CopyDog

I've been thinking a lot about copying lately.
Never has it been easier to copy. Or, harder to establish ones originality! Once I made up a song. Totally impromptu...it was deeply profound. About a cow in a field. I sang it over and over, laughing giddily about it when someone said "Oh yes, I saw that episode." Pardon? "That episode where the girl sang that song?" Are you kidding me? I made up that song with verse and chorus on the spot and it's NOT original? How disappointing.
You could make up a completely random saying and type it into google.com and find that seventeen other bloggers have expressed themselves in precisely the same way.
And yet, to copy should never be more challenging. Just walk down the toothpaste aisle at any drugstore. There are so many choices, it seems unlikely that any other human being could possibly come to the same conclusion to grab the same tube. We have limitless choices on just about everything! Anything can be custom-made. But walk into a typical public high school and you will see cliques of mini clones milling around in packs. Live in a dorm room for three months, and TELL ME that all the girls don't end us using the same face wash! Watch as you enter a tight knit community and see dozens of glowing fruits rise to announce the crowd's corporate computer participation.
They say that, "Copying is the highest form of flattery." But I have to wonder, too, it is the natural progression of choice overload, too? Or the evidence of paralyzing insecurity?
Cerulean. It's a fabulous color. According to Google, though more memorably referenced in The Devil Wears Prada, cerulean hit the fashion scene in 2002 with Oscar de la Renta. Or if we push it back a bit farther, a company called Pantone, the American color authority, and organization that works in color development for major corporations. Cerulean has always been a color. God invented it in fact...or perhaps its the combination of the pretty cones in our eyes that allow us to see color that fabricate it. Either way, it was not the new invention of the color that made it popular. It was the fact that someone made a choice. And declared it to be so. And someone influential like Oscar de la Renta could carry to that to the next level of completion!
So the next designer who has to choose the powerful hue to complete their collection with a stunning ball gown makes a choice. Not to flatter, I would argue, but rather to reneg on their opportunity for originality. Oscar, via Pantone, made that choice very easy. A choice that would satisfy millions of people, conveniently having already been made.
Let's go back to the face wash. A very pretty girl uses Noxzema facial cleansing cream. She has nice skin and nightly applies a thick layer to her face as she finalizes closing out her day. The next time each of the seven roommates goes to the beastly monstrosity known as the drug store cleanser aisle, all they can think of is the face of the very pretty girl with nice skin. She's confident, she made the choice, and her skin is nice. Therefore, I should try it, too. THUS eliminating the angst of personal decision making, and also the rare, yet possible occurrence that another peer might open judge or chastise them for their choice. Noxzema already went over well; no one seems to protest.
I remember the day when I professed openly that I would never wear flare-legged jeans. After holding firm ground and rocking JNCO's for about 7 months (Come on! You remember those!) I caved and proceeded to live life as a hypocrite for about eleven years. I also remember swearing off the cursed day when tapered-leg jeans would resurface, and already claiming my allegiance to the boot-cut. Let's be real, people. Skinny jeans on me? That would be unattractive. And here I am three pairs of skinny jeans later, living on in my lifestyle as a sell-out. I saw a pair of stirrup pants on a girl a few days ago. Let's see a show of hands of everyone who condemned stirrup pants to the ultimate fashion faux-pas that should never resurface...yeah that's everyone. Y'all...stirrup pants have not changed. They are just as unattractive, and still possibly the worst idea, that they have ever been. And yet a cute girl with a bold attitude made me feel like I should probably own them in every color.
Copying is not always about paying someone a compliment. Its a few more things, too.1) Its a relinquishment of the gift of self-expression2) It's a failure to act on an opportunity for original thought3) It's a bunker to avoid the shells of rejection and fear4) It's a free pass from the bombardment of choice overload
Trend-setters often feel cheated when other copy them. And we console them with that age old quote that should make them feel better. And sometimes it does, especially if they get some sort of satisfaction from swaying public opinion. But sometimes those who are stepping out...really boldly making a stand, and choosing to throw caution to the wind as they express themselves...are frustrated. Their attempt to be original and bold has not only been stripped from them, but adopted by people who didnt really care deeply about it to begin with. It would be like Mozart's semi-musical neighbor who heard some repeating chords and decided he would use those too in his next piece...I mean, the other neighbors liked it too, right?
As much as maybe at this point you feel like I'm berating the copy crooks, I'm actually not. Especially (as I struggle to sit more comfortable in my rather constricting skinny jeans) as I am in their number. I want us to sympathize with them...and take a moment to analyze them. Maybe the last time they went out on a limb with their creativity, they were shot down and stomped in the face, and vowed to never let that happen again. Maybe their life is so frenzied with multiple levels of stress that they would rather hear someone else's opinion, knowing that it MUST have been formed thoughtfully, and adopt it as their own. Maybe they worked so desperately hard to get accepted by those around them, that any mis-step of perspective could potentially jeopardize all they labored to achieve. So rather than be original, they fall in line. Or maybe somewhere along the road, the belief was imparted that they were not creative, and were not to be trusted with coloring outside the lines.
So this is a challenge. Why are you copying? Maybe it's for a good reason: Everyone is buying Hondas because they are known to be fuel efficient, reliable, easy to work on, and with a high resale value. Maybe its for the necessity of survival: I'm stressed about finances, silver seems to be where it's at, so please, give me some dang bars! But maybe it's for one of two bad reasons: 1) You're scared of the consequences of making your own choices. Or 2) You couldn't care less about exercising your God-given gift of creative expression. Either way is a tragedy...and one that deserves reconciling. Who knows, maybe YOU'RE supposed to bring puce back.
Oh, and CopyDog? Yeah cats don't seem to be scoring high on the popularity charts right now.

