I finally see I'm worth it

For the first time in a long, long time, I finally see myself as beautiful.

I don't mean for that to be an egotistical statement. Quite the contrary, it is one of the most humbling statements I have made for a while. For the past year or so, I have struggled with my self image, comparing myself to other women, coveting their looks, their grace, their figure, their hair (nah, I always liked my hair), but their attitude, the list could go on and on. But tonight, after two amazing sermons, a couple hours of photo shoots, and one powerful merciful Savior, I can say: I am beautiful.

I could also look at the woman I have envied for 6 months and see that I am beautiful just like her. And again, not in an jealous, envious, "I have bigger eyes that yours" way. But in an appreciative, we are unique, and God made us both beautifully and wonderfully. I cannot express how freeing that moment was.

But sidetracking from physical beauty, this feeling of self-worth all started with the acceptance that who I was on the inside was beautiful, too. Most people who know me wouldn't deny that I am loud, full of outbursts, and occasionally abrasive. I am easily excited, and my body and vocal chords don't hide it. This nature of mine, although I knew couldn't be squashed, seemed to be the polar opposite of a "quiet, gentle spirit." And isn't that what Christian woman are supposed to have?

So am I not a Christian? Am I not behaving like a woman?

It took my current boyfriend, Michael, to show me that in my random outbursts, I could still be attractive. And not just attractive, but appreciated. And not just appreciated, but enjoyed. There are plenty of attractive women who are not enjoyed by others. But to finally find someone who said, "I enjoy your loud mouth" and who encouraged me to not hinder my emotions...oh my gosh, what a huge shadow of things to come, and by that, I mean the unyielding love of Jesus Christ.

I've always been self-conscious of my chest size. It took my friend Marc, who does not believe in Christ, to remind of me God's love for me: "You say you're a Christian. If you believe in God, then you believe that God made you who you are for a reason. So you should shut up and love yourself and your boobs, too." It was something like that.

In another example, I was (again) my own prophet. I was teaching the middle school Sunday School class about spiritual gifts, and said, "Why, if we believe that the Creator of the Universe didn't make a mistake in creating the earth, do we believe that He made a mistake when He created us?"

Scripture says that the Lord created the earth, the sky, light, trees, and people, and said: "It was good." Scripture also says that we are fearfully and wonderfully made. Scripture ALSO says that we have been saved by grace, NOT OF OURSELVES, and that the Lord has chosen us to work in His Kingdom until His return. Then WHY do we assume He made a mistake when we observe the personalities and physical attributes He has blessed us with?

My producer, Brandon Pfieffer, and I were talking about my voice quality on the CD. I confessed that I didn't like my voice because I could always find someone better. His response was that he could really grow to appreciate his voice by hearing the certain nuances that only he had, and he could love others' voices because of their nuances as well. It was in the imperfections that he found something worthwhile.

I pray for each and every one of God's children that we would see that we are beautiful. And that we would realize that we are worthwhile, in spite of or BECAUSE of our imperfections. And all of this is because of Jesus Christ, who loved us first, enough to die for us. If He had to die for me so that I would be worth something to God, who can I profane His death and say I'm not?

The I AM says I am.

When swept over by the love of Christ
I see myself as He sees me
Wretched, sinful, and depraved
Beautiful, loved, and finally free

No More Uncharted Desert Islands?

Last night a friend showed me the new feature of Google Maps: Street View. You can put in an address, and if the town is charted, you can see the street...as if you were standing in the middle of the street. For instance, I typed in my address and up came a photo looking directly at my house. BUT THEN I could turn the camera around 360 degrees and see my neighbors' houses and their cars. I half expected to see my dog.

This is pretty creepy, if you ask me. I can see the benefit of it, but still...It makes me feel like Big Brother is really watching, and he's driving around in a truck with a camera on the back taking panoramic pictures of where we live. Creeeeeepy....

But then I started thinking. With satellite imaging, Google Maps, and now the upcoming Street View, I realized that there are probably no more new uncharted territories to be discovered. Sorry, Columbus, we've found all the New Worlds. Sorry, Gilligan...in this day and age, you'd be found in probably a week episodes time.

This makes me sad. The sense of discovering something new, that no one has ever found, is so exciting to me. Like a secret hideout, only in the form of an island or tropical forest. But Google's got them all charted. And I can visit them without even going there, thanks to Street View.

I want to discover something new. I suppose that's why I enjoy the zoom feature on my camera. I have a photography album entitled "Finding Significance in the Insignificant". Instead of macroexploration, I can go on my own microexploration, discovering parts of flowers and insects I'd never notice. It's quite amazing when something as small as your pinkie nail suddenly has intricate details.

So, my challenge to myself: if I can't find an uncharted desert island, I guess I can start discovering the deeper levels of what has already been found.

See ya around, Gilligan.

