Free.

“If I’ve forgiven you, who are you not to forgive yourself?”

One of my teachers said that last week. It was like a slap in the face.

She was speaking from God’s perspective, referencing a character in a novel we recently finished. I don’t know how many times I’ve heard some version of that statement before (but still need to be reminded). I and all believers have been forgiven by God. We’ve been made clean, new, presentable to Him. This seems simple enough to understand, and you’d think we’d be pretty eager to accept it. But it’s so easy to hang onto guilt. We beat ourselves up; we can’t let go. Holding onto guilt, I think, defies God’s forgiveness. We basically say to God, “Your forgiveness isn’t enough for me; I can’t accept it.” How can I say that to the Creator of everything? Who am I to decide what He can give?

The last few months have been pretty up and down and up again. Maybe you feel the same. I find myself thinking, “Yeah, this is awesome; I’m almost finished with school, I’ll look for a job when I’m done, I’ll be on my own pretty soon,” followed a few weeks later by, “Holy crap, I’m almost finished with school. I have to find a job; I’m going to be on my own pretty soon.” I go from feeling alright about my circumstances, to worrying that I’m not doing enough or haven’t done enough to prepare me for whatever the future brings, back to feeling alright.

It’s sort of like when you’re riding a roller coaster; you get to the top (after that painfully slow and slightly terrifying ascent), you see everything laid out before you and around you, and it’s great. But then the car that you’re strapped into and can’t escape starts making its way down. And down and down. And you start panicking a bit. Then (depending on the roller coaster you’re riding) you’re plunged into a dark and misty tunnel in which it’s impossible to see anything and where it’s so loud, you can’t even hear yourself panicking (and panic-level has increased substantially by this point). Pretty soon after flying through that dark and seemingly endless section of the track, though, you get to see the sun, and everything is great again.

Hurray for the roller coaster metaphor!

But what’s this have to do with forgiving ourselves? Hang on, I’m thinking about that.

Ok, here’s what I have:

I worry far too much about whether or not what I’ve done up to right now is good enough (for myself, for other people, for God especially). I go through those dark and misty tunnels pretty often. I forget to acknowledge the fact that I don’t have to worry; I can trust that God will always lead me, and if I screw up, it’ll be ok. All I have to do is be willing to get up – and then actually get up. Remember falling and scraping your knees when you were little? It’s a bit like that; you fall, and it hurts, yes, but you get up again because you want to keep on playing. You don’t get stuck on the fact that you fell; it happened, you acknowledged the pain, it’s done.

Sometimes it’s weird thinking about the freedom God’s forgiveness brings. It can be warped into an excuse to sin. But we’re not free to sin, no – We’re free to move on. Recognize the wrong, have the desire to improve, and move on.

A Changing Outlook.

My attitude toward people and life and things has been shifting. While at home over the summer, I’d been much less focused on those things I should have been focused on; I chose instead to entertain myself with distractions, and I wasted quite a bit of time…Time that’s precious, really. I’ve said it many times before, and I’ll keep saying it: Time goes by too fast. And in the words of Gandalf (yes, I’m quoting a fictional character), “All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.” Slightly different circumstances, but the words still apply.

Deciding in these last few weeks to spend more time with the God I say I believe in has produced a change in me that I hope will not leave again the minute I go back home. Things that, in the past, would have stressed me out and that I’d have allowed to ruin my days don’t bother me quite so much.

I don’t want to let circumstances determine the direction of my attitude anymore. I had a conversation with a friend and mentor today, and this subject came up. It can be so easy to allow ourselves to remain stuck in figurative ruts when we’re going through difficult situations or even when we’re just having crappy days. But we do have hope.

19 …Who, O God, is like you? 20 Though you have made me see troubles, many and bitter, you will restore my life again; from the depths of the earth you will again bring me up. (Psalm 71:19-20; NIV)

Yes, we will definitely face problems and frustrations. We are human; that is life. But, and I guess this is my point (or at least one of them) in all this rambling, God can get us through those troubles if we allow Him to. We may not come through completely unscathed, but what ultimately matters is whether or not we trust Him with our lives and the circumstances that come with them.

Spirit lead me where my trust is without borders
Let me walk upon the waters
Wherever You would call me
Take me deeper than my feet could ever wander
And my faith will be made stronger
In the presence of my Savior

Jesus is Better.

