Broken-down Poetry | The personal blog of Lauren Deidra Sawyer

A character who wants something …

Story.

PROLOGUE: Late last year RELEVANT Magazine died to me. On vintage episodes of their podcast, the crew joked that washed up actors belonged on a “You’re Dead to Me Wall.” Now they’re on mine.

Around that time I read Don Miller’s A Million Miles in a Thousand Years: What I Learned While Editing My Life about Don’s journey editing his memoir into a film script. In the process he learned what it means to live life as a story — a story big enough for the big screen.

As this story of mine was dying – my dream of working for RELEVANT Magazine – I started seeing how very small that story was. My dream was to work for a small entertainment magazine. Huh. Not that there’s anything wrong with writing for RELEVANT – I still respect its mission, after all – but it’s not something worth living for. But that’s what I did … until it died.

It was a long, slow, painful death, starting in January and ending in October. So when the time came for me to put the coffin in the ground, so to speak, I hadn’t really planned for life after RELEVANT. What did I want to do with my life? What kind of story did I want to live?

In late October I prayed for a dream to take RELEVANT’s place. If the fields must die, something must spring up in its place. This is about that dream.

A CHARACTER: I always play it safe. I don’t take risks if I think I’ll fail. I’ve only been rejected by two boys, and both times were done with subtle hints because “Do You Like Me?” is not in my vocabulary.

A typical conversation:
LAUREN: I hate my job! I never want to go back.
JACQUE: Do you just hate your job because you aren’t very good at it, and you’re used to being good at everything?
LAUREN: Indeed.

A CHARACTER WHO WANTS SOMETHING: That verse in the Bible that says, “Delight yourself in the LORD and he will give you the desires of your heart” comes with stipulations. For one, God isn’t going to give you everything you want. I want Leonardo DiCaprio. I’m not going to get Leonardo DiCaprio.

But God wants us to want.

I mean, he wants us to be content with what we have – that’s not the point. He doesn’t want us to be greedy or covetous or envious – those are two of the seven deadly sins, after all – but he wants us to desire stuff. Mostly he wants us to desire good stuff.

He wants us to desire things like peace and justice for the people in Darfur. He wants us to desire things like health and comfort for the people in Haiti. He wants us to desire bigger, better stories that change us, that take us on journeys and out of our comfort zones.

And so I prayed. RELEVANT was dead and buried, and finally I was okay. There’s something more important than writing about pop culture to a Christian audience.

Perusing Jason Boyett‘s blog, I came across an organization called Preemptive Love that sells handmade shoes to pay for Iraqi children’s heart surgeries (through their for-profit company Buy Shoes. Save Lives.).

I was in Radio Production at the time, not paying attention to Prof. Perry, exploring the PLC site. When I read their mission statement I was so, so close to leaving class, running back to the dorm to tell Lindsey about my discovery. Because, ready for this? Best mission statement ever. (See left side of your screen. Or for Facebook readers, look up. Or down. It’s hard to say.)

I don’t know what I believe about a lot of things, honestly. I don’t know if I really believe in once-saved-always-saved theology or what to do about the environment or how involved in politics Christians should be. … But I know I hate war. I know that Christians are called to love people and not kill them. I know that instead of DESTROYING we should be CREATING. I fell in love with PLC.

After reading more and more about what they do and who they are, I knew that I wanted to intern with them.

—

Don learned that every story has an “inciting incident” that moves the character from just wanting something passively, to fighting to get it. It’s where the conflict is introduced. Jack thinks Rose is pretty, but it takes her dangling off the edge of a ship for him to pursue her.

—

A CHARACTER WHO WANTS SOMETHING AND OVERCOMES CONFLICT: My mom does not want me in Iraq. Well, duh. I don’t think anyone close to me wants me in Iraq.

Every good story has conflict – this is mine. My friends and mentors tell me one of two things: 1.) If I’m supposed to go to Iraq, Mom will magically be okay with it. 2.) I should probably not go to Iraq unless I know God wants me there.

I believe God is big enough to make Mom change her mind. I also believe God is big enough to tell me in plain language that I’m supposed to go to Iraq (or not).

And that’s been my prayer – for either of those. But honestly, nothing’s that clear. I will say that I feel peace about the internship, which is odd. I’m never at peace about dishonoring my mom. (Mainly because I’ve never dishonored my mom before.) I’m never at peace about doing something big and scary.

