Trust.

I am still excited, but also a little worn down. I have realized a few personal goals I would like to fulfill in this journey up to the concert. First, I am already beginning to overcome some insecurities that have always caused me quite a bit of trouble in the past - pretending to be confident when I feel an inch tall, for example. Another one is my fear of calling people I don't know and acting like I know what I'm talking about. I also have realized that I am a more confident human being when I am informed. When I know all the bits and pieces, it is easier to do "all of the above."

Most importantly, I am learning to be selfless and to trust God. I am learning to keep fighting for things even when I feel the distinct desire to throw in the towel and say, "What business do I have putting this together? I'm just me." How proud! It's not just me. In fact, it's barely me at all - it's God. I need to tell myself that. The truth is, that's a selfish thought anyway. I'm doing it for someone else. I'm doing it for God and his broken people who need it so much more than I need an extra hour of sleep, or season two of "Flight of the Conchords," or even an A in a class instead of a B. Yeah, I've got my priorities straight right now, I think. I don't have to suffer in order to keep other people from suffering - that's the bottom line.

For every snag that's come up in the last week, there has been a solution and then some, giving me even more hope for the event than before.

Right now, I am scared of having a terrible turn-out for this concert. Honestly, I am terrified that only a few people are going to show up for it. I just really want it to be a success. I want people to come to this concert and feel a little something inside stir that makes them want to change their life, even a little, to see how much they have, and how much they have to give.

I am learning to simply trust God and work my hardest. It is so hard not to be anxious and afraid. And I know, as I sit here and type this, with a ridiculous fear welling up inside me, God is shaking his head at me and saying, "Silly girl. Don't you see how well I've taken care of you already? There are no monsters under your bed and the bogeyman is not hiding in your closet. Just be happy - nothing can touch you when I am here."

I know that I have some lofty goals for this concert, and I know that few of them are likely to be realized. What I do know is that God will find a way for something really wonderful to come of this concert. I think He wants this benefit concert to happen, for whatever reason. He always has a reason.

Pray for me to see how deeply He really does care for me. I need to relax.

END.

It is well with my soul!

I am overwhelmed with so much joy. God has answered my prayers after years and has planted one idea inside my brain that can bring people together and help those who are in need.

Yesterday, a truly mind-altering experience struck me with such deliberation that I knew it couldn't be false. Sunday morning, I woke up. I took a shower, I brushed my teeth, and I sat down with a cup of coffee and a piece of zucchini bread from Fresh Market. The fireplace was blazing and the flat-screen TV was turned to some network station that I did not intend to watch.

I tend to avoid the news. I find it depressing. I know now, though, that the only thing that the only two sentiments that will ever change the world are love and broken-heartedness. I think both tend to be present when really magnificent things occur.

The remote was sitting on the other side of the room and I was already comfortable, so I humored the white-haired man and his interviewees by listening to what they had to say.

Haiti. It was a man in a suit talking to three correspondents in Haiti. I watched as he inquired, "What things are you seeing there?"

A female doctor began to speak in that way reporters often do - little remorse for the subject matter evident in her voice, but something in her eyes that said very much otherwise.

I watched as people were pulled from beneath poorly-built walls that had crumbled to the ground like gingerbread cottages. People's frail limbs were crushed and lost to the horror of the tragedy. Parent-less little boys sat with broken bodies, lonely and scared.

I sat on a suede couch with a cup of coffee, watching all this happen on a flat-screen TV, having dispatched my gourmet zucchini bread without thought.

It was time to go to church and I was silent. I tried to express to my parents how I felt so removed from that situation, how it was so easy to forget that it actually happened. I felt so distant that I think even seeing it in person would have registered only as a horrible nightmare. "What kind of place is this?" I might ask. "What kind of place has no hospitals that can withstand an earthquake, no one to help, no medicine to heal the horror of the circumstances?" What kind of place could be so unlike my comfortable, luxurious home?

I said little else on our way to church.

The sermon can be found here - its title is "broke" on January 17th. http://www.hispcc.com/site/sermons.php

I strongly encourage you to listen to it. It is the most honest and truthful sermon on giving that I've ever heard. It's a little lengthy, but it is so worth it. I promise.

Upon hearing of the subject matter, I felt that dealing with money would have little to do with Haiti. I had anticipated something more along the lines of a worship service dedicated entirely to the people, lots of prayer, lots of tears, lots of anguish and a mission to provide strength and healing to those who sought it.

