The Bible says that "those who fear the Lord lack nothing."

I was very convicted by that this morning.

I wonder how different my life would look if I truly lived as if I lacked nothing.

How would my attitude change towards other people?

How would my thoughts change about my self image or boys or school?

How different would the body of Christ look if we were a people who believed that we are complete in Christ?

We lack nothing. We have everything. We are complete.

I want to live like I believe it.

Confession:
Until two days ago, I hadn't cried since the day I left camp.
And I've had things to cry about.
But it just never happened.
I tried...I watched sad movies, read old journals, thought about sad things.
I even went for long drives late at night to the middle of nowhere Alabama just to wallow in my self-pity and try to make tears come.
But nothing.
No tears.
Until two days ago.

It was one of those moments where I knew I was learning something the moment I was learning it.
It was as if the Lord was actually speaking audibly to me - so much so that I'm not even sure what the word "audible" even means anymore.
It was a lesson 6 years in the making.
My life and my heart and my attitude were changed.
Changed in eternal ways.
Because of this one lesson.
And it brought me to tears.
Big, rolling, heavy tears.
Because it was tangible grace.
It was the sweet, intimate, mind-blowing grace of God in the form of a hard, painful, life-altering lesson learned.

It was beautiful.
And it was real.

And then, in the middle of this sweet, emotional moment, the fire alarm went off.
I'm in pajamas, in my bed, sobbing..and the freaking fire alarm goes off.
I had makeup ALL over my face.
And, on top of everything, it was raining. Like REALLY raining.
And I don't own a rain jacket. And I had lost my umbrella.

I may or may not have cussed out loud.

But then, as I walked down three flights of stairs, sirens blaring in my ears, only to stand in the rain in the middle of the night because some ADPi burnt popcorn, I laughed.
Because life is really funny.
Because sometimes it takes you 6 years to learn something that you've heard and read about your entire life.
And sometimes the most intimate moments with our God are the moments where we see how truly diseased we are inside.
And sometimes moments that are beautiful and real and Donald Miller book-esque are interrupted by fire alarms and hurricane Ida.

And now I'm sitting on my couch eating peanut butter from the jar and watching a very biased report on our "economic crisis" - frustrated with both because this reporter is, dare I say, ignorant, and this fork is a completely inappropriate utensil for getting the last bit of peanut butter off the bottom of the jar - and I'm wondering how I can go from being brought to my knees by the grace and the goodness of the Lord, to waking up the next morning and choosing sin once again.

I once heard someone say that true freedom is being free to choose your master.

If it is true (and the Bible says that it is) that I am no longer a slave to sin but a slave to righteousness before the Lord, then I am feeling the great rift of fallen men. And I hate it.

I am longing for the time and place where sin does not exist. And we can stand before the throne of God and worship him as our chosen master.

Because that will be a time and a place full of real, beautiful, Donald Miller book-esque moments. More so than we could ever conceive.
There will be no biased news reports, or struggling economies, or incredibly frustrating peanut butter/fork situations.
There will be no hunger.
There will be no tears.
There will be no sin.
And there will certainly be no fire alarms.

And I can't wait.

"Suppose one of you had a servant plowing or looking after the sheep. Would he say to the servant when he comes in from the field, 'Come along now and sit down to eart'? Would he not rather say, 'Prepare my supper, get yourself ready and wait on me while I eat and drink; after that you may eat and drink'? Would he thank the servant because he did what he was told to do? So you also, when you have done everything you were told to do, should say 'We are unworthy servants; we have only done our duty."


We are unworthy servants...and most of us haven't even done our duty.

Lord, forgive me for my pride and false sense of entitlement.

I am unworthy of the breath you have given me.

Your grace is unimaginable.

I have yet to know but a tiny part of who you are.

Have mercy on us.

We are selfish and unworthy servants..

don't freak out. i'm not smoking a whole bunch. i'm just writing.

I rolled the window down a few more inches. The wind sucked the smoke out of my car faster than I could even exhale, but I knew even then the smell was sticking to me. A few strands of hair slipped quietly from my pony tail and whipped in front of my face as I drove. Headlights appeared from behind the hill in front of me and I quickly hid my cigarette by my thigh - as if they could see me - as if it mattered.

There were no street lights and the moon peered tiredly from behind the clouds, suffocated by the strength of the darkness. I could only see the few feet of road in front of me and a few trees to either side...and now headlights, which ironically kept me from seeing really anything at all. The approaching car and I flew past each other, and his red taillights faded quickly, first to a deep crimson red, then finally, to black.

For whatever reason, I always assume that other drivers are men. "That guy just cut me off." "What a jerk." "Thanks a lot, buddy." ...all my road rage phrases have male connotations. Does everyone do that? Or do other people actually call drivers who cut them off bitches rather than jackasses? Am I really that girl...the girl who's been hurt a few times so she subconsciously blames all her problems on guys and thus becomes an old, angry, man-hating spinster?

I glanced in the rear view and took another drag.

Maybe I'm not angry and jaded and pessimistic... I thought about the idea of that car. We were going in complete opposite directions and knew nothing about each other. We were alone. But we were together.

For a split second we shared the road, we shared the darkness and the trees and the wind. We were side by side. Equals. Together.

And then we weren't.

It reminded me of the many people who have played that role in my life. People I shared moments with, shared time with, shared wind with. People who were going entirely different places than I was. People who were there. And then were gone.

I thought about the boy. The boy who gives an almost tangible meaning to the idea of going different directions. I thought about the 4 years that we shared wind. It must have been dark then too, he couldn't really see me, and I feel certain that I hardly ever saw him. -- But man, did we share wind...

...and now his taillights are fading too. Some days they're crimson, some they're nearly black, and some days, in fact, in more recent days, they seem to be a little brighter than usual, a little closer than I remembered them being, than I want them to be.

But they're taillights nonetheless.

I took another drag. And felt stupid for being so metaphorical with myself. Sometimes thinking philosophically, or deeply, or really just thinking at all, makes me very uncomfortable. How presumptuous I am to think that my thoughts and ideas and stupid metaphors are of any substantial value.

I took another drag. I felt the heat of the lit end tinge my fingertips and flicked the butt out the window. I definitely smelled like smoke...