—

This is where my story pauses. I’m emailing my application in tonight.

God’s will is still vague. A feeling of peace is not something to base a huge decision off of, right? Lindsey suggested I fast, so I am. One meal a week. Maybe a little discipline will help me hear him a new way. Maybe. I hope.

Dear friends, I need your prayers. I don’t need your advice, though. Ha, I mean this in a respectful way. I’ve heard all sides of this; I know my options. It’s listening time. It’s decision-making time.

with love and squalor,
Lauren

January 17, 2010 2 Comments

Though it linger, wait for it.

A conversation:

At dinner.
LAUREN: (Stares down at her food, not talking.)
MOLLY: So how are things?
LAUREN: Uhm. Stressful.
MOLLY: Don’t you have anything to be excited about?
LAUREN: Uhm. Not really.

That conversation depresses me. In fact, you might think that I might be depressed because of that conversation. That may be an overstatement. I’m not depressed, not sad even. Somber is a better word.

In A Million Miles in a Thousand Years, which I finished reading for the second time this week, Don Miller writes about how after a tragedy God gives us a season of numbness, Grace for a broken heart.

No tragedy has overcome me or anything. Life is, in most cases, pretty decent. I like my classes; I love my job. But whatever happened last fall – a series of semi-tragic events – has come to haunt me. My numbness period is over. Pain awakens from hibernation.

But when pain delays like this, it’s difficult to deal with. I feel like it should be behind me, and it’s not. Is it worth crying over now?

I wrote a blog post a few months ago about all the fall drama. Everything I was faced with then I’m feeling the pain of now. I don’t want to deal with this anymore. Bleh.

But maybe this means the band aid’s off.
The wound is exposed.
It’s time for healing.

I hope.

with love and squalor,
Lauren

January 14, 2010 Leave a comment

Observations

I’ve been back at Indiana Wesleyan for a few days now, and I’m ready to make a few observations before I go into school-mode. (Right now I’m in lazy-mode. Am I going to start my Prose homework for Thursday? Nope. That’s what tomorrow’s for!)

1. Let’s start here with you, Mr. Blog. The most obvious (okay, subtlest) observation is that I have a tendency to write in my blog with nearly perfect grammar, but rarely do I capitalize the title of my blog post. I capitalized this one only because I noticed it. I should try to be more consistent, you know? It was cute back in middle school to use lowercase letters all the time. It’s kind of lame now, don’t you think?

(I watched nearly all four and a half seasons of How I Met Your Mother over break. This will give context to my next observation.)

2. I think when I’m at IWU I have “revertigo,” a state of being Marshall named on HIMYM. When I’m here I start acting like I acted all of last year. I tried to stop myself last semester, but I fell into the pattern. When I’m at IWU, I am an IWU student. It’s kind of awful.

I’m not a bad kid here – that’s not really the issue. I just don’t take my spirituality as seriously. (Probably because “everyone else is doing it.”) I read my Bible more at home. I pray more at home. I spend more time contemplating spiritual matters at home.

Here I get really angry at Christianity and act all elitist and snobby. Which isn’t good. Stupid revertigo.

3. For the past few weeks I have been paying attention to my eating habits and the way my body reacts to things. It’s fascinating, really.

I noticed first that when I am anxious I lose my appetite. So when I am anticipating an interview with a celeb (ha, which happens rarely enough), I can’t eat. When I like a boy, and I know I’ll see him soon or if I just saw him, I lose my appetite. When I’m awaiting an important phone call or email, I lose it as well.

But when I’m stressed out I eat more than usual. When I’m angry or depressed I eat more than usual.

Over break I paid special attention to my eating habits in relation to how I felt physically, how much I weighed and how well my pants fit. I should have graphed this out, honestly, because it taught me a lot about the effects of food on my body.

For the first week of break, I was anxious so I didn’t eat much. I was down ten pounds from my “normal” weight. (The weight I’ve maintained since senior year.) After Christmas parties, I started drinking soda. I hadn’t had pop since the summer, save for a glass or two at a restaurant or Baldwin when I craved it. By the end of the holidays I was back to my “normal” weight and I felt like crap and my pants were tight.

So I drank water. Lots of water. I craved pop, gave in every once in a while, then drank water when I started feeling sick again.

By the end of break my pants felt nice again, I felt nice again, and though I didn’t weigh myself again, I think I’m a few pounds below my “normal,” or just there.

