Light: An Allegory, part 3

6 AM.

The inky-black twilight melted to more of a dusky blue on the edge of the eastern sky and traced out silhouettes of the watercolor clouds.

Rosy-gold strokes of color began to seep over the edge of the earth–slowly at first, but then with a ravenous appetite that tore apart the clouds.

The first trills of birdsong tumbled out of cherry trees to greet the growing day–and swelling buds stretching for the sweetness of the sun ripened the promise of spring sealed inside.

Tongues of light in the sky spilled over the tops of the trees patiently and ignited them in shades of scarlet and amber, chasing last night’s shadows back to the borders of midnight, before the colors melted into pure vibrant light that bubbled and washed the world anew.

My feet carried me on–down a road paved not with tar and gravel, but with years and years of time–to a familiar plot of land.

It wasn’t empty, as I had expected, but tucked between a new willow sapling and a plot of freshly-tilled earth was a tall buttery-yellow house rising from a stone foundation. Wisps of ivy traced quiet calligraphy that graced the chartreuse walls like filigree.

I let my fingers glide over the white pillars that supported the gable over the front stoop and climbed the steps to the crimson-red door. The oval of softly frosted glass nestled in the midst of the crimson diffused a feathery light from behind.

A woman with honey-chestnut curls and wandered into view, followed by a tall man with familiar gentle, dark eyes. He wrapped his arms around her waist from behind and pulled her close. And, right there in the entryway, they started dancing–perfectly in rhythm, as if to some memorized tune. The sunlight spilling into the entryway highlighted the few silver strands in her hair as it traced her shoulders.

They danced on, each step in time with the metronome pounding inside my chest. I felt a smile pulling at the corners of my mouth as I watched, utterly captivated.

Their dance was interrupted by a chorus of giggles and joyful babbles from from somewhere out of sight; he grabbed her hand and ran up the stairs with her, grinning, presumably towards the source of laughter.

And I was left there alone, staring at my reflection in the glass in the cranberry-red door as the silence settled itself around me once more.

I closed my eyes and let out the breath I had been holding. And when I opened them, all that was before me was a charred foundation of engraved stones, and the figure of an ash-smudged man holding a piece of glass to the sunlight.

You again? he chuckled, approaching me curiously. My mind swam wildly, half-dreaming, half-awake, and I shook my head to chase off the dizziness, but started to lose my balance. He caught my hand and righted me.

I tried to clutch for snippets of the memories I knew had just made, but nearly all of them eluded me, as if chased away by the same wind that tousled my hair across my neck.

I’ve got the blueprints for the rest of it now, he went on, I’ve always wanted to build a home…and I can’t imagine doing it without you.

He was still holding my hand–warm fingers entwined with my own. I caught my breath as my eyes met his piercing, quiet gaze. I grinned, lost for words, and let my lips embrace his–softly, tenderly–just enough to answer his question.

The new day painted its light over us both as his lips gave me their reply.

On loving recklessly….

There’s a popular song by Jeremy Camp that I’ve heard on the radio called “Reckless”. The song essentially talks about living a life in reckless abandon for God. Awesome. I can get behind that. I’ll sing and dance to those lyrics…

“I wanna be reckless
Cause You are endless
I wanna be shameless
And shout Your greatness
I will not be afraid
To surrender my way
And follow who You are
I wanna be reckless, reckless”…

But at the end of the day, when the worship service is over, I’m left wondering: what on earth is that supposed to look like in my life? Because, you know, I live in a world where I interact with people every day and stuff, and nobody ever told me what Mr. Camp meant by living recklessly.

Well, for starters, before I look at the whole reckless thing, a brief evaluation of how I live in my feeble little human effort to serve God. Right now, that consists of two things (taken from Mark 12:30-31): Love God. Love people.

