You Can Listen To Your Heart, But I Wouldn't Follow It.

The other night I went to dinner with Mrs. Dell at P.F. Changs. While I was in the CVS parking lot, waiting to meet her, I got bored and went in to buy myself chocolate (I don't mind spoiling my dinner). When I came back out this little car was parked next to me, quite crookedly, so that it's license plate faced me as I got into my car. It said "Isa. 30:21". Lucky for me, I had my backpack in the car with my Bible, so I looked it up.

"Although the Lord has given you bread of privation and water of oppression, He, your Teacher will no longer hide Himself, but your eyes will behold your Teacher. Your ears will hear a word behind you, "This is the way, walk in it," whenever you turn to the right or to the left." (Isaiah 30:20-21)

If anyone ever says "I don't believe in God because He doesn't reveal himself to me" I will laugh in their face. Sort of. Well, I wouldn't do that, but I would definitely bring up this example. This is where God pulls me aside and says, "Remember who I am, Kristina Lorraine!" I mean, when I read this in my car, I was pretty floored. Along with grateful and humbled and comforted. Life has played enough hide and seek for my liking, and I have been the seeker and the hider many times and in many situations and I'm not proud of either. I have pleaded for direction, begged for understanding, and nagged for God to tell me that I am undoubtedly doing the "right thing" about all sorts of things. This verse was exactly, exactly, what I needed, but He knew that before that moment I wasn't ready or willing to accept or understand that Truth. Thank you, Father, for knowing me better than I know myself.

Oh, Amor de mi corazon, gracias por Su Verdad.

In Between Bleachers.

My face is sunburnt. I like it, not because it's red and a tad itchy, but because it is a reminder of how and where I got it, and if I'm careful, it'll turn into a tan. Maybe.

I'm not good a the whole "following" concept. My dad always encouraged me to be the leader, to take charge, to be independent; and I love my dad and I trust him, so that's why I did. Now here I am, self-dependent and a bit suspicious, trying to learn dependency. You would think that learning to be dependent would be the easy part and being independent would be hard, but not in this case. Of course, clarity— I am not trying to be dependent on my family, my youth pastor, my friends, or my boyfriend— I am trying to learn to be dependent on God and to get off of my self-righteous horse. I can be mean and I can be uncaring. Have I been hypocritical? I'm sure I have been. Do I beat myself up over it? No. That is pointless, as is all self-inflicted shame.

Silence is not always a bad thing. Silence does not mean mistrust, doubt, anger, or most of all, hatred. Silence is a big sound and therefore has a bigger meaning than suspicion renders it. Sometimes I must be silent because I know if I open my mouth I will dig myself in a bigger hole; sometimes silence is only me trying to find wisdom, or peace, or the strength to give a kind and thoughtful response at some future point in time. [Oh, I love Ecclesiastes! 3:7 "A time to be silent and a time to speak."]

There are times when I go in circles and the world watches. There are probably people who are going to read this and know what circles I'm talking about, how I continually stumble and how I can be blind and unresponsive. Once you start running and the rhythm of the road kicks in, it's hard to stop and get back on to the unbeaten path. And sometimes we get so caught up in the crowd's reaction that we're not on any path, but wandering aimlessly, chasing voices that will never turn into anything and pulling stunts just to hear the jeering cat-calls in order to pull up some sort of sick satisfaction in our hearts. There may be bleachers on both sides of the track but there are no sides. No sides for choosing because each seat is predetermined and people will only sit where they're pointed to. Let them go.

Ooooh, I sound like a Calvinist.

If I were to rewind one year, back to April 20, 2008, and play the tape back again, I know what I would see. A giant wreckage and rebirth and death and flourishing of relationships. I thought about it today in the shower (oh, shower epiphanies... so weird and yet so enlightening). And I am not, am not, am not the same person and I don't know yet if that is good or bad or both, because I have allowed myself to be so influenced. I can no longer be walked over, thanks to some. I can no longer care until it breaks my heart, thanks to others. I can see how I have become callused in many ways, and how I have let down my guard in others. I have developed a cleverer, slightly more sarcastic sense of humor and yet I am letting myself be a child, too, before adulthood strikes. My dad always (and I mean at least once a day) says that you are a product of your own environment, and this has proven itself true. Not just for me, but I see it in others as well. Making it even more hard, coming full circle, to stop running in circles.