So I paid attention to my body. I think it’s important, honestly. It’s kind of an act of worship – not of my body, but as a way to make sure my (overused Christian metaphor) “temple” is, you know, in tact. I don’t want to risk using more Christianese by saying “it’s suitable for Jesus to dwell within it.” Ha!

4. I read a lot of blogs. During my music appreciation night class tonight, I read about 20 of the 35 blogs I inconsistently follow. (I have three that I read as they’re updated and about three more I read when I have free time.) Rarely do I have time to read those lower down on my blogroll. Today I had time. And it was glorious.

One of my favorite blogs is by a guy named Daniel Florien, an evangelical-turned-atheist. Rarely do you hear of people like this. I hear about the atheists-turned-evangelical, like Lee Strobel and Josh McDowell, but never those who (God forbid) abandon the faith. That was slightly irreverent. It’s that revertigo again.

I don’t mean to take this leaving-the-faith thing lightly. But I wonder if we’re (Christians) the reason a lot of people abandon faith in God or never figure out who Jesus is for themselves. If we are the body (oh my Casting Crowns …), and we are full of hate and ungrace, then I bet it looks like God’s the same way. Or that we Christians are full of it when we say that God is Good though we are Pompous and Rude.

[I want to note that Daniel Florien didn’t stop believing in God because of other Christians. His conversion (or anti-conversion, if you will) was entirely intelligence-based. I also learned that from reading his blog.]

5. I overuse parentheses. I usually don’t, honestly.

I also overuse those dangling guys too: “comma honestly,” “comma really,” “I mean comma.”

So like Buddy Glass in Seymour – An Introduction, I will offer you condolances in the form of a parentheses bouquet: (((((()))))). Enjoy.

Today I sat through Prose with Dr. Allison, and I fell in love with writing. It’s funny: I wasn’t writing, but I was falling in love just listening to Dr. Allison talk about writing. It’s a good feeling.

He talked about how writers must write as though they believe in absolute truth. When I blog, I present my ideas as if they were true – or at least I believe they’re true, or pretend that I do for my audience’s sake.

That blew me away.

I will blog about this shortly, fear not.

Dr. Allison also talked about how it’s not as important to find my voice as a writer but to find a voice. When you establish your own voice you can limit yourself. I’ve seen that. I am so comfortable writing in my quirky-yet-professional bloggy voice, that I forget that I need to stretch myself.

Anyway, that’s pretty profound … or at least mildly interesting. To me. Ah, fragments.

Mmm enough for now.
Comment if you wish.
Sorry this was long and not so deep.
But that’s okay.
Right?

Of course.

With love and squalor,
Lauren Deidra

January 13, 2010 Leave a comment

on Grace

The final installment of my four-part blog series. Enjoy. ;-)

—

“Whether you believe that God created you for a purpose, or that the world is governed by blind chance, everything in life is a gift at its core; we are beggars all.”

—

I’m not sure, would you say a foot of snow? Six inches at least. My boots only go up mid-calf, but I managed to stay dry as I stopped through those six-to-twelve inches of snow covering my neighborhood, its sidewalks, its lawns. I cut through the golf course. I imagine it’s not very safe. Ponds disguise themselves in masks of white; I have to follow a path of twiggy trees to ensure right footing. (Cliche-and-a-half. Keep reading.)

God and I have at it again. This time we’re spewing Bible verses like profanities. I’m not sure who’s winning – I think it’s me.

“What about this one: ‘Get behind me, Satan!'”

“Oh, that’s good. But what about, ‘So my works be made manifest.'”

“Huh. Or, a little historical allusion: Martin Luther disobeyed his father by becoming a monk.”

“Uh, so?”

“Well, wasn’t it your will that he became a monk and started the Reformation?”

“[pause.] I’m not really sure. …”

“Come on, Jesus, really.”

(Some of that may have been fabricated.)

—

Grace.

From my first understanding of Grace (which took place, sadly, not too long ago) until now, I think I see Grace as something more tangible. It’s what God did then. And it’s what he keeps doing now when I keep living selfishly, sure.

But Grace is also something else.

I think this is Grace:

-When I have the urge to call a certain gentleman I’m upset with, I get a text or an email from a friend who’s asking me how I’m doing. (Something like an intervention.)

-When I start worrying about affording gas the rest of the week, I get snowed in and get to preserve my gas.

