On The Corner Of First In Amistad

My new favorite song is You Found Me by The Fray.

About two years ago I got a call from a former intern who gave me free tickets to The Fray show. He had grown up in youth group with two of the band members in CO and when voicemails got returned, he and his fiancee received better tickets and backstage passes, which left him with two extra tickets for a sold out show. "FREE? The Fray? Yes, please!" This was at the height of The Fray's introduction to mainstream music. It coincided with the beginning of their whirlwind trip to massive radio airplay and popularity... and I got FREE tickets to a concert (and consequently never failed to mention the six degrees of separation with the members through my connection to the aforementioned intern. Oh, and I did get to meet the drummer before the show, super cool, I know).

The Fray are about to release their second album, which usually spells doom for bands with a particularily successful first run. The writing is never quite as good, the melodies not quite as tight and somehow these sophomore efforts always seem rushed...and forced by greedy record executives. But, the first single to be released to the scores of eager radio listeners is amazing and even prompting a blog entry. :)

In lieu of posting all the lyrics, go here to find them.

I love how this song paints an authentic picture of a relationship with God. And, more importantly, I rest in the fact that we have a God who can take it. He can take us standing and pounding angry fists up at Him. He can take our endless questioning through tightly pursed lips. He can take our indignantly folded arms and our pointed fingers. And, when we find ourselves lying in a pool of our own tears at the fraying (pun intended) ends of ourselves, He finds us. He picks us up and loves us as much as He ever has. Who we are and how we understand suffering has nothing to do with God and can never change His character.

We can have it all wrong. Our perception can be as muddy as a river in Alabama...and usually is. I'm thankful that He never tires of sifting through all the gunk and mud to find us, His beloved.

Not unlike the “School of Hard Knocks” the School of Contentment takes in the rough-edged people needing to learn something. The difference is those entering the School of Contentment have more than likely already taken the beating.

I ashamedly admit I’m only a part-time student in the School of Contentment at the present time. Full-time enrollment would require me to give up so much of my whining, martyrdom, and my intimate little pity parties for one with such great tiny violin accompaniment. Uh…Okay…sign me up.

Now, I understand everyone has their own reasons for donning the suit of armor known as pity and refusing to let any joy in. My reasons may seem frivolous to many, I am sure, but to me…they are HUGE.

Let me attempt to explain. Last week two bombs dropped. The first, I found out my ex-fiancée is in a “relationship”… ugh, not that it was a competition, but did he have to reach that stage before me? Second, my extended family canceled Christmas…or, to be a little less dramatic, they canceled our traditional gathering on Christmas Day because all the cousins my age (including my own brother) are spending the day with their significant others’ families. Awesome. As if I needed a reminder I was single. Now, I have “dated” since the big breakup over a year ago. I’m no hermit. But, I need to make sure everyone sees the quotation marks around the word “date”. I must use the word lightly or humorously rather. Actually, that could be an entertaining blog by itself in a Bridget Jones-esque style, but I digress. ..

Back to the School…
So, you see why I need to enroll. Obviously the invitations to pity parties have been coming more frequently, I catch myself just before I lay the hand, palm up across my forehead as I tell of my Christmas Day “plight”, and I’m just plain crabby.

What is the School of Contentment?
In Philippians Paul writes: I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do everything through him who gives me strength.

Paul enrolled in the School of Contentment too. What? Paul? Little Mr. Gold-Star, Apostle of the Millennia? If Paul had attended Sunday school, his mom’s fridge would’ve been covered in certificates. He is the man. And he needed to learn contentment. Wow. And notice the favorite bookmark quote so oft taken out of context that follows: I can do everything through him who gives me strength. The way I see it, if Paul had to learn contentment then maybe it’s not so bad that I have to learn it too. It’s not natural. It’s okay to be in process, working on it. And the secret isn’t so much of a secret is it?

Also, a good friend of mine shared a bit of her story with me recently and closed with this great advice. “The more impossible the challenge and the amazing the outcome, the greater God is glorified”.

I think about my story to date. Those that have stood by me are both close to God and not so close to God, but they love me and that’s why they’ve stuck by me. How amazing will the day be when God writes more of my story (the part of the contentment that is the plenty part) and I can point to Him and He truly is glorified?

So, if the more impossible the challenge and the more amazing the outcome, the more glory to God…I’m thinking Matt Wertz probably needs my number right about now…:)


Note:For a good sermon in which I stole the title of this blog:Check out Jeff Manion speaking to the community at Mars Hill, The School of Contentment, 2007. THANKS CRISSY!

It's Official...I'm the Grinch!

