Thoughts Brought About by St. Augustine and Nichole Nordeman

I don’t understand GOD. I have so many questions, and anytime I get an answer, it usually leaves me with ten more questions than I started with. There has to be so much more to Him than the boxes that I try to keep Him in. But those boxes seem so huge to me that I can’t even fathom or imagine what more there could be.

St. Augustine, in his Confessions, says, “She saw that You had given her more than with all her pitiful weeping she had ever asked.” (He’s referring to his mother’s gladness over his conversion.) While I appreciate what he’s saying in context, I see how these words also reflect so much of my own life. I have begged GOD for so much. I have begged Him to take things and people out of my life and I have begged Him to bring things and people into it. I have begged Him to make me into something other than I am out of a desire for perfection. I have begged Him to make me smarter; to make me nicer; to make me stronger; to make me better. I have begged Him to make my mind wrap around Him because I am uncomfortable with not understanding all that He says and does and is.

And in the midst of all this begging, I forget about praise. I forget to thank Him: for breath and life and the beauty of creation, for books and art and poetry and music, for laughter and tears and all the crazy emotions He’s given, for all the people I love and for all the people who love me. I forget to thank Him for giving me more than I had ever asked for with my pitiful weeping and begging. I ask for so much, and offer no praise or thanksgiving in return. I forget that sometimes the LORD puts us in sucky circumstances to teach us and grow us, like this song talks about. Instead I try to keep Him in a box because I’m more comfortable with Him there. Somehow I picked up the idea that trying to control and contain GOD will lead to a deeper understanding of Him. But seeing a lion in a cage doesn’t compare to seeing it in the wild, where it belongs and can fully demonstrate its power.

Staring at People Makes Them Feel Weird and Other Lessons Learned in an Art Museum

Today I visited the Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art with my mum and my brother. I’ve always liked art, but taking Fine Arts this semester has greatly changed my perspective on it...particularly modern art, which I still don’t like all that much, but now I at least understand that modern artists actually put meaning into their work whereas before I thought they were just dumb people with too much time on their hands.

I realized today that when I look at works of art, I start to view people in the same way I do the pieces in front of me. Why do people look the way they do? Why do they dress and arrange their hair the way they do? What does a person’s appearance say about the person them self to me? In what ways am I misinterpreting them? In what ways are my assumptions correct? I didn’t quite realize how much I was doing this until a curator (who happened to be one of the people I was viewing as art) stopped in midstride, said hi, and asked what was wrong. I was tempted to make something up and save what face I had left, but instead I just smiled and walked away without saying anything. No doubt they started having me watched on the security cameras.

Have you ever looked at a work of art and found yourself in it? I had only had it happen once with one of the pieces from Monet's Water Lilies Series(Which is coming to The Nelson in April...I am so excited!). It happened again today though withJohn Singer Sargent's Portrait of Mrs. Cecil Wade. I’m not really sure why I connected with it so much, but throughout the day I found myself going back to it over and over. I think part of it has to do with how strong and cool and collected she looks; as if nothing could ever disturb her repose or make her angry. I want to be her when I grow up. Oddly enough it happened a second time today with Childe Hassam's Sonata. It’s strange, because she’s holding a piece by Beethoven that I played my junior year of high school. I actually walked by this one because I was distracted by a Van Gogh across the room, but my mum and brother made me go back to it later. It’s funny because I’ve sat in front of a piano in the exact same way. I know the exhaustion and satisfaction she simultaneously feels.

Also, I realized today that I was born in the wrong century. My mum concurs. I would have fit in better in nineteenth century England.

More Thoughts While On Spring Break

Spring Break is almost over. I’m packing to go back to school. Rather, I’m procrastinating and writing this post instead of packing to go back to school. It’s amazing how lazy a week of lying around reading novels, drinking tea (I quit coffee...) and surfing the internet can make you.

One of my random projects this week was to go through all my old CD’s and put the ones that I’d been wanting to listen to on my iPod. I found Kelly Clarkson’s album, Breakaway and I have been listening to it over and over. I forgot how angsty it is! (Yes, angsty is not a real word.) Anyways, I’ve been running around singing her songs and remembering (and laughing about) all the boys I used to sing those songs about. Comedic distance is a very good thing.

I had never really paid attention to the words before, even though I’m still able to sing every single line perfectly and in harmony. It’s so funny how much words mean...even when we don’t think about them...especially when we don’t think about them. Now I can look back and see how the words I used to sing unthinkingly warped my views on myself and the things that I thought I wanted and deserved. I see how those words taught me that it’s okay to take and take and take and never give anything back when it comes to the people around you. I had been thinking a lot about my tendency to suck the life out of my friendships with my selfishness anyways, and singing Kelly Clarkson really brought it to light.

It’s so easy to take my petty hurts and needs and turn them into a big deal. It’s so easy to get trapped in the thinking that I’m the only person who deals with being hurt or who feels like I never get what I deserve. It’s even easier to expect the people around me to listen to me and cater to me and make me feel better about myself and allow me to give nothing in return.

But the truth is, there are a lot worse things out there than getting a C on a test or being confused about where my life is going or quitting coffee, and wallowing in self-pity doesn’t help...in fact it makes things seem even worse! Thank goodness for grace. And thank goodness for a GOD who gives it. I’m so glad that He gives me second chances...and third...and fourth...and fifth...and sixth...and seventh...