-When I am groggy (and a little ditzy) with my InAsMuch clients this morning, they smile politely and ask me how I am doing.

-When I meet Jes at Old Crown and there aren’t any seats, right as a get my coffee a table opens up.

—

A few posts ago I called Grace a hug. I think it is.

Grace is like when you spend the evening with a friend you might never see again, and after saying goodbye, he hugs you, a physical reminder of your time together.

Grace says, “You’ve had it tough. And frankly, girl, it might not get better right away, but it’ll be okay.” [hugs.]

—

“We’re all bastards, but God loves us anyway.”

—

I’m on the final few chapters of “What’s So Amazing About Grace?” by Philip Yancey, who just may be my hero. It’s helping me see the different facets of Grace.

The picture of Grace I’ve always clung to has been that of the beggar.

Thrice put out an album in late summer called “Beggars,” and its title track has the most profound lyrics about how we’re all beggars in this world, that everything is a gift, bestowed by Grace.

The first three verses ask a series of questions. To the “great men of power”: do you have power over when you die? To the scientists and “rulers of men”: can you control the spin of the earth? To the “big shots”: did you choose where or when you’d be born?

And the song concludes:

Tell me what can you claim not a thing, not your name

Tell me if you can recall just one thing, not a gift, in this life

Can you hear what’s been said?

Can you see now that everything’s Grace, after all

If there’s one thing I know in this life, we are beggars all

I suppose the aroma of this metaphor isn’t the greatest for most people. We don’t want to be needy or appear needy. And frankly, we don’t trust the needy.

We give into the illusion that we have control over our circumstances. Ha, no really. (I like where I’m going with this.) We like believing that our lives are in our own hands. Sometimes they are. But mostly, they aren’t.

We are given very little guarantees in life. We can’t choose the culture we’re born into. We can’t choose our parents. And until we graduate and become “adults,” we don’t even get to make decisions for ourselves. People make decisions for us. (Most of the time for our benefit, even.)

And so we get out into the real world and start taking control of our own lives, right? We choose our jobs … or do they choose us? Not everyone who wants to work at the New York Times gets to.

This makes the whole “free will” argument so flimsy. Yeah, okay, God (or evolution) gives us the ability to choose the “right” or “wrong” path, but even so, does that really mean you get your way?

Too many variables. You’re just a mist that appears for a little while. You’re a grain of sand. You’re just one out of six billion.

All this is to say Grace. Everything in life is a gift. The LORD gives and the LORD takes away. Ebb and flow. Tide in, tide out.

We are beggars all.

—

“In this world you will have trouble, but Lauren, I have overcome the world.”

—

A conclusion.

This whole series has been built on a series of questions:

If I ignore God’s revelation, does that nullify it?

What does it take to forgive the way Christ wants us to?

Does everything have to (metaphorically) die?

Do we have any claims in the world?

My great theory of this season has been: it’s better to fight with God than to push him out. It’s okay to doubt and have questions and to be angry – as long as you take it to God. He can handle your frustrations. (And he’d be delighted to address them.)

So keep asking questions.

And keep teaching me as well, friends.

with love and squalor,

Ezek.

January 8, 2010 1 Comment

Interlude II: writing goals

I warned you about five blog posts ago that I cannot do series because I have commitment issues. I believe I said: I write what I want to write when I want to write it. I have tons to say about Grace, which is my last topic in my four-part series, but have no desire to write anything serious. So here’s a list of goals.

Lauren’s Writing Goals for 2010

1. Write more fiction. I noted this in my previous post, but I don’t use my blog for fiction writing. Truthfully, I do very little fiction writing. Even when I do, it’s all based off of reality one way or another. (Hint: Caitlyn and Jared are fictitious representations of reality.)

I want to write more fiction pieces, mainly to practice my literary skills. I’ve spent so much time worrying about what I’m saying and ignoring how I’m saying it. Writing fiction will make me focus on the how as well as the what.

Also, it’s a lot of fun. I love Story.

2. Write more frequently. I average about 2-3 blogs a month. That’s a little lame. Granted, I write a lot in my classes and with the Sojourn, but that shouldn’t stop me from at least writing once a week, or four times a month (some weeks are really busy).

I don’t want to be like my fellow blogger Matthew Paul Turner who blogs about 3 times a day, but I should at least stay consistent.

