"You are everything that I live for
Everything that I can't believe is happening
You're standing right in front of me
With arms wide open all I know is
Every day is filled with hope
'Cause You are everything that I breathe for
And I can't help but breathe You in, and breathe again
Feeling all this life within
Every single beat of my heart."
- You are Everything (Matthew West)
Sounds like a love song :)
There are a lot of songs that I listen to that sound like love songs, but are actually about God. I tend to get a lot of "Is this about Jesus or your boyfriend?" questions from brothers who hear the songs when they are with me. A lot of people are bringing up the strangeness of this "Jesus is my boyfriend" kind of attitude. I've been thinking about it a lot lately, and as I listened and sang along with this Matthew West song yesterday, I think it clicked.
Turn on the radio, and you'll hear someone asking "How can I live or breathe without you?" or declaring "I need you" and similar things. Watch a romance movie and you see couples declaring that they found that one person who makes everything make sense. Without this person nothing would matter -life wouldn't be worth living. It seems that romantic love has become the end all be all. Couples look for someone to complete them, to give them a hope, a purpose, a reason. Everyone is trying to find someone to be their everything.
People are not perfect. When we put that sort of expectation on someone else, we are bound to get disappointed. That's too much pressure to put on a person - and none of us were created to fulfill that role. And yet, too many people try to force others into it.
That's the problem. It's not that songs about God sound like romantic love songs. It's that romantic love songs sound like songs about God. It's not that we are trying to make Jesus our boyfriend. It's that we are trying to make our boyfriends (girlfriends, wives, husbands,etc) our Jesus.
So, yes, I do and will continue to say that I'm in love with my God. Why? Because people's understanding of what being in love with someone is - is how I am about my God. He's the One I can't breathe without. He's the One I need. He's the one who completes me, who gives me a hope, a purpose, a reason. Without Him, life wouldn't be worth living. He's my everything.
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Receiving's New Definition
A lot of times I will read verses talking about giving, and I'll read it as a personal direction. I read "Freely you have received, freely give (Matthew 10:8) and really hear "Mary, you are to freely give." And how could I not give freely and gladly, when I know firsthand that when Jesus said "It is more blessed to give than to receive" He wasn't kidding?
So, gladly I give. Not as much as I could, should, or would like to, but I do. Yet, sometimes I find it hard to receive. If someone tries to give to me in some capacity, it's very likely I will try to decline it.
But recently, it's like a light bulb went off in my head while I was reading in Peter..."Each one should use whatever gift he has received to serve others, faithfully administering God's grace in its various forms." (4:10). I read this, and instantly other verses speaking about how we are to love one another came to mind. And then I couldn't shake the words "one another" from my head. Suddenly it dawned on me that others read the same words I do. Others read the same "freely give" command as I read. Others read and know the truth that it's more blessed to give than to receive.
Duh? Yeah...
How often have I refused someone's free giving? How often have I denied someone the chance to know the truth that it is more blessed to give than to receive? How often have I not taken what others have sincerely offered, whether it be a gift, service, time, etc., and instead took their blessing away from them?
Honestly, that made my heart sink. I want to bless others. Still, something about taking from others never sits completely well with me. I have to think of it differently. So, I have to give receive a new definition: to give a blessing.
So, gladly I give. Not as much as I could, should, or would like to, but I do. Yet, sometimes I find it hard to receive. If someone tries to give to me in some capacity, it's very likely I will try to decline it.
But recently, it's like a light bulb went off in my head while I was reading in Peter..."Each one should use whatever gift he has received to serve others, faithfully administering God's grace in its various forms." (4:10). I read this, and instantly other verses speaking about how we are to love one another came to mind. And then I couldn't shake the words "one another" from my head. Suddenly it dawned on me that others read the same words I do. Others read the same "freely give" command as I read. Others read and know the truth that it's more blessed to give than to receive.
Duh? Yeah...
How often have I refused someone's free giving? How often have I denied someone the chance to know the truth that it is more blessed to give than to receive? How often have I not taken what others have sincerely offered, whether it be a gift, service, time, etc., and instead took their blessing away from them?
