>> 2.16.2010

There is a sense of promise in the sky today, and I am finding it easier to breathe because I have a date.
We are moving out in mid-July.

I'm not sure where yet (there are possibilities), and I'm not sure what we'll be doing when we get there, but the point is that God is letting us go.

He has kept me and sustained me for the past three years here in Chicago, and He is finally going to release me of this burden that I feel when I'm here.

But let me just pause for a moment, and say something:
I realize that so often on here all that you twelve readers hear is me complain and argue and rant against God.
Please understand that what you read here is a smidgen of my life and my attitude. I am honestly trying to seek God and be content wherever it is that He has placed me. I just happen to be a strong, ferocious woman who doesn't like doing what she has to do sometimes. So when I get stuck between a rock and a hard place, the easiest way for me to cope with it is to write about it. However, I just want to reinforce that I truly, truly believe that if God had called us to stay in Chicago long-term, that He would not only get me through it, but give me a sense of joy and peace about being here.
And it's not like I have completely despised my time here. This has been a wonderful place for me, on many occasions. God brought me here to meet my husband, He gave me a college degree here, and so many other amazing things.
So all of this to say that I have really appreciated being here, and I am sure I will miss this place when I am gone.

But for now, I am thrilled to know that I will be able to start settling my life in a few short months!


no name.

>> 2.10.2010

There is sun.

The Amelie soundtrack is playing, and I have finished my cup of tea.

I have to leave for work in eight minutes, and if I think about that too much I may start to panic. So let's just not think about it.

There is a foot of snow on the ground, and it is cold.

I am seeking, seeking, seeking.

When will I be found?


a request

>> 2.06.2010

As absurd as this may sound, there are moments in life where I am angry at God.

For as long as I can remember, I have sifted, and strained, and stalked through people's lives looking for the details that mean they have it better than I do. I struggle with contentment, and it is more of a burden than I thought possible.

I am so quick to take in the joyful moments of other people's lives and think, "Why don't I have that? What is so different and special about them that they get everything I want?" And how quick am I to relish in the moments where I see others going through hard times, simply so that I can know that I am not alone in my imperfect life.

And this is a risk, sharing this. This is opening up the monster, and letting her crawl out. This is allowing the darkest, nastiest parts of my soul emerge into the light for others to examine.
Because this the truth.

I am selfish, and mean. I am not content, and I want everything that I do not have. I have the ability to compare and complain in any situation, and I am good at it.

I am an ugly sinner who deserves nothing that she has, and everything that she has been spared.

And in the middle of all of it, I have the still-tiny cry in my head saying, "But surely you're not that bad. Surely you deserve some good things in your life!"

That, my fellow readers, is the depth of my depravity.

A few weeks ago, I heard a sermon given on Cain and Abel. Obviously, a commonly known story, and one in which not much new information was going to be revealed. Yet, I cannot stop thinking about it...there was one phrase the pastor delivered that has been sewn into my brain, and it attacks me at my weakest moments. He said this:

"Jealousy is not wanting what someone else has. Jealousy is resenting that person for getting what you did not, and wondering why they are so much more privileged."

That, my friends, is exactly it.

He then went on to say that we must confess our sins to the Lord, and also to each other. If we truly want to be delivered out of bondage, we have to let the light into the dark places, and allow someone else to help us be accountable.

You are my flashlight.
This is my dark place.

Please help me out of here.

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