Monday, December 22, 2008
Saturday, December 20, 2008
We could never guess
tiny little bundle, you
your skin delicately pink
blanketing your warmth
eyes of awe
your beautiful lashes and tiny hands
little noises
the very veins in your eyelids
are melodic
small translucent ribcage
your breath
is bigger than you
and God pours life
between your fingertips
you hold your mother's skin
your purpose here
is bigger than our imagination
we could never guess
but maybe someday
when we dance
through the universe
perfected
we will know
.:.
Dedicated to little Kayleigh, whose story I've been following breathlessly over the past few days. She has already touched my life, and she's changed the world in ways that we might never even guess at until we see the God who sustains her face-to-face. He has plans for her that exceed our imagination. Kayleigh is truly a miracle; please keep her in your heart today.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Seventeen
Note: The date above isn't my actual birthday; I'm not allowed to give the real date online (parents; privacy reasons), but it did happen recently! :)
I turned 17 today.
Before I go deeper into that, let me backtrack for a moment. There's something I need to say about my "sweet 16": honestly, I'm not very proud of it. Somewhere (maybe even on this blog; I can't remember), I called it "a season of realization of my fallenness." I did a lot of things that I was, and am still, ashamed of; and in many ways the year was more a "shrinking" for me than a time of growth.
So it isn't without a little trepidation that I face a new year of life: the year when, God-willing, I will graduate high school, move to a new city, and begin university. I have many regrets about my past: I feel as if I've wasted far more of my life than I should have (and, if you look at my hours and hours of internet surfing, you'll agree) while failing to learn the lessons that are supposed to lead me into adulthood. My "spiritual maturity" level is still set somewhere between the pacifiers and the first steps, when I should be running marathons (1 Cor. 9:24). All my life, I've been rejecting opportunities, shirking responsibilities, and neglecting Jesus, and there's been a nagging hopelessness in me that this year will probably be the same.
However, just a few days before my birthday, God gave me a revelation that has been encouraging me as I enter my 17th year. It's a very simple statement, yet eternally comforting: God doesn't define me by my past.
This truth hit me while I was reading Numbers. What amazed me most about chapter 20 was the fact that God didn't care about Moses' and Aaron's track-record of faith when telling them they would not see the promised land because of their new faithlessness. Who they were at present was more important to him than who they had been in the past.
This truth hit me while I was reading Numbers. What amazed me most about chapter 20 was the fact that God didn't care about Moses' and Aaron's track-record of faith when telling them they would not see the promised land because of their new faithlessness. Who they were at present was more important to him than who they had been in the past.
The incident brought to mind an exchange between Jesus and Peter in the New Testament: Matthew 16, to be exact. The fact that he had just named Peter the Rock of the Church and the keeper of heaven's key didn't stop Jesus from rebuking him as an instrument of satan several minutes later. Jesus was concerned with who Peter was now, not five minutes ago. In the New and Old Testaments alike, the present meant more to God than the past -- the long-lived faith of Moses, Aaron, and Peter lost importance in the face of the present.
I stopped to think about that. Even if I had been an amazing Christian last year, all my past faith and piety would not remove my responsibility for the now. The Bible shows that a faithful past can teach you lessons and equip you with Godly skills, but it cannot do the work that you must do today. It can be a well of encouragement and beautiful memories, but not an excuse to slack off ("I read my Bible every day last year; will I really lose out if I miss a day?").
But what what about a faithless past like mine? The Bible shows us that side of the picture as well -- a notorious theif hangs crucified beside a King, recieving a new life with his last breath. A persecutor escapes a lifelong hunger for the blood of saints, and his murderous hands become palms of apostolic healing. A prostitute faces judgement, wincing at wounds of her past, and is welcomed into God's family. Certainly, God can make good use of broken yesterdays.
But what what about a faithless past like mine? The Bible shows us that side of the picture as well -- a notorious theif hangs crucified beside a King, recieving a new life with his last breath. A persecutor escapes a lifelong hunger for the blood of saints, and his murderous hands become palms of apostolic healing. A prostitute faces judgement, wincing at wounds of her past, and is welcomed into God's family. Certainly, God can make good use of broken yesterdays.
Our pasts -- with all their shame and all their glory -- are in God's hands; to us, he gives a daily gift called the present, and that is what we must focus on. "Today," he tells us. "Today ... do not harden your hearts." So, even though my life so far has been less-than-satisfactory, God isn't going to let it haunt me. He has put away my past, and yearns for me today.
Today.
Today I turn. Seventeen, but not only that.
I turn to Him.
Love, Oksy
Picture from Jupiter Images.