Honestly, that made my heart sink. I want to bless others. Still, something about taking from others never sits completely well with me. I have to think of it differently. So, I have to give receive a new definition: to give a blessing.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
On to completion!
So many times I hear people say how they want a love that accepts them - flaws and all. I get it. Everyone wants to be loved completely. Everyone wants to know they are loved despite their shortcomings. But the way I hear people talk about this and the way I witness this love in action...I can't help but long for more than that.
I don’t want a love that looks at me and says “I love you, so I’ll just accept that that’s how you are”. I don't want a love that let's me get comfortable and stagnant. I want a love that accepts me. I don't want a love that accepts my flaws.
And then it hit me - I KNOW love like that. My Father in heaven knows me completely – the good, the bad, the ugly...the horrendous. He accepts me. He welcomes me. He wants me to be with Him. He loves me – completely. So completely that He won’t just accept my flaws. Can’t. He loves me so much that He wants me to grow. He looks at me and says “You are mine and I love you unconditionally. But I can't let you just sit in your pool of sin. Take My Son's hand and walk with Him back to Me."
Gladly! Thank You for loving me too much to leave me this way.
"...he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus." (Phil 1:6)
I don’t want a love that looks at me and says “I love you, so I’ll just accept that that’s how you are”. I don't want a love that let's me get comfortable and stagnant. I want a love that accepts me. I don't want a love that accepts my flaws.
And then it hit me - I KNOW love like that. My Father in heaven knows me completely – the good, the bad, the ugly...the horrendous. He accepts me. He welcomes me. He wants me to be with Him. He loves me – completely. So completely that He won’t just accept my flaws. Can’t. He loves me so much that He wants me to grow. He looks at me and says “You are mine and I love you unconditionally. But I can't let you just sit in your pool of sin. Take My Son's hand and walk with Him back to Me."
Gladly! Thank You for loving me too much to leave me this way.
"...he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus." (Phil 1:6)
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
My New Beginning
I don't know how to start out this blog other than telling some of my story first. So. I figured I might want to start off this blog by telling the reason behind the title, and the blog in general really.
I remember sitting in a PSR classroom on a Monday night. If I recall correctly, I was in first grade at the time. I don't remember what we were learning about, and looking back I can't think of anything that first graders would be learning that would call for this kind of comment, but it was said. Sitting there at the table with several other girls, I heard for the first time, the notion of suicide being a one way ticket to hell. I'm not even sure I knew what suicide was exactly, but I remember thinking that if it could get someone sent to hell, I wanted to avoid it.
As I got older, this thought had a place in the back of my mind. I don't know why (maybe my intuition was kicking in even then), but it was always there. And there were times I would think on it and feel uneasy. It never occurred to me to ask anyone about it. It never occurred to me to study what the Bible said on it. I never questioned anything I was told, I just accepted it. If I was told there was a God, there was. If I was told God wanted me to go to church on Sundays, He did. If I was told that suicide was a one way ticket to hell, it was.
That's not to say that I never doubted. I did. A lot. Every time something would go wrong, which seemed to happen quite a bit, I would wonder if there really was a God. For a while, I was able to just kick back those thoughts and cling to the belief that there was. But then, around the time of confirmation, I decided I wasn't sure enough to make the commitment to be a member of the Catholic church. Some stuff just didn't sit well with me.
Over the next four years of high school, I went back and forth in my belief in God. It generally happened that I would take on the views of whoever I was with at the time. If I was with my friend who was a Christian, I would take on that role. If I was with my brother, I would be arguing against the existence of God. The days I did that, I would go to bed at night and have this uneasy, guilty feeling. Then of course, there was the flip flop me - the me that would believe in God when things were going right and the second things got crazy, it would be impossible for me to believe. Usually, these "crazy" instances dealt with my brother, Erik. As long as I could remember, there was always some sort of drama, something going wrong in his life. And as long as I could remember, he had always been one of my best friends, my role model, my big brother the protector. Guess it makes sense that my beliefs would waver as his life took up and down turns.
