The Squat Pen

Moving

2011-07-28T01:43:00.000-07:00

I am moving off of Blogger. I have started at new WordPress blog, which you can find here: http://cotidiecharisma.wordpress.com/ Hopefully I will post there more regularly than I did with the Squat Pen. Cheers!

Beautiful Everyday Things

2011-06-01T12:21:00.000-07:00

I am one of many writers working on this collaborative blog that celebrates the beauty we find in everyday things. We are two days old, but already there are several posts up. This is a wonderful read; check it out!

https://beautifuleverydaythings.wordpress.com/

The Squat Pen will remain a blog for personal hoo-das and whats-its. Cheers!

Revelation and Revolution

2011-05-02T21:17:00.000-07:00

Today was one of those days. You know, the long to-do list, end-of-the-semester stress, sickness, personal crisis... all the usual symptoms of a college student who has hit rock bottom. And then God spoke.

But we're ahead of ourselves. The start of the day was to rise after four hours of sleep, finish packing, and head back to Biola. Discouraged by how little work I had accomplished over break and the mountain of deadlines looming ahead of me, I was focusing on taking things one step at a time, slowing chipping away at the tasks I had set for myself. Because I didn't get to campus in time, I missed chapel, for which I was grateful. It meant I could organize my emails and other such details before my day exploded in busyness. I headed over to spiritual direction but had a half hour before my appointment, so I sat at a table in the grass under the shade of the trees and finished my email. The day was hot, and with the breeze and the lazy conversation of happy people, it felt like summer. "I should go outside more often," I thought. For the first time in a while I felt a sense of peace.

In spite of this, I was anxious about going to spiritual direction. I underwent the exact process I had with my previous appointments: feeling a strong desire to cancel because I had too many other pressures and because I didn't have things figured out, or even know what I was going to talk about. But, as I told myself, spiritual direction isn't for people who their life together or who have things figured out, and anyway, it would be cowardly and selfish to back out twenty minutes beforehand. My director started us with several minutes of silence. A true blessing, because I needed gather my emotions. I wanted to be able to think clearly, but four hours of sleep and stress do not lend to stable tear ducts or coherent thought processes. At the end of the silence, she prayed to open us up, thanking God for the time of quiet that we had in that place and asking that we would carry that peace and rest into our lives, and have hearts receptive to His love.

I won't go into detail about what I said. It would be impossible to organize it anyhow, because it all tumbles out in a stream-of-consciousness fashion. Essentially, I told her that I had been able to feel God's presence in most areas of my life, that I saw Him responding to my prayers, but that I didn't hear Him speaking to me. I said that I was frustrated with my inability to reconcile the apparent contradictions of the Bible and I was discouraged and dissatisfied with the abrupt, incomplete resolution to Ecclesiastes' philosophical struggle. I expressed my confusion at the tension in my life between the benefits of accomplishing the ambitions which seem God-given and the call to lay down in green pastures which had been persistent in my mind since the beginning of my sickness.

She told me that she had wanted to read Psalm 23 to me, but that she had felt it was too cliche to begin a session with such a well-used piece of scripture. She also said that my frustration with Ecclesiastes' lack of clarity might reflect my own frustration with the tension of work and rest in my life, something I had sensed but been unable to admit. Our discussion didn't resolve any of my questions, but it brought order to the chaos of my thoughts and emotions. I realized that the problem might lay in the fact that I was not ready to sacrifice my desires concerning my life for God's.

Still processing, I went to eat lunch alone in the cafeteria. Just to have something to do, I pulled out Mere Christianity. I had been trying to read a chapter every morning as a devotional, but that had fallen apart during break, and I hadn't looked at it for a couple days. To my surprise, I found that the chapter was incredibly relevant to my situation. I have chosen those sections which really stood out to me:

"The Christian way is different: harder, and easier. Christ says 'Give me All. I don't want so much of
your time and so much of your money and so much of your work: I want You. I have not come to
torment your natural self, but to kill it. No half-measures are any good. I don't want to cut off a branch
here and a branch there, I want to have the whole tree down. I don't want to drill the tooth, or crown it,
or stop it, but to have it out. Hand over the whole natural self, all the desires which you think innocent
as well as the ones you think wicked—the whole outfit. I will give you a new self instead. In fact, I
will give you Myself: my own will shall become yours.'

