There is a part at the end of the book that really has stuck with me. He’s talking about a sculptor and her love hate relationship with her art. How it’s tumultuous, painful, and agonizing. Yet she is so emotionally connected to her work, it is like its a part of her soul.

And when it is all finished, it is the pain that gives it meaning. It is the struggle for the art to come out of the clay that makes it beautiful. That the parts of the art that are tarnished and ruined are the very parts that make it valid and valuable.

It is then that Bell poses the question, “Was this sculptor really talking about art? Or is this life?”

Right in the Middle

This season has been interesting in that it has been painful. Or maybe I need to knock the words “this season” from my vocabulary, because maybe that’s just life. It’s painful. It asks a lot from us. Good lives do anyway. They’re scary. Art is scary. Doing something worthwhile is terrifying.

But I think Im in a moment where Im on the fence between beautiful and painful. I see both. I feel both. And this is one of the few moments in my life where I wouldn’t change the painful hard parts. They are so integral from this view. Taking them out of the picture would render the whole thing meaningless. The beauty has validity because it was painful.

The View from Here

Being here in the space between beautiful and painful, this is what I know.

Art is important. Create it if it kills you. Foster it, take care of it. Go to museums, paint, shut your self in your room and create beautiful music, stay up late and go to Indie shows, and support your local film director. Make friends with people who love it too, do it together and create it for the community.

Adventure is important. We weren’t meant for freeways and concrete jungles. Go to the mountains, the forests, the beaches or the deserts. Carve out a time in those meeting notices to make it important. Feed your soul with fresh air, great hikes, and camping under open skies. Remind yourself that you are just a part of something bigger than yourself by standing at the foot of something natural and majestic.

Love is important. Make a place in your heart to love people who are hard to love. It makes you a better person. Loving those who love you is easy. That doesn’t require vulnerability, just reciprocation. But go first, love first, extend your heart to those who might break it. Remain soft. Don’t let the word jaded enter your vocabulary. Carve out a space in your life for good friends who know your heart well and love them. Make space for memories and wine. Don’t get swept in the dailiness of live, create breathing room to love and be loved.

Risk is important. Do the things that scare you. That’s what life is for. Sure, it’s painful, but as I said before pain is what gives life depth and meaning, so if you’re not in pain your doing something wrong. Make a list, find what scares you, and start checking things off. You’ll be more alive than you were yesterday.

Most of us view God like He’s our personal drill sergeant. Now, initially you might think that sounds a bit too harsh or not quite right, but how often do you hear your friends or yourself saying things like, “God please just tell me where I should go, what is your will in this situation? I’ll follow you wherever you lead me.”

Sounds like a good christian prayer right?  I’ve heard people say things like this more times than I can count. But when you think about what is really being asked we are saying, “God just give me orders, and I will do exactly what you say.“  I.E., we want to be passive participants in our lives, (”Jesus take the wheel”  …thank you Carrie Underwood) and let God do the ordering and thinking. I can’t help but think that methodology is bit off. Or if it was the right approach, I would understand why so many people think religion is a crutch.

But what if God is more like what the bible depicts, what if he is a Father? What if it played out a bit more like this, “Hey Dad, I thinking about going to college to majoring in film and trying to make it in the movie industry. What are your thoughts? Do you think that’s my strength, or should I try something else?‘”

How many of us got to college and called our dads and asked, “Hey dad, should I go to class today? I just want to do what you think I should, so please tell me what to do today.“

Could it be that if God is more like a father, that it makes sense that he gives us choices? So instead of simply saying, “You will go to this college, take these courses, major in this study and become this professional…” I’m beginning to believe that I’m a bit more involved. Maybe God has given us all kinds of strengths and as long as we say within those, we’re in his will.

So, maybe for someone that means they could be a teacher, or a lawyer, or an architect because all of those professions use part of that person’s strengths. And maybe God didn’t whisper in that person’s ear which one to choose.

The notion that I’m an active, responsible participant in my life turns that “lead me I will follow” methodology on it’s head.  Suddenly life is much more exciting, and yes most definitely a whole new level of scary. Making choices, telling God what I want, going after dreams and not expecting God to miraculously land it on my door with a heavenly bow…that’s a life that is bigger, riskier, and more adventurous than God simply bumper bowling me through the choices. And frankly it sounds more like a life crafted by a God I want to spend time with.

