Dangerous Prayers

You know those days that start off beautifully...literally beginning the morning exclaiming, "Good morning, Jesus!" followed by a whole laundry list of things you're thankful for, most of all who God is and always has been? And isn't it amazing how a matter of hours can shatter that whole mood and grateful heart?

Yeah.

This morning was that morning; and this afternoon was just that very afternoon. The day began with the above scenario. I prayed my whole commute, thanking God for loads of things, people, opportunities. I prayed scripture verses, thanked Him for who He is and that his plan is to prosper me and not to harm me, etc, etc, etc. I prayed for pastors, friends both saved and not yet saved, countries, and the list goes on. Then I get a phone call that just does me in. And the downward spiral of events continued from then on out.

I told the Lord this morning that my faith in Him was based on who He is, not what he does or can do for me.

Big mistake. :)

I should have anticipated that only hours after that a whole onslaught of events would transpire to test that very statement, that very truth in my life--testing to see if it was another empty utterance. And maybe it was. Because right now I'm not super happy with the One whom I was praising not that long ago.

The worst thing about being human is the inability to foresee events. At least, that's my opinion. Abraham had to lead his only son up a hill to sacrifice him not knowing if there would be any provision in place of Isaac. He couldn't see the ram on the other side of his circumstance. And neither can we. Or at least I can't. I have faith enough for my friends' lives, but when it comes to my own life and whether or not God truly has it out for me or will work things out for my best, it's questionable.

When it comes down to it, this is all my fault. If I hadn't prayed that silly prayer, this would never have happened. :)

But in all seriousness, dangerous prayers are exactly what we need to pray if our desire is to truly and more deeply know the character of God for who He is, not what we perceive or desire him to be. And that is what I really want, though I flinch when he begins the process of letting me in on all of it.

So while most of the time my faith does rest in his works, his providence, that is not what I want. I want my faith to be based in "God is God and I am not," and all the other attributes that are so far beyond my understanding that, in moments of revelation, put to rest any and all possible fears that He has my best in mind. Of course He does; he gave His only son so that he could be with me. What else do I need to know?

Unfortunately, more.

I await the day when my fickle, finite nature is exchanged for one of faithfulness and understanding. In the meantime, I'll keep inching my way toward the One in whom I know deep down I can always trust, who does indeed have the best for my life, which often looks nothing like what I had planned. Probably why it's the best.

Over the water

I have just returned from a solo beach trip. I was unable to secure any companions for my mandatory beach trip (and by mandatory, I mean that there was absolutely nothing else I wanted to do today but find one of my more favorite secluded beaches and just park it). So, I went by myself.

The beach I settled on is not nearly as popular as its neighboring, huge state beaches, which makes for a more relaxing time. This particular beach has huge rock formations, caves and really beautiful nooks and crannies, if beaches can have such things. The weather was fantastic and the water was actually warm.

There is almost nothing like sitting in the sand and staring out at the water, its character so much like God's--unending, beautiful, terrifying and inspiring.

I was born near the water and have always been drawn to it. The ocean is a permanent fixture in my life. And yet, as familiar as it can seem, it never ceases to amaze me. I can gaze for hours at it, play in it, and stand in awe of it. I can run in with abandon and in an instant, when something foreign brushes my leg, be reminded that there is so much I don't know of it.

Today the weather changed quite often. One minute the haunting presence of a cloud would settle over the water, the next it would burn off and the sun would warm me as I read. It is on days such as these that I am reminded of why I've never really had any desire to leave Los Angeles. The siren call of the waves gets me every time.

Rebecca, and Twenty-seven other reasons why I refuse to pick up romantic novels

I used to blog. A lot. It lost its appeal somewhere between February of 2004 when '08 hopefuls started announcing their intent to run for president and the movement of the blogosphere as a whole to facilitate premature predictions as to who would win. Political blogging is so one-dimensional and all-consuming and I just couldn't take it anymore. Plus, it's really no good for one's blood pressure. Mine is now safely back at 88/58.

While I was a blogger, I frequently interrupted my usual, brief political commentary with something personal. One such entry referred to my remedy for road rage. After much experimentation, I found that one of the most effective cures was an audio book. Losing oneself in classic prose seemed to be the perfect escape whilst sitting on the never moving 10 freeway hoping to dodge the accident demons running amuck at 7 a.m. PST.

In my quest for new material, I decided that catching up on classic books I had never read would be a smashing idea. I took French Literature in high school and had my fair share of Descartes, Hugo, Voltaire, Dumas, Rousseau and the other men who shaped literature, philosophy and ethics as we know them today. However, my foray into French literature meant that I missed out on many the Anglo or American authors that most of my peers have known and loved, or loathed.

