four months old

the first game we played 

you stood on my stomach. 

your toes curled beneath you 

to root yourself in place. 

drool dripped from your chin 

to my chest and you squealed 

in delight as I brought you 

to my face to kiss you, slobber and all. 

so you stood, rooted to my belly. 

you smiled and squealed 

again and again 

and I felt I could play that game forever. 

as long as you smiled. 

as long as squealed. 

as long as you wanted. 

as long as you would.

gracefully pt. 2

 i have been writing a new collection of poetry. the last time i committed to that, it was as a gift to my parents before i got married.  this time it is for my son.

becoming a mother is no joke. social media shouts at expectant mothers to prepare for mental and emotional struggles from day one, to expect anxiety, depression, exhaustion, discouragement, overwhelming doubt, and more. while these feelings and experience are medically proven to be common among post-partum women, i found myself so engorged with information that i was unable to process it or what was happening in my own brain and body. something was wrong in that picture.

i am learning. 

motherhood, no matter what social media says, is not about me.  it is not about my feelings, my need to be needed, or my insecurity. this journey is about the maturation of my son's soul, and i will miss it if i listen to the voices that tell me it's about my fulfillment. he needs support and tools for a life beyond me.

yet, no matter how deeply i grasp that truth, i will always have thoughts, feelings, and insecurities. i am human and i deeply feel my own emotions as well as those of the people around me. so what do i do with that? right now, i am writing a collection of poetry.

i think the sun is rising. i think i am learning to breathe a little more deeply. i think i am learning grace in every sense of the word. i think we are coming around the corner.

gracefully

 i've written before about how i don't think i'm doing this pregnancy thing very gracefully.  in the beginning i thought, "maybe i'm like Mary. maybe i just need to treasure all of this in my heart." but i haven't done a very good job of treasuring these months either.

there are just so many places i've been allowed to value way more than i should without anyone noticing until now.  without myself noticing. without recognizing.

like, i don't resent my son for making my thighs bigger than they've ever been, do i?  if there is resentment, it's aimed at myself for not exercising enough or eating healthily enough during pregnancy. but what would enough of those things have looked like? couldn't my body have changed anyway?  isn't that the natural order of life for some women? i shouldn't be crippled by the fear that i might never fit into my favorite pair of jeans again, but i am.

or how about the way i want Tanner to need me. i want him to value me for all the ways i make his life better. do i then resent myself anew because all i've been able to do for the past nine months is ask for his help?

 and so i avoid social media and connecting with people i love because i feel toxic. i wouldn't want to spend time with me or hear me talk about my struggles for months on end.  i barely know how to express them in this short post sent into the void.  how do i share this with the people who care, but probably can't help?

and where have i left room for God in this?  how much control over health, wellness, success, survival, etc. do i think i have? apparently way more than i actually do. as my friend Lindsay says, "Jesus, help."

help me be at peace with the way things are.

help me place value where You place it.

help me grow, hopefully, gracefully.

reflection

In two weeks and three days, I will be 28 years old. I will still be growing my hair out from an impromptu buzzcut just like I was at 18. I will still spend way too much time pondering eternity, life and death like I did at 13. I will still wear the scars on my feet from the surgery I had at 4. 

So much is the same. 

So much more has changed.

Here is a little non-poem about a cardinal:

there is a cardinal

that sings

by my window each

morning.

he flutters so close,

almost close

enough

to touch. 

his song is so simple, 

captivatingly clear. 

he’s alive in this moment. 

he’s breathing; he’s here 

and tomorrow isn’t his 

burden to bear. 

today has enough worries, 

more than enough cares, 

and even when it’s raining 

he has a song to share.

april showers

 I think I've posted a blog with this title before, but as usual, I'm not going to go back and check.  this stage of life is both fast and slow. it's hard to believe we're almost finished with our first year of missionary training. half way. mind boggling.

so what does the unfaithful writer say? how do I catch the faithful readers up on recent events? it seems that, since January, it has been more and more difficult to catch my thoughts on paper. I mean, even my instagram is a graveyard. what surprises me most is that I have guilt over that. like, if I'm bad at texting AND social media now, by the time we get overseas, I won't have any friends or emotional support. that, of course, takes all the control and puts it in my hands--leaving God completely out of the picture. yikes.

why the title april showers? it's raining outside. it's been raining for days, yet the whole world around us is in bloom.  I also think it's ironic because I have been to more baby showers in the past year than in my entire life, which is saying something because I have five younger siblings and a whole lot of family having babies as I grew up. that isn't a pregnancy announcement, by the way. just in case you were suspicious.