Miracle? Oh, no thank you, I'm good.

I believe COMPLETELY that God can do anything.

After 5 years with no car, and after months of saving, a beautiful new home, some super generous donations, the perfect car for the perfect amount of money appears in my lap.

And after just 3 short months, in the span of about 20 seconds it's sitting mangled on the side of the road.

And after a bold faced lie, it's chances of being restored rightly by the party responsible are as crushed as my rear bumper.

I had a dear friend tell me that they were praying for God to do something surprising. And I haven't really talked to God about it until today when I found out that the lady who hit us due 100% to her fault, called my insurance company and lied saying that I was the one in the middle of the road. And that chances of having her insurance cover it were slim to none.

So I was about to talk to God about it.

But I realized something. As much as anger burned in the pit of my stomach and in the tears of my eyes at the injustice. And as much as I wanted to say anything besides "It's so unfair." As much as I would love a miracle: I'd love to find a check for a fatty sum to cover the cost. Or a brand new car sitting in the driveway tomorrow. I don't.

The one time in my life I can imagine God handing me a present, and quietly leaving its ribbon untouched. I would more than happily take a surprising gift from God. Especially one that I had been praying so long and hard for.

And yet, I prayed much harder for a different miracle. For the miracle of Eisley's life to be maintained and restored. I believed so hard for her future and for my chance to get to meet and hold her, and watch her grow into the beautiful woman God designed her to be. I dont think I've wanted anything more.

It's not like we get "redeem for a free miracle" coupons. And when we're good enough or holy enough, or with pure enough intentions we are awarded one. God knows the implications of our actions, our humanity, and this world far better than I do. When I don't get the miracle I'm asking for...I can trust him.

But don't. Don't give me a different miracle, Jesus. I don't want it.

It's not because I'm not thankful. Let's be real, I'd prefer NOT to have to walk 4 miles to work and back each day. I would love to prove to God that not for one moment did I take that blessing for granted. I would LOVE to be back in the boat of being able to offer my own car for rides rather than begging and hoping to bum off someone else. It's because I feel like I wouldn't be able to look at my miracle without wishing with every ounce of my being that just once I could transfer my card.

Bi-polar Again

Haha, okay, forgive me. That title was purely for shock value. Those of you who know me, know that I used to be bipolar. Those of you who don't...there you go. And that's right. Used to be. Ask me the story sometime.

But that's NOT the point right now. I have a feeling this is going to be a long one. So be warned, and be released from any obligation from reading. But I guess you're at your own computer and I'm no where to be found. I suppose, then, you're already off the hook.

I've learned a lot about leadership lately. To be totally transparent, this has been one of the hardest seasons of my life to date. The weight of responsibility I feel in my job is such that I am unable to put it into words. (Which, according to StrengthsFinder, I should be particularly adept at.) God is using some challenging circumstances around me to drive home the understanding how totally reliant on him I MUST be. And not just when I find myself holding the umbrella of responsibility, but always. But my responsibility is a real one. Even though I hand the weight of it to God, my actions, reactions, words and decisions have profound impact in those I'm serving.

And in my personal life, I have never experienced this kind of heartache. I mean, shoot, even in the psychiatric hospital at least there were other kids sucking down the same concoction of pharmaceutical potions. And this is not to say that no one can understand where I find myself. SO not true. I know people can relate. I just find myself in a unique place where God is my only refuge. And, as lovely as that is, I ache for solace in a tangible way. I'm freed of unforgiveness, but the events that occurred had undeniable repercussions resulting in real consequences in relationships.