Both harder and easier than what we are all trying to do. You have noticed, I expect, that Christ
Himself sometimes describes the Christian way as very hard, sometimes as very easy. He says, "Take
up your Cross"—in other words, it is like going to be beaten to death in a concentration camp. Next
minute he says, 'My yoke is easy and my burden light.' He means both. And one can just see why
both are true.

...The terrible thing, the almost impossible thing, is to hand over your whole self—all
your wishes and precautions—to Christ. But it is far easier than what we are all trying to do instead.
For what we are trying to do is to remain what we call 'ourselves,' to keep personal happiness as our
great aim in life, and yet at the same time be 'good.'

We are all trying to let our mind and heart go their own way—centred on money or pleasure or
ambition—and hoping, in spite of this, to behave honestly and chastely and humbly. And that is
exactly what Christ warned us you could not do. As He said, a thistle cannot produce figs. If I am a
field that contains nothing but grass-seed, I cannot produce wheat. Cutting the grass may keep it short:
but I shall still produce grass and no wheat. If I want to produce wheat, the change must go deeper
than the surface. I must be ploughed up and re-sown.

That is why the real problem of the Christian life comes where people do not usually look for it. It
comes the very moment you wake up each morning. All your wishes and hopes for the day rush at you
like wild animals. And the first job each morning consists simply in shoving them all back; in
listening to that other voice, taking that other point of view, letting that other larger, stronger, quieter
life come flowing in. And so on, all day. Standing back from all your natural fussings and frettings;
coming in out of the wind.

We can only do it for moments at first. But from those moments the new sort of life will be spreading
through our system: because now we are letting Him work at the right part of us. It is the difference
between paint, which is merely laid on the surface, and a dye or stain which soaks right through. He
never talked vague, idealistic gas. When he said, 'Be perfect,' He meant it. He meant that we must go
in for the full treatment.

It is hard; but the sort of compromise we are all hankering after is harder—in fact, it is impossible. It
may be hard for an egg to turn into a bird: it would be a jolly sight harder for it to learn to fly while
remaining an egg. We are like eggs at present. And you cannot go on indefinitely being just an
ordinary, decent egg. We must be hatched or go bad.

...What we have been told is how we men can be drawn into Christ —can become part of that wonderful present which the young Prince of the universe wants to offer to His Father—that present which is Himself and therefore us in Him. It is the only thing we were made for. And there are strange, exciting hints in the Bible that when we are drawn in, a great many other things in Nature will begin to come right. The bad dream will be over: it will be morning."

A few hours after reading this, I ran into some friends on the way back to the dorm. I hadn't seen them since the beginning of spring break, and I hadn't realized how much I missed them. They tried to convince me to go to the park with them, where they were shooting a short film project and hang out. I declined, though I wanted to come, because of the mountain of work waiting for me when I got back to the dorm. They continued to plead with me, insisting that I could finish my work later. Finally I caved into their and my own desires and went with them. We spent the end of the beautiful afternoon by the lake, walking around and watching the ducks and geese. It was so relaxing, and such a peace settled on me that I wasn't worried about the work ahead of me, even when I thought of it. I knew that I was meant to be there, enjoying the day and the time with my friends.

When we returned to campus and went our separate ways, I finally went back to the dorm. When I reached my door, there was a note with my name on it sticking out from the crack. Thinking it was a note from a friend or an RA, I went inside the room to read it. This is what it said:

"Remember last semester? That was when you did nothing but work. This semester God is calling you to do two things: to do good work, and pursue relationships. This means focusing on growing intellectually and as a good neighbor. I hope, future self, that you can look back on this semester and see your spiritual maturity flourishing. Let God's plan be your plan. Amen"

As I read it, I was thinking, "Who could have written this? They must be really familiar with everything that is going on in my life," and then I saw the words. "Future self," I thought, "What?" At last, it hit me. I wrote the note. At the beginning of the semester, I had attended a mandatory floor meeting (the only floor meeting I have attended to date) where our RAs asked us to write a letter to ourselves. We were to give them the letters, and they were to mail them to us at the close of the semester. I had completely forgotten about this, and I was floored by the perfection in the timing and the content of the note. In no way could I have known at the beginning of the semester that these were the words I needed to hear now. Stunned, I realized that the note had been crafted not by my hand, but by God's. Through divine inspiration, my thoughts and emotions of three months ago had been molded so that they might be relevant to me at this precise moment. God was speaking to me.