I had a lot of words typed on this page. They described the nothingness I feel when I’ve gone without reading the Bible, talking to and listening to God. They described my hope that this semester at school will be different than the last. They described today’s sermon. They quoted a song. They were going to introduce a clip of that song, but when I searched for it on Google, the first video I found was not of a person singing but rather someone talking. That video effectively takes the place of nearly everything I had written down. So I’m passing it on to you.

Imagination Stifler.

Have you ever thought about what imagination is? About how we come up with the ideas and images we come up with? Have you ever wondered why it’s so difficult to imagine the way we did as kids? I wonder that sometimes. I miss imagining with no limits. What changed that ability? Was it a specific event? Reaching a certain age? Learning something in school?

When I was in third or fourth grade, I remember lying on top of the plastic bin we kept in the backyard to hold outside toys. It was one of those bulky, greyish green things with the textured surface. The sun warmed it, and I’d go outside and sit or lie on it, staring at the endless sky across which an occasional cloud or two floated by. I could stay there for what seemed hours, though it was probably only twenty minutes or so, and I’d just think. I’d wonder about how the sky came to be; I’d stare up at the small leaves shaken by a breeze in the tree branches above me. Sometimes, on weekends or when school was out, I’d walk over to the school and find a place on the shaded cement path that wrapped around the building. I liked the cool feel of the cement, especially on hot days. We lived in a desert climate at the time.

I remember playing outside for hours, sometimes all day. There was one game my friends and I played once at our school…I don’t remember what the name or goal of it was; I just know we had two teams, and there was a lot of chasing and hiding involved. It was one of the most fun games I’ve ever played. I remember feeling like I was a secret agent or something, crouching behind walls, crawl-running to doorways, even (germophobes, read no further) hiding in the huge and empty-but-still-gross-smelling dumpsters near the doors where, when school was in session, we lined up in the morning and afternoon. It was as though my entire life depended on this game, on my ability to hide from that other team. We took it so seriously. Imagination was a big part of that. We didn’t worry about chores or homework or money or jobs or…anything, really. Our minds were completely invested in that game; we were able to immerse ourselves in that imaginary world.

Why is that so difficult to do now?

I don’t know what it is, but something tries to stifle our imaginative faculties as we grow older. Something tries to force us into believing that fantastical stories, unrealistic drawings, quirky, imaginative games and the like are not normal or should be relegated to the children’s section.

Those who resist that stifling are the dreamers. They can, when they want to, still see the world through the lens of their former, childlike selves. To quote the writing of a new friend, the dreamers can look at “macaroni art and stick figures with glue” and see that maybe “[all we need is] to look at [those] pictures and remember what is was like to dream; to be whisked away by the breath of fantasy.”

Photo: Before the stifler. (Old photo; not sure who took this one.)

Two Decades.

As I sit here eating cake, trying not to think about what I need to finish before this semester is over, an odd feeling is coming over me. Today is my last day as a teenager. I hadn’t thought much about it before, but I’ve been here for almost two decades now. It’s weird. Twenty doesn’t really seem like a significant age – There are no special privileges given to you when you turn twenty; newly-established twenty-year-olds don’t suddenly become members of some special club…Twenty’s just a number. But I still can’t help but feel different somehow. Like it’s time for me to go and do something with the rest of my life. Anyone else ever feel this way? Not that I haven’t already “done something” with my life – I just have all these things in my head that I’d like to do, see or learn that I haven’t yet…

• Make and sell art.
• Write and publish something.
• Run a marathon.
• Cook more often.
• Live in a little RV or van and travel around from place to place.
• Build a little house. Maybe one on wheels.
• Get a job. That might be helpful.
• Have and keep up with a garden.
• Finish reading The Lord of the Rings trilogy. (I’ve started maybe four times. The Fellowship of the Ring, you shall not defeat me again!)
• Read more in general.
• Live for a time in some snowy mountains somewhere.
• Post on this blog more often.

(What is it with bloggers/blog-ees and lists? I don’t know about you, but if I see a list of things on someone’s blog, I’m almost always sucked into reading at least the usually bolded heading for each item. It never fails.)

I could probably think of lots more, but then this post would turn into an endless string of disconnected thoughts…And I have a lot of homework to do. So I’ll stop there and leave you with a picture of that aforementioned cake. It’s a piece of a[n entire!] cake my mom mailed me. In a box. And still delicious.

Reminds me of Hagrid: “Got something for you. Afraid I might have sat on it at some point, but I imagine it’ll taste fine just the same. Baked it myself, words and all.”