Dear You

10 Apr 2013 2 Comments

by nataliaria in Faithful, Feel, God, Sleep, Sovereign, Tired, Trust

Dear you,

You said it last week, sitting there on the couch, and I didn’t say anything then, but your words were so familiar, I haven’t escaped them since. You were discouraged, tired, and your words echoed strong of my own life, just a year ago. I thought about your words this week, about what you had said and what you were feeling, what you were fighting, and then tonight, you said stressed and anxious, and again, I didn’t say anything just then. But I’m saying something now.

I know what it feels like to be sensitive, and to think all the while that it’s dumb to even use the word to describe yourself. Sensitive is for little children with hurt feelings, not college students. But when you hear words that no one meant to be hurtful, but you soak them up and let them rock you hard to the core, it feels sensitive. When you can’t find a seat in chapel, because that’s just the way things work out, and you don’t get the joke at the lunch table, and it suddenly feels like it’s about you, and when no one meant to leave you out, but you weren’t explicitly included either? Sensitive.

I know what it’s like to be tired, so very tired. When every night is a chance to get more sleep, but the homework and the assignments, and the “Things To Do” just don’t end, and you’re just so tired. And it doesn’t seem to get any better because the weekends, those resting days, have events and schedules, too, and when will you ever get a break?

I know the feeling of so, so behind. I know what it feels like to work with everything you have, but every time you feel like maybe you’ve gotten it; maybe this time you’ve finally made it to the green side of the grass, the relief side of life’s whirlwind, that’s the moment that you remember. Remember an assignment due. A meeting made. A future that you can’t do anything about except stress, so you stress. You worry. And things just keep piling up and you’re too exhausted to get back up and keep running to try to keep up with everything.

I know what that’s like. I lived a very similar story my freshman year, and when you said those things, I wanted to scoop up you and every other freshman, every other overwhelmed and anxious and exhausted student, and tell them that I know what that’s like.

And it’s true: I have ridden an emotional roller coaster much like the one you’d like to get off of right now, and so have many of the students here with us. We’re alike in that way. But that’s not the reason I’m writing to you: I have more to say.

God knows what you’re fighting, friend. Knows what you’re thinking, mourning, celebrating, stressing about. He is real and He knows and He cares. I don’t want to preach at you, because no one needs that, really, and it’s not my place, anyway. But I do want you to know, want to remind you, that God is so, so involved in your life, and in your heart.

It doesn’t feel like that all the time. When your eyes are grainy from lack of sleep, and you’re slogging through another assignment, and you can’t shake the feeling that everyone is out to get you, the presence of God is not exactly oozing out your pricked heart. Oh, but He’s there. He’s there and He cares what you feel, what you think, what you say.

He cares, and He’s said some things about it, too. He’s said that He loves you- really, really loves you. And that He provides for you. And will never forget you. And never break a promise with you. And will never fail to provide you with what you need. He is gentle with hearts that are just too worn out, and He is strong for those who really don’t think they can make it through these days, these weeks. He is power and compassion and kindness and provision, and He is woven into every aspect of your heart, every thing you do: He’s the Creator of the world, and of you and you are so important to Him.

And tomorrow morning, girly, you’ll get up and it’ll probably be raining again and more than likely, that lead-heavy stress will slip down slowly just like today, but before you let discouragement, exhaustion, stress have the final say, remember: Someone much bigger than stress or fear or exhaustion is in control, and He’s got an eye on you, girly.

~Natalia

Hoping Tomorrow

01 Apr 2013 Leave a Comment

by nataliaria in Faithful, God, Love, Writing

I spent some time just now, looking through files and folders on my computer. Searching for something finished, something already accomplished, that I could put here for you.

I suppose I liked the idea of posting something pre-created because it’s 11pm and the list of things to do is perpetual. Finding something I’ve already worked on, something that doesn’t require quite so much immediate effort as all the other things, sounded marvelous.

I found some things, too. But they weren’t just right. Some things I write will never make their way onto the Inter Web, some things will- eventually. But none of them will right now.

But I did find a form that I was supposed to turn in last Thursday, which, sitting still on my desktop, may very well be the grading rubric that breaks the camel’s back.

But I’ll turn it in tomorrow and life with go on, which statement tastes heavy of hope and forward motion and the step, step, step of feet following a God who never forgets assignments, nor does He abandon His children when they inevitably do forget.