Sooo, I love—albeit, imperfectly—but I love. So, assuming that I’m understanding Mr. Camp’s message correctly, if I put two and two together, I’m supposed to love…well, recklessly. To be honest, I’ve wrestled with this. Like, am I really supposed to give it all, to put my heart on the line and risk it breaking, to pour my love out to those in my life that need it? I think the answer goes two ways…

In many Christian circles, I repeatedly hear one very vague message regarding how we ought to love: “guard your heart”, pulled from Proverbs 4:23:

“Above all else, guard your heart, for everything you do flows from it.”

And, I mean, that’s nice and all—and yes, I understand that certain circumstances do require boundaries to protect the incredibly valuable gift that God gave has given us—but to end our conversation there oversimplifies and cheapens what Christ-like love can and should really look like. I believe that Jesus calls us a much richer, deeper example of love…

“My command is this: Love each other as I have loved you. Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.” (John 15:12-13)

That sounds a whole lot closer to the type of reckless love we sing about on Sunday mornings.

What does that look like? Well, to me, it means a few things.

Loving when it doesn’t always make sense.

Loving deeply.

Loving unconditionally and without reservation.

Such a love is risky. I think C.S. Lewis articulated this issue far better than I could have:

“To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly be broken…We shall draw nearer to God, not by trying to avoid the sufferings inherent in all loves, but by accepting them and offering them to Him; throwing away all defensive armour. If our hearts need to be broken, and if He chooses this as the way in which they should break, so be it.”

To love the way that Christ did can and does hurt oftentimes, but time and time again, this is the kind of love illustrated in scripture.

“You have heard that it was said, ‘Love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ But I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be children of your Father in heaven. He causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous.” (Matthew 5:43-45)

 “Very rarely will anyone die for a righteous person, though for a good person someone might possibly dare to die. But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” (Romans 5:7-8)

What holds us back from reckless love? In a word: fear. I know it does for me.

But this should not be the end of the story:

“There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear. For fear has to do with punishment, and whoever fears has not been perfected in love.We love because He first loved us. “
-1 John 4:18-19

A critical analysis of myself. By me, my own worst critic.

I laugh too hard and too loud about things that aren’t even funny, at times that are terribly inappropriate. (Here’s looking at you, sixteen-year-old Serena who was shushed by her family every other second at the live theatre.)

I’m just…generally loud. All the Italian blood in my family+growing up with brothers+almost ten years of theatre=loud Serena. Like, all the time. Full disclosure: I still don’t know how to whisper.

Growing up with brothers means that I’m not as gentle with things like people. I squeeze them too hard in my hugs, give high fives that leave marks, and hit them harder than what would be considered “teasing”.

I am impatient. I can’t wait the two minutes it takes to toast a slice of bread—much less bigger things.

Because of my impatience, I run life at a speed that’s just a few seconds too fast. So I run into things daily. I drop things. I break things. I trip over things. Oops.

I can hardly ever find the right words to say when I want to say them, which means word vomit is a daily struggle. Yes, the struggle is very real.

I pour myself into whatever I’m doing 110%, which is often stupid, because it means that my heart breaks at least twice as often as it should, since I don’t know how to do anything really without putting my heart on the line. Though some would say it’s a strength, more often it makes me feel like an idiot for putting all of my eggs in one basket.

I’m too short with people that matter to me—my siblings, my roommates, etc. Though mostly unintentional, there’s a subconscious side of Serena that knows just how to push people’s buttons in exactly the way it will hurt most.

I still can’t keep my room clean for more than 2.8 seconds. I’m twenty freaking years old, and yet somehow I can’t input enough energy to keep entropy from increasing all day, e’ry day.

I still can’t say “er’y day” without sounding like a fool.

I take a very, very long time to forgive myself. It’s like there’s a part of me that wants to pay penance by repeatedly beating me up for my mistakes.

I’m sentimental to the point that it’s almost gross. (Like, I just threw up a little in my mouth just thinking about it.) I mean, it’s not so bad when it’s just like “oh, hey, remember when we…”, but when it gets to the point that I’m like “GAH WHY SO MANY MEMORIES I CAN’T REVISIT”, it’s kind of a problem.

