Why am I here?

By the time I could walk, I'd already been pelted with the age-old question countless times:

What do you want to be when you grow up?

My answers and those of my peers changed from year to year and day to day . . . for a brief time, I replied, "a singer," my friend Mary once dreamed of being a garbage-man (well, garbage-woman, I suppose) and my cousin Stephanie used to dream of being an Indian. As we all grew up, we grew wise to the ways of the world and our aspirations became more logical. Concrete. Attainable.

I, who could not and cannot carry the proverbial tune in the proverbial bucket, had no hope of catching my big break in the entertainment industry. I went on to dream of being an artist, and for a long time, I found the term "starving artist" glamorous and appealing. Then I wondered about illustrating and writing children's books. Or writing and designing greeting cards. Or this. Or that.

My dream morphed each day, and I recall being a senior in high school (not that it was too terribly long ago) trying so hard to figure out where I was supposed to go, what I was supposed to do. I prayed, prayed, prayed for direction. I searched my Bible for guidance. I knew that whatever I did, wherever I went to school, I wanted to serve God. I wanted to live a life that spoke boldly of His beauty and grace.

So. Here I am. I wonder every single day if I made the right choice . . . and from a career standpoint, I'm not at all certain. I do, however, feel confident that skills in writing and communications can and will translate into a number of fields, leaving me with endless possibilities.

Amid all the wondering and the questions (like do I seriously want to live from daily deadline to deadline in the newspaper world?), the words of a great man, one whose devotion to Christ is an inspiration, came at the perfect time Tuesday night.

"You are where you are on this campus, doing what you're doing for a reason. Your life touches people that no one else in this room could touch," said campus minister Gary Brittain.

The best part? Gary wasn't just talking to me-- he spoke to a roomful of college students who, like me, long to make a difference on this campus and in the world.

I am where I am (at the corner desk in the Chanticleer office) because God put me there.

So, friends, it is with a smiling heart and a brighter spirit that I will walk the path that is my life. And we all will wait and see what it is that He had in mind.

Because He first loved us

“We love because he first loved us.”
1 John 4:19


Pink plush teddy bears smile down at me from their perches. Heart-shaped boxes of chocolate span an entire aisle. Valentine’s Day stickers, baskets, wrapping paper, muffin tins, cards, toys, flowers and candy, have exploded into a very red and pink section of Wal-mart.


For a holiday centered on love, a look down those aisles tells me that, like all other American holidays, it has become a holiday centered on “stuff.”


As a lady in love, I happen to enjoy Valentine’s Day. But as much as I am anticipating spending the day with Kenny, the idea of a day that celebrates love directs my heart heavenward.


In love, God formed this earth. He lovingly fashioned each creature of the land and sea, and He crowned his creation with man and then woman. Instantly, he loved them, and it was a love so strong, that even after Adam and Eve deviated so badly from His plan, it did not cease. Instead, with grace, His love abounded even more.


In love, God looked down to the earth and saw a world sick with sin. He saw that the rituals of worship and sacrifice and atonement were boxing his people into a life devoid of joy. And so he gave again.


In love, God send his only son, Jesus Christ, away from the safe haven of heaven, into a world whose inhabitants He very well knew would kill Him. He watched as His son was embraced by some but rejected and feared by others. And He looked on, tearfully, I imagine, as His precious son was crucified to save the souls of his murderers.


If that isn’t love, then I don’t know what is. God is love—utterly, fully, completely.


And it is His example—one of selfless sacrifice—that serves as the model for you and I to imitate. Love means more than romance, and lust has nothing to do with true love.


Love is, to me, about trying with all our might to love one another in the way that Christ loves all of us—unconditionally.

Falling apart

I am consumed by the happenings of the day-to-day.

Get up early, head to the office, check my e-mail, log out, check my other e-mail, check the News Wire, check the event calendar, consult my planner, interview, interview, interview, write, write, write, eat a protein bar on the way to class, sit in class worrying about how I’m going to get everything done, run back to the office, call reporters, call photographers, write, write, write, dash home, do a bit of homework, then collapse. And then do it all again the next day.

I write of this not to highlight myself as a “busy” person—quite the opposite. I know of many whose lives are far more stressful, far busier and, quite frankly, far more important than mine. No, I write of this because I know you are busy too. I write of this because my intent when taking on the responsibility of writing this weekly blog was to share my heart. So, friends, here is
my heart:

This semester has been a difficult one for me. I was shoved into a position on this newspaper staff that I didn’t really want and I took on a second job (to boost my portfolio, not my wallet)—all while trying to earn A’s in my classes. Again, I know that this plight is most certainly not unique, but for me, it has proved to be too much. Way too much. So much, that my body is protesting. I spent all of last week broke out in welts and hives and this week with a constantly aching stomach.

Yet, I, like you, continue to trudge on. Day by day, week by week, hoping, quite frankly, for time to melt away quickly. But last night, I took a rare moment, and I stopped to think. And I remembered that it was not always like this.