E=mc2 (Elise is Morbidly Controlling 2x over)

“Whenever there is a sort of free radical coming into an equation,

it kind of bounces off everything in the equation.” - Danny Pino

I think I should start a new blog entitled, "Therapy with John." If not a blog, I think it would be a great musical, maybe a one act. You have your protagonist, let's call her Elise, and the musical chronicles her journey thru her sessions with her therapist (obviously, his name is John). The opening number is her first session, where she explains why she has come although she's not sure it will do any good. But the musical also chronicles her moments of eureka, talking to her mom (mom's are always involved in therapy), her attempts to implement what she is learning with her boyfriend, ect. The musical ends with her final therapy session, wondering if all of her quirks and eccentricities have been cured, or at least to a point where she has accepted herself for having them.

I think it would be a smash hit.

I'm sure most of you have realized by now that this musical is autobiographical. When I told my friend I was going into therapy, she said, "I did that too. It's really great to do it sometimes." And she's right. Talking to someone who went to school for asking questions is great. And they're trained to listen, which is really good for a girl like me who is a master at talking.

I've been recently tackling the issue of control and insecurity. Ever since I can remember I've felt confident about myself. I knew who I was, I knew what I wanted, had a clear idea of what I could and could not do (which includd compromise), and just felt sure about everything. I mean, I didn't know exactly what was happening in the future, but for the most part, I had a pretty good grasp on the directions of things in the "here and now". The only time I didn't feel that was in 5th grade, when the popular clique dubbed me their target of rampage. But even then I knew they weren't right. But I wasn't sure if who I was was right either.

My confidence and parental support allowed me to pursue whatever I wanted. And there was a sort of "mathmatical equation" to things: you study hard = good grade. You practice hard = leading role in a musical. Even when I studied hard and didn't get a good grade, I could usually identify where I went wrong (key word, wrong), study that harder, and nail the second test. In short, when I did the right thing, the right outcome occured. When I did the wrong thing, I was punished.

But is there right in wrong in all things? Do all good steps of action lead to good results? Do all bad steps produce bad results? For example, take the ever elusive "love." Do you have to feel a certain way, do certain things, think certain thoughts, and pray certain prayers in order to arrive at the oh-so-coveted award of *MARRIAGE*??? ( I imagine a choir singing "ahhhh" at that word) Or is there such an equation to life, career, children, ministry, or simply (haha, simply) figuring out God's plan? If 2+2 always equals 4, does Person A = Job A = Ministry A = God's Plan A? And if you make a mistake, does God's Plan B come into action, with Person B, Job B, Minsitry B, blah blah blah.

Is life always so calculated, especially in a life of grace?

John (my therapist if you forgot) and I discussed my deep fear of making wrong decisions that would thus result in missing or losing God's blessing. He then asked when in my life I had received blessings based on grace. Basically, when did something "not add up" and the result was still good? I took me 3 LONG minutes to finally think of two examples (aside from salvation, which I still struggle with sometimes). I could only think of TWO. And even now, 23 hours later, I can only think of TWO.

This was interesting to me. I haven't really experienced grace, at least in a tangible way. Everything has just added up. The results have always made sense. And this has given me two awful expectations:

1. The right steps MUST produce the right results, no exceptions.

2. Make a mistake and you'll get the wrong or second-best result.

I know that God and His plan is bigger than an equation. But I have yet to really experience grace in a profounding way. Or at least in a way that characterizes my life more than Calculus. Whether the Lord jogs my memory or brings these events into my life is His call.

Becoming my parents...

We all know the story of Freaky Friday: a girl and a mom mindlessly wish to switch places, and poof! They're in eachother's bodies for some period of time.


I suppose I had my own Manic Monday moment today. I was at work, thinking about things other than work, when I suddenly realized I was like my dad. Usually a girl would say "I'm turning into my mother" but I already knew that was true. I've had that drilled into my head since I was about 5. "You're just as stubborn" "You look just like her" "Kathy, is that you?" "What a Fowkes!"


But I realized that many of the quirks manifesting themselves lately are my father's. For instance, when I was a kid, my dad would insist on reading me poems. I'm not sure if it was his tone of voice, or his choice of poetry, but I hated it. I'd much rather he sing me a song than read me a poem that didn't make any sense to me. Looking back, I think I secretly liked it, because I'd always end up smiling, but then insist, "No, I didn't like it."


I was such a brat.


But I must have liked it, because now at 22, I find myself fawning over poetry, and most often those that my dad read to me. I'll probably read poetry to my kids, and if they're anything like their mother, they'll insist they hate it, too.


Another example. My dad used to sing all the time in the morning. This puzzled my mom, who wondered what kind of man she was dating that whistled showtunes while making breakfast. But then she visited her in-laws, and heard the same song coming from the kitchen, only this time, my grandmother was singing it. This phenomenon startled me as well. I mean, how did two people know the same song to sing in the morning?


But then here I am, waking up, taking a shower, and walking thru the halls of my school, humming to myself, "Good morning, good moooorning. Ain't it great to stay up late? Good morning, good morning, to you!" I think the kids have the same reaction on their faces as my mom had toward my dad.


