A day full of rumblings

The world really, really loves to pat you on the back for being strong. For doing things in your own strength. They commend you and award you and praise you.

If that is what the world does, I do not want to be strong.

I will gladly give up every triumph and hard-fought battle in my life in order to be weak for Him. I will deny my strength to honor his truth. I will love those who have hurt me if that’s what it takes to praise Him.

I struggle with the whole idea of truth. I’m reading Thirteen Reasons Why right now and there’s a line about how every story has thirteen different sides. Truth seems like that more often than not. I perceive the truth in one way, you in another, that person another and so on. With the exception of God’s Truth, which will always be true, the thing is: truth falls somewhere in the middle of our separate accounts.

Here’s what I struggle with. I had a crappy, terrible childhood. Oh, there were highlights — absolutely. I laughed and I had joy and I do have good memories. But there is so much that tends to outweighs a lot of that good. I don’t think my perception of how I was raised is wrong, but I must ask myself if my perception of people’s intentions is wrong. As an adult I can recognize that even with the best of intentions, parenting is hard and loving your kids is hard if you aren’t ready for them.

In my Friday morning Bible study, we have talked a lot about sin and how we often bear the weight of other people’s sins against us. I have been sinned against and I am learning to forgive. I think that God has in store for me a life that will use these hurts for good, but I need to say that I am really going to focus on sharing my story and not the way others have hurt me unless it’s in a very vague, general way. I don’t want, in my passion, to hurt someone else.

And scene.

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To the fireplace

Last week I was in Ventura for pretty much the entire week since it was Thanksgiving and we had some family stuff planned. On Friday night, Charisse had her little friend Emma spent the night. Charisse got an Elf on the Shelf two years ago and was dying for it to come out – we decorated the tree that night and the rule is that once the tree is all the way decorated, Christmas magic brings Ethen (spelled the way a six-year-old spells). We had told Emma at a previous play date about Ethen and she asked her mom the day before the sleepover, “Mom, how come the elf comes to Charisse’s house but not ours?”

Thankfully we had two elves stashed away in the garage for overseas family that were never mailed. The night of the sleepover, Emma wrote a letter to Santa asking her to bring an elf, and to make it a girl if possible.

It was all downhill from there. Emma freaked the heck out. At first she was just a little anxious about the elf and had a lot of questions. “What if it comes in Charisse’s room while we’re asleep? I don’t know it to come in the room. Is it scary? What if I accidentally touch it?” My mom and I tried to reassure her that all of the elves were nice, and she seemed reasonably calm. I even helped her write a PS to Santa asking that the elf stay in the living room – she dictated and I wrote, and then I made the mistake of signing my name which made Emma fear that Santa would think the letter was from me and that he wouldn’t bring any elf. A little while later, we had this conversation:

Emma: Krista, what if the elf doesn’t come because I’ve been bad? Then I’d just be embarrassed because everyone would know that I’m bad.

Me: Emma. Have you robbed a bank this year?

Emma: No.

Me: Have you stolen money?

Emma: No.

Me: Did you beat anyone up?

Emma: No.

Me: Do you mostly listen to your mom and dad and mostly listen to your teacher at school?

Emma: Yes.

Me: Then I think you’re in the clear. Good girls don’t do those things.

All seemed well. We put the girls to bed around 9:30, dealt with the elves, putting them in very normal, neutral, non-scary places (the fireplace for Charisse’s elf and the entertainment stand for Emma’s, who was a girl because we had an elf skirt with last year’s purchase). My mom and I went to bed and crashed hard.

At 1:47 I heard Emma sobbing hysterically and my mom asking her, “Emma. Has anything bad ever happened to you at my house?” Emma’s been over a lot, and she knows my mom well. She said no and my mom reassured her it was safe. So together, we took the girls into the living room. Charisse as giddy with the prospect of the elf being there. She has seen him before. He’s come about 50 times over the last two years and she knows he is a safe, non-scary elf. She ran right up to the fireplace and squealed, jumping up and down. “Mama mama!” she shouted. “Ethen came! He’s here!”