Take last semester. I was fresh from two months of serving God by mending roofs and laying tile, and the joy that Christ brings was fresh within me. I remember walking through my days with a veritable spring in my step and a heart full of joy. I remember being so grateful for the opportunities that my work here at the Chanticleer would bring, and so excited about being an active part of the BCM and mentoring a group of freshman girls.

I was happy, at peace with myself and with God.

But as time went on and responsibilities mounted, that joy and zest for life slowly drained away. I knew my life was no testament to the beauty of my God, and that knowledge, I think, broke me down a little more. I felt like a failure, and I didn’t know a thing to do about it.

I sit here on this Sunday morning broken. I come to you today, not with lofty words, but to write to you, from my heart to yours. I am here to say that my body is exhausted, my heart is broken and that I am a flat-out failure. Those words ring true, yes.

But I am also here to tell you (and to tell myself) that it doesn’t have to be like this. God promised us a life more abundant and free, and I believe in that promise. Sometimes, guys, we just let ourselves and our plans and our jobs and our relationships and our “this” and our “that” stand between us and our creator.

I’m here to be honest. For the past two weeks, I have barely cracked my Bible—the Holy word of God, His letter to you and me . . . and I wondered why I have felt my joy slip away?

Guys, stop and think for just a moment. Stop. Think. Look around you at the world outside, the incredible work of the Hands of an incredible God. The One who made all of that in just a week made you and loves you, too. Just revel in that beautiful truth for a moment.

In the past months, I set my life to spinning so fast that I didn’t stop. I didn’t think. I didn’t pray. Or read His word. And here I am, hurting and crying as a result.

But, friends, today is a new day. Today is a day that for me marks the beginning of a new journey—my return to the arms of the One who loves me most.

I wrote a blog last night… “SPAM and Tootsie Rolls” or some such thing. You can read it below if you so choose. And when I was done, I smiled, happy to check one more thing off my to-do list. This morning, though, as I sat down with an open Bible and heart, I knew that I’d be in the wrong if I didn’t invite you all on the journey. So, come. Join me. I am putting my heart out there, for you all to read and dissect, and all I ask is that you open your mind and come along.

God is good. All the time.

“As the deer pants for streams of water,

so my soul pants for you, O God.

My soul thirsts for God, for the living God.

When can I go and meet with God?

My tears have been my food day and night

while men say to me all day long,

‘Where is your God?’

These things I remember

as I pour out my soul:

how I used to go with the multitude,

leading the procession to the house of God,

with shouts of joy and thanksgiving

among the festive throng.

Why are you so downcast, O my soul?

Why so disturbed within me?

Put your hope in God,

for I will yet praise him,

my Savior and my God.

My soul is downcast within me;

Therefore I will remember you

from the land of the Jordon,

the heights of Hermon—from Mount Mizar.

Deep calls to deep

in the roar of your waterfalls;

all your waves and breakers

have swept over me.

By day the Lord directs his love,

at night his song is with me—

a prayer to the God of my life.”

Psalm 42:1-8

SPAM and Tootsie pops

He heaved a case of SPAM onto the whirring conveyer belt. Next came a super-sized box of puppy chow. Then two cans of Barbasol shaving cream. Three bags of off-brand cheese puffs. A package of Tootsie Pops.

I leaned over my own overloaded cart, wishing and waiting for my turn, and my mind wandered over to the eclectic pile of groceries that continued to mount and to the man who was adding to the stack.

His weather-worn complexion told of days toiling in the sun, and his white hair whispered of years gone by. He wore a light blue button-up shirt with an American flag emblazoned on the left sleeve and a black leather vest.

The beep-beeps of the cashiers’ scanners and the murmur of small-talking voices melted away, and for a moment, I found myself wondering what the life was like to which this gentleman was going home.

I pegged him as a bachelor immediately. With a dog, obviously. I imagined he must have some children in his life—nieces or nephews, perhaps. I just knew that those Tootsie Pops were headed to a jar in the middle of a kitchen table somewhere. Maybe the cheese puffs, too.

Startled, I blinked.

I realized with a start that my eyes were boring into this unknowing man and his groceries. Clearing my throat, I began to load my own selections onto the belt.

As the cashier handed him his change, the man glanced back at me and our eyes met.

I was instantly ashamed of myself and of the wanderings of my mind.

Each day, we all encounter people—people from every walk and discipline of life, people of every color, people of every belief system, people of every political conviction. And far too often, I find that I, instead of offering a hello and a handshake, I find myself drawing conclusions, closing my mind off to what is and opening it to what my snap judgment tells me is so.

This week, as I work and learn and play, I know my path will intersect with those of many people. It’s inevitable. But instead of allowing myself to yet again stay shut off from the world and cling to my stubborn set of stereotypes, I hope to instead smile and make a new friend . . . or perhaps better understand an old one.

"Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing that some have entertained angels without knowing it."

Hebrews 13:2

Our Father's heart

“God is our refuge and strength,

An ever-present help in trouble.

Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way

And the mountains fall into the heart of the sea,

Though its waters roar and foam

And the mountains quake with their surging.”

Psalms 46:1-3

We smiled as he poked fun at we Alabamians and the way we launch into hysterics at the slightest possibility of snow.

“We have to go buy food because we might be forced off the roads for as many as five, maybe even six hours,” he explained.