There was one day, during a time when Erik wasn't at his best, that I was riding in the car with my dad and step mom. My dad asked me what it would take for me to really believe in God. I told him that He would have to do a miracle. He would have to help Erik.
January 20, 2005, I became convinced miracles didn't happen. I got a call from my sister saying my brother was missing. I went to bed that night praying to the God I wasn't sure was there at the moment to do something. I woke up later that night to crying and then found out my dear brother had killed himself.
Sitting at the funeral, I heard the priest talk about my brother being in heaven. That thought from my first grade class came rushing back at me. And this time, it wouldn't leave the front of my mind. I became angry and confused. At some point, I was being lied to. And I didn't know when. I wanted to know, that minute, what the truth was. Was my brother really in heaven? Or was the priest just being nice and telling us so? I could feel the frustration building up into tears. I tried to hold them back - I had been fine up to this point. But I kept looking at the coffin and just got more and more annoyed. So the tears came.
A couple years before this whole thing, one of my friends in high school had explained to me what a relationship with God could really be like and even gave me a Bible. The months following my brothers death, she was the one to encourage me and try to spark hope and faith in my heart. There wasn't an exact moment when it happened, but I knew I believed there was a God. I just wasn't sure if I wanted to follow Him. I still needed to know if He automatically sent my brother to hell. I did not know how to go about figuring it out though. I had never really read the Bible for myself, so opening and trying to figure out what it said about suicide wasn't the easiest option. But that summer, I tried to delve into this question. And I mostly got nowhere, for a long while.
I worked at a Dairy Queen that summer, and one of the cake decorators always played music. I was washing the dishes one day and couldn't help but listen to the music she had on...I'm an absolute sucker for a guy with a good voice, and this guy's was amazing! I mentioned I thought this, and the next day, she brought me a cd. Jeremy Camp's Carried Me Worship Project.
I put off listening to it for a while. When I did, I wasn't so much caught by the lyrics, but I was captured by the voice. Until the song Revive Me came on.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_Dg55eP4zw8
Everything about this song gripped me. The instrumental was beautiful, the voice was sincere, and the lyrics intrigued me. I played it again and the second time I really listened to it. I heard the words "Revive me that I may seek Your Word" and "You give me understanding according to Your word" and they broke me down into tears. I SO badly wanted to understand and didn't know how. I bawled my eyes out. Then feeling I had never known before came over me. I felt peace and calm. If I never did anything else but just sit there and be in that calm, I would have been perfectly fine. I never wanted it to leave. I was being hugged..and I knew it was God. And He was asking me to talk to Him, to trust Him, to let Him teach me.
So I took that leap. I talked to Him. I opened the Bible and read. I surrendered my heart and chose that I would trust Him.
Including when I finally had to deal with the pain of losing my brother (maybe I'll type that story out sometime too) God has used the song "Revive Me" to bring me back to Him. He's used it to remind me. It always seems to come on when I need to go back to that moment. To remember the peace He gives. To remember that He's there. To remember He's worthy of my praise and trust.
August 10, 2005, He revived me. He keeps reviving me. I'm His daughter. His revived daughter.
I wouldn't have it any other way.
I remember sitting in a PSR classroom on a Monday night. If I recall correctly, I was in first grade at the time. I don't remember what we were learning about, and looking back I can't think of anything that first graders would be learning that would call for this kind of comment, but it was said. Sitting there at the table with several other girls, I heard for the first time, the notion of suicide being a one way ticket to hell. I'm not even sure I knew what suicide was exactly, but I remember thinking that if it could get someone sent to hell, I wanted to avoid it.
As I got older, this thought had a place in the back of my mind. I don't know why (maybe my intuition was kicking in even then), but it was always there. And there were times I would think on it and feel uneasy. It never occurred to me to ask anyone about it. It never occurred to me to study what the Bible said on it. I never questioned anything I was told, I just accepted it. If I was told there was a God, there was. If I was told God wanted me to go to church on Sundays, He did. If I was told that suicide was a one way ticket to hell, it was.