other recent events include burning the absolute garbage out of my hand on a skillet a week and a half ago. the burns currently look like someone glued halved dates to my first and middle fingers. unrelated to the burns, I've taken up dehydrating mangos and apples to make my own dried fruit for a three week long "wilderness" training.  It's "wilderness" because we'll be in the woods about three miles from our actual house, but I think it'll be fun to see Tanner in an extended camping situation.

my thoughts turn to the steady march of time. so many of our friends this past year are graduating from the training today. the excitement for their commencement into ministry is amazing! the gnawing ache of goodbyes as a lifestyle is less so. I remember almost four years ago when I left the Philippines, I wouldn't say goodbye, just "see ya later." God gave me so much comfort in that, and it's still true, but life does not stand still between meetings. children grow up. family dynamics shift and change. friendships strengthen or fall away. hugs don't reach through phone calls or videos. and it isn't just family and friends that change! we change, too, and how do those changes reconcile when we all come together again?

april showers.

waiting on may flowers.

let’s be on the same team

Tanner and I have recently been talking to our mentors about personal and marital growth, as well as hopes for the future.  They were talking about perspective shifts that transformed their relationship, and this statement was at the top of the list. They said whenever they get in an argument or a passionate discussion, one of the most helpful things is when one of them pauses and says, “Let’s be on the same team.”

The idea wrapped up in that statement is that if we, as a unit, are on opposite teams, neither of us ever wins.  If our marriage is a competition, and I crush Tanner in winning against him, we both lose, because our marriage suffers.  However, if we are on the same team, we both win, regardless of whose thought was “right”. 

I want to be on Tanner’s team.  I also want to be on my fellow trainees’ team.  I want to be on the universal Church’s team.  I want to be on God’s team.

How often do we face an uncomfortable situation with the statement, “I hate the idea of doing this thing, so I know God is going to make me”? Yikes.  That mindset completely pits my hopes against God’s great good thing for my life, and if I push and strain against Him, Jonah’s story proves the point: in any relationship where I fight to win over the other person, we both lose. God gets rejected and my hopes are ultimately crushed. 

I want to face the future by aligning myself on my husband’s team, and together choosing to be on God’s team. If we’re trying to win, I’d much rather win God’s way together.

nora

seven years ago, 

I wrote about a girl named Nora. 

she was me and 

I told the tragedy of my life. 

and it sounds melo-

dramatic because it is, and yet

that’s what I did.

I wrote about gut-wrenching grief, and

sorrow, and guilt,

about imagined happy endings

and reality

as bitter and harsh as it seemed

to me.

seven years ago,

still seems so starkly present sometimes

those dreams still alive

and yearning for people and places 

unavailable

so strings of past possibilities 

snarl around spools of

present realities and it sounds

melodramatic 

because it is, but that’s what I did.

and sometimes it’s hard

not to do what you’ve done forever.

seven years ago

I had no clue how much I would grow

or what I would try

to hold on to, or that I’d want to.

and seven years is

not as long as I thought it would be

so there is still grief

and dead dreams and guilt and some sorrow

but there’s still hope and

imagination for tomorrow.

If you had told me seven years ago that the burdens I carried were not only shared by God, but not necessary for me to carry at all...I would have believed you as I shifted the emotional weight around inside to make it more bearable. 

I am where God has me today, and today I’m remembering the burdens, not carrying them. It all sounds so melodramatic, but in seven more years, I wonder what I’ll look back on and say “Oh...sweetie, if only you knew...” And I think that’s part of living. And those are my thoughts today.

prayer

how often do I pray for situations beyond my personal circle, influence, or circumstance? how often do I bring the burdens of my country, the orphans, widows, and wounded before my God? how often does my hurt and empathy for the global situation bring me to the throne of heaven to meditate?

honestly?

hardly at all.

it is the year 2021 in the year of my Lord. I have watched him save, provide, and protect over the last 365 days and over those days the blessings are innumerable. if you’ve read my blog before today, you know all that, yet today I am still convinced of my selfishness in my thoughts and petitions before God. I am convinced of my ability and responsibility to talk to the Creator-Savior of the universe not just on my behalf, but for the world. 

and if that isn’t a new year’s resolution, I don’t think I know what is.

apartment 60 C

 Six months ago, my roommate and I were several weeks deep into mandatory quarantine. Today, Tanner and I are only a few days into yet another forced isolation.  We, thankfully, remain healthy, but our reality feels like a strange limbo.  It seems like every day we are hearing from missionaries who deeply desire to be overseas to begin or continue ministry and they can't go. Travel is apparently virtually impossible in light of Covid. In my small, human mind, the present and future of overseas ministry feels impossible.  People say things like, "When this is over..." but where is their guarantee that this will ever truly be over?

