Wednesday, February 15, 2006
Whoohoo!
Beautiful, white, perfect, glorious SNOW! (It's about time...I was beginning to forget that I live in the midwest) It hasn't stopped coming down since last night. They closed the clinic at 3:30 and told us we'd most likely have the day off tomorrow. Ahhh. Simply beautiful. What more could you possible ask for? Okay, well maybe one thing: the peruvian beanie that I ordered from REI. It's not going to be here until next week, probably after the snow has all melted. Ah well, even that can't ruin my snow-evening. I'm going to go roll around in it for a while. Bye.
Saturday, February 11, 2006
Friday, February 03, 2006
Roadtrip!
Em and I are headed down to Denver for the weekend to get her dress fitted, shop for bridesmaid dresses, eat at Sonic, and just generally run amuck (on a budget.) I'll talk to you kids in a few days. Don't get into too much trouble while I'm gone.
Wednesday, February 01, 2006
Coincidence? Or something else....
I was in a bit of a funk last weekend. You know those days. Worrying about my future. School. A job. Finances. Going abroad. An apartment. More tuition debt. Decision making. Conflicting summer Younglife/job/camp/church commitments. Friends. Relationships. Friendlationships. Being envious. Insecure. Not trusting God at all. Not trusting anyone. Self pity. Self loathing. Self righteousness. Just plain negative all around, and not even kicking myself to quit being that way, but rather content in my self-centered wallowing.
Sunday morning, I rolled out of bed and stepped on an envelope. Saturday's mail that someone had tossed into my room. The envolope was hand-addressed. We all know that if it's hand-addressed it's not a bill or a credit card ap or the Sierra Club asking for money. If someone took the time to actually write out your name and address it's got to be something good, right?
So I open the envelope and inside is a half-sheet of paper with a hand-written note that says this:
"He is it. He is all there is. And you are His. He is worthy of your praise. Worthy of all honor and praise. And you know that. It's not about paying rent. Or grad school vs. Greece vs. Africa. Or even the man you may or may not marry. It's really just all about Him. And on the days you feel like it, and on the days you don't, lift your hands and voice and heart to Him. It's all you can do when you can't do anything else. Bless the name of the Lord. You have vowed yourself to Him. He has you forever, and there's nothing you can do about it. Nothing you can do. So let Him love you, and bless His name."
So I'm a little taken aback. And quite confused. I pick up the envelope again. How odd. It was my handwriting. The return address is the camp in North Dakota where I spent two weeks with teenagers last July. I had completely forgotten that we had written letters to ourselves one night at camp. We addressed them and sealed them and the camp director promised to mail them several months later. After we had forgotten all about them. When we least expected it. When we were needing some encouragement. Like on a Sunday morning in January, when we're in a bit of a funk.
Sunday morning, I rolled out of bed and stepped on an envelope. Saturday's mail that someone had tossed into my room. The envolope was hand-addressed. We all know that if it's hand-addressed it's not a bill or a credit card ap or the Sierra Club asking for money. If someone took the time to actually write out your name and address it's got to be something good, right?
So I open the envelope and inside is a half-sheet of paper with a hand-written note that says this:
"He is it. He is all there is. And you are His. He is worthy of your praise. Worthy of all honor and praise. And you know that. It's not about paying rent. Or grad school vs. Greece vs. Africa. Or even the man you may or may not marry. It's really just all about Him. And on the days you feel like it, and on the days you don't, lift your hands and voice and heart to Him. It's all you can do when you can't do anything else. Bless the name of the Lord. You have vowed yourself to Him. He has you forever, and there's nothing you can do about it. Nothing you can do. So let Him love you, and bless His name."
So I'm a little taken aback. And quite confused. I pick up the envelope again. How odd. It was my handwriting. The return address is the camp in North Dakota where I spent two weeks with teenagers last July. I had completely forgotten that we had written letters to ourselves one night at camp. We addressed them and sealed them and the camp director promised to mail them several months later. After we had forgotten all about them. When we least expected it. When we were needing some encouragement. Like on a Sunday morning in January, when we're in a bit of a funk.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)