Then There was Snow

At the moment it is 7 degrees outside in Grove City, Pennsylvania. And it's only going to get colder.

At the moment there are quite a few inches of snow on the ground in Grove City, Pennsylvania.  And it's only going to pile deeper.

And everything in me wants to complain and wish for spring despite the fact that it's January 27th and as we all know, spring is almost always fashionably late here.

But somehow, something in me wants to look out the window and smile because it IS beautiful.  It IS wonderful.  It IS amazing.  Even though we've had enough.  Even though it's cold.  Even though we have to shovel our driveways.

Because humans have this strange ability to only see the bad when they're looking right at a fountain of good.

I do this all the time. I mistake full for empty, love for flattery, silence for indifference, neediness for hypocrisy, and the list goes on.

And personally, I don't like winter.  I don't like the fact that it's going to be -23 degrees tonight.  Or the fact that I know it will still be snowing in March.  Or that the worst month of the year - February - is creeping up faster than we think.

But I don't want to just grit my teeth and get through it.  Because if I keep doing that my life will be over before I know it and all I will be able to say I did is "survive".

Don't you want more than that?

To string all of these half-formed thoughts into a somewhat-whole one, what I want to say is this.  I sometimes hate winter.  And snow.  And cold.  But God created this season just like every other, and He wants so much more for us than to just get through these grueling 3 (or 4...or 5) months.

He wants us to see the beauty.  Even if the beauty is in the hope.  Even if the hope is in spring.

But looking outside, even as I write this, my heart sinks a little, thinking, will the cold ever end?  Because looking at the frozen world now, I can't imagine it being green again.

This frozen world is our fountain of blessings.  Each day, each hour, each season of our lives come with their own blessings and their own trials.  God gives us a choice.  He doesn't say "suck it up and get through".  He doesn't say "love every moment with a sunny smile on your face".

He simply asks us to see it as a blessing,
see it as a promise,
see it as hope.

"Rejoice in hope, be patient in tribulation, be constant in prayer."

~Romans 12:12

...Love, Anna...

Hold Out Your Hands

So. Since the last time quite a bit has gone down in this little life of mine.

One. I took a hop, skip, and a jump across the pond and spent two weeks in England.

Two. I turned the sweetest of numbers - 16.

First of all, I must say that I am astonished by how much my two weeks in England have changed me.

I mean, really.  God is amazing.  To sum up my trip and all it opened my eyes to, I wanted to share with you my last journal entry from my trip - my "conclusion".

Though I can't wait to be home at last, I can't help but feel a little pang of sadness leaving behind the greatest adventure thus far in my 16 years.  I will miss England dearly.  It holds a richer and longer and more vibrant history than any I've ever known.  

What have I learned?  So much.  So much, in fact, that more than anything, this trip has made me crave knowledge more than ever.  There's so much I want to know, to see, to experience.  And the world is so much bigger than high school and Grove City, PA.  There are so many people and so many stories that I'll never know.

And God.  God is evident throughout history.  He is sovereign.  He is wise.  He is loving.  He always wins in the end.

And cities.  Too much a swarming chaos for these meek eyes and tender heart.  Too much noise and too many lights and not enough blue sky and not enough living for all the lives that find homes there.

And stained glass windows.  They pour into my heart like they know me and want to fill me but can't because they portray heaven but do not contain it in themselves.

And martyrs.  Make me wonder in confused aching: Would I die for You?

And confidence.  I have more perspective, more hope, more direction, and assurance of who I am and what I ought to become.

And mortality.  Too many monuments, too many tombs, too many "memoriams", and Latin I can't understand and faces I'll never see.  And people, lives, love - gone  as soon as they came and forgotten in the same moment. 

And immortality.  How we weren't made for this world - not now, not ever.  And we will live or die, forever.

And believing.  How Jesus is the only thing I can hold onto.  How He is always there, always shining, even when I turn my back, even when I doubt the sun is there behind the clouds.  

And I am not running away anymore.  I am crawling, walking, flying, until I reach You.  Before then, I will learn Your world so I can know You better.

Talk about being "full".  God has really filled my life in the past few weeks by showing me His world and His love for me, and for all.  

And as I sit here on my bedroom floor writing this, I look around my room, and think for the first time in so long, "I truly am full". 

I am full of new knowledge and new perspectives.

I am full of family that loves me more than I deserve.

I am full of friends who are more than I could ever ask for.

I am full of music.

I am full of laughter.

I am full of the LORD.

All I had to do is hold out my hands to Him. 

...Love, Anna...

One Word 2014

It hardly seems like it's been an entire year since I chose my "One Word 2013".
But here we are in 2014.