As some of you know, I’m coming up on the midst of some really cool life changes. I have options, which are really fun and make me feel like I’m wearing my big-girl pants. But they’re very different. I almost feel like it’s a Choose Your Own Adventure novel. Or, like I told my own dad, “Dad, I feel like God has taken me down the toy aisle and said, ‘You can have roller skates, barbie dolls or a bike, it’s your choice.”

Uhh. Those are all really killer toys. And they are all very different. And all of them end well. Unless, I ask for the barbies and in the midst of playing wedding with Ken, her head pops off…that could be not so fun.

Part of me really hates that God doesn’t lean down and tell me, “Go with the bike. You can go off really cool jumps with it, and it’s the most fun toy out there.” Instead He is standing back and letting me choose. And if I’m being honest, there’s a part in my stomach that feels like I’m about to throw up. This is an instance where I wish Carrie was right, and I could simply say, “Jesus take the wheel!” But I know it doesn’t work like that.

So what do I do? What do we do when we’re faced with big choices, and there is no God to write the answers on the wall? I’m not quite sure, but if you do, I’d like it if you could tell me please.

It’s interesting that I spend half my time writing about how God is absent, how He doesn’t provide, and how I’m questioning if He really is who he says He is. Then, I’m proved wrong. He shows up, changes things more quickly than I’m ready for, and I’m frantic, just now it’s about what I’m supposed to do, instead of who God is.

This weekend I cannot help but feel like the gauntlet was thrown. Like the year that stretched out behind me was leading to decisions, and suddenly someone walked into my somewhat suspended life and said, “Jenni, it’s time.”

As in time for me to get up off the chair and start doing what I have been crying to do all year. And you know what my response is? Is it joy, and thanks, and relief? Wouldn’t that make me a nice person? Nope. I’m not nice. Instead, I cling to my chair and stammer, “But wait, this is all happening so fast! I don’t know if I’m ready! I don’t know what this is going to look like! Can’t I have more time?”

Don Miller Packs A Punch

As many of you might know, Miller’s new book A Million Miles in a Thousand Years comes out this week, and he is in the midst of his book tour. I’m a  fanatic, so I went to two of their shows. HNB, playing his role as the amazing boyfriend, got me a signed copy of his book. Which, I did start reading last night, and I can tell you it’s going to surpass all of our Miller expectations. And if I can enter one advertisement, if Miller and  Susan Isaacs ( I did a book review of her book, Angry Conversations with God: A Snarky but Authentic Spiritual Memoir) if they are coming to your city, please go. They do not disappoint.

At one moment in Miller’s presentation, he is talking about the makings of a good story. When we make movies, there are certain principals that have to be there. One of them is plot line. And he said this phrase that has been stuck in my head since Friday.

He said, “In any movie there is a moment, when the hero looks toward the horizon, and decides that he wants something. He has a goal. And there has to be conflict to get there. He’s going to have to fight for it. It has to be a goal worth the fight.”

Why do those words haunt me? Because for the last year I have been fighting and grappling for my plot line. There have been seasons in my life where the plot and the goal was obvious: I went to college and got two degrees in four years and walked out with honors. Good job Jenni. I recklessly bought a ticket to New Zealand and spent 6 months overseas after college without a blink of an eye. It changed the trajectory of my life.

But this season, dang I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve been floating. I’ve been wrestling for a year. And not just the professionalism part. Not just for a job to make money. For a direction, for a story, for a plot that is worth the fight.

So why is it then, that when I get a good hard look at that beautiful horizon line that I simply want to run back to my arm chair? I don’t want to speak the words out? That deciding to pick up the script and have a beautiful role in this story just seems too grandiose? That there is a real possibility of failure and hurt?

I don’t think I could look at myself in the mirror if I stayed in the brown armchair. I know I need to get my cahones about me. But, wow, does that thought wreck me.

What is wrecking you? What does your horizon look like? Are you in the midst of a great story? What are you waiting for?

So, here’s a first list of why today is a good day:

Today is a good day because:

1) I have smart friends that know how to speak wisdom into my life in context of my strengths and passions. Not to mention that they let me cook authentic Mexican food for them, and then laugh with me over tortillas, conversation, and beer.