Friday, November 14, 2008
Gary
In my 3-and-a-quarter years of high school, I don't think I ever saw him talk to anyone.
I had him in a couple of my classes. Every day, without fail (excluding test days), he spent the entire period with his head laid down on the table. Sleeping. Or so it seemed -- I mean, it's not like anyone ever bothered to check. He wasn't on my mind a lot -- or ever. I only thought about him when a teacher would ask off-hand in the middle of a lesson, Is that Gary sleeping again? Had he been oblivious to the giggles and the laughter as jokes about him cracked over his head? I knew that he wasn't because, sometimes, he'd lift his head and look up long enough to show that he was not asleep. Yet that didn't stop me from laughing along.
When he looked at you, his eyes would flinch nervously -- or defiantly -- from yours. His expression was fierce. And utterly silent.
I never thought about him. No one ever did. Until Thursday, that is.
On Thursday, Gary brought a home-made bomb to school.
The police were called in. His locker raided, his belongings confiscated, his school records stamped with "Expelled."
It's probably the last I'll ever see of him.
However, it certainly hasn't been the last I've thought of him. My first thought, right when I heard the news, was probably the same one that's running through your mind right now: My gosh -- that could have killed someone! Was he crazy?! How could he?
My second thought was: Well, what did you expect?
The bomb he brought was no joke: no little sparkler or mini-firework. The bomb could have left people blind, disfigured, or worse. But what did I expect? The guy who was, to us, nothing more than some wierd kid who always slept and never talked -- did I expect him to see us as anything more than a homogenous group of jeering, uncaring teenagers? Could I really expect someone upon whom we had never bestowed any value to see our value? We had no regard for his life -- why were we so surprised to find that he had no regard for ours?
In no way am I condoning what he did, or planned to do. I'm merely saying that we'd been doing the same to him for many years, minus the explosives. And I did nothing to set myself apart and show him the love that God has for him.
Thursday evening, I put these thoughts aside for a while to surf some blogs. On one of them, Casting Crowns' "If We Are The Body" came on in the flash music player. I sang along, swaying my head and lifting my eyes at all the appropriate moments.
To God, that must have been one of the most ironic moments of history.
"But if we are the Body
Why aren't His arms reaching?
Why aren't His hands healing?
Why aren't His words teaching?
And if we are the Body
Why aren't His feet going?
Why is His love not showing them there is a way?
There is a way..."
In my 3-and-a-quarter years of high school, I don't think I ever saw him talk to anyone. Certainly not to myself.
Or maybe, I was the one. Who never stopped to speak. Never stopped to listen.
Name of student changed to protect his identity. Photo from JupiterImages.
Award
I've been awarded a "Thank You Blog Award" by Kaysie of Alabaster Box. My first ever --thanks! :)
In turn, I'd like to award a couple of the bloggers who have helped me "break through" into the blogging world and have supported me by coming by to read and comment on my posts.
Phylicia: Her blog is filled with helpful, relatable, and relevant advice that I believe all girls need to hear. Thank you for taking the time to fill this world with the godly attitudes that it lacks so much, Phylicia! I know I'll be reading your blog for a long time to come!
Ruthie-Roo: She's an absolutely wonderful blogger who really knows how to strike a balance between the light-hearted and the serious when it comes to posting. Her blog is, in turns, heartwarming, smile-inducing, and soul-convicting -- and always God-glorifying.
Laura: She recently deactivated her blog, but I have greatly enjoyed her encouragement and friendship, and I think she deserves this award for everything she's done for me this year! :)
Carmen: Another frequent commenter with a very enjoyable, interesting blog; going through her posts always brings a smile to my face! Thanks Carmen!
Kaysie: Am I allowed to award someone "back"? Hopefully, because I certainly think that Kaysie deserves another one of these awards. She's truly a light in this world, and I'm glad I found her blog, because it has already done a lot in my life.
Have a great friday everyone!
Love,
Oksana
Saturday, November 8, 2008
Wherever Arms are Raised, a Battle is Raging
Moses lifting his hands on the hilltop. There's something about that scene that gets me every time. I can see it right now, even as I type -- the powerful, electrifying strength with which he raised his arms for the first time over the raging battle scene -- the pain that gripped them as they grew unrelentingly heavy and fell to his sides -- the weight of his body slumping down upon the rock -- the weak, numb arms falling into the hands of Aaron and Hur -- the gleaming arrows whipping through the blazing atmosphere -- the victory proclaimed by sunset.