I wish I could tell you that I've had multiple deep and sudden revelations about my word for last year - "living sacrifice" - but I haven't.  I never had an "aha!" moment when I finally figured out what being a living sacrifice really meant.

Instead, I trudged along through the year, through change, blessings, brokenness, hope, new friends and old friends, tears and laughter.  I learned that being a living sacrifice doesn't mean always being joyful, always being kind, always being Godly.

Instead, I think it's not how you behave in trials, but what you learn from them.  It's getting hurt, but forgiving.  It's being lied to, but still being honest.  It's loving without any expectation of being loved.  It's hoping without any real evidence of what is hoped for.  It's letting go of pain even when it would be so much easier to stay bitter. It's trusting His will, even if it's not your own will. It's refusing to be cynical, judgmental, selfish, conformed, when all the signs around you tell you that's what you should be.

I've learned that it's hard.  It's really, really hard.  I haven't mastered the skill of being a living sacrifice.  Not even close.  And I've also learned through the many wanderings of my heart and mind, that at the end of the day, it's really the only thing I want.  It's the only thing I can give to Him for all He's given to me.

"This year," I've chanted time and time again in my head, "This year I want to be different."

This year I want to be new.  This year I want to be full.

I want to be filled with His love,
with His peace,
with His hope,
with His joy.
I want to fill others with all of the gifts He has given me.
I want to feel the fullness of
His light.
I want to be full of Him,
of God,
of Jesus.

Because nothing - and I mean NOTHING - in this world is going to fill us up the way He will.

This year I want to get back to that one simple notion.

I just want to be full again.

So there it is.  You have my word.

And as 2014 brings, well, whatever it may bring, my prayer is that God will fill our lives with the fullness of His love and of His grace and of His hope.

...Love, Anna...

The Greatest of These

Today being December 22, and Christmas being December 25, I've come to realize that I haven't even thought much about Christmas this year.

No, my life's been too "full" of other things to worry and complain about that I think, subconsciously, I refused to take the time to rejoice in the one thing I've always had.

As some of you may know, my life has been (or at least has seemed to be) a never slowing, ever-steepening, always moving roller coaster since this August.  And every time I think I've finally found my footing again, some new change occurs and I find myself thrown into another swirling storm of change.

Change.

Nothing ever seems constant to me anymore.

And as I came to realize that I haven't rejoiced in a while, I also realized why.
My heart has become so hardened.
Hardened because of change.
Hardened because things haven't turned out the way I wanted them too.
People have disappointed me.
I have disappointed myself.

But I guess the truth is that nothing in this world is constant, and never will be.  We can't keep searching for some source of hope, some perfect love, or some fulfilling peace.  Because nothing in this world can ever grant us that.

And even though these past four months, to put it frankly, have sucked, I think God's point in all of it - not saying I've enjoyed any part of it or have been anywhere near gracious about anything - was that He, and ONLY He, is constant.

He is our source of hope, our perfect love, our fulfilled AND fulfilling peace.

And if I'm being honest, I've been no where near the type of person I know God made me to be in far, far too long.

So if there's anything you take from this messy rambling from a messy, rambling heart I hope that it's this:

"Now these three remain; faith, hope, and love.  But the greatest of these is love."

1 Corinthians 13:13

Let this time of year remind us, even though we should always be reminded of this, of the love God has for us.  So much love that He would give us His only son.  That a human woman would bear him.  That He would live among us.  That He would walk this Earth.  That He would live. That He would die.  

It's about time this old heart of mine came to face these facts again.  To accept His love.  And to hold onto Him as my One and Only and True constant in this ever-changing, ever-disappointing world that never ceases to fill me with holes I can never repair on my own.

I wish you all a very Merry Christmas and pray that even as you and your family eat and drink and open presents, you will find 

the hope

and the joy

and the peace

and the love

that God,

our Constant,

gave,

and gives,

freely.

...Love, Anna...

In the Morning

I've been thinking about this lately.  Thinking, wondering, hoping, I suppose.

Thinking that maybe I will find joy in the morning.

Wondering what exactly "finding joy" means.

Hoping to someday find it.

Reading this verse, I can't help but feel a little cynical.  Because, honestly, I don't feel joyful in the morning. In fact, most mornings I mutter some nasty words in the direction of my alarm as it beeps me to consciousness, stumble into the bathroom, and hope that by some magical mixture of caffeine and Psalm-reading I'll suddenly be "joyful".

But digging deeper into this verse I find that though it promises joy, it's really telling us to have hope.  