All My Hope
by Hillsong
Light in my darkness
Peace for my soul
You are my rescue
You never let go

All my hope is in You
All my strength is in You
With every breath
My soul will rest in You

Here in my weakness
Always the same
Your love is my shelter
Your life is my way

All my hope is in You
All my strength is in You
With every breath
My soul will rest in You

Constant Savior
Friend forever
Lord You have my heart
Sure foundation
Never failing
Lord You have my heart

All my hope is in You
All my strength is in You
With every breath
My soul will rest in You

All the earth beneath You
All my life before You
With every breath
My soul will rest in You
With every breath
My soul will rest in You

~Natalia

New Year’s Resolutions…

02 Jan 2013 Leave a Comment

by nataliaria in Faithful, God, Intentional, Purpose, Travel, Trust

I’ve never really made New Year’s Resolutions. That resolutions are eventually broken, discarded, forgotten has stuck with me more than the purpose and excitement of creating resolutions, and I’ve rather avoided them. When pressed, I said I hadn’t thought about it, that I needed to give it more consideration.

And that’s true.

But a little more questioning; do I have any ideas? And suddenly, I’ve created a list.

I’ll get my life together, which is mostly for humor because let’s be honest: a life put together doesn’t actually exist, and even if it did, I’d be the last one to figure that out. And I’ll make this semester better than last year’s spring semester. And I’ll read more books and maybe visit Pennsylvania again and Mexico most definitely, and I’ve been thinking about New York City for a while now.

And there’s lists and goals and I can see why people make resolutions. But it takes a breath and a thought to wander wide of God’s plan, and a blink more and I’m running myself full speed on my own way, my own power, my own resolutions.

But I’ve tried that before and I know falling hard. I know trying my hardest, giving my very best, running on empty to get this right because I know I can do this.

But I wasn’t made to do this by myself. I wasn’t made to create plans, to right my path, to master the realm I live in. I was made for the purpose of following Him. Loving Him. Glorifying Him. His intentionality far outweighs anything I could ever imagine, ever fathom, and He put me in this year, this place, this now for a reason.

And sure, I have resolutions. Or maybe goals is a better way to describe them. But they’re not my purpose. My purpose is to follow Him, and He’s the undercurrent, the rock, the strength behind my every step. In His power, I’ll glorify Him. But it doesn’t just stop there. His purpose is where I’m supposed to be, but it’s also the best place to be. I don’t get it, and I don’t get Him, at least not completely.

But I do trust Him. I trust His will to be right, and His heart to be perfect. I trust His grace to hold fast, and His words to be true. I trust Him to teach me and I trust Him to lead me.

And it’s not really a resolution, because it’s only His power in me that makes anything right, but this is exactly how I want to start my new year, in the hand of the God who’s brought me this far, and won’t leave me stranded.

~Natalia

2012

01 Jan 2013 Leave a Comment

by nataliaria in Africa, Blogging, Faithful, Family, Friends, God, Grace, Grow, Mexico, Provide, Remember, Summer

I’m determined to write a 2012 recap post. I love turning around to catch a glimpse of where I’ve been, what I’ve done, what I learned. Through the hundreds of posts I’ve written over the past year, I can dig deep into what He’s already done; get my bearings, and step confidently into what He’s yet to do, because past give reason for present, and faithful then can’t be anything other than faithful now, faithful to come.

There’s a thread of redemption story, of God’s character and grace, winding throughout 2012, and there’s a personal story,too. This blog is a personal account of my life, my heart, and my story is nestled small in the grand narrative of God saves. And that’s what I want to see when I look back at 2012. When days are lined up alongside longer days, and months are tipped end to end in line, I want Him to shine bold amidst the snapshots of life that make up this blog.

I started 2012 in Mexico, ringing in the New Year with the hearts that I call family. Birthday, Christmas, New Years; I soaked in every moment I could, but the cold came every night and I laid in bed in my sweatshirt, blankets piled on top of me, and dread of school settled heavy and tight in my stomach.

A semester that I look back on as rocky, unsure, stressed, I landed hard on God’s gentle grace at every fall, and God’s provision rocked me to the core. Three months of stress culminated in a two weeks in Kenya, during spring break. The western world, the world that I’ve spent my life spinning through, is clean and neat and suffering and death sweeps easily under the rug.

Not so in Africa. There is no rug in Africa and sickness and death is the backdrop of millions. Nine months since my return to this country, and I still don’t know why I went to Africa; man places a question mark on I don’t understand, but God’s will is unmistakable in hindsight and He put Africa in my heart, and maybe someday He’ll tell me why.