2) I’m going to the mountains with friends on Sunday. Something about pine trees and mountain horizons that make my soul free.

3) I’m thinking about starting to paint. I have no idea how to paint. Not a single clue. But I’m convinced it will help with releasing creative juices.

4) I have a growing stack of books on my bedside table. Including “Make Success Measurable” which is a workbook about defining and achieving your life goals.

I can’t help but feel like today the world is my oyster. Between a few bottles of paint, some time in the mountains, and a new perspective on success…I’m ready to go for it.

Why is today a good day for you?

This Sunday, a good friend of mine and I headed down the coast for a good hike in the Canyon. You can’t beat a view like this:

What I like about this particular friend is that our friendship has been like a smooth wine or a sharp cheddar cheese in that it has gotten significantly more valuable to me over time. We have grown into one another, which has felt like an unexpected surprise and I like that.

Aside for my growing affection for this person,  I love that recently she has had a growing sense of self-awareness. She is asking some really hard questions about herself, including, “Am I hard to get to know? Am I a warm open person? Am I friendly? What type of  experience do people have when they first get to know me?” She isn’t asking to be affirmed, but really wants to know if there are areas where she needs to grow.

On our hike, she was mentioning that over the past few years she’s really battled a long and hard war with loneliness -constantly feeling left out, forgotten, not connected, and anxious about it. It’s like that feeling of junior high never left. However, in the past few months she’s  come to a place of acceptance in her war with loneliness.  It’s like a ghost that follows her around. A ghost that used to scare her. And now she simply turns to it and says, “Hi Loneliness. I know you’re there. And that’s ok.“

As she was telling me this on our hike, the only words I had were “Wow.”  It seemed like such a upper-handed place to be. And I’ve been thinking about that all week.

Birthdays, Weddings, Life and My Own Ghosts

Recently I’ve had my own series of whirlwind life events. I threw a surprise party for HNB a few weeks ago, I’ve recently had a close friend get married, I’ve been to countless engagement parties, bachelorettes, and baby showers.  And as I have checked the celebrations and events off of my calendar with each passing week, there has been a silent ghost that has settled on the periphery of my consciousness.

There have been moments where I am with my friends and they are beautiful, radiant, laughing and enjoying life as it passes us. We have been in beautiful dresses, tuxes, and sitting in great restaurants. There have been smiles on all of their faces. And as the moment fades, as I go home and wash my make up off and change into pajamas, there it is – I become acutely aware of the ghost.

The last time I felt this clearly was after coming home from a wedding reception. I’d showered and begun to unwind for the evening. I climbed on to the couch with HNB and sitting in that spot between his arms, I slowly began to feel the tears sliding silently down my cheeks. The ghost was here.

“What’s wrong?” he asked me.

I sat in silence for a long time.

Finally I whispered back, “I  just feel…pressure.”

As we sat there whispering in the dark, I told him how the ghost shows up and I feel like there has been someone sitting on my shoulder, watching and making tick marks at everything I’ve done. I told him that I’d realized that although I have great friends that I love and cherish, there are moments where I can’t help but feel small and left out ( or too young, or under developed, or inexperienced, or juvenile, or unimportant… sorry, still searching  for the right word).

There are moments where I look around and feel pressure to be simply fabulous. To look stunning, to love my life, to be in love, and to be whizzing by in the journey of life – quickly approaching destination of bliss. Maybe it’s just that when I look around at my friends, they all seem to have such glamorous lives – they’re getting engaged, having babies, moving overseas, traveling to exotic places, and taking risks at their dreams. And it’s not that I’m jealous, it’s just that I don’t always feel like my life measures up.  But, at the time, sitting with HNB in the dark,  I couldn’t get those words out.  I sat in silence, trying to figure out how to not sound crazy as tell him that I had a ghost that followed me around and measured how fabulous I was in comparison to my friends.

“It’s just that all of our friends are getting married….” I started.

Nearly choked, he asked me, “So you want to get married?”

(Poor Guy.) “No,” I clarified, “It’s just that…”

I sat there and tried to tell him what I meant. I choked on my words. I stumbled. I reached for a comparison to help give a clear visual.

“The best way that I know how to describe it was this: I feel like I have this cup. It’s mostly full all the time. But this weekend I felt like I went to a wedding with other people carrying their own cups. And I realized that I might be full, but I was the smallest cup in the room.”

