Why This Blog Makes Me Uncomfortable

Want to know something about me? Here is something you may not know: one of my dreams is to write a devotional. I can see the book in my mind's eye. It's hard, green cover pleasantly invites you to read. Inside, it combines good writing, insight, beauty, and humor bringing God so close that it's like your sitting in His lap. You'll laugh. You'll cry. It will move you.

But in the meantime, I have this blog.

Let me tell you- It's not the pinnacle of greatness that I had in mind. Truthfully, it makes me horribly uncomfortable.

There are a lot of reasons for this. One is, it's my writing. I desperately care that I'm the best writer ever, that my sentences move people so that they stop what they're doing to read and reread my work. I'm not, and they won't. I write these in an avoiding-homework, sleep-deprived state, so I can't even pretend.

Plus, I'm talking about myself a lot, what Colleen thinks, what Colleen believes, who Colleen is, and who God is to her. That's not easy for me. I like to hide a little more than that.

And blogs are public, free to be read by cute guys, axe murderers, and friends at home alike. In conversation, I tailor what I say to my audience, carefully judging your reactions. I'm only going to be so honest here, but likewise I am going to say things that I might not necessarily bring up in conversation with everyone. I have friends that I talk about how amazing prayer is and friends that I tell that I'm offended with my church. Both of those are God conversations, but they're pretty different. I think this connects to the not hiding part. I'm letting go of some of my control to edit.

But the hardest thing about this blog is that I'm talking about God. In itself that isn't so terrible. Believe it or not, I like God and like talking about Him. But it's weird too. One of the greatest woes of my life is not being able to express myself well. I hate the days when people ask me why I'm upset, and I give them reasons that aren't really the core of what I mean. Then there are the times when I realize that people around me don't know how much I care about them. It seems like the important things are the things I botch the most.

God is important. I've seen talking about Him done badly. I've been frustrated by the talks that I'm just not ready for -- talks that weird me out with spirituality. I don't want to be one of "those Christians." I know what I mean by that, and I bet you do too. But at the same time, I don't know what I mean. I don't know how to not be that.

I don't know how to write about God, as myself. I feel like I'm such a weak representation of Him. Maybe you don't see that because I'm the "good" girl who doesn't sleep around, or drink, or swear. Christianity isn't about what you do or don't do. It's about letting God invade your life, about embracing a different kind of love, letting go of yourself. I fail at that most of the time. How do I communicate God and His real and amazing goodness. Can I even do that?

I don't know.

Seeing

I never remember names the first time. The odds of my actually paying enough attention to the person I'm meeting and not focusing on what they will think of me, are low. And introductions aren't the only times this happens.

I think about myself a lot, making me a painfully self-conscious person, sometimes paralyzed. I say I want to beat the shyness, but when push comes to shove, I make excuses and wait for someone to talk to me first.

Tonight that's what church was about. "See," was the word the pastor used to sum up the message. He talked about Jesus (imagine that) and Zaccheus. Jesus saw Zaccheus and communicated worth to him. We're supposed to be like Jesus.

But we can't if we find ourselves, like me, only thinking about ourselves. I don't see others when I'm worrying about what they think of me. I can't communicate God's love for others if I am not willing to risk myself.

A huge component of that is being secure in God. I have to know that my worth is in what He thinks of me, not my appearance or accomplishments. I don't remember that always.

And then I have to live it, taking the risks to reach out to others, just to be friendly and caring. I moved into the dorms to get out of my Christian bubble, but I feel like God is showing me that the bubble keeping people out isn't around my home: it's around my heart.

Rocks

I woke up late and picked up a rock.
I thought of what I would do that day.
I dressed, not acknowledging my roommate, and picked up a rock.
I touched my shoulder, thinking of his hands and picked up a rock.
I ate hurriedly and gluttonously, and picked up a rock.
I looked at myself and saw eyes sparkling, face young, full of potential.
I articulated poorly and picked up a rock.
I quit trying.
I picked up a rock.
I met him,
surrendered,
loved it.
I despised myself and loved it.
I picked up a rock,
and another rock,
and another.
I wound up,
ready to throw them at her.
She knew she deserved it and didn't raise her eyes.
This was what the rocks were for.
This was right.
I summoned my strength.
But He looked up at me, and down at her.
I dropped the rocks.
All was quiet.
I looked up at Him.
"Neither do I condemn you.
Go and sin no more."

my kitchen table

Tonight at church there was a dramatic speech sort of thing which talked about the different postures of Jesus. They explained that he tired, he knelt, he wept. I love hearing about Jesus's emotions because it lights something in me, something that says, "I am made to be alive."

It ended with the sentence, "jesus grant me the patience and sometimes harsh words you gave to the teachers of the law, grant me the grace and peace you gave the adulterer, and if or when i sell or speak of a shallow, self-seeking, uninspiring gospel, turn over my kitchen table. "

That's been ringing in my ears all night. I'm a goody-two-shoes Christian, most of the time only because it's convenient. God, turn over my kitchen table. Disorder my life.

http://pullmanprogress.blogspot.com/2008/08/posture.html

rain

God,
I ask for Your rain to soften me.
Loosen the clumps of pride.
Wash away the hardness.
Take Your hands and mix Your soil.
Disturb the stiff order of my life.
And make me useful.