Emma, meanwhile, was still standing a far distance from the fireplace. Despite the fact that I was exhausted and had to get up early the next morning, I took Emma’s hand and slowly we walked to where her elf had been left. She saw it but didn’t say anything. I bent down close to her ear and whispered, “Look, it’s a girl! She’s wearing a skirt!” in my happiest, cheeriest, elves-are-funnnnn voice. Emma reached out slowly to touch a note the elf had on her lap, then pulled it back quickly as though she was afraid touching the note was just as against the rules as touching the elf.

My mom tucked them back in bed and that’s the last I heard of them until 6:37 when Charisse shook me awake and asked if they could go see them. (Apparently Emma woke Charisse up at 4-something, wanting to see the elves again.) I staved them off until seven, at which point I couldn’t handle the sound of the rotisserie chicken infomercial the girls were watching in Charisse’s room. So I took them out and let them enjoy being eight.

As my mom was tucking Emma into bed after she first saw her elf early in the morning, I was struck by the fact that she was so scared and yet Charisse was so excited. She couldn’t wait for the fun to come. Her wonder came from the same place as Emma’s fear. It strikes me as so stranger, how something that is as magical and fun as the elf on the shelf can bring up two such very different emotions.

But the thing is, Jesus causes both wonder and fear. The very act of being a Christian is seen very differently by people all over the world. I remember the days where I walked away from God. The thought of His presence was something that made me tremble. It scared me horribly. I wanted Him so badly, but no… I knew I just couldn’t have Him again. Not because I didn’t want Him, but because I had worked myself up at the thought of the “What if”s.

What if He didn’t forgive me of all I had done?

I always will, He said.

What if He wasn’t real?

I am who I saw I am, He said.

What if I couldn’t trust my only Christian friends?

Here’s a new friend who will love you, He said.

And in that new friend, through our conversations, I found someone to walk me to the fireplace, to look at my elf.

She’s seen Me before, He said. She will tell you.

The truth that He is nothing to fear. That He is love and everlasting and has overcome death and hell. That He is real and loves all of you who may be reading this, now or someday far away. That He is holy, holy, holy and that He alone is God. But we get so caught up in our fear of Him, of the lives we have lived before we knew His eternal truths. We justify our lives and hide from Him but hiding from Him never works. In our fear — and more often our shame — He still seeks us, there, until we are ready. And oh, the reward when we are ready. This is what I know now:

No circumstance can take me from Him. Nothing in this life is greater than He is nor will anything ever be. He is the beginning and the end, the Alpha and the Omega.

I am not an eight-year-old weeping over an elf. But I am a 29-year-old grieving for the girl I was. I am a young woman striving to love God is a dark world. I am learning to let go of the shame and allow God, who is all holy, to heal me and use me. I still want all of the same things that small, shaking girl whose hand I held wants: to be safe and to be reassured that there is nothing to fear.

I am Wonder, He says. There is no more fear.

Today officially starts my very favorite time of year. Yes, I do let myself listen to Christmas music starting November 1, but it’s not really socially acceptable to rock out until Thanksgiving day, I think. I haven’t put up any trees and I actually haven’t done any Christmas shopping yet, but that all changes this week.

Today and tomorrow are my calm days. I’m bored. I feel restless. And I want to appreciate it and be thankful for it because Wednesday I have my volunteering, and then we are having a home group pizza Thanksgiving dinner. Thursday we start to decorate for Christmas and then I am having dinner with my aunt and Grandma, and as soon as I’m done (or at 6:00 if we aren’t done), then I’m rushing to Target to wait in line to go inside at nine. My mom and her friend are joining us. Who knows if I’ll feel energized to hit up a few more shops after that… I’m playing in by ear (although I wonder if Bed, Bath, and Beyond will be open that night. It’s just around the corner!)