My future sister-in-law chides me endlessly for never having read any of Charlotte or Emily Bronte and other such authors. The women, sometimes men, who penned classic romance novels, the Bronte women tragic romance novels.

I actually hate these types of books, to be quite honest, with the exception of Austen, whose books I do enjoy. I hate Gone with the Wind. I absolutely loathe Rebecca, so much so I couldn't even finish it, I felt it such a waste of my time. And I am generally not a fan of any story that ends with infidelity or the untimely death of a beloved. No thanks. Life is hard enough; I don't need to be wrapped up in grief over fictional characters.

I wholeheartedly believe that God made women to love romance and mystery and beauty. I know that as sure as I know I am a woman. It's a deep and profound part of our make up. However, novels that exploit such desires and/or ruin them with tales of woe are of no interest to me, as I believe they "pull a fast one" on our psyche. It's hard enough being a Christian female in Los Angeles, where chivalry died the minute Reagan left office. And possibly even before that. (There is something unusual and telling about a midwestern, turned California cowboy leaving office to be succeeded by a Berkeley man.) I don't need to be flittering about town wondering why none of the eligible bachelors approach me with such lines as, "I will have to tell you: you have bewitched me, body and soul." And to be fair, that line is a Hollywood adaptation of Austen.

I am comfortable enough in my femininity to admit my love of overtly masculine novels and their authors. These novels are not without their love stories. Male authors generally incorporate three main thematic elements: adventure, battle and love. This I enjoy. Gossipy, pining love stories make me physically nauseous. (This also might be why I enjoy Austen more than others. She had strong female archetypes who tended to fall hard due to their stubborn resistance toward their love-sick counterparts' vain pursuit of male attention.)

So, what's next on the list of to-be-heard novels, you ask?

The Brothers Karamazov by Fyodor Dostoevsky and Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy.

It's the Soviet invasion of my Japanese car. Who knows. I might go crazy and even get Boris Pasternak's Doctor Zhivago or Nicholai Gogol's Dead Souls.

Apparently I'm still avoiding American and British literature.

It might seem somewhat contradictory to delve into Russian literature, which is almost always tragic. However, I find it far less cloying than du Maurier's depiction of a spineless, obsequious young wife tormented by the memory of her husband's late (somewhat mythical) wife. Or the self-centered brat Scarlet O'Hara who, at the end of all her trials, vows to set looking after herself as her number one priority.

Give me real tragedy; the stuff I should cry about. Give me thought provoking, inspiring premises, not something that makes me want to throw my car over an embankment.

So, here's to the Ruskies. I'll make my way west after the 60 logged hours of listening time it will take to get through the aforementioned novels.

And I thought last night was bad

I have absolutely no clue when I'll actually be able to get to bed. It sounds like I'm in the middle of the Sunni Triangle. Except at the tail end of the first pop is a fizzling sound. Oh, and no one is being gunned down.

But still....really guys? Really? Some of us did become grown ups and do have to leave the house before 7 am.

I think that before any sale of fireworks, people should be subjected to a rigorous test assessing their knowledge of the American Revolution and the events preceding and following it that contributed to the significance of the "Fourth of July." If they score less than 80%, they will not be allowed to purchase fireworks of any kind.

That'd separate the wheat from the chaff. :)

If only...

Independence Day Eve

In the last week, it has come to my attention that my neighborhood likes fireworks. I've gotten over the "duck and cover" reaction I initially had upon hearing rapid fire in this, the southeastern region of Los Angeles. Some of them have been a bit fun to watch from my window. But the issue I now have is not that they're keeping me awake (in fact, I've almost gotten used to the sound) but the pesky sirens that follow them. (For my one out of state reader, fireworks of any kind are illegal for civilians in Los Angeles county. Something about brush fires and whatnot.)

Despite the anticipation of a long evening, it is with much pride that I wish everyone a Happy Independence Day! Don't do anything I wouldn't do. ;-)

May God continue to bless and guide this country.

"Take me now, God!"

I have been battling an awful illness for over two weeks now and I'm sick to death of it. I am one of those people who "doesn't get sick, ever." It appears that my physical being now wants to make up for that.

There's really no point to this post, other than to rant about how tired I am of avoiding swallowing because it hurts so bad and the coughing...oh, the coughing.

That's about it. I don't have roommates to gripe to any longer, so tag, you're it. :)