I live under a rock—a fact established by a friend in freshman year English that I’ve owned up to ever since. I’m more introverted than I’d like to admit. Which is fine, of course, but I have a tendency to draw away from people when I need them most. Ouch.

Though this hasn’t been as much of a problem recently, I still find my emotions difficult to express. Like, I’m still not comfortable crying in front of 99% of the people I know.

Oh, and that reminds me—somehow, my tear ducts are only active when it’s a totally inappropriate time. They’re more active when I’m frustrated at my own stupidity, rather than when I should be sad with someone else.

I’m not as comfortable in my own skin as I would like to be. I mean, I love most things about me, but somehow I still find myself comparing my hair/body/life to someone else’s.

I’m still scared of my own shadow—and by that, I mean I’m scared of the dark parts of me…the monsters that I have that I still have to fight back. Thank God I can fight them with Christ by my side, or else this one would be a lot scarier.

I let my thoughts run away from me and take my sanity with them. And maybe that makes me a daydreamer, but at the very least it means that I have trouble living in the present. More often, I’m mentally stuck in the past or wondering about the future—it’s so hard to just be here.

—

With all of this criticism, you’d think I hate myself—but I don’t. Because despite my shortcomings and failures and flaws, I know the truth:

I am loved.

I am redeemed.

I am God’s precious child.

I am not defined by my mistakes.

I can forgive, because I am forgiven.

I am precisely where He wants me to be.

I am washed clean in the blood of my Christ.

I have hope, because He is still writing my story.

I have value and worth in the sight of my Creator.

I have peace in knowing that He hears my prayers.

I have a heart that is filled to overflowing with His joy.

I am known intimately by my Heavenly Father, and He loves me anyway.

I have access to His unending grace, and His mercies are new every morning.

The one about singleness…

Disclaimer #1: I know what you’re thinking. Not another one. Because everyone and their pet rabbit has already blogged about relationships and this is just going to be another ridiculous and rambly one to add to the massive collection. Well, yeah, probably. Or not. Guess I’ll just let you decide for yourself at the end.

Disclaimer #2: I’ve sat down to write this blog post (or one like it) probably about a dozen times, and each time, I’ve gotten just a few sentences in before just deleting the whole thing. And, quite honestly, it’s because relationships are simply a sticky thing to discuss, and I might offend somebody. In other words, if you don’t wish to risk being offended, just stop reading now. Or not. You could also keep reading and blame me later. That works too.

Disclaimer #3: Before I get going with this, I do want to settle one question: I think marriage is awesome. God designed marriage as a lifelong, intimate relationship between a man and woman, and I think that it’s an incredible thing (not to mention a beautiful metaphor of His relationship with us!). But it is not the ultimate goal. Not like I’m all wise-beyond-my-years and could tell you what the “ultimate goal” actually ought to be (other than live a life that glorifies God), but at any rate, marriage definitely isn’t the thing that makes life complete. Not like this is shocking news to any of you, but I feel like marriage is a bit over-romanticized in a lot of Christian circles, so I thought I’d throw my two cents out there.

As of late, I’ve heard a whole lot from everywhere about singleness—what to do, what not to do, how to be “happy”, and the like. Oh yeah, and my personal unfavorite: “waiting”. And every time I read someone’s thoughts on the subject, I get frustrated by the undertone of “someday”. Someday I’ll date/court the right way, someday I’ll meet my future spouse, someday I’ll get married. And that’s great and all (after all, the majority of the American population will be married at some point), but here’s the thing: marriage isn’t a guarantee. Nowhere in the Bible does it say, “And I shalt make thou married before thou reachest old age”. Like seriously, can we stop treating singleness as this lame period of waiting? Because actually, a) singleness can still be awesome and b) you might never get married anyway (or at least not necessarily when all of your friends do); after all, God has a plan for your years of singleness too (whether they’re for the span of eight years or eighty)…they’re just too precious to waste.