Right. Clear as mud. I’m at least lucky that I have a man that kisses my tears off my cheeks even when I’m still grappling for words.

Dangerous Games.

I don’t know if any of you had to read the short story The Most Dangerous Game by Richard Connell. I remember doing some sort of language arts project on it when I was in the 9th grade. It was a story about a main character who is literally hunted by the antagonist. The antagonist set up the exchange as a game or a way to raise the stakes on traditional hunting.  The story is worth reading and I could recommend it simply in terms of being a literarily complex individual.

With the all of the events of this past summer and the ghost who has decided to become my emotional squatter all echoing in my mind, suddenly this title seems to be of utmost importance. The Most Dangerous Game could be hunting people or it could be comparing your life to others. It could be looking around at a wedding and wondering who your bridesmaids would be and if they liked you enough to ask you to be theirs. It might be wondering if you even knew 100 people to invite to your wedding. It could be looking at your girlfriend and her boyfriend and wondering if it’s ok that you’re not as in love as they are. It could be holding someone else’s brand new baby and hoping that you are as happy as they seem when you have your first kid.

See, it’s not that I’m unhappy. I am happy. I am pursuing my dreams, dating a great guy who gets me, creating my own schedule, and finding out who I really am. Those are all great things. It gets dangerous when I start asking, “Yes, but am I as happy as THEY are.”

The Three Part Irony

The really interesting thing is, even as I am having these thoughts, I become keenly aware of a few things:

1) That even beginning to embark on this game with myself, I am already giving myself disclaimers. “Jenni don’t do this. You’re always going to lose. If you compare and aren’t as good – you lose. And if you compare and come out on top, your happiness is based on someone else’s life – which is a huge lose. Stop right now. You’re happy. Stop stop stop stop….”

2) This second point is the one that I never seem to expect or understand. That when I don’t stop and I play the game, it really gets under my skin. I always feel shaken for a few days. I feel left out, insecure and small, which amazes me every time. For all of the growth I have done, all of the things that I have endured, and all of the parts of me I have discovered and love, it seems odd to see that in reality my ego is very fragile. I get left out of a few things and suddenly I’m questioning my friend’s love for me. I experience a few hours by myself and suddenly the ghost of loneliness feels like is reigning from heaven and might overtake me. And it is at this point that I have to stand back, metaphorically grab my own shoulders and give a good shake. “Honestly Jenni, get a stinking grip!”

3) I know I’m not alone in this. In talking to my good friend, it was SO good to hear that she has battled with various ghosts over the years too. And they get at her as well. It felt good to know that other people come home, take off their dresses, wash their faces and suddenly become aware of the ghosts of loneliness, or depression, or anxiety, or frustration, or unimportance.  And while there are times  I can greet the ghosts, saying “Hi, I know you’re there. It’s ok,” there are seasons when I can’t help but crawl into bed and let the tears slide – and it shocks me the same every time.

So why do we do it? Why do we play dangerous games? Why does there seem to be times when the ghosts sneak in and hover over your shoulder? Why do we look at other people’s jobs, bank accounts, cars, thighs and abs, teeth, and boyfriends? What makes us unable to stop? We have a thousand reasons why we do it. And most of us know them in our heads. But we cannot help but ingore the warning signs and plunge into the Most Dangerous Game anyway. Why?

And while I pumped out all of my energy from the day, a memory resounded through my mind. A few years ago I was in the midst of another dark night lit by only the moon. I remember this moment very vividly – not only for the emotional significance, but for the astonishingly sharp visual that seemed to pair with it. It was the middle of the night when I was en route to New Zealand. In leaving LA, I was leaving behind a host of problems, my life was essentially in wreckage, and I was holding it all together with McGiver-style bubble gum and tape. Little did I know that when I landed in New Zealand I would promptly be deconstructed and begin the process of slowly piecing my life back  together. That moment on the plane was probably one of the darkest, more anxiety ridden nights of my life.

As I flew through the dark night, thousands of feet in the air, the darkness was piercing black. But the moon was soft white, illuminating the ocean as a blanket of sparking diamonds. The night was so clear that even from my height, I could make out the tiniest islands down there in the in the massive blue, and I could see the white caps of waves washing over beaches. It was honestly one of the most beautiful sites I have seen in my life. I remember specifically with tears in my eyes I whispered under my breath, “God I don’t know where you are, and I am scared sh*tless, but here I am.”