3. Connect with other bloggers. Last year I’ve made some really awesome contacts. I’ve interviewed the aforementioned Matthew Paul Turner, who has written numerous books. I’m email-friends with Jason Boyett, who I got on 94.3 The Fortress and was interviewed by him for a magazine article. I’ve talked to Dylan Peterson on the phone (former RELEVANT audio guy who has incredible taste in music). I’ve sat down and chatted with Dan Merchant, the guy behind the “Lord Save us from Your Followers” documentary.

(I love name-dropping.)

But I want to stay in contact with those bloggers (and other bloggers) to learn from them, to network with them, and hopefully one day be part of their cool Christian media club. (I know that club exists; I follow all of you on Twitter and it’s so obvious you have a secret club.)

4. Take risks! The one that makes my writing unique is my voice. It’s always been this way. As I told my friend at Old Crown today, I always try to balance quirkiness with professionalism – even in my writing. But in doing so, I don’t go far outside my comfort zone. As noted before, I don’t write a lot of fiction, mainly because I’m not very good at it. I want to start experimenting with my writing, even if I fail miserable. (Hint: If I write something that really, really sucks, please tell me. In a nice way. Don’t use any expletives, please.)

5. Learn big words. I’m pretty sure this has always been a goal of mine. I like looking up my Flesch-Kincaid Grade Level – what grade level I write in – and the only time it’s above fourth or fifth grade is when I use really complicated syntax (sentences). My diction (wordage) isn’t very convoluted (complex). I have a tiny vocabulary.

I think these are pretty decent goals. Very doable.

with love and squalor,

Lauren

January 4, 2010 Leave a comment

Interlude: fiction

So, I never write fiction on my blog. I wish I did; I know I should. I’ve decided to take a break from my series (Faith, Forgiveness, Redemption, Grace) to give you a work of fiction, inspired by a story I read in Zoetrope: All Story. Enjoy!

The conversation … if Caitlyn had the guts to call him.
By Lauren Sawyer

Hey I think we should talk.

Talk?

Yeah. About us.

Us? You mean … us?

Yes. Is that hard for you to understand?

No, I know what that usually means. But there is no us.

Well, there’s something. There’s me and there’s you and all the drama binds us together.

O … kay? Was that supposed to be poetry or something?

Jared, take me seriously.

Okay. Us. Tell me about us.

Well. See. I am mad at you.

You’re mad at me?

Yes, Jared, I’m mad at you.

For what?

I told you that I liked you.

And?

And … you didn’t say anything.

I did too say something.

You’re right.

I’m right?

You said “thanks.”

I did.

You are thankful that I like you?

Why, yes I am.

That’s a jerky thing to say.

Why? I was flattered.

Well, I’m glad I made you feel good about yourself.

[pause.]

Is there anything else about us you think I should know about?

[pause.]

JARED, YOU JUST DON’T GET IT!

Get what? And why are you yelling?

I like you. Or, I liked you. And you didn’t say anything. I mean, errrr, all you said was “thank you.” That’s not enough.

What did you want me to say?

I wanted you to tell me you like me.

But what if I don’t?

Then tell me you hate me!

Fine. I hate you.

Bastard.

You told me to say that!

I want you to like me.

This isn’t helping, Caitlyn.

[pause.]

So you really don’t like me?

Nope.

Not even a little bit?

Let’s just be friends.

Like … a tiny, eensy-weensy bit?

It’s not you, it’s me.

What if I was the only woman left in the entire world …

Then I’d bang you.

You’re disgusting.

You want honesty.

Can’t we just try dating?

I’m moving to Mexico.

So that’s why you don’t like me?

Cait-lyn.

[pause.]

Well. I guess that’s what I wanted to hear.

Really? That’s what you wanted to hear … that I don’t like you?

Well?

[pause.]

I love you, Caitlyn.

What?

I love you. I can’t live without you.

You can’t?

You’re all I think about when I wake up in the morning and go to sleep at night. I want you to have my baby.

You’re mocking me.

I want us to grow old together in the suburbs. I could work in accounting, and you could stay home to raise our children.

Stop.

We’d live this pristine little life. I’d work my way up in the company; you’d keep yourself busy with your housewife hobbies. Knitting. Sewing. PTO.

Please.

We wouldn’t be happy, but we’d be content. It’s the American dream, after all. At least we’d die together.

Stop it! You think that’s what I want, Jared?

That’s what all women want.

Then you don’t really know me.

I never claimed I did.