And of course, there is that time where you must walk away. They are never happy with you for it because it seems like you're running away, but you're not. You're stepping off the circle track and back onto the untrodden where you were meant to be all along. In silence there is room for God to speak and so there is once more protection and pain intertwined with its terrible and necessary beauty; there is the withdrawal but it leaves not uncaring apathy or a snub nose but a love that must protectively stand off to the side and let Him do His work and go follow its own way, looking neither to the left or the right, to either set of bleachers, but to the Father only. Here, the one who does not Know Him will never approve.

Luke 9:62 "But Jesus said to him, "No one, after putting his hand to the plow and looking back, is fit for the kingdom of God.""

The Longest Blog Ever.

Surgeon's General Warning:

The following may include (but is not limited to) uncensored honesty, unreserved emotion, and unrestricted exposure of self. This may cause feelings in the viewer that could lead to unnecessary assumptions and other destructive actions of the mind. The writer takes no responsibility for such and really doesn't care. Read at your own risk.

Letter 1.

Dear El Shaddai,

You truly are the Great Provider. When I am weak, You are strong. When I am hurt, You are a healer. When I am confused, bitter, and angry, or laughing, joyful, and jubilant, You Are. Thank You for Being. My greatest fear is becoming numb. Not even apathy so much as unfeeling nothing. Break me again, Father. I remember when I first asked this of You, over the summer so many times, with so much raw emotion and so many sleepless nights; through the storm of loneliness and betrayal and into the Light of understanding, questioning still, but Becoming. You never left, even when I threw fits and shook fists at the ceiling, asking why relentlessly when I didn't have the will to stand. And You broke me, just as I asked. Rebirth is painful but oh, so good. I had never felt so close to You before, as if Your very breath was awash over me, cleansing me and filling me and smelling like vanilla on a cold day. God I remember and I want, I want, I want that again. Not the feeling, not the spiritual high, but You. I want You. I remember going into the school year so ready to witness, so ready to Light the place on fire, and I did well until December. You deserve glory. Oh my gracious, Father, You wish the world was already burning and so do I. God, so do I. Give me a matchstick. Better yet, give me a flame-thrower. But teach me how to use it first, of course. Actually, help me to Light my own flame; the Spirit never dulls but the wick burns out so fast. What must I do, Lord, for You to see me on the battle field again? Break me down so that my knees may glorify You as they stoop in the dust and my hands may be spread before You in unrestrained surrender. Return me to the battle field and I WILL pick up the Armor and wield the Sword even if the sheer weight of it breaks my arm. Your strength will carry me. I feel the rain coming Father, and I can either step back and let it shrink into a depressing and suppressing sludge, or throw myself headlong into the wind and let it rip at me; bring on the hail, the hurricane, the tornado, the flood— what are they to me in comparison to You? What breaks me makes room for You to Rebuild me. You Are My Everything. I'm giving it up again. Hallelujah.

In Christ, Your daughter,

Kristina

Ps. I love You.

Letter 2.

Hey you.

Yeah, you. The one word that says it all and yet doesn't say anything beside a singular pronoun that replaces what you truly are in the context of this compound sentence. What can I say? So many things flowing from brain to spinal cord to nerve endings to fingers typing on keys that could never make sentences enough to convey what is going on inside of me. I know that in this present moment, it's right. It's right and it's good and it's being created with a Hand that painted the sky this morning and tomorrow morning and a billions mornings past. The Hand that holds the world holds this; you and I, crystalized in the delicate beauty called Beginning, with Life standing off to the side crossing Its arms and looking irked because It had no one to cheat. Which is fine with me because we're laughing and having too great a time to be burdened with Life's sulking attitude. No, we are not oblivious or ignorant; we are competent and we acknowledge what is necessity and throw the rest away, because enjoying is the better part of living and enjoying breeds mutuality that brought us so far; so far that two-thousand years ago a single Man used it to bring the world to His level, and now we use is for the same purpose full circle. Let's fix our eyes, dear, on the Goal and jog shoulder to shoulder in this race, supporting and encouraging and glorifying together. They say romance is riding off into the sunset, but I see us gracefully, yet with purpose, dancing into a sunrise that leads to a Day that turns into whatever can be fit into His plan, which is such a ridiculous amount that it thrills me. Though it may seem trite I want this to bloom and get past shallow water and into the ocean, where Faith is giving swimming lessons and neither of us have any intention of drowning. I am only interested in surety, as I know you are as well, and this is why the puzzle fits so smoothly together, piece by piece, to create the Big Picture. It's a horizon of potential and I'm ecstatic to see more of the Road, more of the Scenery, more around the Bend. Mmm.

