Tripping and Stumbling

I tend to break things. Glasses, dishes, cell phones, myself. I'm just not always the most coordinated person in the world. Okay, I'm hardly ever coordinated or graceful. I've dropped spaghetti on my mom's new white carpet. I've broken 3 different cell phones in less than a year. In fact, while in college I managed to fall down four separate flights of stairs at one point or another. That doesn't even count all the times I fell up the stairs.

I don't always feel so coordinated when it comes to my spiritual life, either. I stumble. A lot (both literally and figuratively). It's easy to feel useless, unnoticed, and unloved. I find myself questioning how God could possibly want me when I mess up so often. And yet, I believe in a God who loves me and chooses to use me even in all of that brokenness.

Isn't the Bible full of such examples of broken people used to glorify God? Moses was a terrible public speaker, and yet God used him to deliver His people. King David made some awful decisions, and yet he was a man after God's heart. Peter went so far as to deny Jesus three times, and yet Jesus called him the rock on which he would build the church. I don't know about you, but it makes me feel better to know that those Biblical giants messed up big time, too.

It's been a long time since my last post because I've been out of town for two weddings (more posts to come on all of that), and then, this week, my papaw passed away. So, today I find myself back in Oklahoma for his memorial service. You might be asking, "How does this tie into brokenness?" Well, my papaw lived the last few years of his life with Alzheimer's. His mind steadily became more and more broken as the disease robbed him of his memory. When my family would discuss his illness, we would question why God would allow him to remain alive as his mind declined. He was not the same vivacious man that we had always known.

Then, my parents and sisters sat by my papaw during his last hours. They saw workers from the nursing home pouring in to say goodbye to a man who had never been harsh to them; who was always eager to read the Bible out loud or sing a hymn. He called everyone "Darlin" and always said, "Thank you." As my sister pointed out to all of us, Alzheimer's could not take away my papaw's love of Christ. Even though his mind was broken and he wasn't the wisecracking grandpa we knew anymore, he still radiated the Holy Spirit. He still brought glory to God even as his mind and body were failing him.

Today, we remember my papaw's life and what he brought to us while he was here on earth. But, I know that along with the jokes and sayings that my papaw left me with, he also passed on a legacy of faith that proved that even when all hope is gone--when we are at our most broken--God still uses us.

Thanks, Papaw, for that lesson.

My Peter Pan Syndrome

Do you remember what you wanted to be when you were a kid? If you were anything like me, those aspirations ranged from ballerina to cheerleader to actress to at-home artist (that's the technical term I used for it). I've also had fleeting dreams of being a writer, architect, interior designer, and teacher (the one I ended up getting a degree in).

Recently, my brother-in-law pointed me in the direction of a book called Cure for the Common Life by Max Lucado. Lucado asks that you start your journey of "self-discovery" (okay, that's cheesy, but work with me, okay?) by delving into your childhood dreams. It has definitely started me down a path of inward inspection that is difficult, mainly because I've discovered that I remember very little about being a kid. Seriously, when did that happen? It's kind of hard for me to recall the things that got me excited.

As I mentioned, my bachelor's degree is in teaching. Yet, I find myself a year outside of college and with little desire to teach. In fact, I've been going through a bit of a "quarter-life crisis" as I try to wrangle my hopes and dreams into something managable, and into something that can hopefully become a source of purpose (and income). I suppose that internal struggle is one reason I started this blog and what inspired its name.

As I've thought about my big dreams for my future and those that I held in the past, I've found a few things in common:

1) I love beauty. At-home artist. Writer. English teacher. Interior designer. Even my wish to be a mom hints at my desire to make things beautiful. I think that's why I spend so much time and energy keeping my apartment neat and clean, as well as why I seek out books with rich character development and vivid descriptions. I long for beauty.
2) I want to make things better. That's where my desire to be a teacher comes in. I know that I want to live life with purpose. I'm just not sure what that will look like just yet.

What I'm learning (with the help of the kicks in the pants that Oswald Chambers' My Utmost for His Highest provides) is that God does not desire some ultimate, world-changing act on His behalf. Instead, He wants our daily moments along the journey. And dang, that is the absolute hardest lesson to learn. It is a lesson that I have to remind myself of almost every moment, and it hasn't fully saturated my thick skull. However, I do know that I want to walk it with God with the profession of "child of God" under my belt.

And since I will always be His child, I never truly have to grow up--which means I will always be Peter Pan.

Giving Up or Giving In

I'm an obsessive blog-reader. I'll admit it. Whether it's the popular home design blog, Young House Love, or fellow friends who blog, such as Lauren and Kate, I loyally check many of them each day. So, after much urging on the part of my husband (we'll call him Handsome Husband), I've decided to join the blog bandwagon. I'm admitting right now that I might not be very good at this. And, I can't promise regular posts or interesting topics, but I'm going to try.

I'll also give you the disclaimer up front: I am not redoing a house. I'm not going on any really great mission trip overseas. I definitely do not have cute kids (or ugly kids. Okay, I don't have any kids at all. Not even a cute puppy-just a few wilting houseplants.) I don't even think I'm that funny, but I figure that those of you who might read this love me enough to look at something I've written because you're bored. And you love me--remember?

So, let's get this party started...as soon as I think of something life-changing to write about.

(See Handsome Husband, I did it. Sometimes I listen to you.)