Jamie

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Jamie’s Thoughts

 

Happy Saturday

Saturday, January 29th, 2011

Things that make for a happy Saturday:

-Breakfast at my favorite restaurant. Coffee (even mediocre coffee) and an omelet with the hubby is my favorite start to any Saturday.

– Just enough housework to make me feel better about my messy, cluttered house.

– Driving my new(ish) car with a favorite CD and belting along on the highway.

– Going for a walk in a park with my hubby on a beautiful day.

– Afternoon at Starbucks to spend time writing with pumpkin bread and a vanilla latte in hand.

– An evening date still to be had with the hubby who’s been gone all week.

Definitely helps to unwind after a long, not so great week.

Trying to make things happen

Thursday, January 27th, 2011

Sometimes I wonder if God has forgotten about me. I mean, I KNOW He hasn’t, but when I get in one of my little pity party moments and become so totally self absorbed, the fleeting thought crosses my mind. Then I remind myself of how big God is and how much He loves me and dismiss the fleeting thought. Then I just become frustrated that God is not working at the pace that I would like Him to. I mean, c’mon. I’ve got plans, I’ve got dreams, I’ve got ideas. Let’s get this moving!

I’ve been in one of those impatient moods lately. I feel as if there is some part of my life that isn’t totally fulfilled, that there are some steps that need to be taken to fulfill them. There are some steps I need to take to fulfill them. Rather than being patient and waiting on God, I try to move forward, inevitably to fall on my face.

I was in one of those moods yesterday, impatiently frustrated at waiting on God’s timing and determined to do something about it. Then I read this.

Now, I know that often Christians will contort some message to fit their life and situation exactly. And sometimes God really does use something to speak directly to your heart. Yesterday, I think it was the latter.

There is a fine line between waiting on God and doing my part. Waiting does not mean parking myself on the couch and not moving until I get the next word from God. Waiting means going through my daily life in humble obedience. It means prayerfully considering my next move. It means not getting all bent out of shape when what seems my next best move is not God’s next best.

When I was wrapping up my time with the African Children’s Choir, I felt strongly called to move to Africa to continue working with the organization. I prayed about it, and God dropped an opportunity in my lap. Or so it seemed. I was given a job offer to come to South Africa to help develop the Choir’s musical program there. I was beyond excited. It was perfect. I went home for a rest and vacation, and awaited the okay to come to South Africa.

Things kept getting pushed back. What was once March turned into August, then October, and so on. I did have a chance to return to Africa for a brief time, and took a couple weeks in South Africa to check things out. People cautioned me about the job offer. There was simply no work. When I was there, there was no peace. I could not see myself there. I tried desperately to make it work in my brain and the pieces just would not fit. I was crushed. This thing that I felt so sure that God had called me to was now falling apart. It was hard to know what to do with it.

What I did was go home. I took some more time to rest. I got a part time job. I kept pushing through life. I grieved the loss of South Africa. I healed.

Then I got engaged. It was not what I was expecting, nor where I thought I would be, but boy, was I excited.

I’m trying to remember that today. Waiting and trusting is hard, but I know that God has not forgotten me.

Exciting faith life

Tuesday, January 25th, 2011

This past Sunday, our church had a guest speaker that Drew and I were quite excited about. He is a young, 20 something, radical follower of Jesus. He comes from our church, is a product of the youth group, and although we didn’t know him extremely well, we both considered him a friend. We also knew he would be sharing some uncomfortable, real, raw stuff, and we were eager to hear it. We’re both growing weary of the fluffy Christianity that most churches seem to present.

James Barnett is a unique Christian. After receiving a word from a “prophetess,” he decided to make a radical life change. He quit his job, sold all his possessions, bought a van, and now lives out on the street among the homeless. He founded an organization called Clothe Your Neighbor as Yourself. If you buy an article of clothing, he in turn will clothe someone in need. He has story after story, and shared one on Sunday where he thought for sure he was about to get jumped, and instead was welcomed and shown love and acceptance by his new homeless friends.

James is the first to admit that this type of decision and radical lifestyle change is not for everyone. But he did encourage us to not just admire Jesus, but really live for Him and like Him. He challenges Christians to open up their guest rooms for the homeless. He really helps to put all of those little “issues” in our lives into perspective. I try to remember that no matter what might be going wrong in my life, I have a warm bed to sleep in and a roof over my head.

