Sunflowers and Friends (the radio show)

Bek bought me a sunflower, just because (4/13/18)

Bek and Lydi after building their bunnies (4/7/18)


Sunflower blooms I’m growing from a kit Jo gave me (3/23/18)

Emmie, Jo, and I at Pewaukee Lake (3/17/18)

Joanna and I standing on Pewaukee Lake (2/10/18)

Sunrises

Sunrise over Lake Michigan (4/8/18)

Sunrise over Holy Hill (3/29/18)

Sunrise over campus (2/17/18)

Comforting?

What does it mean to be holy in a sinful body? What does it mean to be truly humble in our relationships? How do you reach the ones who are so far retreated inside themselves, even they have forgotten the way out?  In lieu of answers (which I’m working on), I want to share a sort of poem almost directly lifted from one of my recent conversations with a twelve-year-old girl.

I say, what’s your favorite part about school?

Leaving.

I say, okay, so what’s your least favorite part?

Coming.

The teachers, she says, spend all their time

yelling.

The teachers, she says, spend no time 

listening.

They say, she’ll make it through just fine 

complying.

They say, she just needs to stop all her 

fighting.

Really? That’s what they say to be

comforting?

Really?

Thirty-five Days

Four years ago, I never imagined I’d be finishing up my first semester of Bible school in thirty-five days.  For all intents and purposes, my life was void of direction and I was struggling to put the pieces of life back together after college.  I knew what I believed in...but how was a girl supposed to live that kind of thing out?  At any rate, the last thing I was going to do was waste money to learn things I already knew to postpone the process of figuring it out.

But here I am. For better or worse, here I am.

My first semester at EBI is drawing to an end and, as always, I’m feeling reflective.  At first, I thought my experience here would be just like everyone else’s: class would rock my world, my theology would shift radically, neurons in my brain would fire off into unexplored territory. And while classes are good and the community is healthy and encouraging, that isn’t what my semester looked like.  So does that mean there’s something wrong with me?

A friend of mine used to compare life to seasons.  She said that our lives experience the long sleep of winter and the rapid growth of spring, the vibrant joy of summer and the bittersweet autumn.  I’m no expert, Johnny, but this feels like winter.  The things we go over in class are things I know, and while that’s okay, it concerns me.  God has to have more to show me; He is an infinite discovery that I shall never reach the end of. So why, at Bible school of all places, does He feel so far away?  Does He even want me to be here?  Am I even in His will wanting to be a missionary?

For better or worse, here I am. At least for thirty-five more days, and three more semesters. But then what?

Here I am, Lord. 

Here I am.

When I Think of It

I hate that I only

think to share what’s on my mind

when it’s down, far down.

My head weighs heavy

on my shoulders like the crown

of a displaced king,

so I think of how

I could write it down, get it

out before it grows

into a deep pit

of steady quicksand, slowly

overwhelming me

until I can’t breathe.

I hate how I don’t think to 

share the good things more.

Three Ways

You wouldn’t necessarily think of drinking water and talent in the same category.  I’m here to change your thought process.  Put about an inch of water in the bottom of any average sized glass. (Seriously, DO IT!) Raise that cup over your head at an arm’s length.  Now tip your head back and try to pour the water into your open mouth.  A group of us tried the other night... I may or may not have received an impromptu shower.

That thought is a bubble, prismed and feather light, bobbing through air.

You might also think working with children is one of the easiest jobs in the world.  You might be a little right, but you might also be a little wrong.  The thing with kids is they’re people, too.  They have good days and bad days and days when they feel left out or misunderstood.  In many ways, consistency is their lifeline.  When I inadvertently contribute to the dreaded inconsistency they experience, it’s deflating to say the least.

These thoughts are Japanese beetles clinging to screen behind my eyes; maybe harmful, maybe not, but putting me on edge all the same.

We all agree some interactions are difficult.  Maybe it’s a conversation gone wrong or a careless phrase overheard.  It could be a difference in perspective or culture.  Difficulty can arise out of sleep deprivation or anxiety.  For someone who values peace and unity, pointed words and misunderstandings are not easy hurdles.

These thoughts are an anvil, pressing through my brain to the soles of my feet.

Do you see the picture?

Thoughts for thinking and

thoughts for meditating and

some thoughts for dwelling.

Different People

It’s funny how different names create a different person within the same body.  Miss V is alert.  She knows what we’re doing today and what’s allowed and how to fix things that hurt.  Vivian, on the other hand, is just happy to keep her eyes open through classes, asking God quietly why her body is the way it is.  Viv is a friend who hopefully listens but probably doesn’t have the answers.

Every day I am all three of these people, at the very least. Sometimes a new name appears and I have to figure out how she fits into the grander scheme of characters inside of me.  They’re all me.  It’s not a question of being genuine.  The question is how that name fits me and how I fit the situation.

Maybe there’s some crazy spiritual message here, but I don’t think so.  I’m learning to be careful of over-spiritualizing situations that might just be normal situations. Does that make sense?  I believe God is active and present every moment of every day.  That doesn’t mean every moment has an underlying revelation.

How much of what I thought I knew about the Bible is really wonky interpretation that I’ve read into the text?  It’s a scary, humbling thought. And that’s where I’ll leave you.