the palms of his hands

"Yet I will not forget you.

See, I have inscribed you on the palms of My hands;

Your walls are continually before Me."

Isaiah 49:15b - 16

I often forget. I forget the important things, the not-so-important things, and the random things I really, really want to remember so I can look impressive during lunch conversation.

I'm not a forgetful person all the time. But when I reflect on my forgetfulness, I'm ashamed to say that it interferes with the things that ought to matter most. I say they matter most. I often don't really live like it.

I forget to write my relatives overseas.

I forget to update my blog!

I forget to text my friends when I'm bored.

I forget that crucial ingredient.

I forget to stop and sit and be.

I forget His hands.

I find my forgetfulness tragic. It's tragic because perhaps it's not even so much forgetfulness as it is pre-occupation - not necessarily on "bad"things, but not "best" things. A mind set on lesser things. A heart that's prone to wander. My self-induced forgetfulness and unfaithfulness seek to pull me from the grasp of His hands. Hands that died for me. Hands that bear my name in nail-ripped flesh.

Easter reminds me of His sacrifice. Easter beckons me to remember that, even on the cross, He never forgot, "Father, forgive them." Even as I slammed the hammer once more, even as I spit and mocked and heaped my sin upon His dying frame, He was faithful.

And those same hands that graciously pulled me from death to life tug me towards him and away from my mindless, useless pursuits. Sometimes gently. Sometimes firmly. But always out of the deepest kind of love. Always a beckoning to remember what real life feels like.

Freedom.

"You're free to be alive. You're free to look crazy, stupid, and ridiculous to the world because I paid it all. Experience life with me. Remember the sacrifice I've made." So I take His hand. I feel the scar. It should be mine. But it's not.

And I remember what it means to be alive. I remember what it means to know Jesus. And I take another step forward, hand in hand with my Savior.

Happy Easter!

savoring now

I'm sipping chai right now.

Savoring it.

There's a fan turning overhead - just the right amount of background noise and breeziness.

It's a peaceful night, filled with peaceful moments, and memories of a brilliant sunset from just a few hours ago.

I am alone.

And it's okay.

I am perfectly tired in a way that lets me know tonight's sleep will be just right.

I choose to relish this new moment in my life - the new beginnings that birthdays and January 1sts and milestone events bring.

Life is short.

Don't waste it. Do something grand. Do something silly. Be still. Take a run. Reminisce, make plans, call old friends, read a new book, and purpose to do something worthwhile.

Like resting. Like saying "thank you." Like embracing moments alone with chai, your creativity, and Jesus.

Thanks for 24 years, God. Thanks for 24 years and 2 days. Thanks for today. Thanks for right now.

"Live carefree before God. He is most careful with you."

1 Peter 5:7

returning

After an almost four month blogging break, I think it's time to start again. It's not that I didn't want to write, it's just that I didn't know what to write. At this moment, I'm still not sure what will come out in these next few sentences and paragraphs, I just know that I've got to write something - that something's there and it's ready to come out. So here goes. Let's just reflect.

These past few months have been crazy. I've had some hard life-lessons and decisions and have experienced a wide array of emotions, usually on the same day, probably within the same thirty minutes. My poor brother has had to live with this. Maybe that's why he likes to go to school to practice his music.

Lately, I've been struggling with understanding God's will, understanding God's planning, understanding God's timing, understanding God's reasoning. Looks like I've just been trying to learn how to understand God, and, honestly, that's not a lately-lesson, but a life-long lesson.

As some of you know, I had planned to go to South Korea for a year to teach English. I was so excited! Things seemed to be working out just right. And then...

And then I started having problems sleeping. And then I started taking a 12 step class. And then I went to the doctor for some health problems. And then I realized things weren't as simple as they seemed. I had a choice. And God seemed pretty quiet.

In the end, I decided to postpone South Korea. It was one of the hardest choices I've had to make in quite a while. After all, South Korea was a big adventure. I would have amazing experiences, make great money, be set up perfectly for starting graduate school when I returned.

But that class. But the health things. But, but, but...

(Here is my shameless plug for 12-step groups) I had to stop and think and I began to realize that in the few months that I had been in the 12-step class, I had seen my relationship with God take on a whole new dimension. Suddenly, God started to seem much more real than he had in the past. Suddenly, this whole letting go thing was making sense. Suddenly, I had a choice to make.

So I stayed. And it was hard. And I cried. And I mourned the loss of a temporary dream while rejoicing the beginning of a reawakened relationship with my Savior.

The crazy thing is that since making the decision to stay, I've had some very real struggles and have at times felt extremely far away from God, followed by times of great intimacy with him. I've found ways to drag myself down and to degrade myself, to make myself feel stupid for staying, but he's picked me back up and said, "Hold on. You seek adventure. You seek validation. You seek success. Just look to me. Don't give up now. Look up, hold my hand, let's keep going on this journey together." And so I get back up and he dusts me off and we start again.