And then our house fills with the light of the rising sun, and a friend tells us that we are going to receive a financial support from their parents this month, and the coffee tastes amazing, and there are so many blessings pushing us forward into ministry that I have to call to remembrance what I know to be true. God has called us to be trained now, not five years past or future.  He cares for every "little picture" detail I notice and controls every "big picture" stroke I cannot fathom.

It is time to be comforted by my inability, rather than pretending I am able on my own. It is time...and yet this change of perspective is overdue. It is time, though I wonder if I will remember tomorrow? God is able to hold me in a place of dependence, I am not.

new perspectives

 when new people speak into your life, new pathways or connections need to be made in your mind. new realities need to be accepted and considered. new ideas need an opportunity to brew, to be mulled over.  here are some of those thoughts over the past few weeks:

"sometimes God uses people to draw our hearts out, so we can learn, in time, to allow the Holy Spirit to that, just the two of us."  a question that I have carried since childhood is, "why isn't praying enough? why does it feel like I need to talk to people, even after I talk to God?"  the reality is that there are two truths. the first truth is that God has created us in community. the second is that God created our most core desires and needs to be met in Him and Him alone. those two truths together are what make that opening quote to this paragraph relevant. God uses His people to work with each other in the process of becoming totally reliant on Him. that answers my question, but it takes time to mull it over and accept it.

"everyone has been wounded by someone else, and everyone has wounded someone else. no one is an exception."  that reality is devastating to me.  at the very core of who I was made to be, I am disgusted and horrified when faced with the reality that I have wounded others and will continue to do so, accident though it may be, in the future. that's a truth, too, but is God's intent with showing me the truth for me to get stuck on devastation? does He want me to spiral downward in despair?  no! the hope, the purpose, the intent is for me to recognize how and where I wound others and to stop, to apologize, to ask God for help in healing rather than hurting.

i am learning, and it is still a process.

joy

I've been thinking about joy lately.  What does it look like? How do you know someone is feeling it?  Is it a feeling or a state of being or both? Can it co-exist with sorrow, stress, and anxiety? Could someone have the joy of the Lord and not experience it every single moment?

Normally I ask all of these questions, and then I write about what I've learned. This time, I'm still thinking.

I was doing small yoga this morning (that means just a little bit), still wondering about joy, and the only sort of conclusion I've come to is the song my mom used to sing when I was a child.  "The joy of the Lord is my strength. The joy of the Lord is my strength."  Just that one line over and over.

Tanner and I get married in three days.  Maybe it's a bride-zilla thing to say, but the majority of our wedding is not going to look how I began to envision it would in December.  So many last minute decisions need to be made, and I care too much.  My former expectations need so badly to be thrown away, and it's hard work.  But we don't give up, we keep moving forward despite the tears.

I don't know all of the things joy looks like, but I think one of them is strength when things are hard.

stage fright

There are parts of being human that I think will always be a part of being me. Throughout my life, I have been told that I'm very good on stage, I'm good with people, I'm understanding, I'm dramatic, I'm expressive.  I never thought the fear was allowed to interact with the qualities other people saw.  So I would try to push past the trembling legs and shallow breathing.  I tried to pretend I didn't break down into hysterical tears before every performance. I was supposed to be thriving.

A couple recent experiences have brought these memories to light, for a whole new angle of examination, which I'll talk about now:

1. For a short while, a friend and I were working together and she expressed a surprising sentiment. She confided that she was frustrated because she felt that her anxiety prevented her from connecting with our coworkers, that I couldn't understand her level of anxiety because she clearly has more of it than I do, and that people are more drawn to me as a person in general.  I was stunned.  Did she not know the amount of turmoil I experience on a daily basis over texts, let alone human interaction?

2. My roommate and I were joking about depressing yoga, and I did an Instagram live video describing the hateful universe while doing basic yoga poses.  Friends and family laughed, sending me comments about how funny it was, but some people missed it.  And I thought, "Hey, I could do this again, right?"  WRONG.  I turned the camera on and immediately began shaking.  Stage fright wrenched my thoughts from my mind and I sat in front of my phone, paralyzed in warrior 1.  In the end, I gave up, turned the camera off, and practiced yoga on my own in the quiet.