I felt awed that the voice of God, manifested in a person, a book, and a letter, was having a conversation with me. My prayers were no longer a one-way street, a fax to heaven. God was actively using all the elements of my life to respond to my doubts and my questions, my requests and my desires. I wanted to cry for joy, but the great stillness of my soul overwhelmed the emotion of the moment, and I was left with my wonder. It was a profound revelation of my mind, and a call to a revolution of my spirit.

"The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside still waters. He restores my soul. He leads me in paths of righteousness for his name's sake.

Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me. You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies; you anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever."

Hymn on a Day of Rain

2011-03-20T19:15:00.000-07:00

Where is the fire, Father,

that burned in my heart

those days past?

You do not change,

you did not put it out,

but still it did not last.

Was it the clouds of grey,

the uncertain sense of a storm

that put the fire out?

No longer black and white,

the skyline’s dim and hazy,

expressing all my doubt.

It’s raining everywhere now;

the whole world weeps,

and I cry to feel again.

I know that water cleanses,

showers bring new life;

but first comes the pain.

My tears touch my face with salt;

I wonder if I have to weep

to find the flavor in my soul.

Must passion equate with suffering,

can there be no other cup?

Surely trial is life’s great toll.

Is not fire the greatest passion,

do not flames also purify?

Then, Abba, set me ablaze!

You created me a fire-water,

always at war with myself;

teach me harmony as I praise.

You called me to be a light,

so I stare into the dark

and I am too afraid.

But “it is you who light my lamp;

the Lord my God lightens my darkness”

so, Father, come to your daughter’s aid!

Start your holy fire in my heart,

flood my soul with lucid grace;

let me reflect your light’s beam.

I give you my fears and burdens

in exchange for your free joy;

Father, you are my new dream!

"Express yourself," they said. So I wrote a poem.

2011-03-11T11:06:00.000-08:00

I am.

The golden-haired child

who dances on her father’s feet,

barefoot, foot-loose and free,

abandoned to her wild joy.

The girl who climbs trees

to see what the world looks like,

who runs in the wind and rain

just to feel she is alive again.

The teenager who is held captive

by her mind and its invention,

who rides to freedom on a horse

whom she loves more than life.

The young woman who loves

but doesn’t know the direction

or the object, only the passion

for something more than this.

The adult, given great freedom

and so also great responsibility,

who loves to read, write, think,

and comes to college to learn how.

The daughter who is grown up,

but will always be Daddy’s girl

and, in her mind, heart and soul,

will always have a Father.

I am His.

Psalm 1 Rewritten

2011-02-26T16:09:00.000-08:00

For a writing assignment, I had to rewrite Psalm 1 as an acrostic. If you can't figure it out, my version spells THELAW over six verses which imitate the original psalm. I was told to use my "landscape" to inform the poem's content and style. This is the (feeble first draft) result:

The woman is blessed whose eyes reject false beauty,

whose ears ignore the deceptive whispers of desire,

whose mouth shuts against judgment and gossip.

Her felicity is found in the Word of her heavenly Father;

it is written on her heart throughout the days,

occupying her mind when she lays down to rest.

Ever in joy she blossoms, like a radiant red flower blooming

on the desert cactus that never dies for want of rain,

for it holds its hope of life within, and is always green.

Look how the wicked suffer their own misfortune:

they are like tumbleweeds buffeted in a wind,

dead, lonely, without rest in all the dry desert.

All those whose hope is in the law of the Lord will stand,

ready for the judgment, joined together with the righteous;

but the wicked and the sinners will not be found among them.

Well does the Lord know the hearts and minds of all,

their souls like books, open for him to read in full;

the righteous will be taken up, the wicked thrown to the fire.

I See the Light

2011-02-11T23:33:00.000-08:00

Over the last week I've been feeling a lot of doubt about my major. I haven't really been doing much of anything film-related lately, and I've been focusing more on my Torrey work. It feels more important to me, and in some ways it is. The Torrey program is probably the best possible path to follow for spiritual, mental and personal growth. But it has been taking over my life, and I've felt guilty about neglecting my other passions. I even began to doubt that they were anything more than vague interests. After leaving my non-Torrey desires on the shelf, they got a bit dusty.

