseball? Aside from the obvious of his beautiful creation being the backdrop, being a thinker’s game, being an athlete’s game, being the greatest game on Earth…God loves baseball because baseball has the same point of life.

The point is to go home. We may run the bases (or occasionally in the outfield, in my case), but the running doesn’t stop until you bask in the glory of that home plate. That’s the purpose, the point, the bullseye of all the other stuff. This is not to say that the bases are meaningless, or that the journey to get home is unimportant. It’s to say that the path is set. The journey set out before us is known and crafted by a God who knows the number of hairs on your head. Who knows the beat of your very heart. If he is going to let that ball make contact with your bat…or his Spirit to infiltrate your heart…he’s going to run right beside you through first, second, third, and finally, home. Home is where you can worship and bask in His glory forever.

So, THAT’s why God loves baseball. You know, in case you were wondering.

Just a girl, holding hands with Jesus… trying my hardest to stay in the baseline…

Kami

I am one of those people. My life is evidence of my failure. I failed at being self-sufficient. I tried to be my own god for years. I tried to succeed. I tried to open my heart to others. I tried to love well. All of my silly attempts fell short of God’s impeccable standard of perfection. I try and I try…and though my attempts may have honorable intentions, they result in the enormous darkness of human failure. Of my failure. Of the darkness that encompasses my little heart.

I met a woman in college that fascinated me. I met her at her house in the downtrodden part of town to alter the bridesmaids dress I was to wear for my cousins wedding that summer. She was an African American woman, wife of a pastor, a Republican, and follower of Christ. At the time, I was an atheist. I was hardened to my core. She graciously welcomed me into her house, took my measurements and pinned the dress accordingly, let me change back into my regular clothes, and walked me to the door. She looked right through me and said, “Child, I can tell you’re scared of somethin’. I don’t needa know what it is…but I think you need to cry it out.” 

I looked at her dumbfounded. I WAS scared. I was scared of myself. But how did she know? I replied with a lie and a nervous self-deprecating laugh, “Mamm, I’m not sure what you mean…I’m pretty fearless.” I swallowed down some creeping tears. She grabbed my right hand with both of hers and said, “Baby girl, God gave us the gift of being able to cry. You see, crying things out is sorta the Lord’s version of a human washing machine. You cry it all out, give Jesus that dirty laundry, and you won’t need to be scared anymore.” 

I quickly thanked her for her time and her help with my dress, did the mom-speed-walk to my vehicle…and started sobbing like a small child. A few years after this encounter, I found out she had been abducted and her body was later found in a local cemetery. She had been murdered.

I think about her often. I remember her joy being infectious, surrounding my whole being. I remember how unlike her, I was. How I wished, so desperately, to be soft and beautiful as Alene.

The Lord has brought me a season of life where a lot of “washing” has been required. Lots of nights and days and bathroom escapes to get my “dirty laundry” out of my system. I guess I’m in the process of learning; that part of being strong means being weak, part of having everything together means letting everything go, and part of being godly means washing a heck of a lot of dirty laundry.

At this point, I don’t care if my tears overflow the Mississippi River…they are coming out in droves and I’m in no condition to stop them. If this is the road it takes for my stupid, arrogant, sinful, wretched heart to be more like Jesus… THEN BRING ON THE RAIN.

I think everyone has a season (or seasons!) of the year that touch their soul in certain and special ways. Springtime is that season for me.

I love everything about it. I love raking out my flower beds, grooming and pruning my little specimens for new growth, attending to the details of my yard and my house. I love going through my closets and making my piles…things to give away, things to create something new from, things to organize and keep. I love how the sun pierces through my blinds in the morning and how Major acts like a little puppy again…frolicking in the grass, barking at his squirrel friends, and how he laughs at me with his sweet little eyes. There’s a freshness to the world, a feeling that lets your grumpy winter self shed its skin for new beginnings. Spring lets us start over again. Spring lets us look at the world with brighter, happier, expectant eyes…eyes that help us have hope again…often after a very long winter.

So, with the newness of my first Spring as a woman in my late twenties…(I may have just thrown up in my mouth a little… nbd)…I thought I’d start fresh with a manifesto of sorts. A series of line items to hope for, to trust in, and by God’s grace-to refine me more and more into a woman after Christ’s own heart. So grab a cup of coffee, let the sunlight shine on your face, and take a little inventory of my silly little heart.