Can I take a second to comment on the fact that I really hate one little mantra that I hear ALL THE TIME: “You’ll find love when you stop looking for it.” Well, crumb, if that’s the case, then I’m definitely going to be an old spinster for life. Can we please stop treating love like it’s this reverse psychology trick? I’m pretty sure that’s not how this works…if being 100% content with singleness is what it takes for one to get married, then you’ve got a lot of explaining to do. Here’s the thing: we’re human. Not like that’s an excuse to throw the prospect of contentment to the wind and be a love-thirsty vampire, but I do want to point out the fact that in reality, we all kind of fail at contentment. So, no, I’m not going to stop looking for love, exactly, but I’ll do my best not to let it consume me.

While I’m talking about things I hate…I need to shoot down a verse that I hear all the time in single circles: “Delight yourself in the Lord; and He will give you the desires of your heart.” (Psalm 37:4) Most of the time, I hear people quote this to prove that “well, because I desire marriage, God knows that and He’ll give it to me”. But you know what else the Bible says about the heart? “The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked; who can know it?” (Jerimiah 17:9) So, um, I’m pretty sure we’ve been reading Psalm 37:4 wrong. To quote a dear friend, “Yeah, God’s going to give you the desires of your heart, but first He’s going to change those desires.” It’s great to want marriage and all, but just because you want it doesn’t mean you’re going to get it…God has the capacity to completely revamp what you think you want, because He’s just that cool. Not to say that God won’t give you your heart’s desires, but in the end, He’s the one working on your heart in the first place.

Another thought: although one of the many perks of marriage is this incredible partnership and devotion to a lifelong best friend whereupon you make lots of miniature best friends, it is indeed possible to have that companionship with other incredible Christian men and women, even if you’re not married. Like, there’s a reason that God calls His people to be part of the body of Christ. There’s this little thing called community. And you don’t have to be married to experience it.

I’m sure that this post has been oh-so-joyous to read thus far. Great, Serena, I get to live in a cubicle for years until I become an old miser and die in my house full of cats. That’s not what I’m getting at. Because statistically speaking, you probably will get married. But I hate seeing so many of my friends living in the world of “someday”…that’s why I’m trying to emphasize the fact that God has plans for you right now, regardless of your relationship status.

So you might be wondering, “Well, Serena, I hear what you’re saying…but how are you actually living this out?” Oh, I’ll be the first to admit that I’m absolutely awful at it. I’m probably the most impatient person I know, I can’t count the number of hours I’ve spent daydreaming about L-O-V-E, and I’ll even admit that yes, I have a wedding board on Pinterest. Because yeah, I really do want to get married. Of course I do. I want someone to dance with in the kitchen, to help me raise a family, to fight by my side when the waters get rough, to kiss me on the forehead, to grow old with… but when those dreams turn into all-consuming desires, I’ve got my priorities wrong. And when it comes down to it, I know I’m an integral piece in God’s plan even in my singleness…if I choose to live with my head in the clouds, I know I’m going to miss out on a whole lot.

So what now? I don’t know, honestly. I wish I had a formula to give you, but if such a thing actually existed, I wouldn’t be writing this blog post. I don’t think there’s really a set of strategies to “make the most of singleness” or be perfect at contentment or anything along those lines…there’s just living life, and making the intentional effort to live it alongside Christ, wherever you happen to be. And yeah, I’m just as much of a failure at it as the next guy, but hey, that’s why there’s grace. Single or not, I know I still need a whole lot of it. In the meantime, I’m just going to keep plugging along the best way I know how. In the end, I know that God has a whole heck of a lot in store for me…I just can’t wait to find out what He has planned.

A confession…

I have a confession to make: I’m a country girl. Okay, okay, you all knew that already. So much for my confession. But still, after living in a city for a few months, although I love it, I’ve come to realize that it’s rather different than living in the country…I really am a country girl at heart.

In the city? Rushing cars.
In the country? Rushing wind.
In the city? Impossibly steep city blocks.
In the country? Impossibly beautiful hillsides.
In the city? Freeways and toll bridges.
In the country? Windy back roads and dirt driveways.
In the city? Radiators and space heaters.
In the country? Woodstoves and bonfires.
In the city? Clusters of towering buildings.
In the country? Clusters of towering oaks.
In the city? The nighttime chorus of traffic.
In the country? The nighttime chorus of crickets.
In the city? Static.
In the country? Solitude.
In the city? Streetlights.
In the country? Starlight.

