In Word

I am always listening.  Even when I don’t understand the words you use, I hear you speak, and I will remember.  What you say is important, but how you say it is what I will imitate.  When I am you.

The numbers on your ballot don’t matter to me.  I don’t care how many trophies you get or how many medals hang around your neck.  I’m human, too, and I will face success and failure—maybe one more than the other.  No one will care in a few years, will they?

Sometimes, I laugh a little when I see you so caught up in the temporal.  It makes me wonder–do you realize that I am here?  Do you understand the weight of your own words?  Your own attitudes?  Your own actions?  Anyone can smile on a stage, holding a trophy.  But I see so much more.  I see it all.  I hear it all.  I will remember those of you who impact me.

Who am I?

I’m that kid making noise in the hallway while you compete.  I’m the one you don’t really notice because I’m too young to understand what you mean.  I’m the timer who doodles during your constructive.  I am the audience.  I am the world.  I’m a few years behind you, or maybe a decade, or maybe close to two—and one day, I will be you.  I will be speaking, and others will listen.  What will I say?

I am the future.  And I am listening.

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It seems like such a simple thing.  After all, it’s not terribly noticeable—it just ticks away in the background as we go on with life.  It doesn’t stop and it doesn’t slow down.  It’s just time.

But think about it.

Time is a rare commodity—perhaps the only commodity you can’t replicate, imitate, or restock.  You can’t rewind it.  You can’t erase it.  You can’t modify it.  All you can do is use it, or let it go.

It’s easy for me to get caught up in getting things done with the time I have available.  I have school work to finish, tournaments to prepare for, a job to work…and yet sometimes, all the little things slip through the cracks.  “Little things” that might not be so little later on.  It doesn’t really matter if I spend weeks prepping for Nationals, compete for four days, and bring home a trophy, does it?  Take a step back.  Strip away all the distractions, hobbies, and activities.  What’s left in life?

God.  People.  And the way you relate to both of them.

What is all the rest?  Maybe it’s a training ground.  Maybe it’s a ministry.  Maybe it’s just for fun.  Whatever it is, remember that time will only go so far.  It doesn’t matter in the end how many hours you spent researching or writing Apologetics cards—all of that is only good in that it helps you learn and grow in your relationships with God and other people.  All that matters is that you have been given time.

You can use it, or you can let it pass.  But you won’t ever get it back.

(Just a few jumbled thoughts, now that I’m sitting here writing a blog post for the first time this month.  I’ll put up my Nationals slideshow in a few days, for those of you who would prefer that to my incoherent rambles.)

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re·la·tion·ship
–noun
1. connection between persons by blood

What is a relationship?

Maybe it’s family.  Maybe it’s romance.  Or maybe it’s something much bigger than any of that—something defined by the one who established the greatest relationship in history.  A connection between persons by blood.

Do you remember?  Our freedom—our ability to approach the Almighty God—is bought with a price.  Only after blood had been shed was the curtain torn in two: God and man united by God and Christ divided.

Sometimes, I forget about this relationship, because all too often I forget what a relationship really means.  It’s not just something you can turn on with the push of a button, and then carry on with your life.  This is a relationship that should be your life!  Something you delight in, hope in…participate in!

But I forget…and I don’t.

I think one of our greatest blessings is our ability to ignore the relationship.  Why?  Because of who we are: human beings in the image of God, with the capacity to love as he does.  It’s one thing to understand that Christ provides a relationship, but something else entirely to run into his arms and embrace it!  Love is a choice.  Love is an action.  Love is doing something.

If you touch a hot stove, your brain instantly tells your hand to pull away.  We have been given a gift: the ability to forget the relationship, and the ability to realize what we’ve forgotten.

I’m not writing this as some sort of excuse for those times when you feel far away from God, but rather a reminder: this is a relationship. Take action with the gift you have been given.  Pour your time and energy into your relationship with the Creator of the universe!

This is a relationship forged with blood.  Live like you believe it.

“Here I am! I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in and eat with him, and he with me.” –  Revelation 3:20

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A speech and debate tournament is like a magnifying glass.  When you put hundreds of people together for three stressful days, everything tends to show up clearer than it would otherwise—that means the bad things right along with the good things.  For now, though, I want to focus on the good things.

There are so many good things!

For me, tournaments are tiring on the outside, but incredibly rejuvenating on the inside.  Through this magnifying glass, all of God’s blessings, big and small, show up in all sorts of different ways.  Maybe that’s through awards, or maybe it’s through a conversation in the hall, or meeting new people, or learning to trust him all the more.  Whatever it is, it’s truly amazing.  And being with other people who see and are thankful for those blessings is even more amazing.