That's not to say that I never doubted. I did. A lot. Every time something would go wrong, which seemed to happen quite a bit, I would wonder if there really was a God. For a while, I was able to just kick back those thoughts and cling to the belief that there was. But then, around the time of confirmation, I decided I wasn't sure enough to make the commitment to be a member of the Catholic church. Some stuff just didn't sit well with me.
Over the next four years of high school, I went back and forth in my belief in God. It generally happened that I would take on the views of whoever I was with at the time. If I was with my friend who was a Christian, I would take on that role. If I was with my brother, I would be arguing against the existence of God. The days I did that, I would go to bed at night and have this uneasy, guilty feeling. Then of course, there was the flip flop me - the me that would believe in God when things were going right and the second things got crazy, it would be impossible for me to believe. Usually, these "crazy" instances dealt with my brother, Erik. As long as I could remember, there was always some sort of drama, something going wrong in his life. And as long as I could remember, he had always been one of my best friends, my role model, my big brother the protector. Guess it makes sense that my beliefs would waver as his life took up and down turns.
There was one day, during a time when Erik wasn't at his best, that I was riding in the car with my dad and step mom. My dad asked me what it would take for me to really believe in God. I told him that He would have to do a miracle. He would have to help Erik.
January 20, 2005, I became convinced miracles didn't happen. I got a call from my sister saying my brother was missing. I went to bed that night praying to the God I wasn't sure was there at the moment to do something. I woke up later that night to crying and then found out my dear brother had killed himself.
Sitting at the funeral, I heard the priest talk about my brother being in heaven. That thought from my first grade class came rushing back at me. And this time, it wouldn't leave the front of my mind. I became angry and confused. At some point, I was being lied to. And I didn't know when. I wanted to know, that minute, what the truth was. Was my brother really in heaven? Or was the priest just being nice and telling us so? I could feel the frustration building up into tears. I tried to hold them back - I had been fine up to this point. But I kept looking at the coffin and just got more and more annoyed. So the tears came.
A couple years before this whole thing, one of my friends in high school had explained to me what a relationship with God could really be like and even gave me a Bible. The months following my brothers death, she was the one to encourage me and try to spark hope and faith in my heart. There wasn't an exact moment when it happened, but I knew I believed there was a God. I just wasn't sure if I wanted to follow Him. I still needed to know if He automatically sent my brother to hell. I did not know how to go about figuring it out though. I had never really read the Bible for myself, so opening and trying to figure out what it said about suicide wasn't the easiest option. But that summer, I tried to delve into this question. And I mostly got nowhere, for a long while.
I worked at a Dairy Queen that summer, and one of the cake decorators always played music. I was washing the dishes one day and couldn't help but listen to the music she had on...I'm an absolute sucker for a guy with a good voice, and this guy's was amazing! I mentioned I thought this, and the next day, she brought me a cd. Jeremy Camp's Carried Me Worship Project.
I put off listening to it for a while. When I did, I wasn't so much caught by the lyrics, but I was captured by the voice. Until the song Revive Me came on.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_Dg55eP4zw8
Everything about this song gripped me. The instrumental was beautiful, the voice was sincere, and the lyrics intrigued me. I played it again and the second time I really listened to it. I heard the words "Revive me that I may seek Your Word" and "You give me understanding according to Your word" and they broke me down into tears. I SO badly wanted to understand and didn't know how. I bawled my eyes out. Then feeling I had never known before came over me. I felt peace and calm. If I never did anything else but just sit there and be in that calm, I would have been perfectly fine. I never wanted it to leave. I was being hugged..and I knew it was God. And He was asking me to talk to Him, to trust Him, to let Him teach me.
So I took that leap. I talked to Him. I opened the Bible and read. I surrendered my heart and chose that I would trust Him.
Including when I finally had to deal with the pain of losing my brother (maybe I'll type that story out sometime too) God has used the song "Revive Me" to bring me back to Him. He's used it to remind me. It always seems to come on when I need to go back to that moment. To remember the peace He gives. To remember that He's there. To remember He's worthy of my praise and trust.
August 10, 2005, He revived me. He keeps reviving me. I'm His daughter. His revived daughter.
I wouldn't have it any other way.
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