The spring semester ended like a marathon, and the shroud of school life stayed thick around me for a while after. School breaks are a funny thing because they inevitably come after days, weeks, months, of fast-paced academics. Go, go, go turned to wait, relax, enjoy in the blink of an eye and I hesitated for a moment, shuffling back and forth, swirling uncertain between a long semester and a wonderful summer.

But life waits for no one and summer 2012 vaulted itself into action with a running start. Weddings, Grandparents, WOW camp, Michigan, cousins, Mexico and marched together, one long train of events created their own routine, and I landed back at school in August excited for another semester.

God’s not more real this semester than last, but He’s close, and we’ve gone back and forth. He knows words before I speak them, whisper them, yell them, and His response pours grace, mercy, healing on a heart that He holds always. Friendships developing in the spring found new depth, and He continued to grow me into who He says I am.

There’s much more than I could say, there’s always more that could be said. But I’ll stop now because I’m not ending; a year is a continuation, not beginning to The End, and there’s not resolution because God’s still working.

I still alternately fight against grace and lying powerless and grateful against its incomprehensible redemption. I still shrug off Child of God, forgetting that the grace-work of my salvation is not a blanket for cold days, but a heart-deep stamp that changes everything I do. I’m still unsure, sometimes stumbling where I wish I was stepping, and falling where I thought I’d not.

2012 was grace and mercy and learning, and 2013 will be, too. Because faithful then is faithful now, and changing dates don’t change a thing to change to character and heart of the God who’s been God since time began.

~Natalia

I Guess

09 Dec 2012 Leave a Comment

by nataliaria in Faithful, God, Work

Three days, almost all day,

on the pool deck

with little athletes I love quite a bit.

There was home and family

and a big ole Christmas tree in there, too.

It was a good weekend,

and I don’t regret any of it.

But I hope very much

that the crash afterward isn’t

so very hard.

Because…

well, maybe I don’t have a reason

to hope for that.

Because God’s been pretty faithful

to give what I need

and take what I don’t.

So, I guess I’ll just be content.

And get right through this.

I hope.

~Natalia

Trust Me?

07 Dec 2012 Leave a Comment

by nataliaria in Faithful, God, Kiddos, Trust

No, child, you can’t have it back right now. It’s in my pocket, it’s safe; I’ll give it back when we get to the classroom.

You’ve had trouble sitting still down here, down here in this kitchen-turned-music classroom. Your best friend was next to you; both of you were struggling to focus.

So now I’m in between and he’s on the other side of me, scooting his chair around in an attempt to get to you, to talk to you, to be a little boy with you.

Because that’s what you are. Six years old, your curly hair cropped oh so close to your scalp. You’ve got tiny white baby teeth and dimples in your cheeks and your heart is so young, too.

You had the wrist band, an orange rubber bracelet, in your mouth when I traded my seat for his and became your music class neighbor. That’s not safe and it’s hard for you to participate when you’re chewing on a bracelet.

Took a little while; you’re headstrong, but I can be stubborn, too, and I’ll wait here until you pull that choking hazard out of your small mouth. And eventually you did, and now there’s a damp rubber wrist band in my pocket.

I’ll give it back when we’re done with the music lesson, when we get back to the classroom.

But you ask and you ask and I begin to wonder if it would have been easier, and less disruptive, to let you stay as you were, chewing contentedly on the bracelet.

And I say it over and over, and I’m not upset and neither are you, but you won’t give up asking for it and I’ll not give up the decision I’ve made.

Over and over, again and again, I tell you. I’m not keeping it forever. Don’t worry. You’ll get it when we return to the classroom. Over and again, repeat, reinforce.

But I’m beginning to wonder if I’m missing something, if I should be doing, saying something different, because you’re still asking, asking, and I’m still holding my ground.

But then they radio your name, your mom’s here, and I’m walking you up to the classroom. You’re distracted by the rush to go home, but I pull the bracelet out of my pocket and hand it over. You’ve got it back, just as I said, and there’s a little lesson in trust, in believing promises there.

You’re grinning happiness to have your prize back and nod when I ask if I did what I said I would do. God is faithful to His promises and to His character, and the bracelet in your hands once more is a snapshot blink of who He is.

Promise-keeper.

Does what He says He will.

But then this morning a class of human development and a teacher who knows much (so many do) and she’s talking about learning to trust, learning to have faith in human promises, and it’s your baby tooth grin that I’m thinking of.

Because maybe I did that right, maybe I did what I should have, but maybe I missed something, too. Because you’re six years old and little boys are energy bundles endless, but there’s deeper truth here, too.

Because maybe those in your life who you most rely on to keep their promises, don’t. Maybe a promise is words and you’ll get it back is forgotten and what does “trust me” even mean?