Today I took down those old desires and dusted them off. In the afternoon I helped a friend with her directing project and I remembered how much I loved being on a film set, even though this was really just two film students, two actors, and a camera. Later in the evening I went to the opening night of Into the Woods. Before it started, there was a Q&A with the vocal director, one of the main cast, and the assistant director Amick Byram. Amick talked about the importance of storytelling and what a huge role it has played in history. This woke the slumbering storyteller inside of me, and seeing the play proved to me how influential a story can be.

I was very encouraged to find that I still very much enjoyed these previous passions of mine. It was encouraging to realize that I had neglected but never abandoned them. The joy of working on a film and seeing a play has inspired new confidence in me that I truly am in the right major. I am, have always been, and will always be a storyteller. I need to learn to balance my time between my passions, but half the battle is realizing what my passions are. Tonight I have remembered my passions, and I call them my own. I have remembered that I am passionate.

Now I'm here
Blinking in the starlight
Now I'm here
Suddenly I see
Standing here
It's oh, so clear
I'm where I'm meant to be

And at last, I see the light
And it's like the fog has lifted
And at last, I see the light
And it's like the sky is new
And it's warm and real and bright
And the world has somehow shifted
All at once
Everything looks different

Brains over Beauty

2011-02-09T01:22:00.000-08:00

One of my many struggles has been to find time to fulfill all of my various ambitions. Throughout high school, the highest among these (in my mind) have always been: become well-rounded and accomplished, build strong friendships, cultivate my relationship with God, have a hot body. In that order. Looking at the list, it is easy to spot the thing that doesn't belong, but thanks to a culture with a screwed (and I mean that in both senses) view of morality, having a "hot" body made the list. Thankfully, I never lost my sense of the other things that are truly important in life, but thoughts and desires for my appearance were always in the back of my mind, festering, feeding insecurities. My moral compass was out of wack.

Recently, I've been able to reset my priorities so that they look like this: cultivate my relationship with God, build strong friendships, become well-rounded and accomplished, be healthy. The first three in the list I often attend to out of order, but the Holy Spirit has been sending me a lot of reminders about what comes first, and I'm working on putting that into action. Notice, however, that there is still a fourth item on the list. It is a legitimate priority, and I am dedicated to making sure that I take care of myself. But. Under this healthy heading, I have still managed to squeeze in the idea of having a nice body, a Hollywood body, a body which I am not designed to have.

In our Torrey session tonight we discussed Plato's Symposium under the director of the program, Dr. Reynolds. We talked about many hard and heart-wrenching things, but there is one topic I want to address specifically. We observed, both in the text and our knowledge of culture, that the attractive people garner the most attention from the public, but they are not the intellectuals of our society. This is not because beautiful people are stupid. It is because the attractive people (in the view of society) have to spend too much time on their appearance to be well-read and generally informed. You cannot have both brains and beauty, unless you are fortunate enough to come by them naturally. The simple fact of the time involved forces you to choose one or the other. And tonight, I'm choosing brains.

If I want to accomplish the first three things on my list, I don't have time to spend worrying about having a hot body. I can still be healthy, but spending extensive time working on my physique every day is just not possible. I've known this for a long time, but now I've come to accept it. I don't want people to give me their attention because I'm attractive. I want them to give me their attention because I am interesting, intelligent, informed, and unique.

Someday, God willing, a man will fall in love with me. He will love me not because of my beauty, but because of my brains. More importantly, he will love me not for what's in my head, but what's in my heart.

That's who I want to be.

Why we read, and why we read what we read

2011-01-18T21:38:00.000-08:00

Sound familiar, Torrey students?

As I was struggling through Brothers Karamozov today with the sort of low concentration levels that usually only come with lack of sleep and a distracting roommate, I started wondering why we read. At all. What's the point of spending 30-40 hours on a book? (Somewhere in there is the time it took me to finish Anna Karenina.) Ironically, the answer to my question came from the very book that caused me to wonder.

" ...young men do not understand that the sacrifice of life is, perhaps, the easiest of all sacrifices in many cases, while to sacrifice, for example, five or six years of their ebulliently youthful life to hard, difficult studies, to learning, in order to increase tenfold their strength to serve the very truth and the very deed they loved and set out to accomplish - such sacrifice is quite often almost beyond the strength of many of them."