Friday is our craazy day. It’s our family Thanksgiving since my padre works Thanksgiving day and the money is too good to try to get off. We are finishing decorating, cooking, and Charisse has her little buddy Emma, who I just love, coming over to spend the night. Friday I’m helping my aunt with her tree and then rushing home to babysit Charisse that night while the parentals go out on a date and to see a movie. I’ll get some quality sissy time. I bought some Christmas classic movies last week at Target for us to watch.

Then it’s calm for a few weeks, but I feel like I always end up feeling like I’ve rushed through the Christmas season. I don’t want to feel that way this year. I want to enjoy every moment as it comes and embrace it instead of looking back on January 1, thinking “Where did the time go?” I want to savor the gifts and the friends and the fun but more importantly I want to remember Who this season is all about and not get caught up in the meaningless parts of it.

I want to love this Christmas season in honor of the One who loved us first.

I don’t think

It’s 12:45 and I have to be up and alive in six hours to take Charisse to school and then to go my Friday morning Bible study, which is a pretty intense two hours. I am going to be so tired. I am tired. Yet as I’m lying in bed, Chloe snuggled up at my side, my fingers are itching to move. The words are forming in my head and I just know if I don’t get them out, I’ll never be able to sleep.

I guess six hours of sleep is way better than staying up all night, right?

I went to my home group tonight. I’m really thankful for that group of people. They really challenge me and in the year I’ve been going, I have seen my walk with God grow so much deeper. I know that there are a ton of other factors that contribute to that, but home group has for sure been a major source of growth for me. In the last few weeks, we’ve prayed, both as a group and individually, about God’s will in our lives. It’s a prayer I will continue to pray for as long as I live because I will always long for what He wants for me (despite the fact that I also like to dig my heels in the ground and say no like a naughty child when God’s clear with me!). Tonight, as I was praying and drifting in and out of that sweet, sleepy place you hover in just before you’re actually asleep, I kept thinking “I don’t think…” So many “I don’t think” thoughts went rolling through my head…

… I don’t think it’s by chance I started School of Ministry in February of this year. God knew it was time for me to learn and transition.

… I don’t think it’s any accident that He brought me to this church at this time. God knew I needed a group of people who lived and taught the Bible.

… I don’t think it’s fate that the small group I’m in is the one I joined. God knew I needed people who’d wrestle and ask the tough questions.

… I don’t think it’s a coincidence that I’m not working now. God knew that this was a time where I’d get to experience ministry and serving His people.

… I don’t think. Yet I cannot stop thinking.

So much to ponder. Mostly I think all of these things in relation to His will in my life. Oh, Lord, how do these pieces of the puzzle fit together? It’s so hard sometimes when we don’t have foresight. Oh, hindsight is my friend. I love to look back and see how He has connected it all, each winding path — even the detours that I wouldn’t take if I had it to do all over again. He has used every step to tell a story.

But man, I want to know what the story He will tell in the future is.

There are things I want so badly. I want to be a wife. I want to be a mom. I want to speak and travel throughout the United States. I want the comfort of a family to go home to in the evenings and traditions to have and a generally pain-free existence. I want the American dream.

And yet, at the same time, I struggle with those wants. I want them… but I don’t want to get excited. Because what if those things really are just my fleshy wants and not things He has in store for me? I have heard so many stories of people saying, “Lord, I’ll do anything for you expect X and Y” and guess what — He uses X and Y in those peoples’ lives to minister to others.

I catch myself thinking and praying sometimes “Please, please, God, use my gift of public speaking. Use my gift of writing. Use my gift of words.” I went through high school surrounded by people in my church who praised my ability to write and to speak. But now, when those prayers come, I stop because I am afraid. I am afraid that if I beg Him too much for these things, He will say “No — I will use something else.” I am afraid that maybe I shouldn’t trust the comments made to me while I was young because I attended an unhealthy church. I know it’s okay to hope and to dream big in Him and that these desires and talents have been things I’ve possessed for my entire life. I know that the words He has given me will be used somehow but I sometimes think…

… I don’t think He will use them the way that I want.

