I wish life was a little more like "Saved by the Bell"... I wish I was Zach Morris and when life got a little too crazy or overwhelming, I could just take a time out. Talk myself through it. Catch myself up to where life was at. Take ample time to digest what is happening before I have to deal with the situation at hand. Think about what is going on and consider my options before I react.

But unfortunately, I'm not Zach Morris and life isn't "Saved by the Bell" and there are no time outs. You have to go with your gut and hope that it steers you in the right decision. Sometimes, you just have to roll with what life hands you without knowing exactly what you are doing or having a clear game plan in place.

More often than not lately, Ive felt like life is three or four steps ahead of where I am mentally. Its moving at warp speed and I can't quite catch up to it. Or get a firm grasp.

And that's just unsettling. For life to be about three steps ahead of where you are ready or prepared for it to be. To feel hugely unequipped to handle what is happening, even when all of it is positive and wonderful.

I guess this is just another lesson in how I will never be able to handle it all on my own or manage it perfectly. Or on my own. Or without failures or freak outs.

And maybe that's ok. Because in the end, we might make some of our best decisions simply going with our gut. And all a time out would do would give us the chance to reason ourselves out of a decision that would be the best thing we ever did.

Because sometimes, the best things are the ones that make the least sense.

For centuries, man believed that the sun revolves around the earth. Centuries later, he still thinks that time moves clockwise.

~Robert Brault

Time is insane. Sometimes, it feels like it creeps by. It can feel like each minute is its own hour. Other times, it flies by. It can feel like each day is merely a minute.

Its also weird because we feel that things should happen in specific times. We gauge time by a certain idea of how or when things happen. We create timelines and plot our courses accordingly.

We also come to life with certain of what sort of times things are supposed to take. What sort of schedule different seasons of our lives should follow. How certain things should happen.

We like when time happens in the way we predict. That way we can see what is coming our way and feel prepared to handle what is about to happen. We can size up the situation and deal with time in our own way.

So it can really mess us up if certain things or events or seasons happen out of their proper time or don't follow our preconceived idea of how they should happen.

When events in our lives come upon us in expected ways or at unsuspecting times, we can feel overwhelmed or unprepared. It can throw us off our guard and in some ways feel like an assault.

But maybe this is good for us. Maybe we need to remember that time doesn't necessarily move clockwise. That sometimes a month is just a month. But sometimes, a month can be much longer than a month and hold more time in it that month than any other one.

Perhaps, its good and helpful when time sneaks up on us and launches an attack. Maybe its helpful and wonderful when time assaults us with things that we are unprepared for and are forced to handle in what seems like a time warp.

I think there is something unique in looking time in the face and realizing that it doesn't work in the way we imagine. I think it builds something within us when time laughs at our timelines and does her own thing in spite of our best laid plans.

I think we would never be open to certain truths or ideas or events unless time snuck them up on us in her own special way. So its a good thing when time refuses to work clockwise. Its a helpful thing when she doesn't follow the calendar. And some of the most special moments we can experience, often happen in those crazy time warps.

So maybe we should close our calendars and throw away our watches. Maybe we shouldn't let ourselves get so caught up in "timing" and "procedure". Who knows what we might find ourselves experiencing if we simply allow time to control what happens to us instead of us control time?

And now, let the wild rumpus start!

" ...And Max the king of all the wild things was lonely and wanted to be where someone loved him best of all. Then all around from far away across the world he smelled good things to eat so he gave up being king of where the wild things are...."

- Where the Wild Things Are, Maurice Sendak

What good is it to be king, if there is no one there to share your kingdom with?

What good is it to have great adventures, if there is no one with whom you share your stories?
Who wants a scrapbook full of pictures alone? We all want someone to call at night and tell about our days. You can have the best job and the most beautiful home in the hippest city in the world, but still have nothing. You can have a houseful of possessions but still not have a home. You can fulfill all the worldly ideas of success and still feel like a failure.