The sacrifice of time and energy that my reading requires is often almost beyond my strength. But I have always kept at it, because I knew it was important somehow. But why? I realized after reading the passage above: we read that we might better serve the truth. For all people, Christian or otherwise, their goal should be to learn, understand, and apply the truth to their life.

There is so much more to this quest for the truth, but for the moment I offer it simply as the answer to why we read. We read to seek the truth, and we read what we read because it is the best way to find the truth.

One Word

2011-01-15T23:41:00.000-08:00

Just a day or so ago I stumbled upon an interesting site... stumbleupon.com. While it has its faults, I have found some really neat things through it. While searching under the topic of writing, I stumbled upon a little site called oneword.com. It's very simple: every day it feeds you a word, and you have 60 seconds to write the first thing that comes to mind. It's brilliant - a fast, easy and painless writing exercise that forces you to jump right into your idea and tell it fast. I generally don't work well under pressure, particularly when it comes to writing, so this is the perfect tool to get me used to writing with a time limit. Also, it doesn't allow for rambling (which I'm prone to). I'm really excited to be using it. Here's my very first try:

Edition

It was the first edition. He couldn’t believe it. Years of searching, traveling the world… His fingers went to it, slowly, hesitantly. Should he dare touch it? It was a dream… so fragile it might shatter with that first touch, along with everything he had ever hoped for.

Writing: Fact #1

2011-01-10T23:36:00.000-08:00

If you sit in a dark closet long enough, you'll think of something.

Rest (By Faith)

2011-01-08T18:37:00.000-08:00

In my walk with God, I've learned that I hear him best through observing patterns in my life that are too blatant to be ignored and coincidences too incredible to be accidental. Looking back on the past few days, I saw that this had happened yet again.

For a very long time, I have found it hard to truly rest. My dad and I were talking about it last night, and I realized that I don't even know of one thing in my life that fully rejuvenates me. I have forgotten, or never understood, the meaning of recreation. That is, re-creation. I need to find ways to be created afresh. The reason I have been unable to is because I put so much pressure on myself to do well in every activity. My stress stems from a desire to be great. That in itself is not necessarily a malign desire, but it is based upon a lack of trust in God and his plan for my life. Faith is putting your trust in someone, and so it is only by faith that I will find rest.

God has been trying to tell me this for the past several days, and undoubtedly beyond that. I have continued my reading of my father's book, and while I have been enjoying it, I realized today that I have not really been paying attention to what it is saying. The messages of the book marry into God's voice, trying to speak to me. God is always thinking about me, I will never be forsaken, I can give God all my worries, God is being good to me in all situations. If I had heeded these messages, I might have understood the way towards peace, but I did not.

I ended up breaking down in the middle of the park, in the middle of vacation, in the middle of break, in the middle of all good things that should lead to joy. As usual, I only saw the truth after hitting rock bottom. Today, I read in my dad's book about Hebrews 11, the chapter which is often entitled "By Faith". I know now that I was right in my thoughts last night about the necessity of trusting God. What's funny is I accidentally skipped a chapter ahead in the book, so I shouldn't have read that till tomorrow. But it's no coincidence that I opened to the wrong page, because it wasn't the wrong page. It was the right page at the right time.

The Road to Yosemite, January 2nd

2011-01-04T22:20:00.000-08:00

This day has gone on for two days,
never sleeping. Wide open eyes
watch the time traipse round the room
until it's time. The start didn't stop at the end
of yesterday, but I begin it all again today.

Rising with the sunrise, I stuff
afterthoughts into my backpack
and get the dog. I load us into the car,
in the back behind my parents,
like extra luggage. We're just as quiet.

We drive, but first we break for bagels.
The men in the shop smile and joke,
one mentions the New Year.
I feel that they too know this
first day stretched into two.
It's a new beginning, an early morning
early in the year that came just in time.
We all need a clean slate.

We hit the road again.
The sky, sensing the change, opens up
like an opportunity, a door of dreams.

My parents go over groceries in the front,
the meaningless dialogue of happy people
that means everything. I listen to their voices
without the words, leaning into my pillow.
At last, I am ready for rest. The last sight
before I close my eyes is a gray sky
stretching on like this day that's never put to bed,
even when, with a blanket over my head,
I sleep.

