Starting to Thaw

This afternoon, as I walked up to my front door, I notice a cluster of tiny purple flowers poking up through the blanket of day old snow. I think to myself... Right on.

I myself am starting to thaw.

I am waking up a little. Things were always moving, scars have always been healing, but the order...or lack of order... is starting to thrill me.

The beauty, the grand joke of it all, is that God is not safe.

He. Is. Not. Safe.

I say it all the time. I incessantly quote the C.S. Lewis story in my head. (Not safe, but Good) I type it over and and over again hoping that one day I wake up and magically become who I want to be. But truth be told all I strive for now is comfort... and God has so much more for me than that.

If I'd only thaw out a bit. If I'd only stop with the constant questioning of every move, the critical, quizzical self-protective junk, the rules, the disciplines, the things that are driven by the stark white terror of doing the wrong thing, of... hurting.

I have thirst. It scares me to have it. Yet it thrills me to know that it will be quenched. Not here, don't kid yourself, but it will be quenched. And if that is all I get, the hope that my 'i's will be dotted and the 't's will be crossed in the hereafter...and maybe some glimpses of it now, well it's all I need.

Do I want more?
Hell yeah, with all that I am I want warm house, full tummy, tragically beautiful music, to see people change, to see God move, a jet ski, really good oatmeal, pedicures, good books and to sing at the top of my lungs in the shower. I want jeans that fit, and friends who laugh, and a sense that I'm doing something right. I want someone to see that I'm trying, and to kick my ass when I'm not. I want to live without fear.

I want to slam volleyballs really hard.

I want to live as I'm led. I want to be led. I want to heed the gentle thunder that says "Come. Further up, Further In." I want people to agree.

I'm silly. I know. I'm a hopeless romantic who gets these grandiose ideas and who, still, at the end of the day...lets just say it... is wanting. The wanting wont ever stop. The joy is, that I get to know that it wont stop. I get to know that my thirst is valid, real, and totally incurable this side of heaven. So the immediate lesson I've learned is that my optimism for perfection is not off-base, I just predicted it too soon, and from the wrong, wrong, wrong sources.

So.. not only am I FREE to love with abandon (as I was starting to figure out) but I'm FREE to be loved poorly, as I often am, by the broken army of the Lord.

If the only things considered noble are awarness of my own lack of nobility, and the fact that He alone is noble, and superb, and beautiful and stong, and capable and righteous, and good, and mighty, and tender, and loving, and kind, and limitless, and secretive, and obnoxiously obvious, and sufficient for my every need, and merciful enough not to give me my every want...

Well atleast I have the first part down.

SonofaMurl.

From Brother Murl:

In a little book entitled “Surnames as a Science,” published in London in 1883, Robert Ferguson, M.P., seeks to derive “Merrill” from a German origin through the Anglo-Saxon. Few of us will thank him for his efforts.
“Marlingen,” he says, is a Bavarian family name, and it appears in the Anglo-Saxon as “Merlingas.” The “ing” in this name “is a patronymic, as in Bruning, son of Br–n.” The ending “ingas” is of the nominative plural, Merlingas thus denoting sons or descendants of Merl. According to this theory, some family among the Saxon hordes which invaded England in the fifth and sixth centuries may have been under the patriarchal leadership of a man (or perhaps a 6'2" blond girl) named Merl, and all the individuals in the group accordingly took the name Merlingas, or sons or followers of Merl.

Interesting.

Murl Fragments

Champions of Trivia Night. I work with this guy who literally has a photographic memory. He would answer multiple choice questions before the question was finished and before the choices were given, and he knew every running mate on every ticket, republican and democratic, elected and not, a la Rainman. It was unbelievable.
"How many..."
"Twelve"
"In Alfred Hitchcock's movie..."
"39"
"The longtime host of...."
"William F. Buckley"

Hotel Bathtub actually had the correct directions for C and H. (Unheard of)

Hoosier. A word that if used in Indiana is NOT derrogatory. For example, as seen on a Billboard somewhere south of Indianapolis: "16,500 Hoosier jobs"...

Katie Lew is back from Africa, and I still haven't seen her.
Angela has a new apartment, and I haven't seen it.
I have a new white canvas and I haven't touched it.
I have a wooden floor in my bedroom and I haven't seen it.
I have seen a volleyball and my work computer screen.

So I got that goin for me.

I also almost held my bladder for the entire drive to Indy. I almost made it. It was almost impressive. (Considering I had to go the second I got in the truck to leave).

You MIGHT be a redneck if...

You tailgate at your mom's funeral.

Let that soak in.

True story. Someone I'm related to did just that.

Unbelievable. Nothing shocks me anymore.

Also worth mentioning... WU wins.

I sooo hated to post over the foil thing..

But we can't live in the past.

AND Wash U starts their post-season this Friday, so I had to advertise for the girls. (Friday at 7pm) Usually free, but since it's a tournament game, tickets are like 3.50 or something.. still the best cheap entertainment in town if you ask me... So go see them.. either Friday at 7 and potentially Saturday at 7 if they put the smack down.

Work has been crazy. I flop between feeling like a champ and a chump almost indistinguishably. It's good to keep humble I suppose, but it's really hard to feel like a moron all the time. Sometimes the only time I feel purposed is getting the trivial pursuit question of the day correct. Small victories.

I've been playing copius amounts of volleyball lately. It's not that I'm sick of playing (heck no) but I'm so busy all the time. It's three nites a week. Take out bible study nite and that leaves me with zero free nights with which to let things develop spontaneously. Very sad. But.. I am getting to play a ton of volleyball.

Been having discussions lately about getting older. It's so weird. I'm 26, and getting to 27 (in September) sounds SOOooo much older than 26. Is it because now you round up to 30? I think I'm going to like being 30 because there is a fair amount of drama to leave behind, but I also when I whine about being single people have stopped saying: "Shut up, you are only twenty three" it's more like "Yeah...yeah, that would be hard." So the nightmare that I'd been having since I was 19 about being unmarried at 30 seems closer and closer at hand, yet, somehow I'm ok with it. Ultimately, we just aren't here for very long. I would rather not waste anymore precious time in bitterness or jealousy. I am CERTAIN that is nowhere in the plan for Lindsey's most effectively lived life...

I also think that I have too many theories about life. (Think I just heard an "Amen") I think I have too many quick fix type answers to things, and that the real things that matter in life are much more habitual. Like honesty, integrity, discipline, faith, prayer, friendship, patience, forgiveness. They are not glamourous by any means, not trendy or new ideas, but they work and have worked for centuries.

Left foot, right foot, breathe.

Jesus, help me do the harder day to day work of being non-glamourous, of being faithful. I heave my broken self up onto your surgeons altar and say. "Fix me."

While you are at it.. I could use some new knees for playing volleyball.