 In the end, my question is always this: who knows me better?  Me or the people around me?  And I think the answer I keep coming back to is not an answer to that question.  Rather, I'm encouraged to be thankful that God has enabled me to overcome crippling fear, and that He has allowed the people around me to see someone who is not afraid of the world around her, even if I still feel it.  Still human, but maybe a little less flesh and a little more soul.

buzz lightyear to mission log

Quarantine Day 20: There seems to be no sign of intelligent life anywhere.  The ant colony that wintered beneath our faux wood flooring has officially moved in.  They appreciate any dry oats and rice that we drop and forget to sweep immediately. Sadly, they don't appreciate the bright blue disks of death we set out for them quite as much.  I've been praying that God will give them a new home because I actually really appreciate their hard work, I just don't want to share a house with them. Like I said, no sign of intelligent life anywhere.

The days have formed a strange routine without work or social commitments.  I can't figure out if it's really good for me, or  really bad.  I'm reading three different books right now, compiling a poetry collection, walking upwards of 10 miles a day (complete with a daily stop at the post office), planning my wedding that hangs in the tenuous clutches of the CoronaVirus, shopping for bras online, and attempting to cook balanced meals without going to the grocery store. My mom and every close friend I've ever had have joked with me about my pending hermitage.  Friends, the hermitage is upon us.

It's funny how life changes when you actually don't have any responsibility, other than staying home and staying safe.  So much of my time was wrapped up in getting to work on time, picking up as many hours at work as possible, meeting this person here, and that person there.  Those aren't bad things.  They just might not have been the best things and choices.  It gives me a wild rush of anxiety to think about going back to work, and I get the same rush when I think of not going back at all.  There has been no option but to trust that God will care for us each day, just like he cares for the grasses and the new flowers stretching into bloom.

I've been reading Psalm 73 the past couple days.  I've always resonated with the second and third verses, "But as for me, my  feet had almost stumbled, my steps had nearly slipped. For I was envious of the arrogant when I saw the prosperity of the wicked."  And I feel like that sums up so much of the Vivian I used to be.  She was so afraid of missing out, so concerned with belonging, and somehow always ill at ease. The psalm ends with a breakthrough in verse 28, "But for me it is good to be near God; I have made the Lord GOD my refuge, that I may tell of all his works." That is the person I started becoming close to 6 years ago, and it has been good in this time of forced rest to remember it again.  It brings me around to the other psalm that I've been meditating in this time, particularly the first verse.  It's so simple, yet powerful in that simplicity: "I love you, YHWH, my strength."  That's where I want to be.  That encompasses everything about learning where I belong.

when your right eye twitches

Did you know that even if you've convinced yourself that everything is fine, your body still has ways of telling you that everything is not fine?  Like, say for example, making your right eye twitch for weeks.  A week ago, my eye and emotional well-being were in a state.  Planning a wedding felt like too much, going to a missionary training center seemed impossible, work was too much to think about, and my mind was still in New York with my family.  I was crying a couple times a day, no problem.

Fast-forward to this week.  My bestest friend flew out to Wisconsin despite the corona apocalypse, and the first thing she said when she saw me was, "I'm taking you grocery shopping.  Not for me, for you." We got groceries, and with them, we hatched the hair-brained idea to make the flower arrangements for my wedding arch ourselves.  (Spoiler: they look SO much better than I was afraid they would!)  We've eaten a lot food, talked about the wedding weekend, organized, planned, and purchased.  She's had the chance to spend time with my fiance.  We've slept in.

My eye hasn't twitched in 36 hours.

And I think that's the reminder or lesson or moral.  Not many parts of life, particularly wedding planning, were designed to be handled by one person in isolation. While I know in my head that God designed people for community, to be balanced and supported and encouraged, I forget that I am not an exception even though I have enough stubbornness and pride for an army.  Asking for help is hard.  Asking for help figuring out what I need help with is...confusing.  The small seed of panic in my chest knows that not everything is figured out, but that is why I have a small army of God-fearing women around me, for planning wedding to marriage and beyond.

no one shovels sunshine

Do you ever have a day when you, in your very innermost being, are convinced it is going to be a bad day? Like it’s the coldest week of this winter, your heat in your apartment is out, you almost overslept for work, and when was the last time you actively read God’s Word. I mean, yeah, that one verse in Proverbs 17 is still relevant, but that’s about a week old now. Praying and meditating is good. They need fresh input to be great.

