on the willows.

By the rivers of Babylon—
   there we sat down and there we wept
   when we remembered Zion.
On the willows there
   we hung up our harps.
For there our captors
   asked us for songs,
and our tormentors asked for mirth, saying,
   ‘Sing us one of the songs of Zion!’ 

How could we sing the Lord’s song
   in a foreign land? 

--Psalm 137:1-4

So FPU Theater's Spring Mainstage this year is Godspell and I highly recommend going to see it if you are in Fresno and haven't yet.  The cast (which includes two of my close friends) is crazy talented and it's really a fun/exciting/emotional/thought-provoking show. Seriously go.
Okay, I'm done plugging.

Sort of.

I went on opening and again this afternoon with my momma. Both performances were excellent and both times I was in tears at one of the final scenes and songs, "On The Willows."(Note: The link is the Broadway cast. You really need to hear the FPU cast sing it. Do it.)

SPOILER ALERT. (you've been warned)

In the scene, Jesus is saying goodbye to each of the disciples before he is betrayed by Judas and crucified. Each disciple has their own unique relationship with Jesus and that is reflected in their goodbyes. I think it's seeing the personal, intimate interactions that brings the tears for me. 

I also know that the lyrics of the song really laid heavy on my heart during and after the show. Nerd me knows that they are from Psalm 137 (thanks BLIT 321). The psalmist wrote these verses in reference to the Jews' time of being held captive, a time when they were abused and insulted, far from the Temple and  everything they knew.  I don't want to suggest that I have experienced anything so intense. But I hope it's not offensive to suggest that in a very small way I can imagine the hopelessness, the disheartenment, the pain that comes when we lose sight of God in our situation. How could we possibly sing the songs that we sing out of the overflow of joyful worship from our hearts when we're in a place, literally or figuratively, that is so cruel and foreign?

Sometimes it seems impossible to praise God in the midst of our situation, when we really feel how far away we are from Him here in this broken and foreign world. But we were never promised it would be an easy, or even enjoyable journey with Christ. In fact, if we're really living the way we're called to, it's quite costly. We're called to  deny ourselves, take up our cross and follow Him. I am pretty sure following Him is not limited to the glamorous, exciting, and safe places.

Scary? Try, terrifying.
Difficult? Extremely.
Necessary? Absolutely.

Like Paul says, "Not thatI have already obtained this or have already reached the goal; but I press on to make it my own, because Christ Jesus has made me His own."  (Philippians 3:12). But as important as it is to remember this is what we're called to do, we should also remember:

we're in this together. 

maybe it's okay.

I LOVE this weather.
If you remember, a few weeks back I talked about the significance of rain in my life. So, yes it's been chilly, yes it's not fun to drive in, but man, I love this weather.

Something I did this weekend, besides enjoy the rain with a few good books and cups of lavender cream earl grey, was clean. My room had become a disaster in the past couple of weeks with piles of dirty clothes, (neater) piles of clothes to be put away, shoes that had been quickly and careless abandoned after a long day at work, books from the library, cards from friends, buttons and thread. The little things of daily life that don't seem to warrant much time or thought until they all pile up into one giant mess.

So, after about a week and a half of creatively finding a path from my door to my bed, I set out to actually get things in some sort of order.

By set out, I mean I tried. By tried I mean I started. 

I mentioned last week that I get distracted easily and I know that played a part, for sure. But when I felt the need to re-read the card that my friend had sent me two weeks ago or look through the photos scattered on my endtable, something else came to mind that I remembered from my time meeting with an MFT at Link Care.
When I shared that it sometimes can take me a few hours to tidy up a room that my mom always insisted should only take an hour at most because I stopped to look through things, or was reminded of a late night run in the rain as I folded a mud-stained t-shirt, he said three words that challenged me to re-think how I view myself.

"Maybe that's okay."

So deep and profound, I know. But really, as much as I love my momma and know that she simply wants to see that my room isn't a pigsty, maybe it's okay that it takes me longer to get my room in some sort of order. Maybe it's okay that I clean my room in a different way other people do.

Maybe it's okay that I prefer rain over a sunny day with a high of 75.
Maybe it's okay that I am not called to work with high schoolers.

Maybe it's okay that I don't like the phrase "do missions".