In the past I wore a mask in front of others. Meticulously painted with an air of constancy and stability. It was the fight of my life to keep that held up while the rest of me was crumbling beneath the facade. I was freed from that so completely. And we know that we were never intended to hold up masks.

But to hold and possess different sides at once. Is this really all bad? In the first case, yes. But consider this. I find myself in legitimately challenging circumstances. Wounds that have been and are still being inflicted by people I care deeply about. And I have a group of beautiful people who are looking to me to lead, encourage, and direct during this time.

So we are taught to be transparent. Now I dont know about you, but if you've ever had a leader break down in total weakness in front of you, it's incredibly destabilizing. If they are incapacitated...How can I trust them? If I am completely open, can my leader even hear me? Will I burden them? The biggest question: Are we going to be okay?!?!

So is this a mistake? Am I in sin? Outside the will of God? If I am leading, am I supposed to have everything all together? Am I even qualified to do this right now?

That's all just silly. We know that God uses us in our brokenness. That sometimes it can be the best thing for a group, as our brokenness throws us at the feet of God in desperation.

So I lead with a smile. I encourage others in truth that I know I'm still wrestling with. I joke around and try to listen well.

YOU HYPOCRITE!

No, actually. I dont think so. There are two truths I stand on in leadership. Whatever happens: God. Is. Good. End of story. No matter what curveballs come my way, God is always worthy of honor. Truth is unwavering regardless of how much I currently walk in knowledge of it. I know that I know. That I can lead others into truth, not because of who I am, or where I stand. But because of who He is. The second truth: My heart hurts. I'm personally wrestling through tough things, and choosing to face them head on right now. And this is not wrong. And I've asked God, and I'm not just being a baby. These things did hurt.

So where these two exist, there are healthy ways and avenues for walking them out. And only God knows the right balance. So I guess it's a good thing I already find myself sprawled out at his feet.

So two different sides exist at once.

And for the first time total, inexplicable peace covers them both.

Reflections on blogging

I was sitting in Starbucks, SUPPOSEDLY working on a teaching. But my head was spinning to the point of being totally incapable of focusing on this project.

So I grabbed my journal. And was void of all motivation. Then I had this crazy urge to blog.

Why do we blog? I think I guiltily assumed it was because I had this extreme "emo" desire to share my angst with the world in a facet that required zero follow-through. I can vent. And vent to people. And have no one to deliver a swift slap back to reality.

So I put my computer down.

But I realized that's not my heart at all. I think I'd want to blog even if no one read. I'm a verbal processor. And I have a desire to put my feelings out there, but still be able to process as the information goes. And not just in a way that's just for me. The accountability that exists in knowing that the information is accessible, helps me walk myself through truth.

In a journal, I can just put my head down and get lost in a sea of self-pity. But blogging requires pulling up my hypothetical bootstraps.

A while back, God spoke to me very clearly about venting. I had journal pages filled with frustration and hurt. Feeling better after I had processed, but as I would later peruse the vomit-filled pages, I was left with feelings reminiscent of the time I trudged through thigh-high mud ponds looking for disc golf discs. There are many words that try to evoke the correct emotion, but the word I'm really looking for: "icky."

He showed me that my version of "venting" is reflecting on a situation while purposely blocking Holy Spirit from speaking truth into it. My venting is unforgiving. My venting is always played as the victim.

(I'm careful to say "MY venting" because I know that this is not true for everyone! Some people keep everything bottled inside, and you need to get the muck out! This can be a good and healthy thing. My venting was from a wrong heart motive, and God was quick to reveal that to me. I in NO means am saying that anyone who "vents" is wrong. I feel to share this though, because I want to be transparent...in order to be true to my blog. Insert ironic grin here.)

And so I blog. For perspective. For the hope that maybe something I write will bring truth elsewhere. For the practice of making sure that the shared revelation is one that reflects something real...and real in God's eyes, too.

And most of all: for my sanity.

Blogging. A modern day message in a bottle.

Heart Explosion

I have a friend whose facebook status reads as follows:

Charlie Blanch

is 100% cool, 100% funny, 100% smart, and 100% happy;100% dweeb, 100% boring, 100% daft, and 100% grieved; I'm 100% excited, 100% careful, 100% social, and 100% sufficient;100% scared, 100% careless, 100% solitary, and 100% needy

I froze for a moment as I reflected on how true that feels for my life. I am so filled with joy and gratitude. Relief and laughter. And at the exact same moment heart broken, sorrowful, devoid of hope, and empty.

