A Time To

Going to a coffee shop to get things done may be a dangerous choice for one who is already jacked up on approximately four cups of coffee from this morning, and I can't say this medium hot chocolate is doing much to settle my nerves.

Now I'm hunkered down in a worn-out Caribou cushion, trying to read Ecclesiastes 3 through a physical and mental haze. The BCM freshmen and I are planning on delving into this bit of Scripture tomorrow evening, and I do believe this "lesson" is rather timely--at least for me.

This is the part where I address that I've been "leading" a freshman Bible study all semester with no real goal or agenda. This too may be a dangerous move, but with such a diverse group it is difficult to distinguish one specific need to which I should cater. All I know is that these freshmen should be figuring out all of those cryptic things like who they are in Christ and how to love God and others and themselves. There doesn't seem to be a formula for doing these things, and I especially can't assume that any of them even have these goals set for themselves.

That means we read the Bible, and I can only pray that God is speaking to them in ways that I don't know how to do. I can also hope that I don't misrepresent Ecclesiastes as the truly uplifting book it is and instead close out the school year with a room full of Debbie Downers.

And I tell them what I know. And I tell them that which I don't know. And I strive for honesty about myself and about how I see myself as a Christian. It's not that I think I'm so important to any of these people, but since I am a senior and I am their Bible study leader, I do know I have some influence here.

If I leave them wanting to adopt any quality I've displayed, I want that to be my genuineness. I want them to know that I was real, and that I was really real when I told them that I love them and that I want them to love God and to want to understand God. I want them to figure out how that works for them individually, and I want them to know that the world shouldn't shape their faith. I want them to be learning and discerning and caring and loving and trying and praying. I want to see the good and the potential in all of them, and I want them to see that in themselves and in each other.

There is a time to keep, and a time to cast away. This is my time to keep them in my care in a very direct way. This is when I fumble around trying to do the right thing while God really is doing the right thing for all of us. Soon enough it'll be time for me to cast myself away, and that's when I get to still rest assured that God is still doing the keeping business. For God, it's always a time to.

Church

Last night and this morning, Deb said she was not at all looking forward to going to church.

"But you're singing, right? You enjoy that."

"Yeah, I do like singing and I like the people, but I hate going to church."

I guess these words are pretty provocative. I remember often dreading going to church growing up--at least as far as having to sit through my dad's long, boring sermons. But I always assumed it would get better. I thought that when I became an adult like my parents, I would long for Sunday mornings the way they do, and I would hang on every word being sung in every hymn and every word being read from every passage of Scripture. I would feel the effect of those impassioned words getting caught in my father's throat, and I would empathize with those tears that stream from my mother's eyes when she sings a song to Jesus.

Ever since I stepped into "adulthood" my freshman year, I've had no yearning for any church I've attended. However, I do have a yearning for the church that will make it their intention to present the Gospel in such a way that I do hunger after it. After three years of church hopping in Fredericksburg, I started wondering whether I'm being too picky. I know that I won't find a perfect church, so I shouldn't expect that. But can't I at least expect that the chief aim of the church I attend will be to present the Gospel as it is without an over-arching emphasis on "becoming all things to all men?"

 ^"19Though I am free and belong to no man, I make myself a slave to everyone, to win as many as possible. ²⁰To the Jews I became like a Jew, to win the Jews. To those under the law I became like one under the law (though I myself am not under the law), so as to win those under the law. ²¹To those not having the law I became like one not having the law (though I am not free from God's law but am under Christ's law), so as to win those not having the law. ²²To the weak I became weak, to win the weak. I have become all things to all men so that by all possible means I might save some. ²³I do all this for the sake of the gospel, that I may share in its blessings." -1 Corinthians 9: 19-23

 Paul does make it very clear that who we are is only important by measures of our malleability in being who God wants us to be. I may not be the best at speaking encouraging words to people, but God demands that I encourage my fellow believers; that's when I have to say "get over yourself" to my natural inhibitions and work toward doing and saying those things that God wants done and said. I expect the Gospel to be penetrating the weakness of my sinful heart.

So I expect it to do the same at church. I don't want my church to become all things to all men and lose sight of the Gospel in the process. We are to enslave ourselves to others for the purposes of God. We are not to enslave God to others for the purposes of our own.

I could be exaggerating a bit. I may be making a bigger deal out of things than I should. Wherever my thoughts on this are wrong or twisted are where I am finding it impossible to feel like I can be much part of any church congregation in Fredericksburg, and I am well convinced that this is not okay. So I am open to reproof. I need correction.