• Everyday, I need to be reminded to hold myself to the standard of God’s grace-not my own ideas of perfection.
• I should walk out of my front door and vow to make the world more awesome.
• Laughter is the best kind of medicine. Yes, it causes wrinkles-but I’m going to get those regardless…might as well make them the good kind.
• I will strive to love others in the same way my dog loves me. (And if you know, Major dog, then you know how ridiculous, irresponsible, and un-worldly that kind of love is!)
• I will pray to stop coveting my own dreams and start coveting the dreams that God has for me.
• I will practice the ukelele with great diligence and write really cool/hipster songs on it. (that one’s for you Jeremy boy! #theoriginalJesuslovinghipster)
• I will attempt to become a runner. For the 3849827364290485049536 time. If I give up, then there’s always next year.
• I will plant, grow, prune, and harvest. And not just in my garden…
• I will create. I will build things from nothing and make every day on this earth more beautiful because God gave me eyes to see things beautifully, intentionally, lovely, and uniquely.
• I will work really hard for a six pack. Then I will give up. Because ain’t nobody got time for two pieces and modest is hottest. #hollllaaa
• I will learn to be more thankful for pain. I pray God will continue to remind me that my pain isn’t just for me to learn from…but that there are other eyes watching me wrestle with that pain. If my example of coping is real, raw, and ultimately points to Christ…then there is purpose in it…and with grace, I will fight on.
• I will stop pretending. I will stop putting on false facades, smiles, and speaking canned one-liners to convince others that I’m doing “OK.” I have a secret for everyone in the world: NO ONE IS DOING OK. Now that we all know that, let’s follow every “how have you been?!” question with “No, but really…. how are you? No pretendsies. I’m talkin’ about realsies.” And then let’s submit to honesty. Because, that is exactly what the Body of Christ is built for; to shelter, love, and carry one another. If we spent the same amount of energy that we spend on “socially pretending”, and instead, spend that time sharing the Gospel with others–what would this world look like? (#deepthoughtsbyKami)
• Finally, I will tell myself what a failure I am as many times a day as I can remember. Maybe, Lord-willing, that truth will be worked deeper and deeper into my heart…and I will stop pretending that I have any and all control. God is all-sovereign. Kami is not. (Note: KAMI- READ THIS LATER AND SMACK YOURSELF IN THE BACK OF THE HEAD LIKE JETHRO GIBBS. LOVE, YOURSELF.)

I could probably go on and on…but these mini manifestos will likely get weirder and weirder. (You’re welcome for sparing you.) All in all, I’m sloughing off my winter coat. I’m breathing in with a refreshed heart that has ultimate hope in the Gospel. Hope in the Truth that God sent his only and perfect Son to live the perfect life that I was unable to live, died a death on a cross that I should have died, rose from the dead (literally) to give the elect new life…and grant them with the righteousness of Christ. 

And no Spring flower or silly manifesto can hold a candle to that kind of beauty.

I suppose I stand firm that the older I grow, the less I actually know.  It may actually be a part of the sanctification process itself… the realization that we know very little… but our faith grants us the ability to have peace with the vast world of terrifying “unknowns.” Maybe that makes me want to throw up on myself a little bit.  Maybe I just did.

In the spirit of bestowing useless/ridiculous knowledge onto my readers—and in the spirit of the newfound aches and pains my quarter of a century body is experiencing… I thought a “Top 25” list would be pertinent.  So in no particular order or reason or rhyme or structure….here are 25 things I have learned in my 25 years on earth.

———-

25) Never paint mental pictures of your future.  It doesn’t matter how vague or detailed your little day-wanderings may be, they are always going to be ridiculously far from reality.  And furthermore, even if your day-wanderings turned out the way you wished they had, you’d inevitably be disappointed because we are fallen and depraved creatures. Seriously though, either way… disappointment will loom its ugly sinful head.

24) Everyone is lonely.  It doesn’t matter if they have five kids, or are unmarried and childless (like me).  Everyone has to “deal” with him or herself, everyone feels unloved and unworthy on a regular basis, and even in a crowded room packed with people…it is normal to feel unnoticed and isolated with your thoughts.  Keep pressing on, keep fighting for holiness, and just revel in the fact that the God of the universe can hear you and loves every ounce of you.  When we are blessed with glimpses of just how brief this world is, our loneliness shows us how to love more like Christ—a man who had nothing stable in his life on earth, besides his Heavenly Father.

23) Drink a lot of water.  I remember my mom telling me this.  I ignored her.  I think I probably could have delayed these newfound wrinkles until year 26 had I made hydration a priority.  [Yes, I know it makes you pee an inordinate amount throughout the day….just suck it up…. And think that each trip to the bathroom is like a much less painful Botox shot. You’re welcome.]

22) Dance in your underwear.  Bad days are a dime a dozen.  The only cure I have found is Wilson Philips’ jam “Hold On” blasting the pictures off my wall….and dancing in my underdwellings.  It sounds inappropriate, and maybe it is—but so be it.  After replay number 15, you’ll be cooking yourself dinner and giggling non-stop.  For those of age, follow the above steps with a cold beer.  Problems solved.

