Presiding over President's Day

President's day began with a slow morning of sleeping in, reading in John, and a cream-cheese-slathered cinnamon bagel. Kisses and "I love you"s were exchanged between my husband and I as he went to work and I snuggled further under the covers. My externship at the elementary school is canceled for the holiday. 

When I finally did get up, I packed and dressed for writing--warm, comfortable, and ready to carve my name into a different environment: the Student Union Building (aka. SUB). Usually I go to a coffee shop to hunker down and write, but UCM provides free copies of the New York Times and I've grown a new fetish for reading the news (partially caused by creating a fetish in my own book's main character for reading the news). 

During my walk to campus, I met a fancy, black-coated, briefcase-carrying professor climbing out of a tow-truck that dropped him off. I told him it was classy a classy ride. I then ran into multiple people I know (not literally) who exchanged bright smiles and hugs. Once in the SUB, I staked a claim on table two by the fountain. Across the room, two skinny young students (I'm guessing Freshmen, because they look like high-schoolers to me, but they wouldn't be here if they were) ate an entire gigantic pink cake over the course of an hour. Dare? Birthday party? New diet? Who knows? It was delightful to watch.

After I chopped up a NY Times paper and tucked away my favorite articles, I wrote 1,200 brand new words in my novel. I'm polishing off my creation of the future government and wrote up the story of my own President Garraty. Yes, in the year 2308, I predict our nation will still have a president (and his name will be Garraty, for no particular reason other than it sounded like a nice president name).

During bouts of overthinking, I watched the rainstorm come in and debated calling my husband to come pick me up. I got called first, but not by my husband. I chatted on the phone with the local librarian who called to tell me my most recently requested book, Crossed (by Ally Condie), had arrived. It's the newest victim for my book review blog, but it's not the genre I'm currently craving. My novel-hungry mind is , instead, itching to reopen the cover of Victor Hugo's Les Miserables. Okay, I know it's not a genre, but it might as well be it's own genre--the genre of strong characters and phenomenal writing. Nothing like a good book on a rainy day. I think I'll go pick up Crossed and then flip a quarter to find out the winner of my attention. 

Certainly the best President's Day I've ever had.

Vowed Valentine

I'm married now and I still forgot about Valentine's Day until I was attacked by blinding pink and red in the grocery store. I've always been told that pink and red clash--never wear pink and red, never advertise with pink and red...

Yet we call it the love colors (or at least commercialism does).

Last year I gave into a rant about remembering love. I still stand by my words --I wish I knew the stories of the three Valentine men. 

I have no increased expectations for my husband today. He shows me love every day in amazing ways that surpass my own overactive imagination. He doesn't need a day to "step up" and show me some extra love because he already gives me his best, daily...hourly...

With my husband by my side today, I can't help but think about our wedding vows. We proclaimed them before family and friends so that all who celebrated our union were also witnesses to keep us accountable to our promises. I realized that it's difficult for someone to keep us accountable if they can't remember what we vowed. So, as a reminder to all who know us, Daylen and I promised the following to each other, and we plan to hold to these words until God takes us from this earth:

Photo by Drew Woolery

Daylen's Vows

Nadine, I love you
God has entrusted you to me
To unify us through the companionship of marriage.
By the strength of His Spirit within me,
I vow to God and to you, to love you as Christ loves the Church
For better or for worse
For richer or for poorer
In sickness and in health
To be our spiritual leader in action and truth;
Seeking faithfulness and righteousness
With God's guidance and instruction.
To grow together in our relationship with Christ
To believe you, trust you, and endure with you
To be your constant pursuer and best friend
To see you as the precious treasure you are
I vow to give you the best of me every day
For the glory and honor of God
Until He takes us from this earth.

My Vows

Daylen, I love you.
God has entrusted you to me,
To unify us through the companionship of marriage.
By the strength of His Spirit within me,
I vow to God and to you, to submit to you as to Christ,
For better or for worse,
For richer or for poorer,
In sickness and in health,
To love you in action and in truth,
Seeking faithfulness and righteousness
To respect and support you as you lead us along God's path
To exhort you in your relationship with Christ
To surrender my independence for your love, protection, and provision
To believe you, trust you, and endure with you,
To pursue you second only to God,
To be your helper and your best friend.
I vow to give you the best of me every day for the glory and honor of God
Until He takes us from this earth.

If I could fit these words into a syringe and liquefy them, I'd insert them into my blood and heart every morning in the hopes that I could hold to the power of each word through every moment. Thankfully, God's already doing that...at His own pace. Daylen's and my best will only grow with each sunrise. We couldn't ask for more.

The Worship Experience

Worship.

Say this word in another culture and it means something completely different.

Say this word in another era and it may not make sense.

Say this word in the church next door to yours and you'll get heated opinions and disagreements.

I can't define it to you--I'm not God's dictionary. Even if I was, He has a different dictionary for each person; hence why we're not all clones. 

Just like everything else in America, we're becoming numb to worship. Pastor's and straight-shooting worship leaders anxiously remind the Americanized church  that worship is supposed to be from us to God--it's not about how a song makes us feel or "enjoying our worship experience" as one church announces every Sunday morning. 

"Even when my eyes are dry, even when my soul is tired, even when my hands are heavy, I will lift them up to You."

--Seven Places ("Even When" from the album Hear Us Say Jesus)

 

Good words, true words, but are we losing the capability to apply them to our actions? Are our souls so heavy that we just hum this tune and think, "What a shame it's not like that anymore."? I think back to the early church--though I wasn't there, I read in books about Christians singing when there are no instruments, when they don't know the words, when Roman soldiers are hunting for the secret meetings, seeking fresh prey for the coliseum lions.  Worship came from the heart, not from the band, CD, or the three Christian radio stations we flip through like a stick-figure comic book every morning on our way to work. 

We've become sleepy sheep who need a "worship leader" to stuff handfuls of stale, over-chewed grass into our mouths because we've forgotten how to reach for it ourselves. I'm the guiltiest of lazy worshipers. I played in a worship band half my life. I formed my opinions of how it "should" be done. I wrote a magazine article about it (unpublished, of course, probably because my ignorance coated the paper thicker than my ink). There were hundreds of positives in my worship upbringing, but I've outgrown them.

I am not against organized worship. I love grooving to specific songs more than others. Nine times out of 10, I don't "feel it" during worship. I don't have answers or opinions of how worship "should be". All I know is how I want my heart to be. Right now, It's not very close to where I want it. America feels like a damp blanket straight from the hot dryer and over the mouth of my soul. I'm trying to breathe in God, but only a tiny gasp of true worship is reaching my lungs. I mustn't wait until I get to Heaven to breathe freely. I will not settle for half the oxygen God intended my soul to have on earth.  I will find my answer to how it's supposed to be. I'll share it with you, but it won't be your answer. You have to seek, too, because our souls are different. You can bring God a completely different form and depth of worship than I can.

Let's seek to bring Him the enjoyable worship experience...with every zealous gasp of air. Only then do I believe we'll really start feeling it ourselves.