Easy Distance

Sometimes it's just easier to give up. It's easier to just distance yourself from what you don't want to deal with. It's why people don't like to confront one another, because by not doing anything, we pretend that conflict doesn't exist, and by not existing we can live in our own world untouched by hurt, or the potential for hurt.

I think its the potential for hurt that gets us the most.

When there's a decision, a definitive outcome, it means that actions and emotions can be taken and felt accordingly. And even when there is a decision, sometimes they're subjective to both parties, which leads to confusion.

So as a result it becomes easier to simply choose the distance rather then to face the possibility of subjective discord between both parties. It limits awkwardness, potential hurt, and unwanted situations........or so it seems.

So the question is, what is a biblical response to all this?

Easy distance. Conflict. Emotional detachment. Patience. Confrontation. Obligation. Quiet acceptance. Trying to fight.

Or does it simply depend on what season of life God has put you in? What does "trust God" really mean in this context? Does trust = distance or diving in?

I don't have an answer yet.

But after all these years I'm still no good at understanding my emotions.

Confused...........but never emo.

Milk Not Pineapple Juice

To say that I'm scared would be an understatement. Terrified would probably be a better word.

"How are you feeling about this upcoming year?" was the very simple question asked by a very good friend, as we parted ways after another long summer.

And I think that up until then, up until tonight, I had been dreading my answer.

In Genesis 22, Abraham goes to offer a sacrifice to God. As he and his son Isaac travel on their donkeys, his son asks a valid question, "Where is the lamb for the burnt offering?." Little does he know that in fact he is the one supposed to be sacrificed. Just as Abraham is about to kill his son, he is stopped by an angel. Then the Lord says "Do not do anything to him. Now I know that you fear God, because you have not withheld me from your son, your only son."

Fear of God.

And that's why I'm terrified.

Now don't take this the wrong way. By fear of God it doesn't mean that I'm like a mouse hiding in terror from the snake ready to devour it. Rather fear of God denotes a great deal of respect, a lack of power on my part, and a lack of control over my own life. Fear of God is acknowledging that you a rendered useless to the power of the Almighty. It's a humbling position really.

And don't take being terrified as a bad thing either. It's not that I find myself terrified of being struck down dead by lightening. Instead I find myself terrified because I don't know the outcome of this next year, the good and the bad. I'm terrified because I find myself at the feet of the Almighty Lord, waiting to see what he has in store for me. It's a good kind of terrified, but still a bit unnerving. I'm terrified because I know the outcome will ultimately be good, yet I'm terrified that the in between parts will be a mountain and a half to climb.

Another reason I'm terrified is because I know that this year will be more difficult than last semester, and that it'll mean I have to give out every last drop of milk that I have in my cup.

My brother made the analogy that whatever you fill yourself up with, you will over flow with. With glass of milk for instance, it starts off empty and dry, stripped down of any ounce of liquid. When milk is poured in, it not only fills the empty void, but eventually causes it to overflow. And out of that overflow, what drips over the sides? Milk. Not water, not orange juice, or pineapple juice, or Coke, but milk. And its the same with us. The more we empty ourselves, and let God fill us, the more we can overflow God out of our cups.

Throughout last semester God kept asking me if I trusted that he would get me through it.

 And he did.

Not only did he get me through, but he told me that by getting through it, by trusting Him, that it would be a test, a prelim for what was yet to happen this year. He told me that this year would be harder, more draining emotionally, and spiritually, but that it would be good for me. That by the end of it I would come out worn out, and beaten, but better. He told me to let my cup overflow and become as empty as it was before he filled it, to give my all in this last year.

And that's why I'm terrified, because ultimately I know the end goal will be far more then I deserve or could have dreamed of.

And that freaks me out a bit. ;)

Dancing Full Out

In dance, there's a phrase that's often used; dancing "full out." Performances are danced "full out" whereas rehearsals may or may not be danced "full out." What the phrase means is to dance at one's best, to dance to the fullest potential possible, to dance with passion, emotion, and energy. To dance "full out" is to give the audience the best of you, to become immersed in the character, to leave your heart out on the stage by the end of the piece.

And yet it takes a lot of work to dance like that.

First its learning the steps, the movements, the type of dance, the style, all the basic elements. It's about learning the timing, the dynamics of the piece, and mastering the difficult turns or jumps. Then come multiple rehearsals solely focused on memorizing and perfecting the dance. Most often this becomes the time when constructive criticism from the choreographer or director helps to "clean" the piece. All the while the emotions and passions of the dance slowly begin to build and take form, and every so often the dance is rehearsed "full out" so that the dancers can get a taste of what it's like to perform at their best. Then finally, the piece is performed completely "full out" to a live audience, and is received with a loud applause.

Dancing full out.

It's a lesson that I'm learning towards the end of this summer. To dance at my best, go at it hard, even though the rehearsals are difficult, draining emotionally and physically. To jump in with both feet, knowing that I'll land in the water, or rather in His arms. And even though I know that there is the possibility that sharks might attack me, that I might flounder in the water for  bit, or that I might even hit the rocks at the bottom, its learning to have the faith that I'll get out of that ocean current. Maybe a bit bruised and hurt, but ultimately stronger for having fought the battle, and hopefully a bit wiser.

And dancing full out is hard. You may know all the steps and be perfect at them, but it doesn't lead to a great dancer. Dancing full out means involving a bit of your soul in the movement, into the song. You have to be vulnerable enough to the possibility of exploring inner emotions, some of which could be painful. But yet the payoff is that the emotions, no matter if they are happy or sad, become a source of strength to the dancer. 

And this makes the dance and the dancer beautiful.

Of course there is a balance. Too much emotion and it becomes overwhelming, and even hinders the dancer from performing. Not enough emotion leads to a dull performance that no one wants to watch.

But with just the right balance and confidence, beauty arises with a grace-full twirl.

And faith leads to the sound of a brilliant applause.