21) Give grace.  This world is a little on the sucky side, at times.  Some days, that suckiness will be because of your own sin—on other days, it will be because of someone else’s.  The perfect sacrifice, Jesus Christ, took all of that upon his shoulders… so that we would be able to hold others, and ourselves to a standard of grace, not perfection.  Remember that when somebody wrongs you.  Be quick to give it, and when you give grace, give it in abundance.

20) Paint your fingernails once a week.  The time period is less important than the result.  Your fingernails are something you look at everyday.  You shake people’s hands.  You type on your computer.  Even if your face/hair look like a hot mess, make sure your fingernails look good.  You can trick yourself into looking and feeling pretty when you have pretty fingernails.  Unless your house is filled with mirrors, the rest of your bod can fade away into a happy denial if your hands look freshly manicured.

19) You can only do so much.  This is a biggie.  Some studies say that the average human is only able to sustain FIVE legitimate intimate relationships in their life at any given time.  Those five slots may be swapped in and out for different reasons, but the general idea remains the same.  Time is finite, your energy is finite: do not feel guilty dispersing those two resources on the five people God has placed into your life for you to invest in right now.  Do not feel guilty if those five people change.  Do not take offense if you have been swapped in someone else’s list of five.  It is life.  God is infinite.  Pull your strength from him, and keep trucking along.

18) Write down your blessings.  This one is straight from my mommy.  Whenever I am feeling rough, down, or having a hard time, she encourages me to write down my blessings.  It is way too easy for me to dwell on what I lack than to see what I already have.  Make this a habit. Thank God for that list you are able to make. The glass can be half full if you make a commitment to look at it as such.

17) Be real.  This goes hand-in-hand with number 18. There is nothing more unattractive to me than people who pretend that life is hunky-dorey, full of butterflies and rainbows, and walk around trying super hard to look perfect.  If something is weighing on you…just be real about it.  Share it.  Let it out.  Cry in front of people you don’t know very well.  Be honest (with yourself and with others). I promise you, even through your stellar “look perfect” skills—everyone can always tell there is pain beneath your smile.  I double promise you, people will respect you more when you confess that pain to them instead of lying by omission by way of your fake demeanor.  Just be real.  Do life authentically.  Others will return that favor.

16) Send random notes of encouragement. Notes that arrive with no purpose, no holiday, no thank you, no general idea… are the ones that spur me on the most.  Write down a day a month that you can send out 5-10 “I love you” cards to people in your life past and present that you have done a poor job communicating with, may need encouragement, or just feel called to pour love out to them.  God will use these cards in big ways.

15) Give love well, without strings attached.  Our culture has manipulated love.  Some think it is a “give and get” idea that has a return for their investment.  I’m convinced that this entitlement mentality is one of the biggest reasons marriages are falling apart in the United States.  Don’t worry about receiving it.  Don’t worry about getting hurt.  Just give—give—give… and even if you get nothing back, or even if your heart is broken into a trillion pieces…. You can look back and say, “Thank God that I loved WELL.” There is nothing more important than this.

14) Be “others-focused.” I’m convinced it is my selfishness that causes my feelings of sadness.  When I begin to think about all that I lack…it is because I am only thinking about myself.  When I think about others, how I may bless them, what I can contribute to their lives to make it easier on them…I am happier beyond measure.  When you stop throwing yourself pity parties, you can celebrate the joy in life.  All you need is Jesus—his example of the cross, to remember what this is supposed to look like.  Lay down your life.

13) There is a difference between boys and men.  Some boys can trick you because they can grow facial hair and shave on the reg… but shaving does not define manhood.  Men have jobs.  Men take initiative in leadership.  Men fight for the woman God has placed on their heart.  Boys are cowardly.  Boys manipulate because they need attention and affirmation.  Boys are smelly and whiney.  Boys can become men—only by the miracle and grace of God… not by the well-intentioned “fix-it” maneuvers of any woman (godly or otherwise).  God changes boys to men.  If you want a shaving-boy to change… delete his phone number and start praying like crazy.

12) A church family isn’t “like” your family… it IS your family. This past year at Imago Dei has shown me this in remarkable ways.  I don’t do life with single girls around my age… I do life with families that are married with children.  I do life with people who were once married and have ample wisdom to give.  I do life with my pastors, students, and 3 years olds that steal my heart every time I see them.  Stop using the qualifier “like.”  Your church family is your family. Treat them and bless them as such.

11) The past is prologue. This one is a Harry Mueller-ism.  So you’ve made mistakes? So you look to your past with deep regret?  Join the club, kiddo! That’s the beauty in the word “past.”  It is not your present, and it is not your future.  You cannot change it or fix it—God can use it to sanctify you, though, so swallow the bitter pill, stick your tongue out and say “neener-neener you already happened and will not, God-willing, happen again.” Be done with it. Commit to being done with it.

10) Read and know your Bible. It won’t happen in one day.  It will happen over your lifetime.  Especially in your days of singleness, commit to spending your “extra” time reading the Word.  Before you know it, God may bring a man into your life, children shortly after… and this time of studying and preparation can help cover you with wisdom and grace during a season in which you have little time to dive in deep to God’s word.