The former so outweighs the latter. God has so tangibly met with me during this time. I am so thankful. So blessed. And so overwhelmed by it.

But these other areas of my heart feel like they are dying.

Many people know I'm a "passionate" person (my new word for "dramatic"). And maybe that's how this seems. But truly there are many things writhing in an unseen depth of my heart.

So balance. Always back to balance.

How do I reconcile all these feelings in my heart? Do I run to people and lay it all out there, bearing the wounds and begging for gauze? Or do I run to God and know that in his arms, all is made right? But we were made for relationship, so should I be transparent? Or should I let Him shield my heart and not allow offense to overtake me?

Balance.

And yet...You. You hold the scale. The scale that never weighs in a formula of law. The scale that holds justice and mercy on either end but is ever regulated by love.

Lord weigh my heart. Weigh my circumstance. I give the right of the outcome to you. Take my heart and teach it love. Let your fire burn in my soul. Rebuild the broken walls of trust with revelation of your faithfulness.

I think I'll have the tofu, thank you.

Staring at an empty plate. Wishing with all the imagination contained in the pint-sized cranium for something to appear. Gazing longingly at the plethora of appetizers, entrees and desserts piled high at all the other tables. Their intended recipients laughing gaily; forks, knives and spoons poised and ready.

The light stretches with all its might to attempt to reach the far corners of the booth, yet it only barely licks the edges of the chipped wood at its outer rim. The shadows envelope the cracked leather seats, and mock the feeble attempts of the dusty globe entrusted with its illumination.

A coffee cup, long emptied of its contents sits abandoned on its companion, the saucer, who has forgotten the swirling vines and daisies which once adorned its surface. A tarnished tea spoon sighs softly as it rests gently on the saucer's lip, with little anticipation of being lifted any time soon. The plate, which one held itself and its created companions in high esteem, no longer protests to being paired with these un-matching counterparts.

Through the din of the room, the thick aura of the dingy enclosure seemed to create an eerie ambiance, as though submerged under water. The idle chatter and clinking of celebratory flutes becomes muted beneath a furrowed brow. The rhythm of breath is only interrupted by an occasional stuttered inhalation; broken as the lungs resist desired depth.

If hasty words escape from behind teeth that have (perhaps accidentally) unclenched themselves, the implications are stark.

That I know what I want.

But what I really want is meat.

And yet my ears ring as the resonance echoes scornfully all the way down into the labored beating of my heart. "I think I'll have the tofu, thank you."

Untrodden earth

I'm having a bit of a moment.

I've been sick for two weeks. The longest I've ever been sick, and I've been so discouraged. Since being back from Thailand on February 11th, I've been at work a total of four days. I feel so disconnected. I feel like I've stayed in one place and watched the entire world shift around me. I know that sounds so melodramatic, but when the only place you've been stuck in for week is your own head...things get a little distorted.

One of my closest friends in the entire world is leaving. She's been there since that first day on June 20th when I came to Denver. We weren't friends until three months later, but she was there! I don't really know what life looks like without her 5 minutes away.

Quite a few dear friends, and mentors, and people whose influence in my life have been indescribable are moving on to different endeavors beyond YWAM.

And I've been stuck here. With nothing but an aggravating lingering cough to break the silence. And tomorrow I move. For the first time in my life, I'll be living pretty much by myself. Maybe in other circumstances I would be more excited...except I've worn out my own welcome in the last few weeks. I've pretty much always lived with really close friends. And now to be on my own...it's so bizarre.

All tied together with the pretty bow of regret. The good-byes that this sickness has forbade me to bid. The hours I hoped to cram full of time with those I am so deeply going to miss. And the loved ones who I so desperately wanted to be there for in their time of need.

I know that frustration is the product of unmet expectations and stolen sense of ownership. Both of which are not mine to hold. And I know that this seemingly dark equation has been missing a crucial element.

Yes, Jesus, it's you. But what are you doing right now? Don't you realize that this timing has been terrible? I'm not sure if you've noticed, but these open doors don't appear as ones of hope. I'm even a bit afraid.

I'm grasping the hilt, firmly with both hands. For stability, accuracy, and also to keep me from shaking. I trust you. Come and be with me?

I trust not just to manage through this season of transition. But to thrive. To take all my desperation and channel it as the driving force that hurls me into your arms. I want to know you like I never have. To love you as never before. To develop such unwavering trust that catapults me into new and beautiful glory of revelation.

LET MY UNTRODDEN EARTH BE THIS: Not the unfamiliarity of my circumstance, but the depth of my love affair with You.