chag yom yeshua

My aunt had a roll of Christmas wrapping paper with cats on it.

That's not very Christmasy- say you.

Oh, but wait. The cats wore santa hats.

And, underneath each snapshot of the varying cat varieties was written: meowy Christmas.

That cracks me up. Someone says Merry Christmas! I think, Meowy. Meowy Christmas. Sometimes I even say it out loud.

The Cats didn't make a cameo this year, although I seriously considered free-handing it on the wrapping of my dad's present (Mark Twain Autobiography. SO NEAT). Then I thought better of it- considering when I tried to draw a unicorn on the outside of a letter I recently sent to a friend, I managed to make the unicorn iodine deficient evidenced by a massive (unintentional) goiter on his magical unicorn neck.

Gross.

But it was a good Christmas. How could it be anything else? Kansas City with family. Excellent food. Card games. Spending the first few hours of the day sitting in the living room with everyone drinking coffee, talking, reading. Oh, is this heaven? Ok. I'll take it.

The first time my immediate family has been all together in 8 months. Come on people, let's not do this to each other again. Too long.

Meowy Christmas.

high school reunion- i shudder at the thought

I'm doing it again... doing that stalling thing (i just typed that stalin thing--- no. not obliterating peasant and jews in Russia).

I decided that I'm going to turn over a new leaf over this break. I'm trying to take myself seriously, truly I am! But I'm laughing at myself as I survey my room and see that nothing has really changed at all yet. My clothes are already strewn haphazardly around my room. My guitar is on my bed. The keyboard is next to my bed... I can barely bring myself to play it anymore. What a pitiful excuse for a piano.

But, the big game plan was to work out and then get real crafty this afternoon. Work on some spectacular christmas gifts for people that are precious to me. But thus far, I have a big fat $0 and I'm sort of praying for a miracle of a babysitting job to open up or for some horrifically wealthy stranger to knock on my door and say,

"Hello. Here's $10k to spend on Christmas presents for everyone that you know and love."

Dream Big, right?

I can still turn over this new leaf. I really haven't given up on myself yet. I'm about to go put on my boots and grab my ipod and head over to the park district workout facility... seriously hoping that it's not an impromptu high-school-reunion. I can see it now:

(cue chime and xylophone music)

Picture Rachel, sweating, heaving over the elliptical machine, cursing the SDR and Baccis for all that they've done to my physique, and in walks So-And-So.

"Wow. Rachel you look...."

Gross? Sweaty? Pale? Fatter than when you were 18?

"Ha.. [huff and puff, huff and puff] Thanks! You look..."

About the same too. Good, I don't feel so bad.

"So, what are you up to these days?"

"I go to Bible College."

"....cool. See you later."

Yeah, because everyone knows that us Bible College kids do mega proselytizing at the gym.

When we smell bad.

I highly doubt it would go that way. People are usually a little bit gracious when they see you at the gym, because they know that you're working out and can see that you're making genuine strides to maintain-- whatever. I'm rambling now.

I guess the part of this scenario that kills me is the response that I get when I say I go to Bible College. People making one million assumptions, usually beginning with- "Oh. She wants to be a nun! Or a Priest."

I don't want to become either. In case you're reading this and wondering the same thing.

But why do we become non-entities when people find out not only are we believers in Jesus, but especially when we are ordering our lives around getting to know Him better and that our careers will involve some kind of ministry.

I don't really understand it.

Off to the gym.

can you even button your pants still?

Submit.

It's sort of a strange word. Dictionary says it means to "accept or yield to a superior force or authority or will of another person" or "consent to undergo a certain treatment or process"

Maybe I should have read the dictionary before I prayed for a heart that would submit to the Lord. I mean, obviously, it's what I want to be doing. I really do want my heart to accept the authority of the Lord above all else. But what about undergoing the certain treatment or process? Did I really want to sign up for that too?

So funny how when we pray for growth in some area, the Lord always gives us opportunities to work it out. [How convenient.]

Clearly, from the dialogue that my heart has been having with the Lord today, no I do not want to submit to the process of sanctification. I think if I were actually submitting to the Lord I wouldn't be giving myself permission to be emotionally pounding away on my computer. Or I wouldn't be storming around my room frustrated that my pants don't fit unless I make a slipknot with a hair tie to pull them up like a pregnant lady (actually, very martha stewart of me if i do say so myself).

How can I give myself permission to act a certain (ahem, sinful) way if I am actually submitting to the Lord-- accepting his authority, sovereignty, sanctification as the canopy that I live under?

I think that's just it.

I can't.

No, Rachel. You may not start crying because you're not sure what you're feeling or why you're feeling it. No, Rachel. You do not have permission to blow of quiet time with the Lord because you are just desperate for some extra sleep. No, Rachel. You do not have permission to waste your time rather than spend it studying for finals or for something else that is remotely edifying.

Submit--- under the authority of a perfect gracious Heavenly Father whose discipline yields fruit much sweeter than the bramble patch that my permissive sinful thoughts and actions land me in.