Besides being convicted and inspired, I found some other emotions rise to the surface. I found myself jealous that he was able to live out his faith life in such an exciting, revolutionary way. Then I reminded myself that it probably wasn’t so glamorous when he was out in the pouring rain, handing out ponchos to those stuck in the extreme weather.

Last night, a friend posted pictures from her trip to Uganda on Facebook. She and her husband were fellow chaperones while I was on tour with the African Children’s Choir. She tagged me in all the photos of “my” children. It was, as always, a bittersweet moment. I love to see how much they’ve grown (and boy, have they) but it also saddens me because it’s a reminder of that exciting life I used to live, with these beautiful kids that I have no idea when I’ll ever hug again. It brings back memories of concerts with energetic dance, host families with lumpy sofa beds, meeting celebrities, and teaching devotions with 25 eager little African bodies all gathered around me, eyes glued to me.

It was a hectic life, always on the move, always somewhere new, always a new face. It was exciting. But it was also exhausting. It didn’t seem so great when I was answering the same question for the 15th time that week or was cleaning vomit off the bus floor while driving through swervy mountain roads. Like everything in life, it had it’s pros and cons.

When I finished up my tour and arrived back at home, I relished in staying in one place and having some continuity in my days. I am still thankful for the constant in my days. I am more settled into my job and my days. It’s nice to have a routine.

But I do miss the exciting life I used to have. I sometimes wonder if God is calling me to live this constant life for the rest of my days. He does not call us all to lead the Israelites out of Egypt or to sell all our possessions. He wants constant Christians, who are willing to live out His commands in our everyday, boring life.

Am I ready for that? Am I ready for a boring life? I hope that I may have some more “exciting” parts to my faith life, but until then I need to be faithful in the everyday. I can’t say I’m always excited about that prospect, but I am always learning.

Journals

Thursday, January 20th, 2011

Inspired to write some type of memoir, I asked my big strong hubby to cart my large, heavy tote filled with all my journals through the years from the garage to our music room. I’ve been wanting to re-read through them and hopefully spark some memories that are worth recounting.

Every time I open this tote, I am usually surprised at how much is in there. I have pretty journals with flowery print, boring spiral notebooks, and Bible studies from years ago. There are my everyday here is what happened in my life journals, prayer journals, notebooks with song ideas sprawled in them, and even little scraps of paper that have snippets of something I deemed worthy of preserving. Sometimes I wonder if holding onto these is practical. It does take up lots of space, and when I’m gone, will anyone really want to read them? But then my journals make the list of the three things I would grab if my house were on fire. These are special to me. They’re filled with memories that have slipped from my subconscious. They show how I’ve changed and matured through the years. Above all, the physical act of putting pen to paper is so therapeutic to me that I can’t see giving up on journaling. So I will continue to write, and continue to fill totes.

When I began rifling through the tote, I figured chronologically might be the best way to start. I found the diary I kept in elementary school, complete with a lock that I don’t think I have the key for anymore. I guess I’ll have to break in. For now, I’ll skip it and come back to it later.

The next journals I had were from high school. I could only bring myself to read snippets from them. I have a low tolerance for teenagers and can only put up with so much drama and self absorption. Apparently my teenage self isn’t exempt. I cringed at the shallowness in some of the entries. Filled with self pity and oh woe is me mentalities, I rolled my eyes at half the entries. I put them down and went onto the next one; my college journals. I know I’ll need to read thru ALL of my high school journals soon, but we’ll just take it a little at a time.

It’s interesting to read thoughts of a former me. There’s a country song entitled “Letter to Me.” It talks of writing a letter to himself at age 17, shedding some light on his breakup and other teenage dramas. He’s pretty gentle and understanding in the song, but I think if I could write a letter to 17 year old me, I’d be shaking me and yelling, “GET OVER YOURSELF!” But I suppose I should be gentle. I was young, lacking life experience, and still learning. Heck, I still am.

As I wrote a bit in my journal last night before bed, I found myself wondering what I’ll be thinking when I read this journal ten years from now. I wonder if I’ll be shaking my head and saying, “Oh, how naive she was…”