Anyway, I was convinced today would be a toughie, but it’s impossible to shovel sunshine. God provided not one, not two, not three, but four undeniable blessings that spread light over my entire day. Just regular Joe-shmoe people saying, “Hey, I can tell something isn’t right, here’s a thing to make your day better.” And I knew it was God. 

God is just... He knows, man. He sees my anxiety about the wedding. He hears my concern about life after. He is no stranger to my fear gnawing away at the hope to pursue overseas ministry. And today He shared the sunshine with me. And today I am challenged to trust.

thankfulness in color

(in my dotage, i am learning to fall asleep anywhere and be thankful for the moments of rest)

(i have a family full of love and i am thankful for my time with them)

(i have friends and they are full of love, too)

(tanner is home and there is all the love to be shared)

I am worried and thankful, so I guess I must choose peace, but with people like this, it is much easier to make that choice.

where has all the time gone?

I am overwhelmed with lists.

There is a list for things that need to be done on my phone: messages checked, emails responded to, figure out how to get the cloud to stop telling me my phone can't back up... A list for homework, additional promises, future plans, insurance, food prep...All of it to attempt to make sense of time spinning faster than my hands can catch.

I am learning that I don't pray the way I ought.  We've been going through Daniel and the man fell on his face three times a day to talk to the God he knew was holy, and I think to Him.  I cast my stray thoughts to Him in moments, but I do not know how to bow in prayer for more than ten minutes at a time.  And they're sporadic minutes.  Not that I need a prayer schedule, but something needs to change because Daniel was a man of God and people knew it and I want people to know it about me, too.

The days are shorter and colder.  Some days it feels like my friends are shorter and colder, too.  This isn't bitterness, because I see the sweet moments we have.  I mean that they are tired, and worn, and this world seems so heavy for all the young Christians around me.  They are world weary, when I think we are meant to be heavenly.  Why do the cares of this life mean so much to all of us? 

October is a hard month for me.  The second hardest is February.  They're claustrophobic months that creep into my sense like snakes looking for an extra skin.  These are the months that I need to remember God is sovereign.  Over my feelings.  Over my worries.  Over my cares.  And over all of the feelings and worries and cares carried by the world around me.  And God is love.  Love is defined by Him.  I am learning that love flows through me best when I am not focused on sharing how I am worried today.  Love is better expressed in sharing the joyful mess of who God has made me for today.  Like, there is only triumph for us now that we are in Christ and I don't understand why we so quickly forget that.

October is a hard month for me.  But I am learning it can be easier.

entitled to be frustrated?

It’s almost 5 AM, and I’m supposed to be filling the pastry case at work. Supposed to. Instead, I’m blogging in my car because my supervisor left his keys in his apron, which got locked in the building last night. For some reason, though, I’m not frustrated with him. I’m not irritated at all.  A little bummed because this cuts my hours short and I need all the money I can get, but not frustrated.  I have grace for this guy and his forgetfulness.

I’m reminded of all the moments I’ve struggled to live in God’s grace recently. Frustration and anger seem to be two of my most constant companions. Whether it’s because of vacuuming or missing out on friendship or poor grades or lost opportunity or hunger or exhaustion....my explosive emotions have been getting the better of me and everyone around me.

God, I’m so ready to be a spokesperson or ambassador for your grace. I want the people who don’t have or understand it to get it. But I forget, so often, that it’s as ready and available to me as clean drinking water. Thank you for continuing to teach me how to throw my irritation at the foot of the cross. I love you in Jesus’ name.

Letter No. 5

Hey Kid,

We left off in chapter 4 with Paul making it clear that God’s thumbs-up only comes from trusting
Him in what He’s said. That’s how we get into God’s family—by trusting Him that He meant it when He said He would count Jesus’ death as payment for my sin.  But what does life look like after that?  Do I just trust God and then move on? 

Obviously, you have kind of a heads up from my last letter that the answer to that second question is a fat no. Chapter 5 starts to deal with those questions, with what being in God’s family actually looks like.  The chapter starts out by telling us exactly what we get when we join God’s family: peace with
God (because when we were out of His family, we were always going to be hostile with Him, but now things are different), grace (that’s God’s thumbs-up to me, because Jesus deserves God’s thumbs-up and gives it to me), confidently and joyfully looking forward to looking good with God because He changes me to be like Him, the ability to be joyful when life gets tough, and the assurance that I will never be disappointed that I joined God’s family.