I want to travel the world. I want to live in Paris and Moscow and London.

No, you don’t. You want your white picket fence, two-point-five children and stability.

I don’t! I want adventure! Intrigue! Chaos!

You want to get married to a stiff-shirted churchgoer who brings home the big bucks. You want a faithful husband who treats you like a princess.

No, I don’t. I want to live on the edge – never settle down.

Caitlyn, please.

That’s what you want too – I know it. You want to travel. You want adventure. I can share that with you.

That’s not what you want.

How do you know?

Because all women are the same.

Chauvinist.

I like to think of myself as realistic, thank you. I see the world as it is. You are just like all the other girls, and I can’t afford to settle down.

Then you’re missing out.

On what?

Me.

[pause.]

So are you satisfied?

With what, Jared?

With me. Do I need to tell you I love you again?

Not if you don’t mean it.

I don’t.

[pause.]

You really don’t love me?

Cait-lyn.

What? I think you should love me. Is that so crazy?

Kind of.

Why kind of?

Because we hardly know each other. And you’re so much young—

Oh, don’t say it!

But you are, Caitlyn. Six years.

FIVE AND A HALF!

You’ll find someone.

Easy for you to say.

Someday.

When I’m old like you.

Yes. When you’re old like me.

Jared, please, you might regret this.

Why would I?

[pause.]

I guess I should hang up.

Yes.

You sure you don’t love me?

Positive.

Okay. Well, goodbye, Jared.

Goodbye.

Wait –

[click.]

January 3, 2010 Leave a comment

on Redemption

I love this city, but I’ve set and numbered its days

I love this city, enough that I’ll set it ablaze

—

Lots of things have died this year. I mean this figuratively, of course, but the pain is no less real.

I’ve lost good friends. I’ve attended the funeral of my RELEVANT dreams. I’ve mourned the loss of crushes. My ambitions were murdered; my pride suffocated.

I was the one who pulled the plug on most of those. I made the decision to take them off life-support, to say my final goodbyes, and lay them in the earth. It was me. It was my decision.

And I say I’ve seen a lot die this year, but I’ve seen more die in previous years. Ever since I read that passage in Ezekiel – Son of man, I’m about to take from you the delight of your life—a real blow, I know. But, please, no tears. – I’ve routinely killed my dreams.

I am the knife-wielding Abraham on Mt. Moriah, but with no angel to stop me.

I am the farmer on the seventh year, letting my fields dry up.

It feels like I spend so much of my life giving things up. Is there anything I can keep?

—

I pray for redemption.

I sat in the Williams’ prayer chapel a month ago, asking God to redeem something in my life. And oh, He redeemed it – by setting it on fire.

That is redemption after all, is it not? It’s the refinement of gold in fire. It’s transforming what’s unholy into something holy.

Therefore all that is not beautiful in the beloved, all that comes between and is not of love’s kind, must be destroyed. And our God is a consuming fire.

I keep asking for redemption: “Oh Lord, that I may live according to your will.” Or, “Make this job/relationship/hobby yours.”

And so God does what is asked of Him. He redeems. He puts my love (my ambitions, my crushes, my relationships) into the fire and sees what happens.

Whatever is not in His will – burns up. It falls apart.

I don’t mean this is a BEHOLD THE WRATH OF GOD! sense, really. I don’t think God sets things on fire for fun. But when I ask him to redeem something, he does it, and it hurts.

I suppose we let God redeem things because we expect something new or polished in return. We “give God our relationships,” assuming he’ll point us to the love our life. We “give God our finances,” assuming big bucks will come our way.

It doesn’t always work like that. Sometimes the fire kills. Sometimes our dreams don’t play possum, but stay dead on the side of the road.

—

The worship band played “The Old Rugged Cross” in church this morning. I think I sang along sarcastically:

I will cling to the old rugged cross

Till my trophies at last I lay down

Like I’ve said, I’ve seen a lot die this year. I’ve had to give up a lot. It’s not about laying my trophies down “at last.” (My bitterness is speaking, mind you.) It’s more like: God, I’ve laid down every last one of them. I cling to the cross in fear that you’ll take that away too! That’s what I picture, anyway. I’m clinging to something for dear life, not because I believe my sacrifices will make my life any better, but because if I don’t have anything else to cling to.

Is this the Christian life? Sacrifice after sacrifice, death after death?

God promised me a resurrected life. He promised me that every seed will die before it grows. Where is this growth?