Oh, I often think He will use them. After all, He made me this way. He is refining and sanctifying me, taking out the rust so you can see the shine. But if and when He uses the things I love to do, He will do it His way, the way where I must sacrifice in order to give.

Will I be okay with that? I hope so. When I stop myself from asking and praying for Him to use the things that come easily to me, and I instead pray that He will just use me however he sees fit, I still hold onto the teensiest, tiniest bit of a dream that I’ll get what I want, that I’ll be one of the people who He says yes to. Maybe I will, and if that’s the case, then I will be thankful. Maybe seven months from this late-night brain purge, when I am done with School of Ministry, God will quickly open a door up to me that uses these talents that I am so happy with (because I am happy with them — I love that God has made me a wordsmith and that there are very few times where I feel paralyzing fear at the prospect of speaking to or with others).

I do know that even if that’s the case… my call will come with some kind of cost. After all, what does a call mean if it costs me nothing? I wonder sometimes the places I’ll go and the people I’ll talk to. I wonder about the subjects I will speak about. And sometimes, the fear that consumes me is that God is going to give me a topic and put me in such a visible light that telling the people around me, like my college friends and my family, will put distance between us because they won’t be supportive of my mission and my ministry.

There is a verse in the Old Testament that we studied recently in School of Ministry. I struggle with the OT because it’s so, um, OG (wow… suuuper lame delirious joke for $100, Alex!). Seriously, there are times where it feels so… unreal to me. And then God drives home the fact that, yeah, it’s thousands of years old but it’s still relevant.

So in 1 Chronicles 21, God has commanded King David to build an altar on the threshing floor of Ornan. David tells Ornan that he wants to buy it and Ornan is like, “Nope, consider it yours to do what you consider best, King.” David insists on buying it instead of receiving it for free. Verse 24 says

Then King David said to Ornan, “No, but I will surely buy it for the full price, for I will not take what is yours for the Lord, nor offer burnt offerings with that which costs me nothing.” (emphasis added by me!)

David is a pretty upstanding dude. Yes, there are a few pretty bad mistakes that he made during his days and he suffered greatly the consequences of that sin, but still — he truly loved the Lord and wanted to do right by him, and in this case, he didn’t want to offer to God an offering that cost him nothing. I’m never, ever going to go as far as to compare myself to King David (I am so not even close to his deep love and pursuit of God!), but God can ask me at any moment to give up something to offer my life as a sacrifice to Him.

If that’s what He asks, will I do it joyfully?

 

What I want is to be comfortable. I want to give these amazing, touching speeches that make women laugh and weep and talk amongst themselves after I’m done, that bring them closer to God. I want to write words and give hope in the darkness to women and teenage girls everywhere. And I don’t want it to cost me anything. I want a script, a tidy little story I can tell. I want a package of holiness and restoration I can sell but not at any real cost to me. I don’t want to share the depths of the pain and the shame and the doubt and the anger and fear I felt and still feel. But here’s the thing…

… I don’t think that’s what He wants for me. I think that maybe, just maybe, He wants me to be broken, too. If I want women to break and be rebuilt, how can I ask that of them without giving the same first and always? How can I expect God to move through me to change them if I am not willing to risk my popularity and my friendships and the comfort of family for the love and truth of the Gospel of Jesus Christ? If I give up nothing, then anything I share is not of God. It’s not of the Holy Spirit. It’s all of me, and that is exactly what I do not think I want.

He’s shaking me up. He is changing my life. I have prayed that He would and now I feel it in my soul. I don’t know all the answers and I don’t know all of the what-ifs and that unsettles me. But He is reminding me that He’s the one know sees the full picture, the start of my story to the end, and that it’s time for me to let go of it and just listen when He reveals to me some of the answers.

I’m listening, Lord. I’m listening as hard as I can.

