July was an interesting month.
My brother got married in the middle of July, so of course up till then, we were swamped with wedding prep. The last few days before the wedding were the busiest, but also the most fun in my opinion. Arranging flowers, setting up the reception, last minute dress alterations… *sigh* it was a crazy (but fun) time.
And now they are all married.
(they are a beautiful couple, by the way.)
A week after their wedding, our church had vacation Bible school. Being sort of exhausted and worn out, I was dreading it. (Awful, I know.) I was peopled out.
I arranged to pick up one girl, that lived 30 minutes from the community center where vbs was being held. Seemed like a long drive for one student. Then she invited her friend who wanted to come. Then I ended up picking up another little boy. Then three other little kids.
I had my hands full. A 30 minute ride with six kids 13 and under was interesting (and loud). But it warmed my heart. The first night into it, I decided I was excited for vbs after all, even if I felt exhausted
“Yeah, I killed a mountain lion with my bare hands…Yeah, uh-huh. Right there in those woods.” His green eyes sparkled as he spun his story. Pretty soon he was distracted with something else. Probably playing with buttons on the dash, and turning the heat up to 90 in the already sweltering car.
In the back seat, two preteen girls stared into the electric glow of their phones, and giggled. Her little sister annoyed her by staring over her shoulder.
In the middle seat, two little boys, with identical ear piercings, sat quietly. Well, most of the time.
I got a chance to mingle with the teenage girls of Amherst county since I was an assistant teacher in the oldest girls class. A few of the girls had clear eyes, and a pure expression; they looked peaceful. But most of them looked sad, confused, angry, or just plain didn’t care. And my heart breaks for these girls. The ones who have been abused, neglected, pressured by ungodly peers…
July 25, there was a blooddrive near us. great. I really wanted to donate blood, , it jut seemed like something everyone should do at least once. So six of us from church agreed to do it together. Moral support, I guess. But when the day arrived, I was so terrified. I picked out my best outfit, and kissed my mom goodbye in case it would be the last time. (Joking, but I do hate needles.) I thought about bolting once we were there. And I thought about jumping out of the chair, right before she poked me. The only thing keeping me in there was my pride. (everyone – i mean everyone – could see, because the chairs were nicely positioned in the middle of the room. thanks, red cross.) “You have to sit still”, the lady with the needle said. Oops. I guess I was fidgeting because I was so nervous. “Now, you have to look out the window, I don’t want you watching.” That won’t make it hurt any less. A little poke, and it was over. I felt quite childish; it didn’t even hurt, much less was I even close to dying.
//And recently I have been contemplating a life poured out. Poured out, empty of myself, my desires, my dreams. And full (running over, even) of Christ, and His life. What an amazing thing, that God would use a human vessel to spread His love to the world.
and save souls from a burning, miserable eternity.
it makes everything else seem so small. what is it to give up my life. Jesus gave His. why should denying my sinful desires seem like such a sacrifice, when Christ is offering me eternity?
in light of eternity it seems so small.
allow yourself to run, desperately towards God. Giving up your life, the American dream, to save souls that might end up in a godless eternity. To be a vessel He can use, to fill you up with Himself.