We’re in the dead of winter. (Read that again for its irony.)

Bradley Hathaway wrote, “Grace grows in winter, I’m told.”

Grace grows in winter when everything else dies. Ugh.

I yearn for Grace. I want God to show His face in these crummy circumstances.

I’m sick of making sacrifices.

I’m sick of seeing my friends make sacrifices.

I’m sick of hope with no follow-through.

More questions than answers – I know. This may be the nature of blogging. Or at least the nature of my blogging.

With love and squalor,

Ezek.

December 25, 2009 Leave a comment

on Forgiveness

This is the worst one.

—

Yesterday the newspaper staff had a meeting about some of the problems we’ve been having this year so far. I brought up a long list of clerical issues – stuff we couldn’t have anticipated earlier on – hoping to diffuse any catty fighting before it began. Our staff has turned against each other; I call it “the War.” I thought talking about productive issues like how to get people to turn assignments in on time would keep any emotional stuff from surfacing.

Yeah right.

The song kept popping into my head: “If we’re adding to the noise, turn off this song.”

I’ve added to the noise.

I pretended to be Switzerland; I’ve become Benedict Arnold, a backstabber. The traitor on both sides. I’m not a revolutionary; I’m not a Tory.

I gossip. I can’t stop doing it! I slander. I don’t obey the post-it note on my desk: “God wants me to love [coworker’s name].”

I don’t hate bigotry; I hate bigots. I don’t hate war; I hate warmongers.

It’s as if every lesson I’ve learned about love has been erased: I’ve edited them into nonentity. It turns out being bitter/angry/wrathful is way easier than forgiving.

—

This is the hardest one: I don’t know how to forgive. I know how to say it: “I forgive you,” but I don’t really know how to forgive.

I wrote an essay on forgiveness for Sentence Strategies about my stepmom, about how I haven’t forgiven her for her alcoholism and the effects thereof. I told her that I forgave her, and it’s not that I’ve been mulling over her past mistakes or anything. But I still don’t think I’ve forgiven her.

I think forgiveness takes reconciliation.

I hate that word. It’s a tough, tough word. It implies action. It implies humility. It involves me asking for forgiveness for my unwillingness to forgive.

Ugh.

The thing is, I know that this newspaper stuff isn’t all that I need to ask forgiveness for. There’s another publication that I’ve stirred drama over: dear RELEVANT. I feel burdened to ask Cameron for forgiveness.

Ugh.

It’s ironic that what I thought I hated about RELEVANT is the very thing I’m engaging in. I am not being very Christ-like. Huh.

—

At the beginning of this school year, I found myself hating people on campus for no good reason. This happened frequently:

Lauren: Arrg. There’s [insert name of NECC intern]. He hasn’t even acknowledged me all school year.

Abby: Well, why don’t you say hi to him.

Lauren: But he’s a leader. And it was my church he interned at.

Lindsey: Oh geez.

Those people don’t need to be forgiven – isn’t this interesting? – but I feel like they need to apologize to me. Huh. I think people owe me something. They owe me a “hello” or a nod or something. But they don’t.

No one owes me anything …

… but I’m in debt to them.

“Let no debt remain outstanding, except the continuing debt to love one another. …”

They don’t owe me Grace, but I owe them Grace. It’s not their attitudes or behaviors that I need to change, but my own attitude toward them.

—

Before our meeting ended, Dr. Huckins closed with a prayer. He mentioned a verse in his prayer, and it stuck with me:

“Be kindly affectionate to one another with brotherly love, in honor giving preference to one another. …” Romans 12:10

I like that: “giving ‘preference’ to one another.” Not only am I going to forgive you or ask you to forgive me, I’m going to prefer you over myself. I’m going to prefer being around you than being away from you. I’m going to prefer you to be my boss and no one else.

What a radical (“rooty”) picture of forgiveness. And Grace.

It’s not just a way to take care of the immediate issue (“I’m mad at you about this and this”) but a way to get to the root of it, to reconcile, and keep bitterness from brewing.

December 9, 2009 Leave a comment

on Faith

For the revelation awaits an appointed time;
it speaks of the end
and will not prove false.
Though it linger, wait for it;
it will certainly come and will not delay.

-Habakkuk 2:3-

—

“Do you think if you ignore my revelation that makes it untrue?” – God

—

I know very little about faith. I know it has to do with belief (“faith is being sure of what you hope for and certain of what you do not see”). I know it has to do with taking God seriously, and not calling yourself a god like Shirley MacLaine in that movie.