Catching up

All right. Here are thirteen things on this Thursday that will catch you up on my life and what I’m doing these days.

1. Jaimie’s baby shower was on Sunday and it was so nice to see people there, celebrating here. Plus, I got to talk to someone who used to work at CSUCI that I never knew well and we totally had a great conversation about School of Ministry. It was a doubly-awesome day!

Me, Jaimie, Becca, and Eva hanging out after the shower (Jaimie is 7 months pregnant — what!)

2. On November 3, I was in San Diego “running” the Color Run with Steph, Joanna, and Lindsay. I use the term running very broadly, hence the quotes. It was more like I ran for about a one minute per kilometer. My shins were sore anyway the next day — the race was seriously uphill both ways, a feat I thought old grandparents talking about the old days could make up.

Clean before the race! Me, Lindsay (and her color bump!), Steph, and Joanna

Our colorful nails. We had a nail party the night before! (I’m the ringless hand!)

After the race! Joanna’s shirt was so awesome.

I was a colorful mess!

My (swollen, puffy) post-race hand.

One part Krista, one part Avatar.

The paint made its way into our shoes!

3. We have been so worried about So Big (more commonly known as Baytor dog, or Marshmallow, or Baytorasaurs Rex). Last week my mom and I came inside the house after a few hours away to find bloody, runny poop all over the place. Before I went home for the night, I spent about 20 minutes on the floor with her, saying goodbye because we were all pretty sure she would have to be put down the next day. Thankfully, it looks like there was just some bad food making the rounds, and the vet gave her some antibiotics, probiotics, and other medication and it seems to be working for now. But my mom and speculate that she has a year at the most left with us. We have had a good seven and a half years with this amazing animal!

Baytor on the night I said goodbye to her. So sad and soulful.

4. Volunteering at the Pregnancy Center has been great so far. I’ve only seen a few clients, and for obvious reasons I can’t post their pictures or tell their stories, but I know God is present in that ministry. There are so many sad stories I hear and my heart aches for all of the girls telling them, especially the young girls. I just want to hug them all and take care of them.

5. I’m also volunteering at the Bridge, our church’s after school youth center. It’s just for a few hours on Monday, and I actually forgot this week because Monday was a holiday and my whole sense of time was thrown off. Whoops! (Lynn, if you for some random reason are reading this, then I want to tell you I’m sorry and I’ll be back next week!)

6. Living in Camarillo has been really great. It’s always fun getting to know and live with someone, but things with Monica and I seem to be going pretty well. Neither of us is super stressed about small amounts of clutter and neither of us has rocking, raging parties, so it’s been good so far. Now if only it wasn’t fluctuating between really hot and really cold all of the time!

7. I’m up to 71 books this year. I’m pretty sure that I’ll make it to my desired 75 by the end of this month — I’m in the middle of two and I’m actually halfway through listening to one (which totally counts). Actually, I’ve read about 60 pages more this year than last year so that’s pretty awesome.

Right. So I couldn’t make it to thirteen but there you go — eight updates on my life!

Words

(If I had a dollar for every sentence I began, both written and spoken, with the phrase “When I started going to church again…” At some point in my life, I will have been attending church regularly for so long that it’s just a thing of the past. But I hope I never forget the joy — and the fear — that came with attending church again for the first time. In Luke 22:32, Jesus is talking with Peter before He is arrested and He tells Peter “But I have prayed for you, that your faith should not fail; and when you have returned to Me, strengthen your brethren.” I have walked away from Jesus but like Peter… I returned. He knew I would. He spoke those words to Peter. When you have returned… It’s like He spoke these words for me, too, thousands of years ago. And so, for the lost and the wandering and for those who have run away, I tell you a story that begins like this…)

When I started going to church again, I owned two Bibles. I had a slim NIV I was given as a gift from my old church when I graduated from high school and a few months later, I received a big NIV study Bible from a family who drove me to church most Sundays. It was the only translation I’d ever read, but the new church I attended read from the NKJV. It was too hard for me to read the NIV while the pastor read from his NKJV Bible, so instead of borrowing one of the church’s Bibles that they had for things like that, I went to Barnes and Noble and bought the exact same Bible the church had, only with a blue cover. It was a good investment and it’s now full of pink, green, orange, and yellow highlights, not to mention lots of chicken-scratch notes scrawled in its paltry margins.

