I told a nice girl in my Systematic Theology class today that I blogged. As soon as I said it I instantly regretted it. I'm no blogger. I write three times a month, produce some kind of emotional spiritual cocktail and then pat myself on the back. Well done good and faithful Procrastinator.

Yes. There it is.

I'm sorry that I don't have a fancy camera and that I don't tell you funny stories about my life. I'm sorry that I'm not a mom and I don't have cute kids to put up on the interweb for you to drool over.

I don't know if Bible college is making me boring, or if it's just this weird transitional being 21 but needing to be a responsible RA/Student thing that's really cutting down on my "bloggable thoughts."

Maybe I will just walk away from "titless" for a little bit.

that was supposed to say titleless.

ok, now that's funny.

throwback.

"My pants smell like poverty."

That was actually something that I wrote in my journal a year ago. Can you believe it? Who comes up with a thought like that and then goes so far as to write it down. Granted, they did smell like poverty- that's what 3o hours in New Delhi will do for you.

It's weird to think that it was over a year ago that I was in India. Weird to look back on that whole experience actually- some moments the memories are fresh; poignant and sharply focused usually induced by the taste or smell of curry. Other times the experiences slink into the back of my brain like a quiet fog- my heart strains its eyes to make sense of what comes from the shadows of that dark spiritual place.

Did I ever really talk about what happened in India on this blog?

I'm not sure. I know I talked about have curry armpits, and that one time that little boy tried to mug me and he got more than he was asking for. But I don't know if I ever really painted a good picture of what it was like- for me at least.

I am only able to recall it now because I spent an hour or so reading through my red leather journal from Massah. A lot of the things that I wrote in there are embarrassing- petty frustrations and my general immaturity. Some of the pain was so acute though- so crushing, and so familiar that I had to give pause and think for a moment.

I thought that God had left me. Over and over again I begged Him to speak.

Say anything! Don't you hear me, God?

I had a lot of doubts. How do we know that Jesus is who He says He is? How can God become man? What if Jesus' death wasn't enough? Is it really Jewish to believe in Jesus?

I wasn't sure if His loud silence was judgment, passivity, or absence. I demanded answers.

I began to realize that my whole life was tied up with Christianity- school, family, friends, future career goals... Jesus was the thread that held it all together. To pull on that thread would mean that I would totally unravel.

And then what?

Well, the doubts didn't just stop. I still had (ok, have) massive questions about God and his character and who I am and how the heck I can't do a single thing on my own to please the Lord... the list goes on. We can talk about that later if you want.

But the first part of my journal was an e-mail that my friend Natalie had sent to me. Gosh, what a beautiful e-mail. I might post it some day. The part though that helps me articulate the necessity of the depth of pain and spiritual wandering I felt in India is in the line that she quotes from Oswald Chambers:

"Dare to invest yourself in the character of God."

Way catchier than my pants smell like poverty.

If we're investing ourselves in the character of God, that means that we will often be deeply rooted in things that do. not. make. sense- at least in this life. Like unconditional love. Faithfulness in spite of faithlessness. Forgiveness. Grace.

Especially grace.

But here it is:

I prayed that I would be able to live in the reality of God's character, and as much as that means owning my own failures, I think it is more owning God's sufficiency in the face of my failures. When my faith fails, he is faithful. When I am selfish, He is working for His glory. When my sin has left me dirty and disgusting, filthy and naked, crushed under its burden, it is His hand, which is not too short to save, that reaches down and makes me new.

I guess- well, is that a creed? Maybe.

God was not silent. He answered my "dare" and placed my roots deep into His character.

And I am free to grow and thrive and be pruned and to sometimes whither.

But above all, I am His.

"For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord."

Romans 8:38-39

a letter to my parents

Dear Mom and Dad,

I'm sorry for ever being a teenager.

I know it was necessary in the whole making it into (semi)adult-hood, but I'm sorry that I ever did that to you.

I should also thank you for not trying to exorcise me when I was possessed by a hormonal outburst.

I am learning now, after being in charge of over a hundred thirteen year olds, that you must have had supernatural patience and an iron will.

Love always,

Rachel Lydia

the joy of the Lord is your strength

Have been growing a lot at camp, I think. There were a couple of things that I was expecting, and simultaneously not expecting.

1) not expecting to be positively spiritually stretched

I knew that camp was going to be difficult spiritually, but I thought it would be more in the desert-sense. As in, feeling far away from the Lord and doing that spiritual water treading where you don't feel like you're making any forward progress, you're not exactly sinking, but if something doesn't happen either way then houston-we're-going-to-have-a-problem. Instead, I've actually been using what I learned in all of my classes this year, writing Sunday school lessons for the girls each week.

Four words:

Dang! This is hard!

As is speaking in front of people. Wanting to have something to say that's biblical, relevant, funny, educational, as well as concise and thought provoking- it actually feels like rocket science. I have a new appreciation for Pastors and teachers, Sunday school leaders, and anyone that's ever stood before me with their Bible open and said, "This is what the Word says."

2) expecting to be lonely

Quite the contrary. I work with the most hysterical people- we laugh. We laugh and laugh and laugh. I've been on the receiving end of encouragement more times than I think I've been on the giving end. New friendships have been born, old friendships have been strengthened. I think too, that my perceptions of what it is to be lonely has changed- I think I'm becoming more introverted. I love quiet moments- driving my car without the radio on, sitting on the dining hall porch during rest hour reading, journaling, praying- simply being. It's sweet.

3) not expecting to meet the man of my dreams

well. that actually hasn't happened, so at least some things are par for the course.

the name of the game for this (short) season is joy.

thanks for praying.

kissincousins?

what i learned today while reading the Bible:

moses' father married his aunt. so moses' parents were aunt and nephew before they were man and wife.

i'm tempted to make a cougar joke...

i'll restrain myself.

a bulwark.

the joy of the Lord is your strength.

Well, what does that even mean?

Say the phrase over and over again and try to make sense of it.

Pretty soon it's going to sound like the word "cellar door" a la Donnie Darko and you've totally lost the meaning at all and it sound little more than a meaningless string of consonants and vowels.

But I want this.

I want this "Joy of the Lord" and I want to know what it is. Exactly.

Is it joy from the Lord? Is it joy that belongs exclusively to the Lord? Is it joy from knowing the Lord?

I feel needy with all of these questions. I'm nearing the point of a casual desperation. I'm going. I'm doing. Camp is GREAT. I'm working hard. I'm loving the people that I'm working with, but I'm so...

fleshly.

It's all in my own strength. You know, you send up the occasional SOS to God and then you keep on. You grit your teeth and bare it. Because it's just one day at a time.

But I want it to be each day to count for eternity. And I know that I can't get there, or even halfway there, without the Lord strengthening me and equipping me with his powerful joy.

Joy cannot simply be some sweet attribute, a delicate fruit that hangs on the Spirit's vine.

The scripture says it is our strength.

Let us lean heavily into it.

camp.

this is what my life looks like this summer.

this video is fifteen minutes long.

watch all of it.

here.