What is success? Is it having a thriving career? Is it having a successful business? Is it owning your own home? Is it having the white picket fence and 2.4 kids? Is it living life independently of the community you've grown up in? Is it taking fancy vacations or driving around in dream cars?

Don't get me wrong. All of these things are wonderful, awesome things that I think in a part of us, we all desire and work towards. But are these the things that make us successful? That bring us joy? That will give our hearts peace at night?

I would venture that the answer would be no. And I think its sort of like Max in Where the Wild Things Are. He ruled and ran the kingdom of the wild beasts. He was in charge and in command. Yet at the end of the day, he was alone. And he gave all that up to go back to where he wasn't a king, but was loved.

I think the things that matter in our lives are people. The people who love us and the people whom we love. I think theses are where the true successes and failures in life lay.

Because nothing can make you more miserable than being alone. And nothing can give you more joy than being with those whom you love.

I needed to write tonight. And I have started several drafts, but nothing was coming together. And I started to get frustrated. I mean I really felt the need to write. To put what I'm thinking, feeling, discovering down on paper. But the words weren't forming into anything that made sense to me (or to anyone else for that matter). Its just that I'm feeling so much right now. And writing is one of my outlets for my emotions. It helps me get a grasp on all that is going on inside of me. Of all that I'm feeling.

I feel hope. I feel joy. I feel peace. I feel confused. I feel strong. I feel confident.

And I think maybe that's the point. That for the first time in months, I am able to feel again. I've stopped being the zombie going through the motions and I've rejoined this delightful adventure called life. I'm ready to step back out on the playing field and go for it.

And all that changed when I went last weekend to serve some teenagers on a weekend Chrysalis. I went to serve and bless, and found myself being served and blessed. I went to point to God, and found God pointed out to me. I went to help people heal, and found my hurts healed. I went to remind young girls of who they are, and ended up being reminded of who I was.

Isn't it amazing how I walked around for months numb and unfeeling? And in three days, God thaws out all the frozen places in me? He takes the dead spots and brings life to them again? And I finally feel like Kelly again. That's what God does. He creates us anew.

And that's why we call it the good news. The really good news.

Whether its been two months or two days since I last saw my little sister, we basically have the same greeting for either situation. It goes like this: one of us walks through the door, we both squeal (no matter where we are), and my baby sister leaps in my arms like a little kid (as in I'm holding her- all 19 years of her) and we hug it out. Doesn't matter when, where, who- this is how our hello goes.

Its funny because when I saw her Sunday and I noticed that before I even reached her, she was jumping off the group so that I could catch her. And it struck me, that this is how it is in my family. Allison doesn't fear jumping, because she knows I will be there to catch her. None of us are afraid to leap, because we know that the others will be there to keep them from hitting the ground.

And its the exact same way with our older sister. Although I tend not to leap into her arms (I prefer my feet firmly planted on the ground), I know that if I am falling- she will be there to catch me, or at least pick me back up.

We have absolute trust in each other. We know no fear when it comes to each other. We know that no matter what we say, it will be understood (or at the very least accepted and acknowledged). We might not always agree, but we will at least be heard. That it doesn't matter what we are feeling, we can share that with each other. We fight the most with each other and are harder on each other, because we know nothing can make us walk away from each other. Its the weirdest, most insane kind of trust. Its absolute. I don't quetsion it. Ever.

We can leap, because we trust the others will be there to catch. We can cry, because we know that the others will be w/kleenex. We can fight, because we know there will be forgiveness. We can make mistakes, because we know we will be loved anyway. And even after we have hurt each other, we forgive because we love each other too much not to. And when we face the world, we know we don't do it on our own.

I have absolute faith that when I jump or fall, my sisters will be there to catch me. And they are mere humans. Mortals prone to error and mistakes. Yet, they have my full confidence.

I wonder why I trust my sisters without fail, yet question a God who has never failed me yet.

I still have alot to learn about faith.

