I can't seem to get the hang of retreats.
Basic recipe: laugh, listen, pray, take notes, fellowship, talk to God.
I can do most of that, no problem. But in the midst of such strong fellowship, in the center of Biblical learning, surrounded by stories of God's grace and truth is where I lose sight of God.
It seems to happen every time.
At home, I can sit on my bed with my Bible on my lap and pray God's grace over my family, my friends, my tomorrow, my sins and never lose that sense of communication. But then when I'm surrounded by people who lovingly expect me to be so strong spiritually my faith gets lost in the shuffle. I know God's there. I know he hears me when we're singing our worship, when we're hiking on faith, or when we're serving with his love. I know God is listening when we're praying, that the Holy Spirit is interpreting when we're learning, that he's inspiring the teachers.
But my heart wonders, and feels empty.
And so my mind begins to wonder.
Colorado was great! We went hiking three mornings, and got to see the sunrise over the hills in the east from the top of Red Mountain. The puns they put on the kitchen walls every lunch were hilarious! We'd sit and laugh about them through our meal. Pikes peak united us in fascinated misery as we hiked 8 oxygen-deprived miles to the most breathtaking view in Colorado. We were encouraged to chat amongst ourselves before and after lectures, and by the end of two weeks, everybody had met everybody, I believe.
But I still felt alone. Until they brought David into the last Foundation session, the last morning.
"Does doubting mean you've lost faith?" Our speaker searched our faces, letting the question settle into us.
"Divide into your small groups and read Psalm 42."
In Psalm 42, David is in agony. He reveals his very soul as downcast, says his tears have been his food. And in the next breath he tells himself "Put your hope in God, for I will yet praise him, my Savior and my God." (Psalm 42:5b)
He doubts, and he cries out. But he will praise still.
He questions, but he reminds himself that the One he questions is faithful.
He is downcast and disturbed, yet he will praise.
"Alright. Who wants to answer the question? What did you find as you studied this in your groups?"
"Um...What was the question?" Nolan asked quickly. His group chuckled, embarrassed, and gave him the answer quietly.
"Oh! Ok," Nolan recovered nonchalantly. "Well-"
But I've already tuned out. I realized I'm wasn't losing faith. I hadn't lost track of God through all the noise of the camp. Even through the pain of wondering where God has gone, we can worship and fellowship and trust, and praise.
And God is there.
Showing posts with label funny. Show all posts
Showing posts with label funny. Show all posts
Thursday
When I was Young...
When I was young, perhaps 5, our homeschool co-op hired a science teacher to give once-a-week lectures to the kids. It must have been interesting, because while I was not the oldest, I was certainly not the youngest either. But regardless, this man was very patient - he must have enjoyed children as much as science - because he encouraged us to bring our own science experiments to class. One day I decided to do so. I read through a book that had scientific concepts in it and picked the one about condensation. The instructions were to fill a jar with ice water, cap it, and wait for condensation to collect on the outside. I had no idea what the word condensation meant, but I figured doing the experiment would help. So I duly brought a jar, filled with ice water and neatly capped, to class. The teacher was kind and allowed me to interrupt the lesson a few times to check my jar, which was slowly but surely getting wet on the outside. All of the adults were proud of me. "Yes, yes! There you go! That's what condensation means!" and in my young mind, I understood.
Condensation was the concept that ice cold water could seep very slowly through glass and get the other side wet. Even when there was a lid on the jar.
I was surprised by how miraculous science was, but I did not question my theory. It was amazing. And I half ways still wish I could believe it.
Tuesday
Character Sketches
I love the little things in life so accurately and clearly portray some one's character. It's an instant in time when everybody is doing something different - oblivious to the fact that I'm furtively sneaking glances at them, the object in their hands, and pausing occasionally to scribble notes. Mwahahahaha - if your name (or something representative of your name) appears in this post, keep a look-out behind you for a short fella with glasses (lime green rims,) a tall yellow hat and an epic beard. He's my insurance policy*.
My brother and two sisters sat on the couch one evening. For blogging purposes, their names are Nonchalant, Shutterbug, and Art Maniac.