I wake to a whirlwind of tumbleweeds
tossing, blundering, rolling down the road.
Dad brakes and swerves to evade them.
I look out the front window at the windstorm
and see a video game where we loose our last life
if we crash, and I just laugh.

I drift into a doze.

I'm roused from my repose to rain.
It paints us human Dalmations,
drops dotting our clothes as we run
into a fast food place for lunch.
The downpour continues as we drive
carefully through the highway spray.
I have a vague view of vineyards
through the tears falling sideways
across my window until, with
my still veiled vision, I mistake
the mountains and the mist.

I know we have reached them as the road
winds high and the rain turns to snow.
They say to us that we need chains
and Dad battles the wet and cold
while we, the women (and dog), sit still.
I feel useless as we watch him struggle;
chivalry is so strange. Finally he succeeds
and we make our cautious way upward.

As though through an unseen door,
a railway platform or an old wardrobe,
we pass on into a magical world.
Snowflakes falling soft strengthen
and band together to build up banks
of white wonder beside the road.
Trees towering tall like lovely ladies
are wearing a wardrobe of spun silk
and diamonds, small like sparkling sand.

Down this road our cabin awaits us
like an old friend, squat and stoic, familiar.
Like a sigh, it lightens the weight of worry.
Even though the wooden walls hold a surprise -
the power is down -we don't mind the dark.
We set a fire in the hearth and settle down
together around its warmth.
We are happy here.

I fall asleep surrounded by family
in front of a flickering fire,
and at last the long first day
ends.

Truth and Light

2011-01-02T02:10:00.000-08:00

Seven years ago my father wrote a book called Truth and Light. Until this day, I had not read past the dedication. This had always been a regret of mine, but I never bothered to do anything about it besides feeling appropriately guilty. Now that I have finally gotten beyond those words penned on the inside of the cover to the printed text, I realize two things. Number one: the time I spent berating myself for being a bad daughter was a complete waste because number two: "To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven." (Ecclesiastes 3:1) and number three: God has impeccable timing. Below is the dedication my father wrote to me, dated September of 2003.

"To my Rachel,

You are so special to me and I love being your Daddy! I hope this book helps you learn more about how much God loves you.

I love you with all of my heart,

Daddy"

Seven years ago my father wrote me a dedication, not knowing how much I would need to hear those words as an 18-year-old at the verge of a new year and at the end of her wits. Since the beginning of my break from school (though the history of the issue runs much farther back), I have been struggling to define my priorities. I have many, many goals which, coupled with an unfortunate desire to see them all come to fruition immediately, leads inevitably to failure, lack of sleep, irritability, and low self esteem. I often find myself swept up in the whirlwind spirit of the age which is "Hurry, hurry, hurry! You'll sleep when you're dead!" This happened to me yet again when I looked out at the six-week expanse of free time ahead of me and immediately began planning productivity. In my ambition, I forgot the necessity of rest and my total dependence on God. I cannot believe it is mere coincidence, then, when the introduction of book I've been meaning to read for seven years speaks directly to these issues.

"We are able to communicate, travel, be entertained, receive and manage information in ways only dreamed of a few years ago. This flood of options and information creates complexity. We must choose from a growing number of possibilities and it is expected that we will make those choices faster so that we can 'keep up' and not 'fall behind.' But this assumes people can continue to make more decisions in less time, and yet not sacrifice the quality of their decisions and therefore the quality of the outcomes. It's in the nature of things that this kind of scenario will result in confusion, frustration and anger. Since depression is anger turned inward, is it any wonder in a time of unprecedented wealth, luxury and options for the 'common man' that depression is the curse of our age? People in our culture increasingly resemble a child's pet hamster that runs madly on its wheel but gets nowhere."