Maybe it's okay that I'm not sure how I'm going to get back home to Portugal. (yet)

This is a bit of a scattered post. I guess the three things I wanted to communicate:

1. The rain always inspires me. To think. To rest. To be drenched in His love.

2. The best way, I've found, to tackle a big mess (literally and figuratively) is one piece at a time. (p.s. this might will take a while...which leads me to the last point...)

3. Maybe it's okay.

Maybe I'm just totally off my rocker. I guess the only way we'll find out is by asking...

Let's come back next week and compare notes? :)

distracted.

I started this post about two and a half hours ago. (it's currently 10:27 PM)
I knew I wanted to write something about distractions and tangents and details.
And then I got distracted. 

text message.facebook notifcation.dinner.text message.tweet.dessert.look up song lyric stuck in head.clean up dishes.lingo.read an article.close the garage.

you get the picture. 

Now it's getting late and I'm still exhausted from this weekend, but I'm determined to write something each Sunday. So, here's what I've got:

I was listening to Jason Mraz's Details in the Fabric and thinking about how easy it is for me to get caught up in the details of life. Let me rephrase that, it's so easy for me to worry about the details of life.  I have found that the details shouldn't be overlooked, but that doesn't mean I can/should obsess over them. I'm learning (and by learning, I mean I'm definitely still in the process of learning) the best way to handle the details is one. at. a. time. Otherwise, I find I'm quickly overwhelmed and don't feel like I want anything to do with any of them. 

all the details in the fabric are the things that make you panic

I am learning that when I slow down, I can hear that still small voice amidst the chaos and sort through the details.

So why should I worry, why should I freak out? God knows what I need.

Do not worry about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. 

Finally, beloved, whatever is true, whatever is honourable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is pleasing, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence and if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things. -Philippians 4:6-8

His Love is Strong.

investment.

I've been thinking about stuff lately.
I don't mean that ambiguously, I mean I've been thinking about literal stuff. Specifically MY stuff.

I've been getting in these moods lately where I walk into my closet (if you've ever seen my closet, you know I mean literally walk in, maybe even lay out and take a nap) and start yanking clothes off hangers and putting them in hand-me-down and Goodwill piles. These often seem to come after instances like these...

About a month ago a good friend of mine moved from California to Mississippi. Let me clarify, about a month ago a good friend of mine DROVE from California to Mississippi. I had a chance to hang out with her a few days before she left and something she told me has been floating in my mind ever since.

"I'm driving around with my whole life in my car. My whole life fits in my car."

Or something along those lines. I guess I shouldn't put quotations around an approximation...oh well. The point is, I can't say that. I am no where near being able to say that.

And this morning I drove by a man on his bicycle towing a trailer carrying a cardboard box and a couple of black garbage bags and thought to myself, "That's his whole life, going with him wherever he goes."


Also, I discovered this blog today which reminded me of this book, both fueling the desire to get rid of my stuff.


I think part of my angst comes from the thought of moving home to Portugal in the near-ish future. I know near-ish is more like a few years, but college was a "few" years and that flew by.

When I think about moving back, I think about what I'd take with me. The last time I lived there I packed everything into two suitcases. That was for ten months. (I took a backpack and carry-on when I visited for a month) This next move will be for at least three years. Would it be possible to pack my whole life into two suitcases again? It's not like Portugal doesn't have HUGE malls, grocery stores, feiras (markets), etc. where I can buy lots more things. Will I leave things here in my room? Will I ever be moving back here to Chickadee Lane once I leave?

These questions are somewhat frequent, but the question that most often comes to mind is much more difficult to wrestle with.

"How much of myself do I invest here? Now?"
How much time? Should I start working with this ministry if I already know I'm not in it for the long haul?
 How much money? Should I save  up for a more reliable car?
How much of my heart? What happens if I meet someone (you know, that kind of someone)? Should I forget about them if they don't want to move to Portugal too? (Should I even really be worrying about this one at all? Answer to that one: No.)
How much of my interest? Can I love this time and place wholly and fully without losing the love of Portugal? How do I do that?

I have answers to some of those subquestions, most of them I don't. I've been listening to lots of Mumford lately, and this is the thought I'm left with (and the thought I'll leave you with):

"where you invest your love, you invest your life."