It's saying that the sun will rise again, the trees will have leaves again, the night will come again, but the stars will shine again. 

"In the morning" may not literally be when you wake up every day.  "The morning" could take weeks, months, years to find.  The point of the verse is not about how easy "the night" is going to be.  It's not saying it's all going to be just fine, it's not saying what you're going through is fun or good or right. 

All it's trying to say it that, once you're through to the other side - to the light, the newness, the hope of the morning, there will be joy.  

Sometimes I think we're all living like this.  Somewhere right beneath the surface - wanting to come up for air and light - but some tiny bit of us still dragging us under, keeping us just inches away from the joy we would find above the surface.

We are all in this state at some point in our lives, whether we know it or not.  We're never fully on shore, and we're never completely drowning.  But if we hold on to that little glimmer just above us - that hope, that light that morning brings - we have been promised that we will find joy.

...Love, Anna...

You Can't

Dear whoever reads this,

I'm not gonna get up on my glorified soapbox and pull an "I have a dream..." speech from my back pocket and change the world.  

But I do have a dream and I suppose this is kind of my soap box.  

I guess I just want someone out there to know - I don't know who you are or why I want you to know this - that I understand you.  Because I know someone out there is probably wondering if anyone does.  I wonder that too - all the time.

So I just want to say that it's okay.  That you'll find your place and your people and your purpose.  And that maybe it will take time.  Years, decades, maybe your whole life. 

What's the fun in knowing exactly where you're supposed to go and who you're suppose to be?  The fun is in the not knowing.

If you're still reading, I'd like to give you just one piece of advice.  One thing to carry with you on your journey to who knows where on this road that seemingly has no end. I want you to know that people are so much more complicated than we'll ever know.

You can know someone for years and tell them everything and know all their secrets, and you still won't know the depth of their person completely.  

We can't say we hate someone when they've hurt and cried and felt all the same things we have.

We can't hate that tangled mess of humanity. 

We can't understand the things people do and say until we've understood everything they've seen, heard, and been told.  We can't know them.

I want you to know this because I've found, thus far in my short life, that the most beautiful people are sometimes the ugliest souls.  And the outcasts, the hated, the rejected, the lonely, are sometimes the most beautiful. 

I can promise you that if you look, if you try hard enough, you will find

friendship in the strangest of places,

hope in the most desolate tears,

beauty in the greatest of pain,

strength in times of struggle,

and love in our most beautiful Savior.

I can promise you that 

friends disappoint you,

sleepless nights of thought 

leave you void of reason,

dreams you thought were concrete plans

tumble down and leave you broken,

places where you used to find refuge

will turn their back on you.

But in all of this, I can promise you that

if you hold onto Him,

if you keep praying,

even if it's lame,

even if it's tears and no words,

even if it's once a year,

and you feel like He's left your side,

and you feel like you've fallen too far,

I can promise you that

you haven't

and you can't

and you won't ever

fall or flee or fly or run or sink

far enough or long enough or deep enough

to be removed from 

His love

and His grace

and His forgiveness.

So whoever you are, and for whatever reason the Holy Spirit prompted me to write this,

I pray and I hope and I believe that you will understand

and be understood.

Love,

Anna

The Fall

The last time I stopped by to say hello, outside my window there were brightly colored leaves.

Now I sit looking out the window at near-bare trees with sprinkles of dead brown just hanging on for dear life, waiting, it seems, holding their breath, almost, until the wind picks them up and carries them home.

And I sit here thinking, well isn't that just what we do?

We bud, we bloom, we blossom into green.  We absorb the rain, reject the sun.  We change, slowly, slowly, to new hues.  To red, to orange, to yellow.  We grow tired and decay.  And then we hang on, trembling, brown, to the tiniest of branches, until we

fall.

Until we blow away.

Isn't that just what we are?

Brown shaking leaves on brown decaying trees, drifting, one after another, to the earth.

What's the beauty in that, you might ask?

What's the beauty in holding on?  What's the beauty in falling?

I think the beauty is not in the new green of spring, or the steady vibrancy of summer, or the brash rebellion of autumn.  The beauty is in those fading days of fall, when the night gets darker and the sky grayer.  It's in the barren months of winter, when the once fully-clothed trees are but skeletons.  It's in the hope of another season, of new life and new rain and brighter sunshine.

Because as we hang on, dead leaves on gray twigs, God is whispering to us that we needn't be afraid to fall.
Because, He, who knows so much more than what we understand, promises to make us new.  Promises that His mercies are new every morning.  Promises that this life and all its troubles, will pass away.  And promises a new life for all those that trust Him enough to

fall.