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.

on the road again

Well, this blog has reached it's year anniversary. I think. I haven't checked the exact dates but I'm quite certain that this time last year I was talking about the various shots that I needed and how I was going to wear my mosquito net like a dress. Or, excuse me, a burkha...

hi-larious, Rachel.

Really, do you ever go back through your blog posts or journal entries and wonder what the heck you were thinking when you wrote what you did. Well, I guess I was just writing out of excitement and nervousness and trying to laugh my way into the unknown.

Upon deeper reflection: it would seem that comedic timing in the face of insecurity, can always be counted on. You obtain a sense of control and self-approving pleasure that comes when you crack a joke and everyone laughs. Real fears seem to mellow out as long as there's a punch-line to follow.

But I think there are some things that can't be left for comedic timing.

Legitimate illness.

Suffering.

Loneliness.

Fear of the Unknown.

Eternity.

I don't there's a single one-liner that warms over The Judge when your sentence has been served and The Lamb hasn't stepped forward because you never asked Him to. Real security doesn't come from how well we are able to articulate our feelings, or laugh off awkwardness. It's not in the money we have, nor the company we keep, the country we live in.

Our security has to be with the Lord. Eternally, of course, but also for the here and now.

Especially in the face of the unknown. If you trust that He's going to stand up for you at that final moment, and say, "I paid for that," why is it so unbelievably difficult to believe that He will walk with you when you get that phone call from the doctor? When you find yourself in unfamiliar surroundings?

When He's called you to a desert-place.

When He's called you anywhere from where you are "comfortable".

He has to be enough.

He has to be.

my first book!

I know you guys are really concerned about updates on my school work, but I want to share with you all that I summarized the entire Bible in....

(drumroll please)

111 pages.

single spaced.

It is finished. Thank you Dr. William Marty for all of the sweet memories of staying up into the wee hours of the night, typing my fingers to the bone, and cursing the day that I decided that Bible college would be a good idea.

Ah, but much like childbirth, the pain is now a distant memory and I am left gazing into the face of my final Survey paper. 15 pages, a couple of ounces, and 7902 words long.

Since this is sort of paraphrase of a paraphrase of a paraphrase of the Bible, I might call this a Bible translation and name it The Maybe Inspired Version.

Not the Mabee inspired version, lest you be confused with my friend Sean's paraphrase of the paraphrase of the paraphrase.

Excuse me while I go revel in God's goodness and mercy in delivering me from the "joy" that is paper writing.