-Gregg Harris, Truth and Light

This paragraph describes exactly everything I've been going through these past few weeks and everything I've been battling these past few years. I continued on to read the first chapter, and found the book again addressing my struggles. The chapter speaks of the absolute truth of God's love for me. Like a thirsty traveler who comes upon a spring in the desert, I was amazed upon finding these words of affirmation during a time of deep self-doubt. "If the God of the universe cares enough to write each of your days into his book before you draw your first breath, then your life is filled with meaning." Lately I've begun to question everything in my life, feeling hopelessly lost and wondering what my purpose is and where I'm headed. This statement, grounded in Psalm 139:16, was an assurance that God has a unique and wonderful plan - not just for the world - but for my life. If there's one thing I've learned from a semester of Torrey, it's that context matters. I decided to read Psalm 139 to be sure I was hearing God's words and not just the words of the book.

"You have searched me, LORD,
   and you know me.
² You know when I sit and when I rise;
   you perceive my thoughts from afar.
³ You discern my going out and my lying down;
   you are familiar with all my ways.
⁴ Before a word is on my tongue
   you, LORD, know it completely.
⁵ You hem me in behind and before,
   and you lay your hand upon me.
⁶ Such knowledge is too wonderful for me,
   too lofty for me to attain.
⁷ Where can I go from your Spirit?
   Where can I flee from your presence?
⁸ If I go up to the heavens, you are there;
   if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.
⁹ If I rise on the wings of the dawn,
   if I settle on the far side of the sea,
¹⁰ even there your hand will guide me,
   your right hand will hold me fast.
¹¹ If I say, “Surely the darkness will hide me
   and the light become night around me,”
¹² even the darkness will not be dark to you;
   the night will shine like the day,
   for darkness is as light to you.
¹³ For you created my inmost being;
   you knit me together in my mother’s womb.
¹⁴ I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
   your works are wonderful,
   I know that full well.
¹⁵ My frame was not hidden from you
   when I was made in the secret place,
   when I was woven together in the depths of the earth.
¹⁶ Your eyes saw my unformed body;
   all the days ordained for me were written in your book
   before one of them came to be.
¹⁷ How precious to me are your thoughts,God!
   How vast is the sum of them!
¹⁸ Were I to count them,
   they would outnumber the grains of sand—
   when I awake, I am still with you.
¹⁹ If only you, God, would slay the wicked!
   Away from me, you who are bloodthirsty!
²⁰ They speak of you with evil intent;
   your adversaries misuse your name.
²¹ Do I not hate those who hate you, LORD,
   and abhor those who are in rebellion against you?
²² I have nothing but hatred for them;
   I count them my enemies.
²³ Search me, God, and know my heart;
   test me and know my anxious thoughts.
²⁴ See if there is any offensive way in me,
   and lead me in the way everlasting."

As I read, I began to cry, for every word spoke directly to my troubles. Verses 1-6 told me that God knows me deeply and is always watching me because he cares. 7-12 confirmed what I have already learned from experience: that I cannot hide from God, and even in my disobedience he is guiding me. 13-15 told me that I am a beautiful creation, something I needed desperately to hear. 16 told me that I have a purpose in God. 17-18 were a statement of truth and a reminder to always be listening for God's voice, because I am ever in his presence. 19-24 showed me the meaning of true obedience so that I might make it my desire for this next year and the rest of my life.

This Psalm, along with everything I read tonight, was a testament to my worth in God's eyes, and proof of his faithfulness. It cut to my core like a double-edged sword, a wonderful and welcome wound. I find healing through my pain as I begin to see the truth and the light.

Digging

2011-01-01T23:13:00.000-08:00

Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pen rests; as snug as a gun.

Under my window a clean rasping sound
When the spade sinks into gravelly ground:
My father, digging. I look down

Till his straining rump among the flowerbeds
Bends low, comes up twenty years away
Stooping in rhythm through potato drills
Where he was digging.

The coarse boot nestled on the lug, the shaft
Against the inside knee was levered firmly.
He rooted out tall tops, buried the bright edge deep
To scatter new potatoes that we picked
Loving their cool hardness in our hands.

By God, the old man could handle a spade,
Just like his old man.

My grandfather could cut more turf in a day
Than any other man on Toner's bog.
Once I carried him milk in a bottle
Corked sloppily with paper. He straightened up
To drink it, then fell to right away
Nicking and slicing neatly, heaving sods
Over his shoulder, digging down and down
For the good turf. Digging.

The cold smell of potato mold, the squelch and slap
Of soggy peat, the curt cuts of an edge
Through living roots awaken in my head.
But I've no spade to follow men like them.

Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pen rests.
I'll dig with it.

-Seamus Heaney