My first thought about the National Open last week is that it was a tournament filled with ups and downs.  Really, though, it was a tournament filled with ups, and smaller ups.  In competition, it’s easy to look at what God has blessed you with, and then compare it with someone else’s blessing—but why do we have to look at it as something relative?

If you had told me before the tournament that I would compete in speech finals for Persuasive, I would have been overjoyed.  That was just too far beyond my expectations.  But when it happens, and I go into the round to give my speech for those five judges, my standards suddenly get a little higher.  Instead of realizing how amazingly blessed I am just to be there, it gets a whole lot easier to worry about the outcome.

Human reasoning tells me to be just a little disappointed at getting third place—one rank below what would have qualified me directly to Nationals.

Reality says that I have been given more than I could ever possibly deserve.  And that is amazing.

On a less personal note, ARC has done it again and completely blown me away with its awesomeness.  So much talent, and so many blessings!  Thank you, God!

(Pictures courtesy of Toni)

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Sometimes, I wonder why hard things have to be so ridiculously hard.  I mean, why is it that “doing the right thing” inevitably means doing something that just doesn’t come naturally?  Why is it so difficult?

It’s easy to forget the obvious.  Check out Philippians 4:13—and read it for real:

“I can do everything through him who gives me strength.”

Chances are you’ve had that verse memorized for as long as you can remember.  So take a moment and think about it.

Fact: We are human, and we’re pretty puny.  In the grand scheme of things, there really isn’t that much we can do on our own.  Make that nothing we can do on our own.

Fact: Christ is perfect—he defines perfect!  What’s more, he has complete perfection and complete power.  You could try to refute it, but you’d be existing solely on the breath given to you by the Almighty God…which really wouldn’t help prove your point.

Fact: When we accept Christ, we accept him into us. Think about how radical that is: Christ lives in you so that when God looks at us, he doesn’t see who we used to be.  He sees his Son—he sees perfection.

Conclusion?

Most of us don’t realize who we really are.

You know what?  You can do everything, anything, through Christ who gives you strength.  Don’t try to put a limit on it—because remember, that would be putting a limit on Christ.  Telling the Creator of the universe that he has limits is likely a losing battle on your part.

On the downside, the truth doesn’t leave much room for excuses.  Human nature says to shirk blame—our problems really aren’t our responsibility; it’s because we’re human, or because it’s too hard to change, or because it’s just become habit.

You may be human, but God isn’t.

So I ask you: If we would throw ourselves completely into the hands of our omnipotent God, how hard would “hard things” really be?

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I have always believed in purity—physical purity, emotional purity, everything.  I wear a purity ring.  I don’t date.  I dress modestly.  In short, I’ve got it down.  Right?

If you’re anything like me, a book called “When God Writes Your Love Story” might strike you as a) freakishly old-sounding, or b) completely unnecessary, since we all know about purity anyway.  But if you have no intention of reading this review thoroughly, understand one thing: you should read this book.

Eric and Leslie Ludy have done a brilliant job.  Looks-wise (because I’m picky when it comes to things like graphics and fonts), the book is really cool.  Writing-wise (because I have fun criticizing that), the husband and wife team have a fun style that never lets the reader get bogged down.  Content-wise (because that’s what this review is about anyway), they couldn’t have done any better.

I picked up this book wanting affirmation—just a little reminder to keep all my priorities in line.  What I got was a challenge and an inspiration (and a really good read, along the way).

Eric and Leslie don’t presume to tell you how you should manage the relationships in your life.  Because really, the point of this book is that you shouldn’t. As Christians, we seem very willing to give God credit for lots of things…but usually, trusting him with our love story isn’t one of them.  Why is that?  Is romance too much for God?  To answer “yes” would be just plain silly.  But to answer “no” implies a radical approach to relationships that just isn’t very common in today’s world.

What does it mean to let God write your love story?  It means realizing that only after you give your heart to God can you ever really give it to someone else.  It means learning to wait.  It means living in the now for your future spouse, and honoring them in your interaction with the opposite sex.  And in the end, it means being set free from the shallow “love” so prevalent in our culture.  We live for something higher.

Besides…who better to write your love story than the Author of love?

“If anyone acknowledges that Jesus is the Son of God, God lives in him and he in God.  And so we know and rely on the love God has for us.  God is love.”

~1 John 4:15-16

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Weakness and strength—strange that two opposites should be so unavoidably wrapped up in a person’s life.  Over the past year, I’ve realized more and more just how weak I really am.  But at the same time, it’s only when I realize my weakness…that I see His strength.