Instead, it was a logical display of what Christ had to say about gifts and how God is not only directly related, but the sole bearer.

Matthew 25:14-30 was the scripture that I had read so often without truly understanding it. It became clear, as the senior pastor so eloquently explained it, that not a thing on this planet belongs to a single one of us. God has placed everything we have in our care "according to our ability" and He expects us to use it to glorify Him - to not hoard it for ourselves - to help His suffering people.

He then explained that God has absolutely no need for what we "give" him. Psalm 50:9-15
It is all His in the first place. How ignorant and selfish and proud of us to think that what we have is our doing. As if we mean more to God than those impoverished people in Haiti! God has TRUSTED us with what He has given us, and we have hoarded it all for ourselves, instead of working it and using it to glorify Him - to have something real and true to give back to God. "Here, Lord - see what I have done. I have loved and I have given to charity and I have gone to other countries where there is no physical comfort and I have made someone else's life better with what you have let me borrow. Here is what is yours, and more! It is all for your glory, Lord - you are the one who trusted me with this incredible responsibility and I realize that it is not mine to keep."

We are all God's children and he wants us to share with one another. He wants us all to love each other and get along so that he, the Father, can be glorified and honored by what we have done with the wealth He has given us.

I was so rocked by this realization that I never wanted to stop speaking about it. I wanted to tell everyone. So what did I do at the end of the service? I dropped some cash I had into the baskets at the front of the congregation on my way out - cash that would help someone in need.

It felt so empty, though. I know every little bit counts. But what happens when all you ever give is a little? What could happen if you gave more? That money meant nothing to me. I could have done so many meaningless things with it - it was no great sacrifice at all! I did it to make myself feel better, but the realization of that hit me so hard that I started to feel terrible. Who am I to think that giving a little cash is some great deed? I have such an unbelievably blessed life that I should be using everything I have to serve God.

"I'm not that kind of person," I told myself. "That is for other people to think about - not me." And I went on with my day, like I would any other.

Yesterday, I sat around and watched a whole bunch of TV and not much else until a little after noon. I cruised around on facebook and saw that I had been invited to a group that encouraged people to wear red shirts to show support of the people in Haiti. I think, based on my last post, you can imagine what happened next. I was simply irate. "How dare those people think that they are accomplishing anything by wearing a red shirt! This is an insult to charity - it is an insult to this community and to the people of Haiti!"

How dare they? How dare I. I began to think how little that money meant to me, how it wasn't really a sacrifice at all. And I began to think that God had put me here for some greater purpose than to judge other people and to put a little cash into a basket at church for everyone to see - for God to see. Did I think that would impress Him? Did I think I could ever really impress Him?

I do not want to say that I have come upon this myself. I know that every single thought that has crossed my mind since Sunday morning has been God's way of chipping away at the final layers to make me a stronger person. I know that He has planted every good thought that has popped into my head and that He has supplied me with such good friends and such strong support for what I am trying to do.

I know that, if we sell one ticket or a hundred tickets to this concert, it will be a victory in the name of God, and if no one else can see that but me, so be it - it is God's money and those are God's people. He wants anything but for us to use money and time on ourselves instead of helping His people, even the slightest bit.

I am so overwhelmed with joy. I truly am. My only regret is that it took such a devastating event such as the one in Haiti to make me feel this way. I intend to make up for lost time if I can, and I intend to enjoy myself along the way.

Praise God. It is well with my soul!

END.

Meaningless "support."

I'm sorry, but I find it disgusting that people think wearing a red shirt will, in any way, help people in Haiti. I personally think everyone just wants to feel less guilty for living incredibly luxurious, blessed lives. I'll tell you what I don't feel guilty for - I do not feel guilty that I have gone to really nice schools for my entire life; I don't feel guilty for having had food and clothes and a wonderful house to live in. What I do feel guilty about is forgetting how blessed I am to have those things and being selfish with what I do have. I think everyone experiences that in a time like this.

I have so much and I should be more grateful and more willing to share it with people who have nothing. If everyone shared more, maybe buildings in Haiti wouldn't have crumbled to the ground during this earthquake - maybe more people would be alive, or wouldn't have to suffer through this awful time.

You want to do something? Contribute. Don't just wear a red shirt to TELL the entire world, "Look at me - I care." Maybe you should actually act on it.

Even in a time like this, people still think of themselves. "Poor me - I feel so guilty. I want everyone to know that I'm aware of this incredible tragedy so I'll wear a red shirt."

