Whose Scale Is It Anyway?
I weigh myself every day on scales that don't matter.
On a scale from toned-up-and-slimmed-down, I-am-rocking-my-skinny-jeans down to an overeating-unworked-out-blob of a body. From Aly-the-rock-star-grant-writer to Aly the failure, the procrastinator, the office imposter.
What scale do you weigh me on?
Kindness.
Mercy.
Gentleness.
Patience.
Self-control.
The fruit of the spirit. Faith. Steadfastness. Compassion. Generosity.
NOT how many muscles I can clearly identify in my wannabe six pack or how many reports I finish at work.
But maybe most of all, you don't even weigh me.
I'm bringing out the scales and measuring tape and all you want to do is hug me. Be with me. Scoop me up in your arms because no matter how big or small I get or how many accomplishments I tick off on my running tally, your arms will be big, they will be warm, and they will be all encompassing. They are bigger than my sins. They are bigger than my shame. They are bigger than my doubts. They are bigger than the lies I tell myself and the truths I choose to ignore.
You curl up next to me and envelop me. When I don’t want to workout or work or think or process or engage or give. When all I want to do is rest and lay here, you surround me. You love me.
You are PRESENCE.
You are LOVE.
CEASE STRIVING.
God, remind me of your scale. Remind me that your scale doesn’t weigh down, but builds up. Remind me to forget my scale and my striving.
Actually, today just bring me closer to your heart. To your weightless spirit.
Draw me close to you.
Today I Will...
....allow that which is inside of me to stream out of my colorful fingertips.
No More Outsourcing
For a journalism major, I’m really bad at asking questions. Heck, for a person in relationship with others, I’m really bad at asking questions. I love learning things. I love finding things out. But it’s more of an undercover operation than anything else. I sleuth. I investigate. I Google. And I’m pretty good at it. But for as much as I discover on my own, it’s laughable how much time I’ll spend sleuthing around instead of going directly to the source.
I do this with people and I do this with God. I’m scared to look like I don’t know the answer. I’m scared to ask and I’m scared to listen.
Right now in my relationship with God, I'm scared to listen. Scared that things might have to change. Scared to put my trust and identity fully in God. I'm scared that God might not say what I want him to say. The past few years have been sprinkled with fits of unwarranted compassion. Times when God spoke to me and moved me when I didn't even ask. Now I'm learning to ask. And it's tough.
When I do get up the courage to ask, this is what is usually looks like:
I ask God for direction. I ask to him to speak, speak, please speak! Then I immediately get on with my life--brush my teeth, hop in the car, check my email. I keep thinking about the issue or the decision, but I've gone back into my own Aly-world where God is only an innocent bystander.
I ask family and friends what I should do. Well, more accurately, I tell family and friends what I've already decided so they can affirm my wisdom. I read books, lots of books. I journal. I write. I spin the decision around every which way in my brain.
And I still don't know what to do.
Finally frustrated, I give up and ask God why he's been so silent on the issue.
Then, a small, conscience-pricking ping signals somewhere in the back of my very busy brain and even busier life: Aly, why have you been so loud?
Busted.
And then in the silence, in the space my brain has finally made for God, he starts to tell me not what to do, but who I am. He tells me I’m loved. That I’m his daughter. That he will love me and use me no matter what decision I make.
And that is something more valuable than any quote from a book (but, oh how I love quotes!) or pro/con list or slice of friendly advice. That intimacy gives me a courage and security so much deeper than anything I could ever sleuth out on my own.
Which is why today, this week, this hour, I’m going to ask God for direction. And I’m going to listen.