Since this summer, I have been on a kick to find a NKJV Bible with wide margins. It’s so hard to take notes in my Bible because I’m limited on space, and while I take lots of notes at the Bible studies I attend, School of Ministry, and church on Sundays, I can’t carry around those notes with me everywhere I go. Recently I found an ESV Bible that had wide margins but… it’s ESV. Not that there is anything wrong with the ESV translation. I often read it, along with many others, while I am reading the Bible on my phone. But I’d like for my primary Bible to be one that is the same translation that my church uses.

So after lots of hunting, I found a used-but-like-new NJJV “Take Note” Bible on Amazon. I ordered it on Saturday and it arrived yesterday and I’ve spent several hours over the last two days copying my highlights from my $6 “when I started going to church again” Bible. It’s painstaking and I’m only halfway through Proverbs, but it’s coming along. I was talking to my roommate about it earlier and she was teasing me about how academic and studious I am. It’s true. I like my precise notes to be where I want them. I’ll take then ten hours I need to copy them over. And then she asked me what I’d do with the old Bible once I finished the copying process.

“Put it on the shelf in my room,” I answered. And that’s exactly what I’ll do. I won’t ever get rid of it. It’s too important to my own life and story to do anything else with it.

But the thought struck me then, right after I’d answered: do you know how many Bibles you have on that shelf?

A fancy, slim Bible.
A thick, fat study Bible.
A parallel Bible with both the NKJV and The Message.

And now I’ve got this Bible.

Four of them, all in my translation of choice. Plus I’m embarrassed to admit that in my boxes in storage, I still have the two NIV Bibles I mentioned about plus a paperback women’s daily devotional Bible.

You guys. That’s SEVEN Bibles that I can access easily at any time. Not to mention the two Bible apps on my phone with pretty much any version I want, or websites that I can access with — again — every version of the Bible ever. Several paragraphs ago I wrote that I wanted my primary Bible to be NKJV.

Who the heck has a primary Bible and secondary Bibles? Apparently I do. What in the world…

We’ve been talking about missions for the last three weeks in School of Ministry. I don’t feel like God is calling me to missions in my life, at least not full-time missions overseas. But I know where His heart is. He told us “Go therefore and make disciples of all the nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all things that I have commanded you…” (Matthew 28:19-20a). He wants to the world to know Him. He might not be calling me, but He is calling others to serve those who don’t know Him — yet.

I have seven Bibles and one that I consider my primary Bible while there are 2,000+ people groups in the world that don’t have any verses, let alone the New OR Old Testament in their language.

It totally blows my mind because I can’t even imagine not having access to a Bible. I take it for granted. I mean, even though it was difficult to find a NKJV Bible with wide margins, it didn’t take me more than a few clicks to have one arrive at my doorstep. And I was impatient and mad that I couldn’t just walk into a store to buy it.

So. Stinking. Selfish.

I’m not writing this to berate myself, or you if you have seven Bibles, too. That won’t do us any good. But I want to remember the realization that I have ample time and resources to spend in the Word and with my God. I’m not persecuted. I’m not living in fear. I don’t have to hide the Word and I don’t have to hunt it down, either. I can attend any one of the hundreds of churches that surround me. No matter how hard I have it, I have this life so easy.

I want to be challenged. I want to share God’s Word, whether it’s in my home or in my community or in my world. I want to live with passion and purpose and to honor the God whose word fills seven volumes on my bookshelf and the app on my phone. I don’t want to take it for granted and let it be meaningless to me.