Maybe I’ve just seen a snippet of the raw in your heart; the disappointed, the defeated. The trust-less.

I think I had it right, I think I made the right call. But I missed the deeper, the why. I didn’t quite understand you, and for that, I’m sorry.

~Natalia

Because, Because, Because

14 Nov 2012 Leave a Comment

by nataliaria in Animals, Blogging, College, Faithful, Family, God, Happiness, Little Sisters

Because I’ve stumbling unknowingly across the threshold of my most stressful week of the semester.

Because there’s a pit of worry in my stomach, and I might as well get used to it being there.

Because I made a to-do spreadsheet for the week and put it next to my desk, where it grows a little bit every day.

Because, because, because. Because of all of that, it’s a short writing time and I’m tempted to drag down, to drag discouraging with my words.

Because I got a spam comment that read “I was addicted to gambling” and I can’t for the life of me figure out the connection between what I write here and a gambling addiction.

Because I returned to the room this afternoon and The Roommate announced, “Don’t come over here; I’m watching a whale video!” before the door had even clicked behind me, and I first screamed (it’s a short list of things that are more terrifying than whales) and then watched the rest of the video.

Because we had Thanksgiving lunch in the SDR today and Mary Queen proposed a toast to America and freedom from British rule, and we all clinked glasses of water and giggled while our resident Brit rolled her eyes and grinned.

Because, at their request, the little sisters and I watched the Baby Panda Sneezing youtube video.

Because studying is a privilege, even more so studying God’s word, and I’m learning such valuable lessons, and I just don’t want to complain.

Because, because, because, I’m here right now because deadlines fall hard and assignments loom large, but God won’t let me lose it, and I’m clinging to His joy with all my might.

~Natalia

Look Back {Part One}

02 Nov 2012 Leave a Comment

by nataliaria in Animals, Bible, Faithful, God, Look Back, Realizations, Remember, Trust

Every one has a story; an account of how I arrived, how you arrived, at where we are right now. Look back at your story, rehearse your story, remember your story. See God’s faithfulness then, God’s faithfulness looking back, and find peace and comfort, joy and courage, to turn around and follow Him into the now. Into the future.

Fuzziness and half memory blur the edges of what I know to be real, what I know happened. A snapshot of a moment that I didn’t even recognize to have significance until years afterwards.

THe play table at the public library is just my size. It can’t be very big because neither am I. There are trains, I know, and cars, too. This I remember. But my hands, little hands, are not engaged with the cars and trains, trucks and airplanes.

It’s plastic animals; large toys with realistic features, the heaviness of them settling into my palms as I play. There are people, too. There must be, there are in my memory. Rhinoceros, giraffe, tiger. Man, woman; toys.

Children’s toys on a library play table.

It’s the Garden of Eden. I’ve heard the story of creation, and I know the names and the sequence of events. God then world, animals then Adam, Adam then Eve. I’m playing and pretending, acting out a story that I’m so familiar with.

Toys play and my imagination swirls and this play table is just my size.

Memory softens and fades and it was so very long ago, but this I do remember. Standing where I am, standing in the middle of the public library, I’m suddenly completely convinced. I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.

Clutching the man and woman figurines, I know in the deepest part of my soul that Adam and Eve are not just a story; they are real. God did create a man and a woman; the very first account in the Bible is not a happy legend; it’s absolutely real. The realization dawns on me in a second, and I’m instantaneously absolutely positive.

I know the story, the story that starts with creation and flows through the fall, Abraham, Jacob, Moses, all the way through Jesus Christ and the Apostles. I know the story and I know it’s true. It’s true and the truth of the story of the Bible affects every aspect of my life.

Plastic animals still gripped in my little hands, the sounds of a library’s play place all around me, I’m heart and soul convinced that the stories of the Bible are real, and in that moment, I’ve committed to live my life based on that truth.

Children’s toys on a library play table. Plastic toys and a soul-deep turning point in my faith, in my life.

~Natalia

Funny Thing

24 Oct 2012 1 Comment

by nataliaria in Birthday, Blogging, Faithful, Family, God, Grow, Writing

Leadmewhere is two years old today and, ironically (or maybe fittingly), I’m really not sure what to write about. I’m not sure if this is a somber occasion for remembering and commemorating the past two years, or a happy time for celebrating the second anniversary of my headlong dive into the blogging world.

Two years ago today, I published a post called First Step to a Good Anything is the Purpose Statement, and slowly opened the door of my life to the internet world.