9) Talk to God all day long.  Set up sticky notes and visual reminders that alert you to pray about something that is important to you.  Make it a habit.  See the reminder and immediately open up your heart to talk to the Lord and praise him for working for our good.  Noone has time for three hour prayer sesh’s… but 30-40 “breath” prayers throughout your day, could accumulate to three total hours together. He wants us to know the sound of his voice.  Do you KNOW or RECOGNIZE any voices that belong to people you do not speak with regularly?

8 ) Write.  I don’t care if you suck at it.  Journal.  It can be as insignificant as the documentation of your bowl movements for all I care… but put it to paper.  After some time passes, pray first, then look back to see your growth in certain areas, or lack thereof.  I guarantee you— evidence of God’s grace in your life will be there… and you will be both convicted and encouraged.

7) Be conservative in all areas. Vote for conservative leaders.  Go to conservative churches that preach the Gospel. Dress conservatively.  Conserve your electricity so you don’t have to pay for it.  Spend conservatively.  I could go on and on….

6) If single: prepare for your marriage now/ if married: fight for your marriage now.  As a single gal, I can attest that this is often difficult and ambiguous feeling.  My only advice is to continue to work the Gospel down deep in your heart—studying it and loving it— and when God brings the person along for you to partner through life with… the transition could be far less dramatic.  If married, fight like hell.  Ladies, if finances are difficult, don’t complain—your husband, as the provider is intimately slashed by those comments and worries.  Men, if things at home are not as they should be—don’t complain, step up and lead your family…it will make a world of difference.

5) Eat and exercise well.  This is another one of those “duuurrrrr” ones, but it is important, so just keep reading.  Learn what works for you.  Make healthy choices.  Start now, and you’ll thank me.

4) Rest and Recoup.  This one is the hardest for me, but after every “crash” I am convicted to be better and better about it.  Our bodies were created with the need to rest.  Take time to do this.  If you’re single, map out one day one weekend a month where you literally have no responsibilities.  If you’re married, hire a babysitter, go to a hotel, order room service, and do nothing but sleep and chat.  You’ll be able to pour into serving others with greater vigor if you are fully rested.  You will also prevent getting dramatically sick like I do once a quarter.  Ekkk.

3) Learn to say “No.” This is another one I am still learning.  Prioritize your commitments: Priority 1- work, church, fellowship, (the essentials). Priority 2- acts of service for your church family and family, organizational projects that make life easier, activities that bless others. Priority 3- things that wouldn’t rock the world if you didn’t show up to or never happened.  Learn to say “no” to some of those Priority 3’s.

2) Be discerning in your amount/quality of media ingestion.  What amount of that time is giving glory to God?  Are you wasting away hours that you could be investing in someone’s heart and life?  Are you filling the deep, dark, black “void” in your heart with an easy distraction?  Our culture and generation must heed the warning pertaining to our rampant technology advances.  Use them when convenient… but be intentional about taking time to communicate and love others the old fashion way: face-to-face.

1) Ask yourself in every situation, “What does the Gospel say about this?” In every sphere of your life, every person that crosses your path… make this your question.  Before you know it, you’ll be sharing the Gospel through the actions of your life—not just in words.

———-

There you have it folks.  [All of which I’m writing to remind myself so I may continue to learn and be sanctified by them.] Hope you enjoyed my 25 years of silliness and wisdom.  Weigh in with some of yours!

Just a girl fighting like crazy to be the woman the Lord wishes for her to be, striving to keep others well before herself, and love-love-love….all people, all places, and all nations… for the glory of God.

Kami

Her name was Amanda.  She had peroxide blonde hair. Her mom and dad were both well below the poverty line, and both were severe drug and alcohol abusers…spending whatever money they did earn on fleeting highs, instead of food for their children.  They lived a solid 3-iron’s distance away from my bedroom, so my Dad and Mom could keep them in sight… and my Mom’s special task… to protect and nurture Amanda.

The thing is, Amanda was not cool.  Because her family did not take care of her, she dressed and smelled funny, she was immediately placed as the outcast at school among the “it” girls.  I wanted to be an “it” girl.  I wanted to be tan and beautiful like they were.  I wanted boys to desire me the way they desired them.  I wanted the power they had over our entire student body. (These chicks had a fireball stare… that magically “lifted” the “pee-ons” from the center “popular” table in the cafeteria… and created available spots for themselves… they were like Harry Potter…)

God, and through Him, my Mom, had plans for me that existed beyond the realm of the “it girls.”