Running along the bay tonight, it was the first time I had recalled this memory in years. And yet, tonight was a night much like the one I had on Air New Zealand almost 3 years ago. The night was black. Purple. Blue. The bay was black, and yet the moon shone it’s warm light down on the water, making little diamonds sparkle down the current. And all of the homes and cars on the other side of the bay all shone like little cafe lights in a far off place.

I had to smile. I can’t help but feel like in life we always come full circle. Here I am again, lost and a mess. This time not in my identity, but rather in my career, passion and profession. I’ve just decided to pursue freelance writing, and I can’t lie; I feel like I have given up safety to chase ghosts. Here I am standing in the midst of the moon light whispering, “God I don’t know where you are, and I am scared sh*tless, but here I am.”

But here is the cool thing: I’m not scared the way I was before. The night can be a very terrifying place if you let it be. The first time in my walk through the dark night, I remember being gut wrentchingly anxious, scared, unsure and looking at all of the long shadows and unknown sounds like they were going to over take me. This time, I feel like I have have come to love the dark night. The air is cooler. The colors are astounding. the lights seem to sparkle in a way that captures my heart. And you know, moon shadows are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. The idea that we can play with our shadows in the darkness of night is a notion beyond my own mind.

This time around I realize I have learned to relax in the darkness, to enjoy the night. I know last time I saw this vision, it marked the beginning of the most adventurous, beautiful, terrible, growing, stretching, rewarding journey I had been on in my life. This time I have slowed the anxiety and I can see the signs for what they are. And I can only hope that I am standing on the brink of something half as great as the story I embarked on en route to New Zealand.

1) Indescribable.

2) Hades.

Let me start with point two:

Yes, this is the one of the coolest days. The heat of the day is 127…and it’s 113 at night. Basically, you lay on top of your sleeping bag and try not to be miserably drowning in your own sweat until sleep over takes you.

Ok, onto the first point, which is obviously the better of the two.

Have you ever had a moment when you realize that you just stumbled upon something bigger than yourself? Talking to these kids this weekend was an experience that could be described as just a glimpse of the massive story that God is writing. It was for all intensive purposes…chilling.

I was sitting in church the weekend before when I got the inspiration for what I wanted to talk on. I had been praying for days, “God what do you want to tell these kids? Because I really don’t have much to say and it would be really embarrassing to just stand up there for four days.” Well, inspiration came like a flood.  Sitting there in the midst of a service, my mind began spinning, and I started asking complete strangers for a pen before I drowned in my own thoughts. I scribbled on bulletins – my own and other people’s as I desperately grabbed whatever I could get my hands on.

Flash forward to a few days later where I was flushing out the wire frame of my talk. I seriously looked psychotic. I think my roommate walked in one day to find my computer on, music blaring, books open, papers everywhere, notes scratched all over the place, and me – desperately scribbling on our sliding glass doors with dry erase marker. I’ve learned through this experience that I am a visual person, and I need to be able to see the entire thing…so I quickly moved from computer to small whiteboard, to entire sliding glass doors. Clearly it was like a scene from A Beautiful Mind.

It was only after several hours of this creative flow and filling my entire windows that I had to step back and take a breath. Seeing the writing fill both doors, I just stood there and tears filled my eyes. It hit me that this was not a story and a small talk for one weekend. This was something that God had been writing for years and years and years. Seeing it all there together, the joys, the struggles, the pain,  the anger, the hope…it all made so much sense. God was big. God was really big. And God was in charge.  God had been in charge. And had known of this moment for so much time. And I had blindly struggled through pissed and frustrated, and stumbled into this awe of realization that my story was not random. It had been there the whole time.

Where the Rubber Meets the Road

Getting to camp I was excited. I knew I was equip with a talk that was going to grand slam these kids. I knew because the content that had filled my sliders was well beyond my own brain’s capacity. But here is the funny thing – as I began the talks, it was incredibly harder than I thought it was going to be.  The second talk that I did was on anger and abandonment. I told the kids about parts of my story that contained pain, injustice, and the moments where I had seriously questioned God’s deity and character.