My dear countryside, I shall be back to enjoy you in all of your splendor in a few short days…save a little starlight for me, okay? (;

Of restlessness, inadequacy, lostness, emptiness, and yearning…

Thinking back to when I was just an oblivious little junior in high school (yes, I know that was only three years ago…but three years is significant when you’re only nineteen) and first started to play with the idea of moving to the Pacific Northwest one day, I think I overly-romanticized it a little. I knew I would be moving to an eclectic, diverse city with a million things to do and dozens of rainy days and coffee shops on every corner—all of which is true, by the way—but I had no idea where it would bring me spiritually. And, to say the least, it aches. For the first time in my life, I’m living hundreds of miles from home (six hundred and twenty-two, to be precise), attending a college where I’m quite a bit younger than everyone else in my classes, and uprooted from almost everything familiar. Not as though that’s a problem; in fact, I’m enjoying trying something new, but to be unplugged from so many things I love and, by default, having to find new things to love has left me feeling so strange inside.

I don’t think there are proper words for it, actually (I blame the English language for lacking the exact vocabulary that I’m looking for), because the only ones that come to mind are negative ones…restless, inadequate, lost, empty, yearning…but I don’t feel like I’m living in spiritual raincloud at all, yet to some extent, I do feel those things. I’ll do my best to break it down, but I’ll be impressed if it makes perfect sense…

Restless:
After living for some time with a life that was fast-paced and busy and out-and-about, I became accustomed to having a full schedule. But now, although I’m attending a “real” school, working part-time, and filling in a few of the cracks with church and adventuring and volunteering, I’m still finding myself with more downtime than I know what to do with. I know that this ought to be regarded as a blessing (who would argue that free time isn’t?), but as silly as it sounds, it’s extraordinarily hard for me to take some of that time to just be still. Call me ADD if you like (quite honestly, I think it’s just called being human, but that’s another story), but when I have as much time at home as I’ve had recently, I find myself restless. Yet, despite my restlessness, in that quietness, I’m alone to sort out my own thoughts and listen to the still voice of Jesus speaking to my heart. And for that, I am grateful.

Inadequate:
Now that I’m working as a tutor in a public school and seeing firsthand exactly what is required of a teacher, I’m coming to the realization that there’s a lot more to it than I had initially thought, and quite frankly, I’m scared. As if I could really teach a class of junior high or high school students when the only thing that separates us is a couple more years of school and a “Miss” at the beginning of my name? My prayer has often been, “Really, God? You’re calling me to this? But…I can’t…I don’t know if this is something I could ever do…” But in that inadequacy, I feel His reminder that HE is enough and will provide precisely what I need to be successful where He had called me…and on top of that, when I am weak, He is strong. And for that, I am grateful.

Lost:
I have no idea what I’m doing. Like, really. There’s not a better way to put it. Sure, I have a little bit of a plan, but I’m nineteen years old and already in GRADUATE SCHOOL. I guess I thought that maybe I’d have a few more years to figure out what I’m doing with my life….but in a year and a half, I’m going to be done with my master’s degree and off in the “real world”, before any of my peers have even graduated from their four-year colleges. Well. Then what? I’ll be qualified to teach (Lord-willing!), but that’s all I know…and it drives me nuts not knowing. And right here, where I’m feeling more lost than I ever thought I would, I have confidence in the fact that God already has my life planned out, will open doors that need to be opened and slam shut doors that I shouldn’t enter, and He will ultimately lead me where He sees fit. After all, the mind of man plans his way, but the Lord directs his steps. And for that, I am grateful.