I know that “the principal part of faith is patience” and that God doesn’t work in my time frame, but His own.

But that’s about all I know.

—

Note the question I have at the beginning of the blog: “Do you think if you ignore my revelation that makes it untrue?” This is what started my thoughts on faith.

God and I were hashing it out the other day. We got on the topic of faith, specifically this promise we made back when I was 16 or so. This was my prayer:

“Dear God, I pray that you don’t tell me who I’m supposed to marry until it’s time for me to get married. Okay, thanks.”

I’ve always been pretty cool with this prayer. Sometimes I regret prayers I’ve made (i.e.: “dear God I pray that I don’t date anyone until I date my husband”), but this one I liked. I have this irrational fear that the moms of the boys that like me – and I don’t like in return – tell their sons that I’ll come around, that God wants us to get married or something. That kind of disgusts me. Hence why I don’t regret this prayer: I refuse to be like one of those moms.

But it came up again, when Jesus and I were hashing it out, and He humbled me. Because what if God wants to tell me who I’m going to marry? (He hasn’t yet – THANK GOODNESS – and I hope this is an object lesson, not something He’ll actually do.)

But sometimes I think God tells me things that I don’t think I should know. Some of those revelations are “lingering,” some have been proven true.

But what if I decide not to listen? What if God tells me who I’m going to marry, but I plug my ears with my fingers? Does that make His revelation less-true?

Or, what if God lies to me? What if I ask God if I’m going to work for Zondervan and I hear Him say yes and I’m so sure that’s what He wants for me, but I don’t get the job.

But what if planning for the Zondervan job gets me a job at Tyndale? What if that lie got me where I needed to be?

Is this a matter of the end justifying the means? I don’t know – maybe. Does God work like that? Or can he?

—

I can come to no conclusion. Of the topics I’m planning on discussing (Faith, Forgiveness, Grace and Redemption), this is the vaguest.

But I suppose you can have faith without knowing what it means, right? (Ha, I hope so.)

with love and squalor,

ezekiel

December 7, 2009 Leave a comment

An Introduction

I don’t know how to start this blog – I don’t have a witty anecdote. I guess I could say this: the other day Molly and I were having “WTF, Jesus?” moments around the same time. I went to the Williams’ prayer chapel and scrawled broken arguments to God. (I’m not sure what Molly did.)

I’m fine, really, I am. I am.

I started taking control of my life instead of letting God, and whenever I do that trouble follows. This isn’t to say God is punishing me; I just don’t know how to run my life as well as God. Amen, amen.

—

I want this to be a series, a four-parter: Grace, Faith, Redemption and Forgiveness. I can’t do blog series because I get so bored and distracted. I write what I wanna write when I wanna write it. But this I need to do for myself, and for God. This blog series is my spiritual act of worship.

—

Why these four topics? Well. That’s a good question.

In World Civ. we’re learning about the 7 Deadly Sins. After discussing Greed, I began thinking about which of these sins would be friends, had they the ability to form relationships. I came to the conclusion that Greed, Lust and Gluttony would be BFF.

I figured it like this: Gluttony has to do with hungry, about getting your fill. Greed is about desiring money and possessions and stuff. Lust is about hungering for another person, for them making you feel a certain way. They’re all about hunger – eros and what not.

If four virtues (are they virtues?) could be friends, it would obviously be Faith, Redemption, Forgiveness and Grace. And Love. Love would be in there somewhere. Maybe Hope too.

Anyway, Faith is about belief and loyalty – no matter what. And it takes Forgiveness to keep faith in someone or something that isn’t faithful back. And Redemption is like that never-ending process that underlies it all: you the faithful are redeemed while the unfaithful is redeemed, becoming the faithful, etc.

And Grace is the hug that brings us all together.

That doesn’t make much sense, I’m sure. I’m just finding correlations – it must be the economics student in me.

—

I’m processing life right now. Piece by piece by piece by piece. I know who I am. I am Lauren Deidra Sawyer. I am classy. A little quirky (no, Linds, not awkward). A writer. An avid reader. A music snob. A little sister.

But what do I do about you? I know who I am, but what do I do with you, Life? What do I do with you, Religion?

Thus: this series.

with love and squalor,

ezek.

December 5, 2009 Leave a comment

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