Walking out of that talk, I felt like my words had left my mouth and hit the ground like an anvil. No one had said a word to me upon finishing. I walked right out the back door and into the dark 113 degree night. Tears pressed my eyes.

“What the hell God? You brought me all the way out here to be hot and uncomfortable and vulnerable in front of all these kids – and they stare at me like I’m in idiot. Are you kidding me? Why did you bring me here? To hear the sound of my own voice? Does this even matter?”

Let me flash forward several days. Stories began pouring out about the kids at the camp. Stories of hurt, physical abuse, sexual abuse, drug abuse,  abandonment, anger, and pain. And maybe not all the kids were running up to me to tell me what was going on in their hearts and minds, but their leaders began giving me an idea of where they were at. And as story after story after story of how these kids were just like I had been.  They are  experiencing things that I experienced when I was there age, and grappling with the very same ideas that I was smashing with each talk.

There was no epic conclusion. I didn’t have ever single kid come up at the last alter call and proclaim that they loved my friend “Jesus the Hippie” and wanted to follow God everywhere. But the sound of their stories resounded in my heart. LOUD.  Their stories pounded impact into my mind because they showed me the grandiose nature of God. A few of the leaders told me that they were blown away at the weekend. I agreed with them. I was blown away too. And not at my speaking ability. I was blown away at God’s ability to catch me up in a story that is bigger than myself.

In light of all of this I can just say this, “Thank you God, for letting me play in your symphony even though all I saw was random notes.”

You see, this guy that I had been with, I thought he was brave. I thought he was adventurous. I thought he was the greatest adventurer that I had ever known. And in response, I became brave and brazen, and an adventurer. I knew to keep up with this guy, I needed to be a woman who could handle the end of the earth and more.

But then, something happened. It turns out we weren’t in the story I thought we were. No rings would be exchanged, and we wouldn’t have the ending I wanted at that time. The story as I knew it needed me to be brave in a different way than I had imagined. 

But something I learned didn’t go away after the idea of the wedding had passed. The bravery didn’t leave. The brazen woman that I had learned to become didn’t go away. I couldn’t turn off the idea that I was going to be adventurous.

This leads me to a movie. Right, I know. Most people don’t think of their life stories in turns of Disney Movies. Or, if they do, you tend to think that they are pathetic people. But I remember, back in the time when I was thinking that I was going to get married, there was a particular movie that really displayed the kind of woman that I had decided to become.

I had just gone to the midnight showing of The Pirates of the Caribbean, At World’s End.  There was a scene in the movie that literally made me tear with ambition. I remember driving home from the theatre and making an international call. I had been so inspired from the image of bravery and womanhood that I had witnessed, that I felt like an international call was in order, even though it was expensive. I had caught him late at night, but he was willing to listen to my thoughts.

The scene I am talking about is below:

The thing that got me about this clip back then was the idea that the girl wasn’t waiting to be saved. If you notice, she was just as up and prompt with her sword as he was. He would lean on her and hold her for support as he reached to fight his own battles, needing her as much as anything. And like wise, she wasn’t wearing a dress – she wasn’t waiting in distress, she wasn’t literally needing to be saved. Instead she had her own weapon. She knew how to fight. She was just as much apart of the romance and drama as he was.

The funny thing  about that particular relationship is that it didn’t work out. I learned how to be brave, and yet, I’m not married. Which, if you ask me is just fine. But I did learn something that lasted me much longer than the relationship. I learned how to be an Elizabeth Swan. To be brazen. To have my own sword. To take off the dress and engage in the fight of life. To hold my man with as much support and strength as I could muster, knowing that the fight and the adventure were my part as much as they are his.

So, in light of the pirate ways, I toast to Elizabeth Swan. Cheers to the woman who inspired me to be a real woman long before I needed to be one. A woman who showed me feminine strength even before I knew what I was going to be strong for. Women, we are needed with spines of steel -  but yet spines of steel clothed in flesh and softness.

Let us not forget that. In the stories of adventure, we have a key role to play out. Yet, we have to brave and graceful. Not simply brave alone – but brave and beautiful…even while holding a sword and wearing pirate pants.

A couple of years back, there was an email circling around called “The Quarter Life Crisis.” I recently found it while cleaning out my inbox and deleting old mail (seriously, who does that? …apparently I do…). This particular email outlined a few thoughts that some of us in or mid-twenties might be experiencing:

1) You start feeling insecure and wonder where you will be in a year, but
then get scared because you barely know where you are now.