I was planning my 12^th birthday party, and compiling the list in my bedroom.  I remember the “it” girls were at the very top, they had a VIP slot to eat all the best slices of cake, stand in the front of all my pictures, and generally use and abuse me- if it meant I got to be “one of them.” My mom slipped her head in my room and said flippantly, “Don’t forget to invite Amanda!” I rolled my eyes.  I knew… she would ruin everything.  The “it” girls wouldn’t come if they knew she would be there! My cool card would be forever withheld from me! I would never be the middle school VIP that I wanted to be!

I turned my list into my Mom.  Upon a quick scan, she said, “I don’t see Amanda’s name on this list.” I replied, “Mom, do you even want me to be cool, or what?” My Mom said, “Kami, no one is cool.” (Well, hello, truth missile…) She continued, “I’ll give you twenty-four hours to reconsider this decision, before I send out the invitations, but trust me, it may feel like a sacrifice to invite her—but your invitation will bless her more than it hurts you to invite her.” (My Mom is the champion of laying it on thick, can you tell?).

So, after some thought, I scratched out someone else’s name.  I swallowed hard. I wrote… “Amanda.”

When the invitations arrived, the “it” crowd found out I had invited her, and vowed that they would never come if someone “like that” would be in attendance.  I hated my Mom for making me consider Amanda, I hated myself even more for what FLEW out of my mouth. I told the “It girls,” “Fine then, don’t come.  You are no better than she is, and I invited her because she is my friend. I don’t even CARE if you guys show up! (Blatant lie by Kami…).”

They didn’t show up.

But Amanda did.  She had a joyful smile that exuded grace from the moment my mom and I picked her up until the second we dropped her off.  She could escape the treacherous elements of her home life for four hours, enjoy spending time with me and my family (even with my bitter heart), and loved and laughed alongside me.  We dropped her off that night, she thanked me in a way I have never been thanked to this day—for a birthday invitation, but it was more than that.  She was thanking me for picking her over the acceptance of our middle school “it” club.  Tears welled in my eyes…wasn’t I the one that should be thanking her?

Obedience, for lack of better words, can suck sometimes.  It usually is something that requires you to give up something that you deeply desire for the betterment of God’s kingdom, or for someone God wants to bless.  It’s self-sacrifice.  My obedience, selfishly, is not the beautiful sacrifice we see draped at the cross.  It is not always a willing gift of a grateful heart or a generosity of my spirit. It is a forced crucifixion.  It is picking up my own cross, swallowing hard, and writing down the right name on my list; Jesus.  He is the person that should be at my party.  It shouldn’t be the “it” crowd, a husband, material things, or a noisy Abercromie and Fitch “onesie.”  The “fat” of those desires is burnt through the hard choices of our obedience.  The choices made to serve others in the midst of your own pain—are the ones God uses to point out our faithlessness the most. It isn’t an exchange that makes “sense” in the immediate context.  It is giving up something you desperately want for what someone else truly needs.  It forces you to see your own sin.  It forces you to see your dark and idolatrous heart— a heart that GOD picks to come to His party…through the perfect life, death, and resurrection of his son, Jesus. He crossed out “Jesus,” and wrote “Kami,” even when I was smelly, even when I had nothing to give in return, even when it meant his very own life…

A few weeks later, in a drunken rage, Amanda’s dad drunkenly held his entire family at gunpoint.  Amanda had the strength to knock him upside the head with a blunt object, encourage her mother to grab only what they needed, and they ran. From what I have heard, Amanda is now a wife and a mother of her very own children. I will always remember her grace-filled smile after my 12^th birthday party.  She looked like starlight.

On Sunday I saw that same grace through the eyes of a friend.  This obedience may not have been an invitation to my 12^th birthday party—it was an invitation to do life together.  It was a hard invitation for my selfish heart to give…but in my selfishness, I trust that God will bless her, anyways.  Even through my bitterness and bruises, I see the beauty in our interactions just as I saw the beauty in Amanda’s face so many years ago.  I see beauty through my tears— in becoming less of me, and more of Christ— something I may not want right now… but something I know she needs.

Just a broken vessel pushing on through the sting of obedience, hoping that heaven has Lisa Frank paper plates at the Great Feast, and thankful for glimpses of grace… when I am the very one who is least deserving of them…

-Kami

I know what you’re thinking… “home-girl just bought an Armani power suit, and plans on taking over the world… plundering every poor soul that hits her wake!” As much as I love riffles, gunpowder, and the NRA, this option may turn out to be a little too bloody for my liking. And besides, who would, under any circumstances, think it’s ok to ruin an Armani suit?! (No friend of mine, that’s who…)  Maybe you’re thinking, instead, that I have started a new political party that protests by burning watches, showering almost never, and camping out in various public places. (You’re welcome for leaving out the smelly details of feces on the loose and rampant drug and alcohol consumption.) Sadly, a handful of lunatics already stole that idea from me… therefore; I’m stuck with option three.

I will just BE.