This past Saturday I endured one too many helpings of Christmas cheer...and completely lost it. That's right, I was officially Grinch-ified. Working in a church is especially taxing during the Holidays. I get so burnt out on the songs, the decorations, the concerts, the productions, and the services that by December 1, I'm ready for it to all be over and...ugh, it's just begun.

Like the mall Santa in A Christmas Story I wanted to kick some children down the slide and out of my way. I'd been at church all day Saturday rehearsing the youth choir production with some teenagers when I suddenly remembered that I forgot about an important errand. I had arranged for someone to sew us offering bags and she was picking up the material (which I already had) and the cording to make a drawstring (which I didn't have). Crap. Off to Michaels? Nope. Target? Nope. JoAnn Fabric? Sheesh! After almost vomiting from the overly cinnamony scent wafting from the fake topiaries strategically placed at the entryway, I was greeted by a mass of people wandering about JoAnn Fabric on a Saturday night. Happy people. Buying fabric?!?! What the? I just need to get in and get out, people. Clear the way. I am buying cord for offering bags. That's right, I work at a church. I'm not buying something for myself. I'm not caught in the clenches of a consumerist Christmas. I'm here to buy something for a church, so get outta my way!!!

I (of course) didn't find enough of the cord I needed, but decided I'd just buy what remained on the spool and get started, but at a fabric store you have to go to the cutting station to get it measured and get your neat little slip so you can check out. Awesome. I just want the whole spool, but I can't go directly to the check-out. I have to make a detour to a cutter. I quickly scanned the store. Every cutting line has a line. A LINE. Nice. Well, I'll just go...here. About 2 minutes into my waiting, I noticed I had chosen to stand behind the Duggar's. Okay, not really, but this family had Duggar written all over them. You know, the we make all our own clothes, are homeschooled, and freakin' happy all the time? I didn't want to wait behind a family buying all the fabric for their winter wardrobe, nor at this point did I care to be around happy people. Crazy, I know. I feverishly scanned the room again for any hope of an open cutting station. Nothing. The lines at other stations were longer. I was trapped in an annoyingly happy hell. I felt my rage begin to boil just below the surface. I just want to get this whole spool. I wish I could just skip this charade and check-out. I am buying it for church remember? Gosh, I am so good and what, you are buying fabric to make your Christmas frocks? The fabric continued to pile on and on. 3 yards of floral polyester, 4 yards of...what? Blanket material. You are making blankets to give away? Great.

I started to feel like Scrooge and the Grinch all rolled into one. I didn't even care that they were giving blankets away. My thick casing of crabby crud was inpenetrable. Not even puppies and chocolate would've made a dent in it by now. I was gone. I was a B and it was showing. By the time it was my turn, the toxicity of my crab was poisoning those around me. The cutting station lady threw the cord and slip at me without so much as a word. I raced to the checkout only to find myself behind the DUGGARS! Really? A lady opened a counter when I was at the front of the line and a guy behind me rushed to her as his wife pointed to me and protested, "She was next". "That's okay", I replied in a snotty tone. "I've been waiting all night" I said as I shot a dirty glance toward the sweet blanket making family. I finally got to a checkout counter and subverted any attempt of the high school clerk at small talk. As I exited the store I took one last chance to say, "EXCUSE ME!" to the Duggars who were blocking the entire lane.

As I entered the safety of my car and started home, a wave of disgust immediately washed over my whole body. I actually shuddered or shivered or whatever you do when your whole body trembles at something disturbing and gross. That disturbing and gross thing was me. I didn't like me. My heart was disgusting. I thought, How great would it be if any ONE of those people go to your church and see you leading worship in a few weeks? Awesome. God would be proud of me...the hypocrite.

How can I be so self-righteous one minute and then so full of anger and impatience the next? How can I profess to have Jesus' Spirit living in me and yet spread the toxic crud of crabby to everyone I meet?

Maybe this season I need to actually listen to the lyrics that I am so quick to tune out. Maybe I need to once again reclaim the essence of Jesus' birth and His impact on our world. Maybe I need to learn to love in a way that is so simple, yet requires so much more of me than I realize. A smile and conversation with a family making blankets, a free pass ahead of me in line, encouragement to a high schooler working the long days of a Holiday season.

I want to like me when I get in my car to drive home because I'm stuck with me.

Found

I am currently sitting in Hermeneutics class and as we were discussing empirical versus implied authorship a classmate brought up this website. Found

Interpret away. Isn't it amazing how we want to interpret and know the context surrounding everything?

It's heartbreaking, hilarious, and what the ? all at the same time.

Warning: A bit addicting. My professor called me out in front of the whole class. Good thing I'm sassy and quick on my feet :)

Here is a sample of one I "Found" on found




Haha! Cheeeeeesy, but oh, so cute.