2)You look at your job…and it’s not even close to what you thought you
would be doing, or maybe you are looking for a job and realizing that
you are going to have to start at the bottom and that scares you.

3) One minute, you are insecure and the next, secure.
You laugh and cry with the greatest force of your life.
You feel alone and scared and confused.

4)You worry about loans, money, the future and making a life for
yourself… and while winning the race would be great, right now you’d
just like to be a contender!

5)You get your heart broken and wonder how someone you loved could do
such damage to you. Or you lay in bed and wonder why you can’t meet anyone decent enough that you want to get to know better.

These are just a few off the list, but I found myself laughing along as I read down the page. The end of the email was super cheesy, with some quaint sparkling message saying, “Know that you aren’t alone, and be nice to others that are going through this too, because we’re all in the same boat – Now pass this along to 10 friends in 5 minutes or else a zombie is going to munch your dome while you’re sleeping,” or something stupid about bad luck and being dateless and never winning the lottery. Needless to say, I forwarded the email IMMEDIATELY. I  mean, according to this email, I’m already in crisis, so I wasn’t taking any chances on brain slurping zombies. 

But as I was entering in my friend’s emails, I started to wonder…..quarter life crisis?  Meaning that this is supposed to happen for just a portion of my life?? I’m pretty sure I’ve been feeling this way for way longer than just this year. Then it hit me:

I’m not in a quarter life crisis…I’m just flat out in crisis.

No, I simply cannot blame  it on my 25th year of life – I’ve been a hot mess a lot longer than I have been 25. I’m in perpetual transition. Perpetually lost. Perpetually clueless. Perpetually in crisis.

“Awesome, I was just trying to clean out my email inbox, not confirm that I’m officially a disaster.”

Prince of Egypt.

Now, track with me here a little bit. I’m going to tell you a story, and I promise that we’ll come full circle. Just hang tight:

Moses is probably my favorite Bible Character. I’ve rented The Prince of Egypt several times, and feel like an idiot that I can’t get through the whole thing without breaking into tears. Sappy, I know. (But if you haven’t figured this out by now, lots of things make me fold into tears…I can’t help it).

I think what I love about the story of Moses, is that he seems to have a genuine life story - I find him real and relatable. Imagine this scene playing out in your life: you’re twenty something, and a prince. Life is good. You rule over people, get what you want, you think you know who you are, and have a good idea of where you are going. Then – there is a problem. He finds out that he is really a Jew. He shares blood with the people that are slaves – beaten and tormented. So, naturally this would give a person enough material to question their identity and purpose in life. Oh, and let’s not forget he ends up killing a man accidentally. Oopsie. 

Talk about a quarter life crisis! I think he takes the cake on the “Who am I, and where I am going in life?” contest.

So what does he do? Run away. Good plan Moses. He runs to the desert and finds some sheep and hangs out as a shepherd. Remember when in doubt, you should always flee greatness and conflict for something safe and reliable, right?  And what does God do? Pulls him aside and with some minor theatrics (enter burning bush), places some epic crazy-ass calling on his life. “Sure God, I’ll save an entire race from the wrath of the ancient world’s most powerful ruler. Any other requests?”

 Anyone relate? Because sometimes I think I am the only one who feels like the world is a giant place and I burn to make some sort of impact,  but  at the same time I don’t always know who I am, where I am going, or where the hell to start? Maybe that’s just me. Maybe I should go find myself a flock of sheeps.

If you want all of the details, watch the movie because there is a lot of great details in the plot – God doing all these wonders, making the Israelites flee, parting the sea, leading them through the desert…it’s great story. And the creators of The Prince of Egypt actually do a great job with the visuals.

Stoic God vs. YAWEH God

So, when I read the Old Testament, I have this idea of who God is. He’s some somber, Holy, powerful thing. Maybe he reminds you of  the President, or a Governor. Someone who totally has an impact on your life, but they don’t really know you too well, and you don’t really know them either. He’s stoic and phlegmatic. He makes rules, does miracles as He feels like it, writes on stone tablets and drowns Pharaohs. That’s the God I think of when I think of Exodus and Moses.