We laughed when he told tales of the antics of he and his five children.

And yes, we couldn’t help but grin at his “famous” adage, “Never have a pet that can take you.”

Saturday, January 19, 2008, I sat toward the back of a stadium-style auditorium, and listened to the words of Rick Burgess.

We laughed, sure, but more than that, hearts were stirred that night. Rick spoke of his relationship with Jesus Christ, and he spoke with the conviction of a man affirmed. He spoke with the assurance of a man that knows that his life is no longer his own.

Rick spoke. We listened. God moved.

And, as Rick later explained, his cell phone was vibrating within the confines of his pocket. Over and over and over, the phone rang with persistence.

But still Rick spoke, and still we listened, and still God moved.

That night, as Rick would discover backstage and as we would hear at the next morning’s service, his little boy, Bronner “Cornbread” Burgess, fell into the family pool and drowned.

An innocent life—gone, wiped out in the space of the slenderest of moments.

Tragic. Impossible to imagine. Unfair.

There Rick was, away from home, giving of himself and his heart in the name of Jesus Christ, and tragedy struck. It would have been so easy for the Burgess family to fall apart, reject the name of God and stand frozen with fear forever.

But that was not to be. Instead, with a broken heart and spirit, Rick, his family and the radio show “Rick and Bubba” sought to glorify God with their story.

Please visit these links to see for yourself. Rick delivered his son's eulogy, and below you can view it in three parts.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3



And remember, that as incredible as the life and testimony of the Burgess family is, it is not because of them that they are able to go on. It is not because of any unique strength or ability that this family has-- it is, quite simply, because they carry the love of Christ in their hearts. Do you know Him? And if you do, are you clinging to Him in this moment?


I'm not, not the way I need to be or long to be, but in this moment, I am seeking His face.

Feeling old at age 19

I feel old tonight.
Old, I say. Old, set in my ways and flat-out boring.
Perhaps it is an exaggeration, but something about setting off for a Bible conference with a group of excited, giggling youth has aged me somehow—maybe because I remember so well what it was like to stand in their shoes. I remember being at home, packing my cutest sweaters and jeans, all while calling my comrades to see what they were wearing to so-and-so and such-and-such. I remember sitting there with my girlfriends, scoping out the cutest boys, wondering what we might say to them if we ever actually brought ourselves to speak.
I remember heart-to-hearts in the middle of the night. And as we bared our secrets and whispered dreams, I remember how friendships were deepened.
As sweet as some of those memories are, and though some of those moments are enough to make me still laugh out loud, I wouldn’t go back even if I could.
In the few years since I stood in these “kids’” shoes, I have done a lot of living… and God has made a lot of changes in my heart.
So as I look at them, I smile—but not forlornly.
I smile because I see them as stories yet unwritten, tales still untold, promises that remain unbroken. Their futures (and yes, God willing, mine too) stretch out before us, a wide open adventure yet to be explored.
Growing up isn’t a bad thing, it’s just part of the journey. And so as I sit here writing tonight, with the gleeful shouts of youth all around me (though I began longing for sleep hours ago), I am feeling blessed. Thankful for this moment. Grateful to be a witness to the work that God is doing in these young hearts. And yes, appreciative of the challenges that He is issuing in my own life.
“But now listen, O Jacob, my servant, Israel whom I have chosen. This is what the Lord says—he who made you, who formed you in the womb, and who will help you.” Isaiah 44:1-2
My heart is at peace, listening tonight for the sweet whisper of my God.
Is yours?

Looking past the "letdown"

The tree is back to its dank basement box.
Half a dozen bags of holiday trash line the curb, much to the garbage man’s chagrin.
The Christmas lights have been taken down—or at least turned off.

The holiday is over, and, as my Grandmama says, the “letdown” ensues.

But as the first few days of the new year melt away, I find myself joining the masses in wondering what’s next. I wonder how the events of the next 365 days will leave me changed. And, like so many others, I wonder how I should use this flip of the calendar as a fresh start.

We all know what we should do. I should exercise at least three days out of every week, eliminate fast food and sodas from my diet and take my vitamins faithfully.

I should change so many things about my attitude and my habits and my appearance, but for me, as long as a change is just something I should do, I won’t. And if I do, my well-meaning actions will fizzle long before December 31st of 2008.

If I am going to truly change, the knowledge of what I should do must be coupled with a desire of my own.

As constricting as I find the rules for achieving a healthy lifestyle, I realize that for many, the laws that govern the lives of Christians seem even more unforgiving and rigid.

My desire (for 2008 and always) is that I can be a part of helping people to realize that following Christ is far more than just adhering to a lengthy do and don’t list. Following Christ means going on an incredible journey that is anything but boring. It is about hope and grace, and it is about truth.

I don’t know what 2008—or even tomorrow—holds. I can’t predict what will—and won’t—happen during the span of this upcoming year. I don’t know if I’ll actually get in shape, learn to better manage my time or accomplish any other of the ambitious goals I should achieve for myself.

This world we live in is unpredictable, and, as humans, so are we.

Yet:

“Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever.” Hebrews 13:8