I'm a fixer by nature. I like to take action. I see a problem, and I immediately start figuring out how to help fix the situation. Its instinctive for me. I'm often not conscious of the fact that I'm doing it, its just something I do.

I don't know if its my personality, the way I was raised, or what- but if there is something broken, I want to fix it. If there is something hurt, I need to help heal it. If there is a rift, I will figure out a way to fix it. Even if the problem doesn't affect my life directly.

Sometimes, people appreciate this aspect of me. And allow me to help, and fix, and offer what I can.
However sometimes, people don't want to be helped. People don't like the "fixer" side of me. People want me to leave it alone.

And I'm not good at that. I'm not good at looking at a broken situation and leaving it broken. I'm no good at facing a hurting heart and not reaching out to offer comfort. So I don't do well when I'm not given the choice to help. I don't know how to handle when my only option is to sit back and watch from afar. When the only help I can offer is prayer from a distance.

But maybe that's a lesson I need to learn. That I can't and won't be able to help/fix/heal everything and not everyone is going to be open to letting me help. And I have to find a way to be able to live at peace with that. Find peace that I can't help save everyone and every situation. Find peace in the fact that I'm not the savior of anything at all. The fixer of anything at all. The healer of anything at all.

I have to find a way to face at the end of the day, I'm not capable of anything. That I am utterly dependent upon Someone to help me.

And its only because of that, that I can offer help (humble as it is) to anyone else.

Good Friday?

I’ve always thought calling it “Good” Friday seemed a little weird. Actually, I’ve found it downright obnoxious. It feels like calling that particular day good is rubbing salt in an open wound.

What was good about that Friday? I’m guessing if we polled all the people there, they would agree that nothing seemed “good”. Maybe exciting, maybe thrilling, but certainly not good. Probably sad, quite possibly disturbing- but good? I sincerely doubt it. Even to the Romans, or the officials, or the crowd who cried out for the crucifixion, I doubt when they got home that night they sat down and thought to themselves: “Now that was a good day.”

Because even if they got what they wanted, I’m guessing there was a nagging sensation in their minds that what just happened was not quite right. That what took place was wrong. That even though they asked for it, when they got it, it didn’t make quite as much sense.

The day certainly wasn’t good for Jesus. Tortured and crucified.

The day couldn’t have been good for his friends- watching the man they spent their life serving slowly die a public humiliating death.

The day probably shattered Mary’s heart- watching her much loved, first-born cease to breathe.

And the people who just happened to be around? Who really had no strong opinion in the matter? I bet they could feel the evil in the air. The hopelessness of that day as it covered the ground like fog. I bet they would agree that something was terribly wrong about that day.

I can’t even imagine what God felt. Watching the Son He sent undergo the most painful physical and emotional suffering that anyone has ever felt before. Knowing that He could stop it in an instant, but refusing out of His love for the rest of His children to do so. To know you could save your child, but to choose not to? How can that be good? Necessary, gracious, loving maybe, but certainly not good.

We have a tendency to gloss over the misery of the day. To try and temper the absolute grief and awfulness of what transpired. I think we are largely uncomfortable sitting there and simply facing the tragic awful truth about the events the transpired that day. We don’t know how to sit and simply let the reality of those events penetrate our minds. We are afraid to call it like it is. We don’t want to admit that it actually was a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. We like to skip over the events of Friday and focus on Sunday. We don’t even begin to deal with Saturday. Its just too hard to deal with the two most hopeless days in history.

I think it is necessary to learn how to do that though. I think it would be good for all of us to reach the place where we can face an awful situation and just admit that that is what it is. To find the place where we stop trying to gloss it over, we stop trying to make it better than it actually it, to find the place where we can just proclaim it for what it is: bad. To figure out what it means to simply be present with the pain and horror, instead of making feeble attempts to make it better.

Only after the events of Sunday, can the events of Friday even begin to be considered good. Only after the scene at the tomb, can the scene at the cross give whispers of hope instead of screams of despair. Only after about two thousand years, would we dare to call that day “Good Friday”.

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