Nonchalant was flipping through a magazine, discussing with another irrelevant the engine sizes of particular cars and small trucks, comparing estimated miles-per-gallon averages, and generally drooling over anything less than 17 years old and rust-free.
Shutterbug was intently perusing resale sites online in hopes of finding the cheapest perfect ipod on earth. If it was there, she was going to find it and she was going to drive a hard bargain. Her only presence in the room was denoted by the space she took. Consumer reports and "SAVE MONEY NOW!" advertisements manipulated her attention in turn.
Art Maniac was blissfully unaware of my photography as she studied products and pictures from a horse magazine. Horse and Rider? Quarter Horse Associated? Didn't matter. I don't even remember - all I know is that it had horses, which is all it took for her to sit mesmerized for as long as it would have taken me to memorize the thing.
See what I mean? It is as clear a picture of (that facet of) character as one could wish.
And another instance. Art Maniac, Shutterbug and myself were miles from home, talking, giggling, getting bored and otherwise enjoying our life-long sworn friend, Lari, when the idea came (it is not difficult to imagine how - we were goofing off) to give ourselves tattoos with the mascara that Lari was in possession of. Lari began to tattoo herself on her upper arm. In a minute or two of pondering and painting, a little black heart appeared, outlined and then filled in.
Shutterbug snatched at the idea and the mascara and in another minute or two, a face with a jolly smile and sarcastic tongue took life on the arm of my sister. I watched in amusement but without particular interest; the sleeveless dress I would be wearing for the next day's piano competition would advertise a tattoo rather more distinctly than I really cared for.
But Art Maniac would not be outdone. She held out a well-muscled arm for decoration. "But I don't want a ridiculous heart," she explained scornfully. A moment's conference and the design was decided upon. I was rather shocked; she was scheduled to compete in a piano competition on the morrow also, but she rebuked me for my fears, claiming that her sleeves would hide the "beautiful thing" and that it would help her endure the wearing of a dress. Shortly thereafter, she proudly displayed a barbed-wire tattoo before my bemused father and shocked mother. I believe she thought the reactions more than worth it.
You never knew watching people could be so amusing, did you? Another secret is to listen to the way somebody talks about a book they're enjoying. In my family it goes something like this:
Short Stuff (little brother): "Storyfingers! Guess what! Mom's reading me this book about the Pony Express and I'm going to be a rider for them!" "The Pony Express doesn't exist anymore, S. Stuff. See, it says in your book that..." "I know that, but I'm going to start my own. And if you want to ride, you have to come see me in my office." Some hours later (representative of days, perhaps?) I find mail, hand scrawled on torn note-book paper and dirty from a ride across the prairies and mountains of our backyard, safely resting on my bed.
Art Maniac: "Hey, get this. There's this book about a girl and her horse, and she rescued the horse from a ranch that was going out of business. And read this description - 'White with a perky medicine hat...'! Storyfingers, don't you know what that means?! It's like, the coolest marking a horse can have! And if you can get a well trained, papered horse with a medicine hat, you could sell it for, like, thousands! Storyfingers, isn't that, like, amazing?!" Receiving mostly a confused response, she returns to the book to retrieve more astounding facts about this miraculous dream horse.
Shutterbug: "Storyfingers, the book I'm reading is sooooo sad! It's about this girl, and her dad goes off to war, and her brother dies, and she's like, made fun of at school just because she's _____! I mean, can you believe it? That's just not fair! And her family isn't nice to her either. I mean, her dad was the only one who liked her, and he's gone. You know, the only way I can stop myself from crying is to keep reminding myself that it's just a book. It's not true, after all. But you should read it! It's soooo sad, I mean, just look at everything she goes through and none of it's her fault!"
Storyfingers: "Oh! I loved that book. I had to read it twice, I just had too. The author is such a good writer! Look at how she develops the lead character! It's so realistic and well written. It's so subtle and yet powerful how she changes the character throughout the course of the story! You should really read it." Or, "Yeah, I know it was about punctuation, but it was so humorous! Lynne Truss does is so skilled at laying out the guidelines for and the history of punctuation in a clear and interesting way! I don't see why anyone wouldn't want to read it. Her puns, dry humor and play on words are all so captivating." Or yet, "Not just his message, but his style really drew me in. I love the way he uses his adjectives. He writes to give every word it's full worth and potency. I love the way he balances simple, poignant sentences with a lengthy use of adjectives; it seems to create a much more vibrant picture."