Until 10:34, tus novia,

Kristina

Ps. Affectionate.

Letter 3.

Dear beautiful and beloved friends,

You delight me, and you know who are you. If you're questioning whether or not you fit into this letter, then you obviously do not, because certainty is a gift of friendship and with such you will know undoubtedly that I am talking to you. You girls bring such irrepressible joy to my life and I owe you so, so much that it makes me uncomfortable to think how much debt I am in to you! You shape me, you teach me; we have laughed, we have cried (oh geez, I'm sure we've cried almost more than we've laughed, being girls), we have been bum-jerks and we have loved each other regardless of such trivialities. I recognize my knew-found love of Spanish culture (thanks, chica), knew-found independence, self-confidence, and a capability of loving you like sisters so much that I don't know what I would ever do without you. Probably die (ha!... no, but seriously). Going to college is exciting, God knows how excited we all are, but I am going to miss each of you. We are all going off to different places! Which must be a blessing in disguise, the fact that each of us is going off alone... oh dear, it's not time for sentiments already! Ashton, don't you dare roll your eyes at me. You're going to be sentimental too sooner or later ;) But in all seriousness, when I think of it, we have been through so much. I have a different and wonderful relationship with each of you— I indulge in your friendships and my heart is always with you. I hope that I have proved myself to be as good to you as you are to me, and when I have failed you as crave your forgiveness. Each of you is gorgeous and God-loving and have such AMAZING things ahead of you that I feel privileged to be able to call you by name and know that we are friends by fate and not by choice. Because if it wasn't fate, I certainly would not have chosen some of you... JUST KIDDING, bahahaha! I love how we joke around. I love how we can laugh about serious things, knowing that secretly we would kill anyone else for poking fun at such things. Ya'll bless me. And thank you, Raq, for ingraining some southern culture into me, as well. This poor white yankee needs it.

You guys are awesome.

Love,

Kristina

Ps. Can't you so totally see us having lunch together when we don't have class, chatting and being college kids? YES.

Letter 4.

Dear Pastor, Thomas, and Dell,

Yeah, I had to call you guys out by name. How else could I possibly attempt to adequately express my sincere and extreme gratitude for who you are and how you have poured into me personally and how you have conducted yourself when I was "secretly" watching you and analyzing you? Hah. I admire you three adults like no others (ok, so I'll exclude my parents on this one I guess). Your wisdom, encouragement, and solidity has been so immeasurable that I cannot thank you enough; when I was broken and hurt and lost you were my spiritual mom and dads (I hope that doesn't come off as weird, would you prefer aunt and uncles? or simply friends? whatever); when I needed to talk, you listened; when I didn't ask for advice, you gave it anyways because you knew it was what I needed to hear to push me back to the Father again and again. Thank you for dealing with my questions and being honest when I get in your face (Thomas especially). Thank you for being REAL hallelujah, and for getting on my level, for allowing me to know you as much as a child can and letting me be a small part of your lives, too. I am so, so, SO incredibly grateful; not that I'm relying on you so heavily that I can't function without a message from Pastor every week (tee-hee!) but I am going to miss you guys in college. I love you guys, and the rest of the Body as well, but ya'll are great. Super great and awesome and yeah. God really blessed me with you as mentors; I certainly did not deserve such.

I love you guys! God BLESS you!

Kristina

Ps. Dell— you still owe me dinner. HAHAHA!

Letter 5.

Dear Self,

You are crazy. Absolutely insane and girl, you can make mistakes like no other. But guess what? You love yourself and you know it. Even when you wake up in the morning and you ask Face what the heck happened overnight, even when Hair decides to give you the cold shoulder for unknown reasons, even when Teeth are stuck in metal brackets— you love yourself. Mostly because God loves you, but you do. And you have so much to look forward to! I mean, UNC, continued friendships, continued mutuality, continued mentorship, continued everything only better. Take it easy sometimes. Life isn't about being uptight, so take your own advice and chill out. You don't need to save people and you don't need to please them, either. Love 'em. Grow in Christ and follow your Father. Who cares about the rest... YOU DON'T! :)

Love,

Your mentally challenged psych.

Ps. Yeah, you should feel weird, typing to yourself like that... psh.