Tuesday, October 19, 2010

I have been neglecting blogging and journaling entirely for a while. Afraid that, if I write something, then I will be forced to think too much about too many things. But here I go again. I want to document this last year of school, because I think it’s going to be full of a lot of things-good, bad, every beautiful thing in between. Over the past year or so, I’ve been realizing that I don’t have to plan. Life is a collision of events, orchestrated by a God who is much more wise and powerful than I will ever be. Each collision happens to spur you to a place you would not have thought to go for yourself. I have dreams, I have goals. But mostly, I have faith to take each step, big or little, with what little strength I have, knowing that I am being carried.
This weekend, I went on an Unplugged retreat with a church I have been going to for a while. It would take post after post to explain the impact this church has had on me. But this retreat topped it all. I found a home. I heard from the Lord. I was emptied of all the crap that was taking over myself, and filled with joy and peace. But we did something that I never would have thought to do.

We took 2x4s across our shoulders and ran up a steep, curvy hill. It was symbolic of taking up our cross and dying to ourselves. To me, this has usually been an over glorified idea that leads to focusing on ourselves, but this was not the case. Since we were in the mountains of Arkansas, I couldn’t breath because of my allergies to pine trees, so I started out at a disadvantage. They said we could walk or run, but I wanted to feel the spirit push me physically as he’d been pushing me spiritually, so I took off running. I was tired and sweaty, sore and out of breath, my shoulders hurt and I could barely stand when I finished. But that’s nothing compared to what Christ experienced. The cross is not a pretty stained glass window. It’s not a silver charm on a chain hanging around someone’s neck. It’s dirty and sweaty and bloody. It’s a reminder of how it must be God’s will and not ours, even when we are begging him to take the cup from us. It’s a challenge for me to push myself for the sake of the Cross, and that’s a sad part about how I live. But something in me died last weekend so that I could actually remember what it feels to be alive again. And it is Christ carrying the ends of the beams, lifting the burden and keeping me from falling flat on my face.




the cross

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