It's so awe-inspiring: that the stuttering, awkward man was chosen to stumble down from the montain of billowing smoke and proclaim the law of God before his people. That the same old man -- overcome by weakness, desperately yoking his tired arms about the shoulders of his descendants -- led his nation to victory. That the man who cried, "Send someone else!" out of the depths of his fears and insecurities would be told, "I send you."
I stand in wonder of the God who pours his strength into our weakness; who does not despise our messy, blundering offerings; whose makes victorious those who have no strength to hold up their own hands.
I see glimmerings of Moses everywhere: in the young man lifting his arms during worship, overcome with waves of doubt and condemnation; in the young woman raising her hands in prayer, crying as she looks back on the life that's brought her to her knees; in the mother raising her newborn above her head and feeling a piercing pain as she remembers the father he will never meet.
Wherever arms are raised, a battle is raging.
Arms raised, falling, crumbling collapsing, descending, embracing, supporting, rising, linked, outstretched, interwoven, unrestrained...
Wherever the day is dying, hope is fading, and sunlight is languishing, the God of light waits to lavish victory upon his people.
I think of Jesus. His arms straining, his body heaving, his weight pulling his hands above his head; his head falling. As the sun began slipping silently towards the horizon, the world saw two arms raised in helpless defeat.
But they weren't. They had been raised in petition, stretched out in forgiveness, lifted with reckless abandon in passionate worship.
And now, supported on either side by two dark, gleaming nails, they were raised in victory.
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The battle was won.
Images not mine; copyright goes to their respective owners.
Saturday, October 25, 2008
Live and Let Live
I saw that video a while ago, and was really moved by it. I watched it again, and again, and again, and soon enough, the bigger picture began to unfold. Why is it that we so often avoid things because of our limitations, incompetence, or inabilities? Why, when there are so many other people who can be our support and help us do the things that we alone cannot? Is it just because we want to steal the show? To be the only spotlit, center-of-attention performer -- or else not perform at all?
Seeing this video makes me wonder how much could we do if we could only let others be for us the things that we are not... and do for them what they cannot do. It seems as if we live our lives fruitlessly trying to perform an arabesque without a leg to lift, while our healthy arms dangle uselessly. We try to choose what we want to do, when God has already chosen other roles for us -- roles that might not be as glamorous or fun as those of others, but roles that are perfectly allotted by God to make the Christian body into one complete, unified being.
I mentioned a while ago about the hard (for me) decision to become a writer. I had been jumping from one thing to the next -- trying to teach myself piano, trying to master wheel pottery, trying to learn to sing, trying to learn Italian on my own -- and ended up leaving my gift for writing stagnant and under-nourished. I was like a gardener who planted a hundred different seeds, and spent so much time jumping around from one to the next that none of them ended up growing.
I'm all for trying new things, but there's a difference between a focused, concentrated effort on several key projects, and spreading yourself too thin. I think that, if -- figuratively speaking -- God gave me a "hand" so that I could be a hand to those who have no hand, I should focus on using that hand instead of bemoaning the foot that I don't have... there are others who "be" that foot for me. That's how we are made: there are no trials that have no way out, no deficiencies that cannot be filled in by others.
One of the central characterstics of a servant is to do your part to the best of your ability, and let others do their part. I mean, Jesus, who has absolutely no incompetencies, imperfections, or inabilities, still allows and encourages us to be his hands and feet. It's not that he needs us to do these things for him -- it's that he entrusts us to do his work here on earth. He lets us do it so that we can grow.
I guess we sometimes misinterpret messages such as "expand your horizons," or "do hard things," and turn them into instruments of selfishness. It becomes a race for quantity, not quality. You learn to sing, though you nave neither talent, nor desire, nor passion for it -- you just want to put your hundredth accomplishment on the list of "Things I Can Do." Your lackluster efforts are copied by other people who are looking for easy ways expand their lists. The standards of quality in the music world begin to fall. People who are passionate, anointed musicians get discouraged by the low standards invading the industry, and either fall to meet those standards, or choose a different path.
And all this time, your God-given talent for drawing is left neglected and forgotten by you.
Wouldn't it have been better for everyone if you'd fulfilled your role and let others fulfill theirs? You see, that's what Jesus does -- he lets us do his work so that we can grow from it. Sometimes, you've just got to give up the microphone to the people who were meant to sing -- who will actually grow by singing.
The young woman in the video didn't try to perform lifts using her one arm -- she let the man do that, and he ended up strengthening his arms. Likewise, he didn't try to do jumps and footwork that required two legs -- he left that job to the young lady's strong legs. Together, they reinforced their strengths and filled in each other's weaknesses.
And it was beautiful.
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