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I’m changing, guys.

Little by little, I’m getting different. And it’s freaking me out.

I like nuts now. Used to hate them.

winter formal 2012 date?

I now hold (and enjoy holding) puppies.

my friends will testify this picture is in fact a miracle

I now like those hard crunchy brown things in Chex Mix; they used to make me want to throw children into fireplaces.

My fingernails have been painted 5 out of the last 7 weeks (I have no picture of this. I was too lazy. But I promise they are a very cute hot pink right now).

Finally, I am starting to embrace communication. A month ago, all things confrontational and oriented around a goal of “keeping communication open and working on having a better relationship” with people seemed cheesy and ridiculous and far too deep than my heart wanted to go. And now I’m just talking to people I need to talk to, telling them what’s up. Telling them I’m sorry if I need to. I’m doing that!

I don’t do that.

So you can give me peanut or puppy prizes, or maybe a communication gold star. But even though I’m doing a lot of things differently (like waking up EARLY to run—who does that? It’s stupid. And dumb.) I feel the exact same.

And the thought of time is getting to me. It always does, actually. Ask Sarah, my old roommate (that was incredibly sad to type). I always say things like:

Can you believe that a year ago, we were __insert something we did a year ago that blows my mind__?

Sarah, three years ago, I was __insert a circumstance/state of mind I was in three years ago that is completely different from now___.

It just blows me away! On my 15^th birthday (I WAS 15 AT ONE POINT?!?! AND NOW I’M 21?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!), I went to a Chinese restaurant with two of my friends. I drove by that restaurant today.

SIX YEARS AGO.

Are you not blown away?

And half of you just stopped reading because you have much better things to do with your time than read about my adolescent birthdays. I get it.

Back to time. I’m obsessed with it. And I think God loves it too. And that just blows me away—the God who is outside of time, creates His world around it and stretches out His purposes among this curious dimension. Think! Centuries for Abraham’s offspring to become a nation. I don’t know about you, I don’t  do well at waiting for my Mother’s Day lunch at Zio’s for more than 15 minutes.

 33 years from Jesus’ birth until His death and resurrection. From the time the angels rejoiced until the pinnacle of what He came here to do. Or was all He came to do was die and rise again? Hmm.

And THREE DAYS in the tomb. I have thought about this before, have you? His followers, imagine them after His death. They gave their lives, their reputations, their relationships, with their trust banking on a Man who claimed to be so much more than anything else ever offered to them. Who claimed to hold something the world desperately needed. They put all their eggs in one basket on that one. And I cannot imagine their utter despair, confusion, doubt, questions after His death. Did they follow a lie? Where is the power He claimed to possess?

FOR THREE DAYS! I don’t think I could handle that.

But that’s our God. He is a God that injects beauty, purpose, and necessity for those times in between. I don’t think Jesus JUST came to die and rise again. I think He came to show us how to live. To love, to heal, to correct the thinking that had become so skewed. I KNOW if I would have been in heaven, I would have been like, “Okay, God! Jesus is born, yeah! Now, let’s get this show on the road! Get to the good part. Easter Sunday, fast forward please and pass the popcorn, Gabriel.”

But I would have missed the woman bursting into the room, cleaning Jesus’ feet with her tears. I would have missed a leper returning to Jesus in depths of gratitude I can only imagine. I would have missed calmed storms, miraculous feedings, and theology set right again.

I’m starting to see that there is so much going on in those times. In those centuries of standing and holding fast to a promise. In the 33 years of service and love. In the three days of confusion, pain, and hopelessness. So much going on that we may never know.

And in our own lives. Maybe it’s those times between the tragedy and the triumph. We know He works everything for good, and unfortunately that “good” doesn’t usually happen a few seconds after we are knocked off our feet into a whirlwind of confusion, chaos, questions, and even quarrels with God Himself. We must wait. Whether we find ourselves rejected or diseased or disappointed or betrayed, there is time in between that and the healing, restoration, and reconciliation that does eventually come.

And I believe that just as those centuries of Israel learning that their faith must come from Yahweh instead of kings or riches or size or other false gods, just as Jesus HAD to show us how to live and love, there is—there must be—a deep intention for our time in between.

I imagine that the world holds its breath after we have fallen into our tragedy. I imagine even the rocks have stopped crying out, the seas quiet their waves, the trees’ leaves begin to still, and the angels even decrease the volume of their worship as they watch us: bleeding, wounded, alone. Sitting there in our misery of betrayal or disease or grief.

And they wait, watching us to see what we will do.

And what will we do, with our time in between? I think God understands questions and anger and doubt and confusion. His grace covers those things. And we are told the rocks will continue to cry out if we don’t.

But what if. What if we are able to sit there in our mess of a situation and raise wounded hands and lift a bleeding heart to the Worthy One in worship. Like the amazing standard Job set for us all which in turn makes all of us look horrible (thanks for that one, Job). Our God is worthy of all praise. He is worthy of the praises of thanksgiving for new life, for new opportunities, for love, for friendships. He is worthy of those.

But those are easy.

He is also worthy of the hardest praises to raise. The ones from rejected hearts. From heads full of unanswered questions. He deserves the gaze of eyes still wet from tears.

And when we spend our blessed, beautiful, ambiguous and necessary time in between praising a God whose only answer and consolation to us at the moment is, “Be still and know who I am,” we will be able to nod our heads. Yes, we know who You are. You are the God worthy of a hurting heart’s worship.

So we can be excited for the resurrection. We can anticipate the nation that will arise. We can expect the good that will come from even the most hopeless of circumstances. But we cannot miss what is happening now. And right now, if our hearts have no reason to praise Him except for who He is, that is our test. That is our 33 years of miracles and servitude. We CANNOT miss out on that.

Not on the best part.