This was written last year.  I’m not a poet, or a song writer, or anything close, but I guess this is more in the style of song lyrics than anything else:

Broken
An empty body, useless hands
Weakened
No one sees me; I’m alone
My sightless eyes are open
But I can’t see where to go
I am frail
I am nothing without you.

If you’re my rock and you’re my fortress,
All the world sits at your feet
If you can free the lonely captive
Set the raging waves at peace
Then help me to be nothing
Make me small so you may grow
Give me the weakness to be strong.

I feel you
Your power shines in my defeat
I wonder
Have you shown yourself to the weak?
When I lose myself in arrogance
Your face becomes obscured
So I wait
And I see you through the pain.

Forgotten
They pass you by, don’t see you there
Troubled
They’ll try harder, pretend they don’t care
Still they don’t understand the beauty
The paradox of God
At their weakest
There is one who will make them strong.

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I never really thought about forgiveness.  It’s always so easy to nod and smile when someone apologizes for speaking unkindly, or doing something they shouldn’t have done, or not doing something they should have done—because really, even though things like that might sting at first, it’s only reactionary.  It doesn’t hurt, deep down inside.  We can overlook it and move on.

But that’s not forgiveness.

Forgiveness is the pain—gut-wrenching, exhausting pain—endured.

Forgiveness is the heat of anger coursing in your veins, twisting your stomach—forgotten.

Forgiveness is the sick feeling of unspoken justice—accepted.

Forgiveness is the knowledge seared in your mind, the unfading memory—ignored.

Forgiveness is the unbearable weight of all the tears—lifted.

Forgiveness is the burning desire to condemn—silenced.

Forgiveness is the consummation of everything your battered heart craves, the wild longing for rectitude—let go.

Forgiveness is the death of self.

“For if you forgive men when they sin against you, your heavenly Father will also forgive you.  But if you do not forgive men their sins, your Father will not forgive your sins.” –Matthew 6:14-15

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“Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, with all thy soul, and with all thy mind.  This is the first and great commandment.”

It doesn’t seem like a hard thing—loving God.  Most of us were raised with it.  We know who He is.  We know what He’s done for us.  And in our hearts, we love Him.

Love.  I use the word idly—I love a movie, or a book, or a song.  But do I really understand what it means?  What Christ has done for me, and how I should respond?  My love for Christ is nothing like Christ’s love for me.  He is selfless; I am constantly pressing myself to the forefront.  He is forgiving; I am stubborn.  He is perfect; I am a living image of imperfection.

It’s in my imperfections that I begin to lose myself.  It’s so easy to try to fix them myself—to approach it practically, and see what happens.  If I work hard enough, maybe I can cultivate that beautiful relationship with Christ that my whole being craves…

But it never happens that way.

The irony is maddening.  Love isn’t the goal; it’s the means.  I can’t help but wonder what would happen if I simply loved God more. Would there even be a need for anything else?  Or would He shine through me with such brilliance that all else becomes trivial?

Suddenly, the other things seem less significant; the work, no longer necessary.  I want to strip away the complexities in pursuit of a higher goal: to love Him more. Because only when we have learned from the Author of love can that love overflow to others.

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I am an incredibly stubborn person.  Doesn’t matter how important the matter actually is; I pick my side and stay there.  After all, who wants to change their opinion and admit that they’re wrong?

Such is the case with a certain activity in my life.  A few years ago, speech and debate was the bane of my existence.  It meant either a) lots of babysitting during club meetings and tournaments, or b) attending said club meetings and tournaments and suffering acutely all the way through.  Participating was not an option, so I spent my time watching kids on the playground and reading books.  It was misery.

Last year, with a good deal of shoving, I suddenly found myself immersed in everything I’d assured myself I hated.  I couldn’t speak in public.  I couldn’t debate.  And I most certainly wouldn’t do this of my own choosing.  And for while, most of it was true.  But somewhere along the line, things began to change.

It wasn’t the speech and debate that changed my mind.  There was no sudden enlightenment, no realization that I loved speaking to a panel of judges.  Instead, there was the gradual understanding that I liked these people—I loved these people.

Attending a four-day tournament with a group of people is bound to bring you closer.  Between nerves, a grueling schedule, and results that are both disappointing and exciting, you just don’t leave the same way you came.  It’s hard.  But it becomes something incredible.

For me, tournament season is over.  Tomorrow night, my club will have its final meeting until next year.  And for the first time, that makes me sad.  It’s not that all of it was enjoyable—it wasn’t.  But I would do it all again in a heartbeat.  I’ve learned that it isn’t such a big deal to open your mouth and speak, and the friends along the way are worth everything else.

I was wrong…but I never could have imagined a more pleasant surprise.

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