Empty:
This one is the hardest for me. And, unfortunately, this is the adjective that I am least satisfied with. It’s not entirely accurate. I have never felt so simultaneously full and empty at the same time…full of joy in living a season of life that is so exciting and new, but empty as I pour out love into the lives of the people I encounter, with little return on investment. I interact with plenty of people up here, but am not particularly close to many of them…yet, my natural reaction is still to try to give them what love that I can, but they don’t always return the favor. It’s not their fault, exactly…this is a product of my own wiring. Decidedly, my love language is physical touch, but since I’m not closely connected with many people up here in Seattle, finding someone to fill that need for love on a daily basis is difficult feat. And, consequently, I wind up feeling like I’m running on empty in that aspect…I don’t feel “unloved”, but I do frequently find myself pouring out more love than I feel that I receive. But right here, in my emptiness, I am filled with His grace. And it reaches right down into the depths of my heart and satisfies my otherwise hollow soul. And for that, I am grateful.

Yearning:
Again, another hard one to explain, and I think it’s because I don’t even know exactly what it is that I’m yearning for. Something…more. I kind of feel like a fish out of water here in Seattle, like I’ve been planted where it’s hard to grow, and I need something more to be satisfied in a new place. And it’s funny, actually…I was out for a walk yesterday and was sorting through my thoughts and found that particular one. And right then, I passed by a building where there was a random clump of grass growing in a gutter. Like, two stories in the air, there legitimately was just a weird little plant growing smack dab in the middle of the rain gutter. Wanting to feel poetic, of course, I told God, “God! See that? That’s exactly how I feel. I don’t feel like I’m supposed to be growing here.” And I’m sure God laughed. Then I remembered that there’s a difference between me and that clump of grass: I was planted. God put me precisely where He wanted me, and He will provide what I need to prosper in this soil. I am reminded that Christ is the vine, and I just get to be one of the branches, and I’ll be cared for by God the Father, the master gardener. And for that, I am grateful.

You know what excites me? This is just the beginning. I’m only a couple of months into my season of life here in Seattle, and I’m excited to watch God pen the next bit of my story… And for that, I am indescribably, incredibly, unfathomably grateful.

Cloudy days and cups of tea

Something about cloudy days just makes them extra-happy…I kind of love the Pacific Northwest for that very reason. Maybe it’s just because the weather lends itself so well to tea and afternoons curled up with good books.

And it gives opportunities for happy little pictures like these. (P.S. I kind of love the black-and-white filter on my iPad camera.)

Life is good. (:

Chains

(This is a poem I wrote recently….sorta rambly, but I’m planning on using it for a poetry slam, so I think it’ll work for its purpose. =))

 

The scrape of metal on metal
still reverberates through my memory.
A slave to the silent screams of those iron chains…
Hello, Pain.
Hello, Guilt.
Hello, Shame.
And countless others I cannot bear to call by name.
These chains I forged myself, link by link, yard by yard
Till their weight was my constant companion.

I daily stumbled under the burden
That I knew was slowly sapping every scrap
Of what was left of me.
The cold steel bit into my flesh and my bones
and tore it to shreds with its unearthly jaws.

No one saw the scars,
buried beneath a perfect guise of
wealth
success
fame.
Until the day the mask
cracked.
And all the scars left by those rusted chains
were severed anew.

Lost.
Helpless.
Alone.
Clinging desperately to the life I used to know.

Until
I fell
before a Man
with kind eyes
and scars in His hands.
And at His touch,
one
by
one
the chains dropped.
Oh, that last sweet clatter of cold iron
As it was dashed to pieces at His feet…

I didn’t deserve to be freed
from those bonds, the very slavery I decreed.
To exchange my chains for robes of glory
To let Him pen the words to my new story.

What name could befit a love like this?
What crude, earthly title should
describe this sweet exchange?
I think of the disgrace of a harlot
Exchanged for the purity of a virgin.
I think of a liar, a cheater, a killer,
Seen as healer, giver, friend.
I think of me; everything wretched and filthy in my life,
Nailed to a tree with the man they called Christ.
An antiquated word comes to mind,
from the catacombs of my memory:
Grace.
Truly, there is no greater love than this…