A little further on, Paul talks about our fickle feelings. We get worried (or at least I know I have) that God might decide to get rid of us.  But, Kid!  He sent Jesus to die for everyone WHILE everyone hated Him, while people were His enemies.  Now that I’m in His family, there’s no way He’ll get rid of me!  Imagine the amazing things He’ll do for His family when He did incredible things for His enemies!  Just wow.

Pretty soon after that, Paul reaches a transition point in the letter.  He moves on to talk about Christian living.   He recaps a lot of what we talked about in chapter 1, with the main point that Adam’s original sin (taking from the tree in the Garden of Eden to try to be like God) affected everyone, making everyone die, BUT Jesus made one payment for everyone’s sin to make joining God’s family available to everyone. And that, my dear sister, is what we’ll talk about in Chapter 6.


So what do I do with what we’ve talked about in the last chapter?  One of the things that struck
me the most was how Paul deals with our feelings of fear about God possibly deciding He doesn’t want us anymore.  You know from my last two letters that I for sure struggled with those thoughts for a long time, and I love the way Paul smacks those thoughts into the garbage.  He’s all like, “Listen, God sent the Person He loves most to die for you while you still hated Him.  He wanted you then.  What makes you think that, now that you love Him and accept His love, He’ll decide He doesn’t want you anymore?  THAT IS NOT HOW IT WORKS!”  And it just makes my mind rest easy, you know? 

I love you, Kiddo.

Viv

Letter No. 4

Hey Kid, 
We went through Romans chapter 4 over the past few days, and it was a lot.  One of the
questions Romans 3 left off on was, “Why did God give the Law in the first place? And are we getting rid of the Law now that we understand God’s grace through Jesus’ death?  How does New Testament salvation work with the Old Testament Law system?”

In order to answer that, I want to do two things.  The first thing is looking at Abraham and David, the most famous Jews of all time, which is exactly what Paul does, too.  Paul reminds his readers that Abraham technically wasn’t a Jew when God made promises to him and said, “Abraham, I like that you’re trusting Me; you don’t deserve My thumbs up, but I’m going to give it to you because you believe I will do what I said would.” God said that when Abe was about 85 years old; God didn’t give Abraham the sign of circumcision until he was like 99.  That blows any idea of circumcision or Jewish heritage giving you God’s thumbs up completely out of the water.  Abraham also definitely received God’s thumbs up way before God gave the Torah to Moses, so hat gets rid of the idea that having the Law puts you in God’s good books, either. 

King David, on the other hand, was for sure Jewish, for sure circumcised when he was a baby, and for sure knew the Torah.  But in Psalm 32, David acknowledges his sin, but God says the same thing He said to Abraham, “You’re trusting all of the things I’ve told you, so you get My thumbs up, just like Abe!”  The point is, even though David had all of the things the Jews thought made them better than everyone else, he still met God’s standard just by God taking his trust and giving him grace. 

Which brings me to point number two: The Law was still important for people to have.  God gave the Law as an example of His character, His standard and to explain there is a consequence for not meeting that standard: death.  All of this boils down to trusting God to do what He says, even though it is impossible.  Just like Abraham trusted God to give him a son when he was 100 years old, we trust God that He has already accepted Jesus’ death for our sins to give us grace to be His children, meeting His standard. 

After the last discussion on chapter 4, I had to go and talk to Dave Field, our teacher.  I wanted
to ask him to explain exactly why he said the Law was necessary for Jesus to pay our sin debt that we
talked about last time.  Like how can the Law be necessary, but I still feel free from having to fulfill it?  We’re going to get more in depth with this later on in the letter, but I just want to share what Dave
shared with me, because I just think it’s super important to clarify.  Basically, God chose the Law to give humankind an example of His perfection.  While the Law and the sacrificial system were in play as a sin credit card, God showed grace to the people who trusted Him because He knew He would send Christ to pay it off.  BUT THE LAW STILL BROUGHT DEATH! 

So what about the standard?  Because it still exists and it wasn’t thrown away, even when Jesus died and rose again.  NOW, as a believer, I have the Holy Spirit, God Himself, His living standard, alive inside of me.  He lives out the standard through me as I have faith in God like Abraham and David.  The rest I find in that, Kid, is amazing.

I love you, 
Viv