When Then is Now

"We've come full circle, Katie Jones." Meredith was joking with me in the car as I drove her to Rose Auto Shop on route 1 to get her dear Ishmael after yet another auto repair. I met Meredith for the first time last year when our mutual friend Molly asked me if I could give Meredith a ride to pick up her car from this same auto shop. A friendship was born through happenstance, and this recent consequence of our friendship brought us to a reminder of beginnings and endings. "We've come full circle, but this isn't the end of our friendship. Don't worry about that."

The looming end of college isn't something I've been dwelling on or worrying about. When the truth of the matter does pass through my mind, I still think in terms of possibilities. Places I could move. Jobs I could apply for. Education programs I could apply for. While the scope of my future seems much more limited than before, especially since I've hit my mathematical ceiling and discovered how absolutely terrible a student I am, there still seem to be so many options. There are different things I could be and different cultures of people I could meet. The ideas excite me in ways they did when I was seven-years-old, dead set on one day becoming an amazing dentist or doctor. As fun and educational this college experience has been, I don't for a second think this is it. By no means have I reached my ceiling in terms of purpose. One very thrilling feature of being a Christian is living by the biblical mantra: "God has a plan for me." If nothing else, we've got that.

Earlier today, I ran into Gemma as I was leaving the Nest after having eaten my lunch. She was about to grab some food and then head over to a nice grassy area on the side of Virginia hall under the shade of a tree for a picnic with her fellow freshmen. She invited me to come along, so I did. I sat there almost directly below the window of my very first dorm room at Mary Washington, and I sat amongst a group that so much reminded me of the group of girls I'd hang out with in the Virginia parlor almost every weekday at this same time of day my freshman year. I'd come full circle yet again, but I was experiencing it alone this time. These fresh and expectant young girls are only beginning their circle. They have all the possibilities of classes and majors and friends and growing independence. In a few years, they will be where I am right now, and I will be in the midst of some other season myself.

I'm not trying to head into a there's-nothing-new-under-the-sun track. On the contrary, all this nostalgia has put me in an abnormally optimistic mood. I've got a not-Obama-but-Jesus-infused hope in it all. Today, tomorrow, and all lengths of time God has promised for each of our respective futures. There is a time to dance, and that time is now.

Scattered

I've found myself yearning for honesty. Usually that always means I'm yearning for the God whose presence has become lost amongst math problems, mailboxes, friends, sleep, etc. It seems I have a problem? I guess it's kind of a big one? And maybe it's not actually a problem. But anyway, with such an innate need for purpose in my life all the time, I find myself having to refocus. A lot. A good Christian reads her Bible everyday. She also prays everyday. Even though those rules aren't explicitly written in the Bible as law, they are pretty well supported throughout Scripture. Would I be more focused if I read the Bible every single day for the rest of my life and spent more time focusing my thoughts on prayer with God? Would I feel more purposeful then? What does God think of those days when I don't even give Him a passing glance? I don't know if a day will ever come when I will honestly yearn for God's word every single moment of every single day. More often than not, I feel more inclined to pick it up and read it like I would a novel, allowing myself the opportunity to simply put it down when a chapter ends or when my attention is diverted. No real need to reflect, but hey, I've given God the opportunity to smack me in the face with Truth if He so needs. I suppose that would be called a ball-is-in-your-court mentality, which definitely isn't biblical.

Why do I have to work so hard at something that should always satiate my need for purpose?
Why am I so terrible at doing that?

Mmmyup.

In other news, today is Noelle's wedding. The ceremony starts six minutes from when I'm typing this actually. I'm supposed to be there, but I've had what I suppose is the stomach flu since Tuesday. Does that not seem like a long time to have the stomach flu to you? I think I'm getting better, but as of about half an hour ago, it's evident I'm not in the clear just yet. So I figured I probably shouldn't drive up to a wedding and start infecting other people. Noelle will be married regardless. I will be extremely happy for her regardless. Pictures will suffice, and life will go on.

And in other news, I've been listening to the bands Tilly and the Wall and Noah and the Whale a lot lately. Funny how their names parallel. One awesome thing about Tilly and the Wall is that their beats are laid down with tap-dancing. Sweet! And one awesome thing about Noah and the Whale is this song.

The end.

Anxiety

Pretty sure this has been the worst week all summer. I say summer as in the season, not the vacation from school since it is quite evident to me at this point that I am at school. I'm not angry at this fact--I don't think--but I sure can't figure out how to handle it right now.

I am not a go and do something all the time kind of person. If you step foot in my house, you'll most likely see a Jones in almost every room just chillin'. It's true I have a much bigger heart for adventure than the rest of my family, but that only says so much. Like them, I am still pretty introverted, and I need my rest. As much as the idea of alone time brings me down, it typically does serve to bring me up.

I am also not a multi-tasker. This is not to be confused with being lazy (though I am that, too). I really cannot handle working on more than one thing at a time. On top of that, I don't really organize my things or my life or really anything. The futile attempts I make at doing this often confuse me or stress me out even more. Lists are daunting.