Oh yeah, what triggered all of this was that I have started writing little limmericks in letters I've been writing. I realized that my dad did this ALL THE TIME. Usually they were cute, but no Walt Whitman. But he really enjoyed them. He'd always ask me if I liked his poem. I'm not sure if he wrote them for me, or for himself. I suppose it might not really matter. And now I'm doing the same thing, almost instinctively.


I'm a mess.


What makes this even more interesting is that I didn't even confer with my father before adopting these traits. It's not like I said to myself, "My dad likes poetry, so I will too!" Or, "My dad doesn't associate politics with religion, neither will I!" (I'm still working that out) Or my favorite, "My dad doesn't take things at face value; so I'm going to ask 100 questions too!" I just...well...did. I admit that I'm a daddy's girl, but more so for affection and the occasional $20, not to adopt his behavior.


Maybe it's the nature within me, or the nurture that raised me, but either way I'm becoming my parents. Which must mean I'm becoming an adult.


Aren't YOU lucky?

Jesus, the Wimpy Shepherd?

There's a song I love called "Someone to Watch Over Me." My favorite lyric says, "I'm a little lamb who's lost in the woods; I know I could always be good to one who'll watch over me." Thing is, when I think of these lyrics, I think of myself first: the poor little lamb crying "help me" in the big dark woods. Rarely do I consider the one whom I'm singing about, whom the song is written for: the one who will watch over me.

I do the same thing when I think about Jesus as my shepherd. I think more on the fact that I am a lost sheep, wandering, stupid, and helpless. Even when I read Psalm 23, I think more about myself than whom the Psalm was written for: God, Jesus as the Good Shepherd.

Sermons I remember tend to emphasize how we are sheep, and we need a shepherd. They go on and on about the parallels between people and sheep, and then wrap up the message saying, "And that's why Jesus is our shepherd. Follow Him." But it's always the culmination point, never the whole point.

Today's sermon was different, though. Finally! I finally found myself looking at John 10 and Psalm 23 with one purpose: who is this Good Shepherd? Why does He call Himself the good shepherd? And why a shepherd? It has to be more than just because people are stupid sheep...

I'm not going to rehash the whole sermon. You can visit www.eccbloomington.org and find the webcast for February 3rd (I think we do webcasts...). But one part of Jesus' character struck me that hadn't before: shepherds are warriors, and they fight for their sheep.

I've always thought of shepherds as leaders: calling the sheep to follow, making sure they don't wander off, and then going to find the lost ones. I mean, this is what is described in Psalm 23:1-3, green pastures, still waters, paths of righteousness. And all the while, I have this string orchestra theme song playing in my head, like you'd find in Little House on the Prairie. Everything's serene and peaceful, and every once in a while, Jesus gives a little chuckle at how silly his sheep can be.

But then Bob (our senior pastor) talked about the instruments a shepherd would carry. Psalm 23:4 says that "Your rod and your staff comfort me." Usually I picture this as two big sticks. But Bob explained that a rod was a long stick with a hook to bring the back wandering sheep. Nothing new to my peaceful scenario.

But then he talked about the staff. This isn't like Gandalf's staff. It's a short stick with a nob at the end and sharp pointy things sticking out. This is what the shepherds would use to kill whatever might be attacking the sheep. Bob then reminded us of King David of the Old Testament, another shepherd, who killed a wolf, lion, and bear (oh my!) with his rod. I mean, that's pretty tough! I'm not even sure I could do that with a shot gun, let alone be in arms reach to cobbler the head of a animal trying to kill me.

Honestly, I forget that Jesus fights for me. I see Him usually as the one ahead of me saying, "Here Elise, this way. No no, not there...over here." I see Him calling me away from danger, not fighting it off. What a docile Jesus I have formed in my mind! If only I could see Jesus as Revelation describes Him, with all the victorious and somewhat gory detail. But at the same time not lose His gentleness and love.

I think the best way I've seen this captured so far (aside from Scripture) is in the movie Narnia when Aslan first appears. I don't know about you, but I always wonder what the voice of God sounds like. Well, so far, I choose Liam Neelson. He captures the essence of authority and tenderness so well. When Aslan first speaks, you can't help immediately respect, revere, and yet want to give the lion a hug (okay, maybe that's just me). I wanted to post the video, but YouTube said no. But I encourage you to watch the movie or click the link and you can see what I mean.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BdT7CHdmWco

We are lost sheep, but more importantly, we have a Good Shepherd. A Warrior Shepherd. One of holiness, tenderness, and vicious courage. He is our leader, provider, and protector. I'll leave you with Psalm 23. Please pray that the Holy Spirit would reveal to you God's character rather than what we get.

He is the one who watches over me.

1The LORD is my shepherd,
I shall not want.
2He makes me lie down in green pastures;
He leads me beside quiet waters.
3He restores my soul;
He guides me in the paths of righteousness
For His name's sake.
4Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I fear no evil, for You are with me;
Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me.
5You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies;
You have anointed my head with oil;
My cup overflows.
6Surely goodness and lovingkindness will follow me all the days of my life,
And I will dwell in the house of the LORD forever.