Being present as life is whirling around you is terrifying.  It is a daily stance in telling God, “I’m your girl, I know you’ve got me…. Nothing can shake me from you or from your plan.  I TRUST you.” It is a daily repentance of my hunger to strive instead of finding my rest in Him.  It is a daily dying to myself, a prayer that makes me decrease while making the Lord increase.  It is having joy regardless of the circumstances that flood in and out of my life.  It is a solid foundation that never shakes, never cracks, and never fails. It is being reliant and dependent on the source of Living Water, rather than being self-sufficient, self-reliant, and self-obsessed.  It is… in a single word… grace.

Sometimes I find that this “waiting game” shows how little I understand of God’s grace.  I see it as a literal game.  Will I win this time? Am I right in line with the parameters allotted for me? Am I doing the right things at the right time? Am I praying “enough?” Did I check off each “quiet time goal” I have listed in my planner? (I hear you judging me… yes, I actually do this, and you… can get OVA it!).  Even spiritually, I map out this proverbial “growth timeline,” and if I have not met the specifications I draw out for myself…I feel this overwhelming sense of failure.

What I am about to say will likely pull all kinds of red flags from the counseling community.

Red flags are for the birds…FYI.

I AM a failure.  I was a failure the moment I was born.  I was predisposed to sin and rebellion, and even aside from my innate inclination…I choose to run away from God daily.  In everything I attempt, I fall short of perfection, because I am completely and wholly…imperfect in every way.  When I wake up the morning, I’ve probably sinned through dreaming—and then continue this pattern by looking in the mirror in horror. (Especially on the nights I go to bed with wet hair…. Lord have mercy…).  Sanctification is no more than getting used to the chisel. (Thanks to Jenni’s mom for this analogy!) All our lives will be a painful chipping away of the “extras” and the “unneeded” until we become more and more congruent with the heart of Jesus.

As I was driving through the mountains to Nashville for Thanksgiving, I felt like I was in the middle of a way-too-ironic literal picture of sanctification.  Think of a slow trickling river over a large mountain.  Without increasing in its intensity or speed, this same river just keeps flowing.  It pulls what it may along for the tumultuous journey, and over the years, starts to make a visual impression. Thousands of years pass, and this slow trickle has made two mountains out of one.  It has cascaded and cut so deep that it has redefined the very thing by reshaping the original entity.

Now, think of the alternative.  When the gold rush kicked in and mass quantities of men were heading west, a quick way through the mountains seemed preferable.  Without a natural stream forming and splitting our formation, the only way to accomplish such a task… is by using dynamite. (Side note: “Hello Dynamite!” was the pick-up line my Dad used when he hit on my Mom.  Now you know. Gloriously awkward, isn’t it?) Dynamite is dangerous and messy.  It requires a human hand to light the string, and disperses debris in all directions without warning.  With the spiritual parallel, dynamite is the way life can be when we attempt to sanctify ourselves.  It is messy, it normally ends with a Harry-Potter-like scar, and hurts like the Benjamin’s.

Part of “just being” is allowing the Lord’s river to work down deep in all of my valleys.  It is taking my hand off the igniter, crushing sticks of dynamite (much like Xena the Warrior Princess), and falling face first.  I cannot earn my salvation… for I do not deserve it… and will never, under any circumstances, deserve it.  I am just the little girl of a Big God that asks me to make Him the source of all of my fountains. I am instructed to wait until He commands the river to change me; I am instructed to “be.”

Just a girl in awe of a Lord that provides in uncertainty, laughs hysterically at me as I try to light the end of my dynamite sticks, and teaches me the beauty of being present and available to adventures only He could write. Just a girl hoping that her river keeps on digging deeper, even when it hurts, even when I fight it… because God’s hand in sanctification is ever-more perfect than my silly…feeble…embarrassing attempts.

-Kami

Maybe it doesn’t matter what the question is in the first place.  Maybe the counter-question is the most telling qualifier of all.  That three letter word, (often said by these two with an undeniable cuteness that melts my heart into a million pieces), speaks of a lack of trust.  It says, “I’m not sure you know what you’re talking about,”(which, happens to be undeniably true), It says, “explain to me your rationale so that I can judge to see if your thought process is legitimate or not.”

During my drive home from a friends wedding this weekend, it hit me like a ton of bricks…that I’ve done very little development since I turned three-years-old.  I ask God four trillion questions a day.  “Why haven’t you answered this prayer yet? Do I have to keep asking? God remember the parable about knocking until I receive…. Well, the ole knuckles are tired… and can we just throw this thing into gear already? Lord, why am I in this place right now?  Are you sure you have a plan for me?  God- am I invisible? Seriously, did you give me the Harry-Potter-esque spiritual gift of the Invisibility Cloak, because I’m 95% certain that no man has noticed the extra 100 sit ups I do every night/charming personality/smile as white as snow? God, do you notice me?  I know the Bible says this, but are you sure you aren’t just trying to torture me until I freak out enough so you can finally ‘bless’ me? God, are you even there?  Do you hear me?  I talk to you all flipping day long, and you never talk back… why? WHY? Why, God, Why?”