I want to be like the team of bloggers with Compassion who are in Peru right now, who are pouring their hearts out to families whose lives at being changed because of Jesus. I sponsor two kids, one in Haiti and Honduras, through different organizations. Guess what?

I sponsor one in Peru now, too. I met her tonight through Compassion.

Her name is Ysabel Mego Davila. She is eight years old. I can’t wait to find out more about her: her family, her favorite foods, the kinds of book she likes to read, what color she prefers over everything else. I can’t wait to see Jesus transform her sweet life.

Her birthday, to the year, is one day after Charisse’s. Just like Charisse is my sister, Ysabel is loved. She is someone’s sister and someone’s daughter and even though she is far away from my Bible-filled home in Southern California, even though money is tight for me, she still deserves to have a Bible of her own to and to know the Savior who knew that I would write the words, countless times with a heart so thankful, “when I started going to church again.” I would never want my beautiful sister-girl to need or want, and I cannot stand to see a little girl exactly the same age suffer if I have the power in my to stop it.

Tonight I am taking a stand.

Angie Smith shared on her blog last night an amazing post called “Love Moves.” Please read it and consider sponsoring a child if you can. For all that we think we don’t have, we really have so much more.

Angie wrote about her nine-year-old twin daughters “Make their eyes blind to anything but love, and make them brave enough to act on it.” I pray the same thing for me and for you. Oh Lord. Make me and my words transparent and make me and them blind to anything but the love you have.

We learned in School of Ministry that God’s compassion in us leads to action. Please, please… may you find yourself being moved to action tonight. So many sweet lives need you.

Archieved

When I first started reading blogs, I would do the same thing every time I found a new one: I’d start at the beginning, going through the archives until I found the first post and reading from start to finish, finding out the person’s whole story. I did this with Raechel Myers’ blog and putapuredukes’ blog and yes, my first and favorite blogger, Angie Smith – I did this with her, too. I remember sitting in my dorm room, the summer after I graduated, tears pouring down my face. There was an entire roll of crumpled toilet paper on the floor and desk next to me (listen, I was in college and toilet paper was cheaper than boxes of tissues!) as Angie and Audrey’s story broken my heart.

I started this new blog in June, after a brief conversation I had when I got to meet Angie for the first time. She hugged me and said, “I want to call you “kristaonpurpose” (my twtitter handle) – can I do that?” I laughed and said “Yes! It will be your name for me!” It got me thinking about living life purposefully and how I want to live for God. I love this blog. I love that I have my own .com address.

But what I hate is that I don’t have an archive.

I know that probably sounds pretty ridiculous, but I am Krista, Queen of Ridiculousness. That’s just me being honest, though. The thought, fleeting though it may be, passes through my head sometimes: Why write? There are ten posts on here. You have no story to tell.

I don’t want to be so bold as the say that’s the enemy making me think that, but it’s true: I only have ten posts. I have no archives. And I struggle with the desire that every time I sit down to post or want to post, I stop because I don’t have something deep to write about. I just have mundane stuff to write about. I want the words but I want the depth, too, and if I can’t have them together then I shrug my shoulders and shut the computer screen and skip over the words entirely.

I know, though, that isn’t the way you get archives.

You get them by living.

So here’s to living a purpose-filled life and celebrating life’s moments as they come. They might be boring, and maybe you’ll have to endure some cheesy ten on Tuesday posts or a wordless Wednesday here or there (unlikely, given the fact that I am the least wordless person in Ventura County). Here’s to developing archives that someone can, hopefully, sit through and laugh and cry with some day. (For the record, I am NOT writing so I have an audience or a big following. I’m writing because I want to look back one day and remember who I was in my 20s and 30s and maybe, just maybe, the person going through the archives will be me or my daughters.)

PS If you are reading this, please keep Angie, her twins Abby and Ellie, and the rest of the Compassion crew in prayer as they’re traveling to Peru to share the stories of some awesome families and bless those families while they’re there!