I think that sometimes the scariest journeys are the ones where we are simply called to wait. Personally, they are scary for me because I always want to know the next step. I always want to have a plan. I always want to be in charge and sure and have plenty of napkins and snacks for the road. But waiting-journeys are just the opposite of that. Waiting requires living life one day at a time. Waiting means trusting. Waiting means not having to know all the plans. Waiting means taking a risk.

And so that's where I am right now - I am waiting, sometimes cheerfully, sometimes grudgingly, sometimes passively, and sometimes passionately. I am waiting and trusting and believing that in sitting still, I am moving forward. I am experiencing life. I'm becoming who he wants me to be. Fully his.

whispers

Sometimes there's not a lot to be said. This is what He's telling me today. Perhaps it will encourage you, too.

And when you are in the center of your loneliness; when you just want to know why, to feel loved, to be sure of yourself, of the next step, of your beliefs, of something - anything; and when you wonder how you will climb out of the cave; when you are fearful and tired and ready to give up; and when the self-help books and coffee and music can't fix it; and when you feel broken and battered and breathless; and when you sigh and cry and look up, I'll be there. I already was, am, will be. Hold my hand and let go. Embrace me and your situation. Embrace the you I see. You are my beloved. You are beautiful. And you are mine.

Each time he said, “My grace is all you need. My power works best in weakness.” So now I am glad to boast about my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ can work through me.

2 Corinthians 12:9

believing

It's not so much a question of will I be taken care of. It's more like this: Will I choose to believe that I'll be taken care of? 

A lot's been going on in the oh-so-dramatically-titled saga of Sarah lately and I would guess that a lot's been going on in your life, too. From car issues to doctor's appointments to uncertainty to insomnia to memories to just remembering where the heck I set my keys, I guess you could chalk it up to this thing we call life. And as I approach each situation, I'm tempted to question why God would let things happen or why this or that or make who-the-heck-thought-this-was-a-good-idea comments. I know my life's not any more difficult than yours. I know we all have our own trials. I know that, from the perspective of a huge portion of the population on this earth, my life looks pretty grand - good, if you will. 

But sometimes I'd rather just think that everything bad happens to me and only me and that no one could understand or have as terrible of a hair day as me.

Now that's pretty self-centered.

I'm starting to realize that my self-centered thoughts come down to something more than narcissism. They come down to this: do I believe? Do I believe that even when I'm down, even when the enemy is kicking me around and even when things look black, do I believe that God's going to keep His promises, that He sees what I don't, that I can trust Him? Honestly, sometimes I don't. At least, sometimes I live like I don't. I think that in those moments when I only seem to see the bad and when life looks bleaker than the day before, I think it's in those moments that I'm afraid of believing. I'm afraid that maybe things won't change. Or afraid that they will. God's got a pretty big imagination. Just a few minutes sitting on the front porch basking in the red-orange light of the sunset is evidence enough of that. But I'm afraid to let God do His God-thing. I'm afraid of giving up control - not that I was doing such a great job of steering anyway. I'm afraid to believe.

I think the fear of belief in my life comes from many things, and I'm sure it's the same for you - from human nature, to being burned in the past, to putting myself out there only to get hurt. When I was a little girl, it was easier to believe, I think. But I know that from the moment I had felt the first touches of this world, I was already being attacked. We all share that experience. And while the moments in our lives can certainly shape us in positive ways, there's no denying the way hurts-experienced can turn into fears personified. We believe at first, but soon the scar tissue that reminds us of the truly painful moments in life becomes thick enough that belief seems silly. It seems unnecessary. It's just another way of creating and opening wounds.

Of course, that's only another lie. Because it's in this woundedness and brokenness and full-fledged childlike belief that God is able to work. God doesn't call us to be His co-workers or chums. He calls us to be His children. He wants to be in charge because He wants to take care of us. He wants to take care of me - of Sarah. He wants to take care of you.

So it comes down to this: fear versus belief; control versus trust; stubborn clenched fists versus the spread-eagle embrace of a Father.

Today, at least, I'm choosing to let go. I'm choosing to believe because belief is the only thing that can save me from whatever messes I throw myself into or that I find myself in by merit of simply being human. I choose to believe because, in the end, He loves me. I can be sure of it. What more do I need?

climbing

A few days ago, I was talking to a counselor about life and how I wondered about progress and how I felt like a failure - I was back in his office, fighting the same battles, wondering when I would stop losing. I knew that I had been doing some things right. I knew that some parts of my life seemed to be fitting into place. But I was back in that office. "I just feel like I'm right back where I started. I just wonder if I'll ever move forward."

And that's when he told me this:

"Sometimes life is like a spiral staircase. You may see the same views twice, but that doesn't mean you're not climbing higher."

Sometimes life - our grief, our struggles, our victories - sometimes it's like a spiral staircase. We find ourselves fighting to overcome the same negative thoughts and behavior patterns that we were so sure were gone. We find ourselves suddenly plunged into grief over five-year-old tragedies nearly as fresh as the day they happened. We find ourselves climbing a spiral staircase.

