new love's life.

I walked into AGTS (Assemblies of God Theological) yesterday and I realized.

I'm home.

I like the AG. I like the Pentecostals. Yeah, they're crazy. Let's be real.

They pray out loud. They preach like their lives depend on it. They shout, and raise their arms in worship. They pray in tongues. They are serious about some Jesus.

Let's try that again.

I pray out loud. I love some crazy preaching. I raise my arms in worship. I pray in tongues. I am serious about some Jesus.

I shouldn't write all that. It's too much. Too honest. But this is my blog. And this is my life.

I turned, on my way down the hall in the seminary, to a row of plaques commemorating various AG honorees. And it felt so...comfortable, for once. I've struggled against this, for worry of what others will think, but my heart is all in this. My mind is, too.

I just passed the 18-month point at James River, and I've never been happy at a church for so long. I've never been at a church for so long.

Worship has never made sense like this worship makes sense. I feel as though for the first time I'm really understanding God. Not all of Him, of course. But I'm seeing God, and Christ, and what He did is making sense to me! Church--the singing, the worship, the love, the community, the reverence--it finally makes sense!

I've loved a church before. That love for the church, though, never brought me to a love of God. Here, the whole thing is taking form. The church is pointing me directly on to Christ, which in turn fires in me a love of His church. It's so beautiful.

Have you ever felt this? Do you remember when you discovered all of it? Is it still exciting, or does it fade?

between the sheets.

My alarm clock rings at 5:45 on Sunday mornings. I should be sleeping. But I can't stop thinking that there's something I would love to do.

When I was in college, I was a mess. Theologically off the walls, and drinking, partying, always asking myself, "If I don't try this now, will I ever get the chance again?" That's a bad place to start from which to walk toward the heart of God. (Not that there's any unredeemable place.)

There were a couple of people, though, who always accepted me in. People whose doors I could, and did, knock on at 2am, 3am, 5am--crying, drunk, or in emotional crisis--who would open those doors, and give me a place to sleep. No lectures, no disapproving faces, no judgment. Just clean sheets, and the promise that if I never wanted to talk about it, I'd never have to. So I talked. For hours, sometimes. And in the safety of those spaces, we talked about God, eventually prayed to Him.

Tonight, I realized how much I'd love to be one of those people to some girl like the girl I was.

Out with friends, an extraneously drunk guy walked up to our table, and proceeded to be the biggest jerk I've ever met. As he talked, though, I thought "God loves him." I think the guy's an a-hole, but my Lord planned for him, and meticulously created him, and loves him with an unimaginable ferocity. So I'm sitting there, thinking, "This a-hole's value is indisputable." What now?

Absolute love is a game-changer.

I absolutely want to love young people who don't feel so loved. In those moments tonight, I prayed that God would let me have the clean sheets, and the silence for some kid who needs them.

I love that.

pax.

Here's a real question.

If it's in my nature to need God, why is it not in my nature to trust God?

We talk, incessantly, of some innate desire for God. There's a God-shaped hole in my heart. There's just something missing. He is the only one who can fulfill me. On and on and on.

And yet, though it was God's nature in me that led me back to Him, apparently, His spirit in me is not enough to always keep me towards Him.

My whole life, I've felt His call. So why is His peace so so elusive?

Can you answer this?

these many threads.

I invited a close friend of mine from college (and beyond!) to read this blog a few days ago, and now I'm concerned about exactly how crazy I seem, writing about all of the inner stuff of my faith. She has graciously assured me that I'm "inspirational," and not so much crazy. But I know better.

I'm just gonna go for broke here.

It's hard--when inside of five years ago we were shooting tequila together and sharing stories of unholy nights--to suddenly be inviting her into this new life. This life devoid of tequila, that is curiously sex-less (until marriage, anyway--then, just wait kiddies, just wait), and that cares so darn much about the will of God.

So, there's a tension. I wonder how to talk openly of my faith, to live openly my convictions, while embracing without judgment the life I've lived. I question whether I can be honest about the depth of my search for God, and all of the varied ways I'm finding Him, without seeming hypocritical, or lame, or brainwashed.