But, this last week I caught a whole new vision of God that I’d never thought of.  Exodus 33 is a chapter I have read a thousand times, and it’s amazing how you can read the story over and over, and still miss what is really going on.

Essentially, the background is this: God had shown up over and over again for Moses and his people. BUT, they decided that it wasn’t really enough and melted their gold to make a calf to worship. (Because sometimes God feels far away and you just need a golden idol-calf. I’m sure you’ve made this mistake before.)

At this point God is so pissed, he says to Moses, “ You are a stiff-necked people. If I were to go with you even for a moment, I might destroy you. Now take off your ornaments and I will decide what to do with you.”  Yikes. Can you imagine GOD telling you this. I might have sh*t my pants right then and there.

Apparently after some thinking time, God’s response is this (and I’m paraphrasing to get my point across):

 Fine Moses, you have done this whole thing kicking and screaming from the beginning. I’ve told you that I am always with you, but somehow that doesn’t seem to be enough. I tell you I’m never going to leave you and that I will prepare a way for you, but wait – you need a golden calf just to make sure. Thanks a lot. So, I’ll tell you what I am going to do. I’m going to fix the whole thing for you – I’m going to make your journey perfect. You’ll get your way – milk and honey, and your enemies will all be crushed. But the catch is this: I’m not going with you.

I’d never realized that God feels. He isn’t some stoic pillar in the sky – he’s like a lover. Ok, I even feel weird writing that, but I think it’s true. He and Moses were close beyond words. They were face to face all the time, the bible says he talked to Moses like a friend. And can you imagine, here it is in Exodus, Moses and God having an all out screaming match?

 A Solution to the Crisis?

God is hurt. Moses is scared. His responses to God is this: “DON’T LEAVE ME GOD.”

This is the part that kicked me in the teeth. I realized that (when I’m really honest) I don’t know if that would be my response. I mean, of course, my knee jerk reaction to to say, “Of course I want to be in the presence of God always.”

But then, if I think about it, I want to know more details about the contract. The honest part of my heart perks up and says, “You mean the crisis can be over? And what do you mean by ‘prepare a way for you’? Are you really saying that I can have the perfect life, and everything that I’ve dreamed up – job, career, husband, children, travels, financials…and the only catch is that you aren’t coming?”

I feel bad saying that I might entertain the idea…but I might entertain the idea. I know as a real Christian who apparently loves Jesus you aren’t supposed to – but I might have.

Would the thought of going along alone be enough to make me stop in my tracks? I know it was for Moses. He had a full blown freak out. Screaming, “Don’t leave God, how do I do this without you!?”

I know that in theory God loves us, but this time when I read the passage between Moses and God, it played out in my mind was like dramatic movie – like the ending of The Notebook. Two people that were so crazy in love with being together, that they would go to the ends of the earth and endure all pains to have it. I never thought of God as being so wily. I always imagined him much more controlling and pragmatic.

Awe.

I guess all I have in light of this is awe. After recklessly pursuing God for years, I still manage to discover more things about who He is – how he is different than I thought. When he says, “I WILL NEVER LEAVE YOU,” he is talking to me. And yes, when he says “I am the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Moses…” those stories aren’t feltboard memories devoid of passion. It means that they are the template to draw from – that they give us clues to how He feels about us.

And, as uncouth as it might be, the only words I have for that is, “DAMN.”

I suppose this truth makes my email-diagnosed crisis ok. It means that if I never get there – if I never escape the lost feelings I battle, that God is with me. That he loves me and we hang out. Maybe one day we’ll laugh together about how lost I felt. Or maybe that I should start worrying less about where I am going, and how quickly God is supposed to get me there and just start enjoying my life for what it is. After all, we only get one shot at this thing, so we might as well sit back and simply let the crisis enfold us.

As a reader what does this mean to you? Well, for starters, a face lift! The look and feel of my blog has been updated, as well as having my own URL. Don’t worry though, my word press URL will redirect you, so you can still get my stories and blogs.

For me however, it means that I am officially on my own site, and have graduated from novice-writer blogging to my five friends, to being “dot-comed,” with my very own web page. I feel grown up

So for those of you who already read me, know me, and love my writing – thanks for continuing to support me! And if you’re as excited as I am, tell your friends about www.jennibrownwrites.com!!

(Ps- special shout out to Minister Web Designer for all of your help in getting me set up. You’re the man!)