The Mists of Nostalgia

nostalgia: noun

That subtle and slightly bittersweet ache that we feel when overcome by memories. It can be brought on by something as easy as looking backward out of a car window, or something as hard as stepping into the decaying ruins of a place from our childhood. The slightest scent, the most obscure color can cause an upheaval of our minds where memories crash down incessantly like a waterfall. We drink those memories as though we had been in the desert for days –and maybe we have. A desert is a place devoid, so perhaps we have been devoid of love, of peace, of comfort, of clarity. The hazy clarity of these memories is a shocking contrast to the sharp distortion of the present. Nostalgia is sorrow, delayed mourning for what has been lost in growth, in change and in progress. It is the realization that recapturing what we had then is both impossible and undesirable, but we desire it anyway. At the same time, it is a joy, a gratefulness that those memories exist, that those days happened. As we travel through the museum of our memories, we are amazed, and sometimes full of wonder at the things which happened to us. Even the painful memories are appreciated for the lessons we learned from them, though the tendrils of pain may brush our hearts as we remember.

There is no season quite so nostalgic as autumn. It symbolizes a time of change, of letting the old go and preparing to face the new. We do this every season, but autumn is both the most beautiful and the most hideous. It begins with the mottled and brilliantly glowing leaves and ends with the stark brown and grey of empty trees and rain. it reminds us of the most beautiful days and the most disheartening ones. We watch as the wind sends showers of scarlets down in the golden light of the sun, marveling and mourning. We marvel at the beauty of the falling leaves, but mourn their flight from the trees. And so as I sit and watch through the wavy glass as leaves fall, I am overcome by memories, by nostalgia. My heart aches gratefully for the moments of wonder. Yet I am content.

but...You love me anyway

"But You love me anyway
It’s like nothing in life that I’ve ever known.

Yes You love me anyway
Oh Lord, how You love me.

I am the thorns in Your crown
But You love me anyway
I am the sweat from Your brow
But You love me anyway
I am the nail in Your wrist
But You love me anyway
I am Judas’ kiss
But You love me anyway
See now, I am the man who yelled out from the crowd
For Your blood to be spilled on this earth shaking ground
Yes then, I turned away with a smile on my face
With this sin in my heart tried to bury Your grace
And then alone in the night,
I still called out for You
So ashamed of my life...

But You love me anyway."

You Love Me Anyway
Sidewalk Prophets
These Simple Truths

Something about this song is amazing. These words break my heart, convict me as I should be convicted. I am the thorns, I am the sweat, I am the nails, I am the kiss, I am the man. I am that man. How many times have I betrayed God, turned my back on Him, forgotten about Him, ignored Him, disrespected Him? Too many. My heart is sinful. I was born with this sin in my soul. And there is nothing I can do about it. I cannot make myself clean. But He can. He did. How freeing is that? I don't have the power to heal myself. All I have to do is trust Him. Trusting is easier said than done of course, but that is another story for another day. The "simple truth" is that despite all the sin we have in us, and all the bad things we do, He loves us. 

1 Corinthians 1:25 talks about how God's foolishness is wiser than our wisest wisdom. His weakness is stronger than our greatest strength. When I read this I thought to myself, "Wow. This is the guy who should be rejecting us. Of anyone who has the right, the power and the justice to condemn us, reject us, leave us, crush us, send us away in disgrace, God has the right. He, according to His own laws, should reject us. We are just as guilty as the man who called for Jesus to be killed instead of a murderer. I know I would love to say that I would not have rejected Christ, but I know myself better.

But He loves us anyway.

The people who hurt Him, the people who rejected Him, the people who made a fool of Him, who tormented Him, who used Him, who mocked Him, who robbed Him, who killed Him: He loved them. Anyway.

People torment me, use me, reject me, make a fool of me, mock me and hurt me. I want to reject them. But how can I have the pride to reject those the Holy God has chosen to die for, to love anyway?

"I wish that I wasn't so fragile..."

Today I was reminded of the utter fragility of the human spirit. Sometimes we can be so strong-so strong that it is hard to comprehend. And other times we are so utterly fragile. A young man, I did not know him well, in fact I may never have even spoken to him, he committed suicide. He was well thought of; everyone I had ever met spoke highly of him. He went to my high school. He came to my Bible Study a couple of times.
 My dear friend is hurting very deeply because of his death. Death: such a harsh, yet gentle word. A heavy word, with more connotations than any other word in the English language. He is gone, and it has hurt more people than he probably ever could have imagined. It hurt me, someone he didn't even know. Sometimes I think we underestimate our influence, our importance. I know I do. Sometimes I feel so unnecessary, unwanted. But then my friends, without even knowing it, make everything worthwhile. God shows me my purpose again, He knows just when I need to be encouraged. Feeling that way-unwanted, unnecessary, unloved, not worthwhile; that should not happen and it breaks my poor fragile heart. So I mourn the loss of a soul I knew little of, and I mourn for those who did know him, who loved him, who needed him. He was needed. He was wanted. He was loved.

If you are feeling unwanted, don't be fooled by lies. Someone needs you-somewhere that you may not even be able to see. Walk blindly, with faith that God is working out His plan in your life. Someday, you may be amazed to see what He was doing.

Friends + Cinnabon = Joy

Ten o'clock darkness, cut by the village-like lights of the outlet-like mall. But the darkness wasn't really cut, just pushed back, more like a fog that made everything just a little more dim and exquisite. The closed shops seemed sleepy and peaceful and the open ones just quiet as if they had already taken their contacts out for the day and were wearing their glasses. It was cool, but warm all at once and I walked with people I know excitedly. I have only known most of them for about two and a half weeks. That is a very small amount of time, especially for me. But I felt wanted. I felt appreciated. I felt, well, home. Of course, while my heart is swelling with hazy joy, my mind is whispering reason. "It won't last," it says sadly, "They won't want to be around you forever. They just got to college, they'll discover new people and replace you. You are the RA. They sort of have to like you." But my heart retorts that they include me and support me all the time and said they think I am cool, which is shocking to me. And these people, well, they are different. And it has taken less than two weeks for all of them to find a place in my ever-growing heart. My friends from last year are few, but wonderful. And these new friends, too are wonderful. I just hope that I will always have a place in their hearts. My heart won today. I will not think that they will leave. Even if they needed me as a stepping stool, a friend to get to another friend, today, I don't really mind. I had a place, a empty spot in a puzzle that I fit into perfectly, and it is a beautiful memory. So thanks to my friends old and new last night, for taking me to Cinnabon. It was delicious and I will never forget it.