Certainly, my friends won't find my spirituality to be anything new. I've always been the one interested in God, hungover, but in church all the same. Yet, the tone of my faith now is entirely different. I read these posts, and I think... "Holy mother of God, these are the words of a girl who is after God." There's no illusion of a half-hearted search.

And there's no question that along with my love of God have come some differences in the way that I live. That can't be ignored. My friends aren't ignoring it.

I think that sometimes what happens to people in my position is that those differences begin to drive a wedge in their friendships. Even in the absence of judgment, judgment is perceived, and slowly, the Christian becomes isolated to other Christians. The richness of their friendships is stolen, and the diversity of their understanding lessens. It's sad.

I don't know how this is all going to look moving forward. I do know that I love my friends, and value my experiences, and that the same God who has called me all these years is weaving together the many threads of my being.

That's worth getting a little crazy for, at least.

altercasting a net.

I was talking with a friend last week who pointed out that sometimes, we become the people our audience expects of us.

Psychology calls this "altercasting"--the idea that we are cast into roles for which we are culturally-trained to fulfill. It's why you're not confused when the server comes to your table. Why you know who has rank in the room. And why Jesus was so beyond revolutionary.

She was sharing about how she felt at times that she had been altercast into a very particular role.

I'm wondering if the same has happened to me in the church. Do I do what I do because I feel pressured? Do I go to church, and volunteer, and pray, and praise Him, because I've been pushed into a role I now feel an obligation to fulfill? Or because I truly want to? Because it's truly me?

There's another question. If under pressure, does it make the truth of God any less real?

We are all altercast into a great many roles daily. Wives who make dinner, and mothers who give baths, and teachers who are smart, and pastors who are wise. To name a few. I don't always feel like being smart. But that doesn't change my position as the instructor of a bunch of undergrads needing to learn statistics. I don't always feel like being a roommate, but that doesn't change my responsibility to love my roommate by cleaning up the kitchen, and getting my stuff out of the dryer. The truth of my positions as an MSU instructor, and roommate to Natalie impel me to fulfill those roles whether or not I always want to be in them.

I wonder if faith is the same. I feel pressured sometimes, to consider certain view points, and to show kindness to conservative Christians who say stuff that boggles me. But that sense of role responsibility, of having been cast into these very specific expectations, doesn't at all change the logic or the faith of my truth in God.

In fact, the idea that we should be so free to choose our roles so entirely (perhaps to abolish our roles?) speaks of a peculiar kind of individualism that breaks down in the face of brutal logic.

The real issue seems to be one of where we find truth. Whose truth will cast my light? In which truth will my heart find its rest?

continual surrender.

I'm a sucker for sappy human interest stories showcasing the largess of the human spirit. I cry like an idiot through the opening credits of Extreme Home Makeover. I absolutely hands-down love syrupy power ballads about trying, and trying again ("The Climb", anyone?).

Unfortunately, none of these things make me a better Christian. And while I'm positive that the Lord enjoys the move-that-bus moment as much as I do--I'm also fairly certain that my shouting along with the crowd is not exactly the "works" He's looking for.

This post isn't about my slow descent into cat-lady behavior, though. It's about me, and the Lord. And how even though I want the right things (most of the time), my faith isn't really right. Right now, anyway.

If I were reading this as the me I used to be, I'd ask what the "right faith" entails, and decry the "hypocrisy of the people" who would have led an impressionable me to believe there was such a thing. Fortunately, I'm not reading this as that other me.

I'm writing this as a me who believes in a God so invested in relationship with me that He wants me to love Him, and to show it. That showing it is something else, no?

If I can be honest (and it's my blog, so I think I can), I'm afraid that I've started to want the things of Christ, without doing the things of Christ. Here, I'm not talking about going to church, or tithing, or bringing cookies to my neighbor. I'm talking about the really hard stuff. Like turning away from that voice that asks, "Do your prayers really matter?" Like refusing to go there with someone. And like keeping the hope.

I'm losing a battle with my mind. I'm afraid that the stakes are for my heart.

It used to be that I didn't understand the power of God. So all of this didn't matter. I still don't understand His power, but I know He's got some. And all of this matters a great, great deal.

I've surrendered many times. I think I must again.