Ahhhh. Just reading what I've written makes me want to go re-read some of those authors!
Now. Comment. Wait-wait-wait. Slow down. You didn't let me finish. Comment with style. Sketch a character you know well, and in so doing, sketch yourself in profile.
*Insurance policy: If you're looking for him, you'll never notice me. *Grin*
My brother and two sisters sat on the couch one evening. For blogging purposes, their names are Nonchalant, Shutterbug, and Art Maniac.
Nonchalant was flipping through a magazine, discussing with another irrelevant the engine sizes of particular cars and small trucks, comparing estimated miles-per-gallon averages, and generally drooling over anything less than 17 years old and rust-free.
Shutterbug was intently perusing resale sites online in hopes of finding the cheapest perfect ipod on earth. If it was there, she was going to find it and she was going to drive a hard bargain. Her only presence in the room was denoted by the space she took. Consumer reports and "SAVE MONEY NOW!" advertisements manipulated her attention in turn.
Art Maniac was blissfully unaware of my photography as she studied products and pictures from a horse magazine. Horse and Rider? Quarter Horse Associated? Didn't matter. I don't even remember - all I know is that it had horses, which is all it took for her to sit mesmerized for as long as it would have taken me to memorize the thing.
See what I mean? It is as clear a picture of (that facet of) character as one could wish.
And another instance. Art Maniac, Shutterbug and myself were miles from home, talking, giggling, getting bored and otherwise enjoying our life-long sworn friend, Lari, when the idea came (it is not difficult to imagine how - we were goofing off) to give ourselves tattoos with the mascara that Lari was in possession of. Lari began to tattoo herself on her upper arm. In a minute or two of pondering and painting, a little black heart appeared, outlined and then filled in.
Shutterbug snatched at the idea and the mascara and in another minute or two, a face with a jolly smile and sarcastic tongue took life on the arm of my sister. I watched in amusement but without particular interest; the sleeveless dress I would be wearing for the next day's piano competition would advertise a tattoo rather more distinctly than I really cared for.
But Art Maniac would not be outdone. She held out a well-muscled arm for decoration. "But I don't want a ridiculous heart," she explained scornfully. A moment's conference and the design was decided upon. I was rather shocked; she was scheduled to compete in a piano competition on the morrow also, but she rebuked me for my fears, claiming that her sleeves would hide the "beautiful thing" and that it would help her endure the wearing of a dress. Shortly thereafter, she proudly displayed a barbed-wire tattoo before my bemused father and shocked mother. I believe she thought the reactions more than worth it.
You never knew watching people could be so amusing, did you? Another secret is to listen to the way somebody talks about a book they're enjoying. In my family it goes something like this:
Short Stuff (little brother): "Storyfingers! Guess what! Mom's reading me this book about the Pony Express and I'm going to be a rider for them!" "The Pony Express doesn't exist anymore, S. Stuff. See, it says in your book that..." "I know that, but I'm going to start my own. And if you want to ride, you have to come see me in my office." Some hours later (representative of days, perhaps?) I find mail, hand scrawled on torn note-book paper and dirty from a ride across the prairies and mountains of our backyard, safely resting on my bed.
Art Maniac: "Hey, get this. There's this book about a girl and her horse, and she rescued the horse from a ranch that was going out of business. And read this description - 'White with a perky medicine hat...'! Storyfingers, don't you know what that means?! It's like, the coolest marking a horse can have! And if you can get a well trained, papered horse with a medicine hat, you could sell it for, like, thousands! Storyfingers, isn't that, like, amazing?!" Receiving mostly a confused response, she returns to the book to retrieve more astounding facts about this miraculous dream horse.