I'm not saying it's a bad gesture. I just think, rather than having a facebook group that says, "Wear red for Haiti," (which means absolutely NOTHING to those suffering people) it would be better to have some kind of a donation center on campus or at least donate an hour of prayer or meditation or ANYTHING towards those people - something respectful and meaningful.

How about doing something that matters instead of doing something that will just make people feel less guilty? It's still just feeding that mainstream, yuppie attitude that there's nothing we can do about poverty. "Here's my two cents - the earthquake was bad."

I also had similar feelings about the recent goings-on on facebook. Post as your status the color of the bra you're wearing to support breast cancer.

I'm sorry. That is the absolute most ridiculous thing I have ever heard. It has so little to do with breast cancer that I'm actually angry about it. Can I say, honestly, what I think it really is?

I think it's a lot like the "relief of guilt" thing for Haiti, but I also think it's girls wanting an excuse to get guys to picture them in their underwear. I'm not saying that's why everyone did it - but I think that's what a lot of them were secretly thinking. Girls just wanted some cutesy secret thing to do on facebook.

And - here's the kicker - nobody knew WHY these girls were posting colors as their statuses. EVEN if you view posting your bra color as a legitimate form of support, how could it possibly help breast cancer awareness if no one knows WHAT THE COLOR MEANS.

I want to do something. I mean, really do something. Please do something with me.

END.

... So you threw the key away.

I listen to songs in a certain way. I think as my body and my moods and ideas change, so does my taste in music. I can listen to a song a hundred times and not really care for it, and then I'll listen to it one more time and see new meaning in it.

I'm not saying this is true for "Red Right Ankle." I've always loved that song. First it was for the melody, then it was for the guitar, then it was because I liked the way the words sounded, but they didn't really mean much to me because I had never really listened, if you know what I mean.

If I listen to a song like fifty times and still don't derive any real meaning from it, I tend to then look up the lyrics online, mull them over in my brain for a bit, look up how other people have interpreted them, et cetera. I usually just let that stew there for a while as I listen to the song about fifteen or twenty more times, and then I figure out my own interpretation. It's a process that I love and J has fallen prey to my ramblings about how I interpret certain songs on many a car ride.

"Red Right Ankle" was one I could never really place. I would go back and forth wondering what it was about, but I came to the conclusion a couple days ago, thanks to different circumstances than usual (Friendly Fire and all that). I've been a little distressed about it all, and if you've talked to me much lately, you pretty much know what's been going on in my life so I won't go into detail here (HOORAY FOR RUN-ON SENTENCES BECAUSE I CARE SO LITTLE RIGHT NOW!).

I read an interpretation about "Red Right Ankle" that said it was all about connections. I think this is very much what it means, but I think it goes beyond that. I think it is about the sameness in everything.

This is the story of your red right ankle,
and how it came to meet your leg,
and how the muscle, bone, and sinews tangled,
and how the skin was softly shed,
and how it whispered “Oh, adhere to me,
for we are bound by symmetry.
Whatever differences our lives have been,
we together make a limb.”
This is the story of your red right ankle.

This is the story of your gypsy uncle
you never knew ‘cause he was dead,
and how his face was carved and rife with wrinkles
in the picture in your head.
And remember how you found the key
to his hide-out in the Pyrenees.
But you wanted to keep his secret safe,
so you threw the key away.
This is the story of your gypsy uncle.

This is the story of the boys who loved you,
who love you now and loved you then.
Some were sweet and some were cold and snuffed you.
Some just laid around in bed.
Some had crumbled you straight to your knees,
did it cruel, did it tenderly.
Some had crawled their way into your heart
to rend your ventricles apart.
This is the story of the boys who loved you.
This is the story of your red right ankle.

I think it is about connections on a fundamental level. It's about how muscle and bone became a functional part of a body and were connected that way, and it's about wanting to feel a connection to a lost uncle, and it's about how all these boys loved one girl. It makes sense, but I think instead of feeling connected to one another, they were all the same thing. The muscle and the bone are both the ankle. "Oh, adhere to me," said the ankle, bidding these things to be a part of it, and they were. And you find your uncle's key to his hide-out, but because your uncle is a part of you, you somehow feel the same closeness to his refuge that he himself felt, so you made sure no one ever found it. And all the boys who loved you...

Well, it turns out it was just one boy who did all that stuff, after all.

I am really comforted.

END.