And yet somehow this week, I found that I am being put to the challenge in all of these areas. My heart still feels like it's in my throat, and it's been lodged there since Sunday evening.

I'm not even ready for freshman group.
I already have no idea what's going on in my Abstract Algebra class.
I've already been the worst friend to all of the people I love most.

And the sooner I figure out that I will never be able to pull all of this off on my own, the better. Having a full schedule is completely normal in this country, but it's always been something I avoid out of fear. Guess it's time to get over the fear. Guess it's time to get over myself.

Why People?

Considering the frequency of my blogging this summer, it seems like it's been forever since I last posted. I spent last week at a lakehouse up in the Adirondacks with my dear friend Sarah Holljes and her family, unofficially known as "the Hollji." Despite the family's concern for me being, well, we'll say overexposed to the Holljes way, I really did have a relaxing time and enjoyed the family quite a bit. As Sarah says, it's nice to be friends with someone with whom you can just sit around in silence reading books or go on up to the loft and take a two-hour nap or feel comfortable saying just about anything because you both agree that honesty is the best policy--sometimes no matter how blunt it may be. What Sarah also knows about me is how entertained I am by people in general, meaning I can enjoy me a slab of fine family drama (unless the family is on a reality TV show making a living off their crazies ((unless I'm in 8th grade again watching The Osbournes)).

In an effort to reacquaint myself with my mathematical mind before classes start up in exactly one week, I propose that one of the greatest common factors among families is that they've all got issues. This stems from the fact that each individual person has issues (see original sin). Somehow all of this drivel is supposed to segue into why I paint people, but since I'm not majoring in something that requires fine technique in composition, I'll spare myself the hassle of actually writing well.

Instead I'll go ahead and tell you that I've painted six people now, one of which I painted over since I scratched the idea, and I've got a seventh person in the works. I've also painted a few pieces without people, but I found a lot less fulfillment out of completing those pieces. Partially the fact of that matter is that people are challenging. If the face doesn't look like the actual person, then all my work has gone to painting a foreign personality. It's still a face, but it's not the face I've inspected for the finest detail in nostril exposure. It's also not the face of which I've mentally invaded the lovely surface in order to see the actual person for who she is besides an attractive combination of hues. Painting is a peacefully contemplative art. With each delicate brushstroke of the pupil, I pray for my subject to see the beauty in her life. As I try (and fail) to capture the highlight in each strand of hair, I think about how well God knows and loves this person, as He's got "even the very hairs of [her head] numbered." The continuation of this process until the face becomes a completed two-dimensional form essentially forces me into submission to Jesus' second greatest commandment, to love my neighbor as myself. Exploring and appreciating the qualities of my neighbor is a cause for exploring and appreciating the qualities of our God. If I derive so much joy out of recreating this person's face, I can only imagine the joy of the Lord as He looks at His original creation.

With a simple paintbrush in hand, I am humbled.

Family

This evening, my family celebrated my grandmother's 70th birthday at her house in Gloucester. Grandma invites all four of her daughters' families over for lunch at least one Sunday a month, but this specific celebration brought on a lot more to celebrate than just my grandma (and I tell you--that woman is worth a huge celebration). Deb, Jared, and Leo have been in town and were able to stay through tonight in order to make it to this dinner. On top of that, my cousin Morgan was in attendance, fresh off another stint of trips, this time to Haiti, New York, and Boston.

Even though I really was dead tired most of the time I was there, I made the effort to soak in the uncommon atmosphere. My two great-grandparents we dread the day of losing. My sister's family with no real guarantee of finally coming back home to Virginia from their current residence in Tennessee any time soon. My aunt who is so thrilled by my discovered painting abilities that she starts on a list of subjects she knows would sell in her consignment store if I painted them. My sister Becca. Morgan with her triumphant weight loss and adventurous spirit.

And then my mom telling the story of when she decided she wanted to be a foreign missionary back in college. Her daddy asked her one day when they were working outside, "How do you think you can serve in another country if you're not serving at home?" My mom took him up on that challenge and spent the next summer in Vermont doing some type of mission work. It turned out to be the most traumatizing experience of my mother's life, and she hated every moment of it. Once my grandmother spoke to my crying mother on the phone, she began writing her letters every single day just to give her something to look forward to everyday. My mom told that story with gratefulness in her voice. Then Morgan, choking back tears, thanked grandma for coming over to her house the very day Morgan's dad died of a heart attack to play Monopoly with her when she was 11.

And then I noticed a huge thing. Grandma makes us all feel like the favorite. All four daughters and all thirteen of their kids and then all six of the grandchildrens' kids. She makes getting together as a family something to celebrate every single time by showing us the love she's so quick to say can only come from her own Father.