Shutterbug: "Storyfingers, the book I'm reading is sooooo sad! It's about this girl, and her dad goes off to war, and her brother dies, and she's like, made fun of at school just because she's _____! I mean, can you believe it? That's just not fair! And her family isn't nice to her either. I mean, her dad was the only one who liked her, and he's gone. You know, the only way I can stop myself from crying is to keep reminding myself that it's just a book. It's not true, after all. But you should read it! It's soooo sad, I mean, just look at everything she goes through and none of it's her fault!"
Storyfingers: "Oh! I loved that book. I had to read it twice, I just had too. The author is such a good writer! Look at how she develops the lead character! It's so realistic and well written. It's so subtle and yet powerful how she changes the character throughout the course of the story! You should really read it." Or, "Yeah, I know it was about punctuation, but it was so humorous! Lynne Truss does is so skilled at laying out the guidelines for and the history of punctuation in a clear and interesting way! I don't see why anyone wouldn't want to read it. Her puns, dry humor and play on words are all so captivating." Or yet, "Not just his message, but his style really drew me in. I love the way he uses his adjectives. He writes to give every word it's full worth and potency. I love the way he balances simple, poignant sentences with a lengthy use of adjectives; it seems to create a much more vibrant picture."
Ahhhh. Just reading what I've written makes me want to go re-read some of those authors!
Now. Comment. Wait-wait-wait. Slow down. You didn't let me finish. Comment with style. Sketch a character you know well, and in so doing, sketch yourself in profile.
*Insurance policy: If you're looking for him, you'll never notice me. *Grin*
Sunday
"_______________"
Yep. I know. Crazy title, no? Very random. I rather like it, though. It's because I couldn't think of a proper name for this post. Everything I came up with was rather generic. I need ya'll's help. (Somebody google this for me, is "ya'll's" a word?) (Correct answer: Yes, it is now.)
Anywho.
We have a bridge near our house. I once thought it was an ordinary bridge. It has those metal fingers, like any bridge. It gets icy in the winter. It has road markings on it, even. But then, one day--
It shrunk.
I am serious.
It is now officially a narrow bridge.
Used to be, you could drive right across at 60 mph. Breeze right on through as if the little thing were an ordinary bridge, made for drivers who need to get somewhere in a hurry. (Does that not cover everybody?) The next day, Somebody (who shall remain unnamed) had kindly posted a sign that the bridge had shrunk, and that it was now only safe to drive 40 mph across the bridge. The sign didn't give all the details; what caused the bridge to shrink (feeling small due to an inferiority complex?) or why it didn't warn anybody (revengeful thinking for being trampled without so much as thanks?) The sign really only read "Narrow Bridge."
I was astounded. Really? A shrinking bridge? (Photographers, I'll sell time slots to go over and take pics?!)
I will keep all of you posted as to it's upcoming habits. If there is any growing being done, you'll all be aware of it as soon as I can access my computer.
Oh, and I've totally owned every other bridge story out there, so don't even try. Mwahahahahaha! Jk.
Anywho.
We have a bridge near our house. I once thought it was an ordinary bridge. It has those metal fingers, like any bridge. It gets icy in the winter. It has road markings on it, even. But then, one day--
It shrunk.
I am serious.
It is now officially a narrow bridge.
Used to be, you could drive right across at 60 mph. Breeze right on through as if the little thing were an ordinary bridge, made for drivers who need to get somewhere in a hurry. (Does that not cover everybody?) The next day, Somebody (who shall remain unnamed) had kindly posted a sign that the bridge had shrunk, and that it was now only safe to drive 40 mph across the bridge. The sign didn't give all the details; what caused the bridge to shrink (feeling small due to an inferiority complex?) or why it didn't warn anybody (revengeful thinking for being trampled without so much as thanks?) The sign really only read "Narrow Bridge."
I was astounded. Really? A shrinking bridge? (Photographers, I'll sell time slots to go over and take pics?!)
I will keep all of you posted as to it's upcoming habits. If there is any growing being done, you'll all be aware of it as soon as I can access my computer.
Oh, and I've totally owned every other bridge story out there, so don't even try. Mwahahahahaha! Jk.
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