Let me confess my sin of doubt and distrust.  I don’t actually believe that I will be taken care of in this life.  I have a steadfast hope and faith that in my resurrected body… I will be loved, I will be protected, I will be cherished.  But it’s THIS life that I’m not so sure about.  It’s THIS life that feels so… out of control.  It’s THIS life that feels like a sort of purgatory- punishment after punishment (that I deserve) – no hope for a breath of safety/of confidence/ of the provision that I WANT.  Hope is dangerous in that way.  If I start to hope in something to come (other than meeting my Savior face-to-face), my heart feels connected to this possible dream…and the let down… is so much harder than if I stayed hard and cynical and hopeless in the first place.

My depravity, as much as I can try, will likely prevent me from asking God all of my three-year-old questions in excess.  If the Lord knows my heart, then His Spirit will change these questions into words and ways that God can hear and understand.  The Spirit can intercede for me- pray for the things that I should be praying for- and give me the things I need when I don’t know what those needs truly are.

I’m starting to think that provision is not only about bread, or food, or money.  It’s not just for the tangibles, but also for the ambiguous non-tangibles. Maybe God can provide for me the things that I cannot see or touch or feel.  Maybe in my asking, he wants to ask me the same qualifier as Audrey Claire or Judah ask me?  The same qualifier that I ask him day in and day out- Why? “For what purpose do you want this blessing, Kami?  And how are you going to use it for my glory?” Somehow, when the questions are reversed, I feel like a female-Job (only with a rockstar golf swing…), on my hands and knees…trying to discern these answers for myself feeling ill equip and unworthy.  Maybe a doctorate in Asking Questions is not a bad idea afterall— and maybe, the WHY in your own life is where God wants you to soak right now.  As for me, I’m soaking away.  Some days I soak in utter fear and humility, tensing up which becomes a force multiplier.  But on some days, the GOOD days, I soak like a football player after the big game.  I push through the initial temperature shock, I breathe in the Lord to fill my mind, body, and soul, and I let that lactic acid seep out through every pore.  I find myself in a lullaby of romance with a man who loves me enough to allow me to suffer. I find myself relaxing, replaying the grand slam of his death and resurrection…praying that I will always be reminded what matters when I am utterly and sinfully consumed with what doesn’t.

Just a girl praying to decrease, to stay invisible if it means that God is visible like fireworks every fourth of July, and trying to gracefully soak in the WHY of my life …. Even when it shocks me, even when my nature tells me to tense up and run away, and even when the lactic acid wants to stay trapped within….letting it all go because the grand slam says I can.

Kami

Then I let my best friend Beka hear it… and because she is talented in a million and one ways… she made my song sound legit.  All credit goes to her.

I hope the Lord uses Beka’s beautiful voice to speak to your heart.

Pure in You <—–(click this link to download).

Lyrics:

I dwell on earthly things, like will someone ever love me.

Lord, will he see you—when my heart, he does pursue

Make these walls fall high to low, loving You will show.

chorus:

Heavenly Father, I pray that you fill me

with your strength and your grace… whatever you see-

in me that offends you—wash it all away.

Make me pure in You.

I pray I’ll know what’s right, on this walk with You I’ll hold tight

when I pour out love to him, how will I will ever begin to

mimic this amazing love, you have filled me with from above.

Bridge:

When I feel lonely, focus on the Word you’ve given me,

and how You set me free.

10. We train and condition spiritually and physically. I have acquired tennis elbow from our tennis skills camp last night, as well as, the rapid page turning of my bible.

9. There are ten kids that worship with our Core Team so far. They only come from 3 families. Try that math on for size.

8. We have four elders. Nate Akin, Matt Sigmon, Tony Merida, and Tony Merida’s goatee. (I crack myself up…)

7. The Imago Dei Family is full of new people with new hearts-God wrote painful and unusual stories through our lives to bring himself glory. He works through our scars to bring himself honor.

6. Imago Dei is hard to say, feel free to just call it IDC. [imAGGo DAY].  Practice makes perfect people…practice makes perfect.

5. Our church isn’t about a building-it’s about fostering strong marriages and families that desire to do life together while bringing glory to God.

4. Our “security team” is tatted up, bench-presses refrigerators, and are season ticket holders to the gun show. They also love their wives selflessly, and serve Jesus with all their hearts.

