Austin

I was reading Captivating this morning and the chapter was about how Jesus longs to romance us. The book talked about different ways that Jesus whispers his love for us--summer rain, a good novel, a crisp fall morning. But I was thinking...I think Jesus whispers his love for me through music, just as much as those other things.

As I ruminated on that idea, a song came into my head. A country song from about 4 years ago, Austin. It's about a girl who leaves her lover abruptly, but when she calls him a year later this is what she hears:

If you're calling 'bout the car I sold it
If this is Tuesday night I'm bowling
If you've got something to sell you're wasting your time
I'm not buying
If it's anybody else, wait for the tone, you know what to do
P.S. If this is Austin, I still love you

Seems a bit cheese at first, but then think about it. A year later, the lover still holds out hope that his love will return to him. Isn't that how Jesus is? Doesn't he wait longingly for our return? Doesn't he drop little messages of love for us to find? Even if we don't feel actively pursued, he is still there. His presence is constant, his desire for us unchanging.

Today, I will happily hum Austin as I feel the love of the Lord pursuing me. His love is precious and always readily available to me! How sweet it is to being love by you, Jesus!

"Put Together" Katie

During an emotional breakdown this weekend (partially induced by weird hormones) I said something extremely insightful to Herb. I said "Everyone wants me to be 'put together' Katie because she's more fun and easier to be around, but sometimes God has called me to be 'falling apart' Katie, and that needs to be alright." This statement may not make complete sense to some of my male counterparts (it didn't make complete sense to Herb), but essentially, as a woman, and as a victim of Satan's lying messages, this is a powerful realization. Allow me to explain...

The world, the church, role models have taught me that the goal is to appear to have it together. Don't let anyone see the brokenness of your soul because they won't think as highly of you anymore. And I have strongly clung to that statement for a very long time. I believed this partly because I was afraid to be weak, and partly because I feared if anyone saw the broken me they wouldn't love me anymore. Then of course there's the fear that if I truly allowed myself to admit the pain, then I would be covered by it.

All of this seemed a little muddled in my head the last few days as I mulled it over. But then God, in His amazing timing and wisdom, plopped this paragraph in the middle of the Captivating page I was reading.

"Part of the reason women are so tired is because we are spending so much energy trying to 'keep it together.' So much energy devoted to suppressing the pain and keeping a good appearance. 'I'm gonna harden my heart,' sang Rindy Ross. 'I'm gonna swallow my tears.' A terrible, costly way to live your life. Part of this is driven by fear that the pain will overwhelm us. That we will be consumed by our sorrow. It's an understandable fear--but it is no more true than the fear we had of the dark as children. Grief, dear sisters, is good. Grief helps to heal our hearts. Why, Jesus himself was a 'Man of sorrows and acquainted with grief' (Isa. 53:3 NKJV)."

I read this and my heart screamed "That's it! That's what I'm trying to say!" Does this mean I succumb to despair and hopelessness? Absolutely not. Does this mean I let myself wallow in pity? No way. But does this mean that I am real with myself and the world that I'm broken? Indeed it does. It's okay if I'm not "put together" Katie. It's okay if I'm wounded and sinful and in the process of healing.

So I'm not going to exhaust myself striving to show a tough exterior to the world. I don't have that kind of energy to give. Instead I'm going to be honest with myself and with those around me. Is this easier? No way. It may be harder, much harder, but this time the work is that of the Lord's to heal me, and less of my wrestling to keep up a front. And as for others' response to my new found unguarded self, "their response is not my responsibility." (Thanks mom for the positive nag!)