It’s a funny thing, writing a blog. I know how many people read my blog; I’m honored and humbled by readers who have chosen to read, comment, keep coming back. The things you say and the way that you have responded to my writing encourage me to keep writing, to keep coming back to this page, to this heart-and-mind exercise of blogging.

Blogging is a practice in writing, yes. But even more than that, it’s a lesson in vulnerability.

I’ve grown in vulnerability over the past two years. I really, truly believe that I have. Ask anyone who has known me for a while. Ask my mother. The past two years, and especially the past several months, have seen me developing greatly in this area. Where walls once loomed high and my temper flashed a warning when hurt and hearts wandered too close to my own, there are holes in the wall now. Gaping spaces crumble a little lower with each passing week, revealing a softening heart slowly unclenching amidst it all.

But I didn’t really have anything to do with it.

God is the one who first sparked my interest in blogging, allowing me the opportunity to “practice” for a year, while living in Mexico and chronicling our family’s adventures on Little Family 6.

God is the one who supplied me with the very name for this blog, and who has led me faithfully throughout the past two years of both living life and blogging about that life.

And God is the one who breaks down barriers and changes, develops my heart. I’m not done growing, and I will never reach perfection, but He continues to work, continues to lead, continues to challenge.

Writing a blog truly is a funny thing; the personal accounts that I share can be read around the world. I’m writing, often intimately, about the very issues that lie closest to my heart, to an unknown audience.

God is using, and has for two years been using, this blog as a tool to work in my heart and my life. And maybe, just maybe, He’ll use what is written here to grow others, too.

~Natalia

Beauty Not Forgotten

23 Oct 2012 4 Comments

by nataliaria in Beauty, Chicago, College, Faithful, God, Remember, Sleep, UP

Tuesday afternoon’s a long afternoon; class from 12:30 to 1:45, then again from 2:30 to 5:20. 3pm. 2:30 to 5:20 is a battle, sitting front row in lecture, fighting with everything in me to keep eyes on the prof, eyes on the board, eyes open. Blink, rub my eyes, scrunch my face up and open dry eyes as big as they’ll go. I kick my bare feet under the desk, doodle on my notes, shrug my shoulders.

I’m trying anything, just to stay awake.

But soon, 3pm has passed and we’re pushing 3:30, and I’ve somehow won the battle for consciousness. It’s a hard battle, but it’s not a long one, and I’m wide awake and taking intelligible notes once more, although I can’t for the life of me figure out what the magic formula is to stay awake, to keep my drifting eyes open.

Today, the rest of the class passed quickly, and soon it was 5:20pm and we’ve been assigned next week’s homework, already written into our planners anyway, and are dismissed. But in the moments before we’re dismissed, as the professor’s wrapping up last-minute announcements and just-a-minute questions from students, I turn around.

Three hours I sit every Tuesday in the same class. Sitting in the front row looking forward. Looking at a professor pacing deliberately around the room, looking at a black board that stretches the length of the long room, looking at gray walls illuminated by fluorescent white lights.

But in that end of class moment, I turned around. Turned around in my seat and could barely bring myself to look away.

Three hours I sit in that classroom, facing walls and teacher and lessons and boards. And three hours, the city lives and hums and moves while my back is turned. Behind my back, outside the crystal clear windows that line the wall behind me, layer upon layer of downtown Chicago buildings pack the view.

I turn around, swiveling in my classroom chair, and I’m transfixed. The setting sun is reflecting deep and orange on hundreds of windows, streaking gold across apartment and office building alike. Brick buildings alongside steel and stone edifices all together glow a rich, fiery orange, and I’m looking at a devastatingly beautiful city skyline.

The professor’s still talking, and I pull my eyes away from the captivating scene behind me, turning my attention back to the classroom, which suddenly seems even more dull than before.

But there was more than a breathtaking view in that moment, in that sunset-laden glimpse. In that beautiful look, I got an eyeful, an earful, of God. I’ve thought recently, standing on the train, watching Chicago speed by, that I haven’t seen the beauty recently. I look for it sometimes, scrutinizing what’s passing me, what’s occurring around me. I open my eyes and look UP and wonder when God will show me the beauty that I know is there.

Ask when God will open my eyes to what I know He put there.

And tonight, He did.

Turned me right around in my chair and knocked my speechless, chest squeezing tight in awe, at beauty in a sunset and buildings, beauty in a city and beauty in a Creator. A Creator who opens eyes and softens hearts and whispers, Hello child. I’m still here. Still listening to you. I love you and I care for you and I know you.

I didn’t forget about you.

~Natalia

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