3. 80% of our core team was a college athlete.  We bring the heat.  Nuff said.  We also love to eat.  Some of us could live off of cheese dip alone…

2. We communicate through group Heytell, which is amazing.  Just this morning, I sang “this little light of mine” to the entire church.  I hope it was inspiring…

1. We desire to see lives changed by the gospel.  Simply and authentically.  We want to KNOW what God’s Word says, GROW through it, and GO tell it to the nations. Come join us on September 11th!

www.idcraleigh.com

Just a girl getting her feet wet with a new church plant, being humbled by the Lord daily-hourly-by the minute, and remembering the selfless love of a man who laid down his life to save mine;

Kami

I remember feeling this parallel emotion in human anatomy and physiology class in college.  I selected this course as my last few science credits towards the satisfaction of my degree.  Let’s get a few things on the table.  (Or in other words, let me turn shamefaced embarrassed as I tell you all the things in which I am not skilled.) To tell my left from my right, I still do the “L” test with my hands.  I searched for three months to find a work-appropriate digital watch because it takes me far longer than the average bear to tell time on a normal clock.  Simple arithmetic, division, subtraction, and multiplication tables—or, say the math skills of a below average fifth grader—cause me an alarming amount of unrest each and every day.  All of this to say… science and math…were gifts that the Lord did not bestow upon me.

So, I’m 20-something, sitting in a formaldehyde-ridden room with a naked skeleton man/woman staring eerily through me.  I stayed up for two straight days for this midterm exam.  I was overwhelmed, tired, and not at all confident in my level of preparedness.  Before I knew it, I started to uncontrollably sob.  Not the pretty, sorority-girl style, classy kind of cry… full on, snot flying on the table, gasping for air, chest rising and falling without me giving it permission.  I had officially jumped off the deep end.

The professor (seemingly annoyed) made an intentional walk to the back of the room to my table and asked me what was wrong.  My third grader-trapped in the body of a college student replied from within… “if one of these bones or organ-thingys is broken or doesn’t work right… nothing else will either.” (sob sob sob sob sob sob sob, snot snot snot snot snot snot snot).  Professor’s reply, “This is true, but I am not asking you to identify that concept on this test Miss Mueller.”  I stop my dramatic cry-fest to look up, doe-eyed, and say, “It’s not the test I’m worried about… it’s life.”  At this point, home-girl pulled me into the hall, told me I needed to be quiet and take the reminder of my test or that I would need to leave the area so I didn’t impede upon the other students (who, thank-you-very-much, were likely cheating on said test inside during this uncompassionate debacle).  So I went in, finished, and left.

It hit me, just this weekend that I may have been worried about the wrong thing.

And I don’t mean, the awful grade I earned on my exam…

It’s not really about one bone breaking or one cell changing and affecting the others.  In a practical situation, this may, very well, be true. (Again, I wouldn’t know.  A D- doesn’t really qualify me as an anatomy expert…).   Instead, it’s about the starting point.  It’s all broken.  All the “cells” are imperfect, flawed.  Every muscle is out of alignment.  From the highest hair on my head, to the bottom of my toes, everything is wrong.  This “sea” of my body….is filled to the brim with imperfections.  It is ALL bad. It is a sea of human depravity and ugliness.

But…

In this sea, swims a single good fish.

You see, when I accepted Jesus Christ as my Savior, God gave me the gift of one good fish.  This fish has the mind of God, intercedes upon my behalf, even when I am unable to even find the words to pray.  This fish puts those words together for me.  He is the Spirit of God himself.  He swims along my brokenness and gives me strength and character to live my life the way I desperately want to live.  When I knowingly sin, this one good fish cries tears of sadness into this bad sea…allowing his tears to change my very composition.  Every day, this good fish does good things.  These good things sometimes hurt as my mouth snaps shut before uttering harmful words, or my head begins to ache so that I cannot think impure thoughts.  Often, I have found, it is my heart where he swims the most.  My heart burns and bleeds and pumps and rips…until one day…I will finish this race.  God will see me as Christ himself—because instead of seeing the vast awfulness of my bad sea—he will instead use an amazing tunnel vision into my heart…

There, in the form of a miracle and evidence of grace…He will see nothing… but this one good fish.

And the whole of the sea will be accepted as holy, because this one good fish is holy.

Nothing else will matter.

Today, on a Monday, in my overwhelmed scattered-brained life, I give thanks for this fish.  I wish I could give it to every single person in the world—though, I would be prideful if this were the case—which is why this is a gift only the Lord can give.  I don’t know who you are, where you might be reading this.  According to the Lord’s plan, some of you will think I’m a cooky-pants who nearly failed A & P in college, and discard the words you read… but if there is even a second of questioning stirring within you…. Ask God to reveal more to you.  Ask for that fish.

I pray for there to be but a single good fish, in your vast bad sea.  Nothing else will do.

Just a girl who is still mildly (ok, severely…) bitter about taking A & P, thinks formaldehyde is for the birds or for making you want to throw up, and giving thanks to God who shows grace-mercy-compassion-and love- for letting one good fish knock down the hard shell of my mind and heart just two years ago …when I wanted absolutely nothing to do with it.  I’m thankful for the one good fish who showed me I was wrong….

-Kami