Of course we have moments of falling backwards. Of course we may stumble. (I, for one, have always had a problem of tripping on stairs.) But the truth is this: our progress is not dependent on willpower or initiative alone. The only true progress we experience in any facet of our lives comes because of the grace God so freely lavishes on us. It's only when we accept this gift that we find ourselves taking the first steps up the staircase, steps we can take because Someone is finally holding our hands.

And as I think about how I've been seeing the same views twice, three times, hundreds of times, I'm forced to recognize that sometimes remembering and repeating is simply part of living and sometimes they're a reminder that it's time to hold His hand again. They drive me to a place where I understand that my "independence" really only makes me fall down. I need Someone to walk the stairs with me, to hold my hand, to lead the way. It's only when I come to a complete realization that I cannot legitimately do life on my own that I am able to unclench my fists, brush off my dirty knees, and allow him to gently pull me to my feet. 

Maybe we see the same views twice for a bigger reason than just life-cycles. Maybe those moments of heartache and hardship are chances for us to conquer a situation that nearly bested us before. Maybe when we see the same views twice, we can approach them as precious moments of learning rather than obstacles to be conquered. 

And let me just digress and say this - we don't have to learn these lessons alone. Déjà vu moments don't mean I'm a failure. They don't mean I've started all over. The definition of who I am and my worth is not dependent upon how many times I face an obstacle and win or lose. No. My worth lies in God's definition of me as His child - a child loved enough by Him that He offers to walk the staircase with me. Each time I face these moments, He offers to pick me up. He encourages me. He's ready to lead the way, and He's willing to carry me when the climb seems too long or when the next weeks, days, and hours seem like so many insurmountable weeks, days, and hours before. 

We can be grateful because we know that God is able to handle the sharp curves of life - we clearly cannot, we simply haven't the strength - but He does. He sees the twists ahead. He knows the trials we'll face two, five, ten times, and He's ready to lead the way. The question is - will we let Him?

worth it

Earlier today, someone suggested something to me and I ended up being totally embarrassed -- my face went red. And I mean bright red. It made me feel so self-conscious. And it was stupid for me to, because, honestly, it was a good suggestion. I thought about it after church and shared what happened with my brother. (He so tactfully pointed out that I should feel pretty stupid for getting embarrassed over something so silly.) As I began to think about why I reacted how I did, I began to notice that my thoughts kept coming back to this -- not worth it. You're just not worthy. Please don't waste your time thinking that something or someone good could happen to you because you're just not worth it. You've screwed up so many times. You've said too many stupid things. You're too awkward, and you have cellulite and acne. You are damaged. Incapable. Broken. Scarred.

As I thought about this for the majority of the day, I finally just had to stop. I was an emotional mess. God -- I don't feel worthy. I look back on my life and see that I have rarely felt worthy of being accepted, of being loved, of being liked. I am acutely aware of my unworthiness and fully acknowledge it. It's not humility. It's just a fact and something with which I constantly struggle. In moments like these and at the end of the day, I have no choice but to collapse in His arms and cry, to share my unworthiness with Him. Because, let's face it, I'm not worthy. None of us are. None of us are worthy of His love.

But I call you worthy, anyway, He says. You are worth it because you're Mine.

To be faced with a thought like this forces me to become even more aware of my unworthiness while at the same time experiencing a lightness, a freedom, and to become utterly grateful that I -- for some reason -- am the recipient of this grace and acceptance. My status as unworthy shifts to worth it when I realize the Creator of worth calls me valuable. I realize, too, that there is a distinct difference between unworthy and worthless. I will always be unworthy of His love, but I have never been worthless. I am a part of God's creation. He formed me. He made me. I can recognize my unworthiness and thank God that He has a grace outside the bounds of human comprehension.

But even realizations like this so easily get crowded out by self-doubt, by legitimate questions that exist in the human realm -- "But God, I fail you every day. I have done so many things to hurt you. I have blatantly turned my back on you thousands of times. I am damaged. How could I be anything but broken and second-rate?"

Because you're Mine.

My worth is dependent not on my accomplishments, my haircut, or my perceived goodness. It's grace. Simply that. Simply a gift that I cannot understand and must willfully acknowledge every day. Yes, I am worth it because He says so. I can be loved because I am His. My past, my pain, my anxieties, my abilities -- none of these define me. God says I am worthy. God says I am His. He died to prove it -- the greatest manifestation of true love humanity has ever and will ever experience. He makes me worth it.

You made all the delicate, inner parts of my body

      and knit me together in my mother’s womb.

Thank you for making me so wonderfully complex!

      Your workmanship is marvelous—how well I know it.

Psalm 139:13-14 (NLV)

God's Spirit touches our spirits and confirms who we really are. 

We know who he is, and we know who we are: Father and children.

Romans 8:16 (The Message)