ouchies
There is something about sweatshirted, ponytailed Friday nights sipping orange juice in a coffee mug, doing homework in a post sickness-fighting nap oblivion because the weekend is threatening to be just as busy as the whirlwind week before it. I'm not sure what that something is, but I've read 3.5 of the four chapters I am supposed to read and threw my book down in a decided moment of rebellion:
That's it I'm going to blog.
Which was a big accomplishment for me, because this whole week I used my waterfall of activities as my perfect excuse to not write about what was mostly on my heart, because the things that were on my heart were...kind of embarrassing. Stuff I didn't exactly want to reveal to the entire world, but I knew that was the exact reason why I needed to reveal it. Christians have struggles we like to share, and ones we don't reveal, either because they make us look really bad, or they are so subtle we aren't even aware of them.
Well God made me aware of my struggle, and now He wants me to tell you. To keep me accountable.
But I just got a note from Sarah saying she's been praying for humility for me which resulted in the "oh crap I really do have to blog about this now" sign I had been needing.
I'm avoiding getting to the point.
So here we go. I'm just doing it.
For those of you who don't know, I'm like Miss Grace University this year. I literally do it all, I have good friends here, make funny Toilet Talks, am on the good side of the professors, and find myself onstage more than offstage most days during chapels. Boys are starting to notice me. Numerous boys. And I get complimented on my wit, on my outfits, on my shoes, on my humor, on my blogs. My half marathon picture gets 75 likes on Facebook.
And I like it, I'm not going to lie. I like it.
These compliments, this attention. It was getting to my head. And worse...to my heart.
And God was not okay with that. So He came up with this awesomely awkward and pride-shaking plan to re-think how I'm thinking.
So in women's choir we were learning a new song and I was just...not accompanying well. And that's always been my pitfall: I can learn a Bach prelude, I can play any worship song. But there is something about accompanying that is hard for me. One of the freshman in the choir had to correct me. She raised her hand in front of everyone and told the professor I was playing it wrong. And I was.
Ouch.
And then I tried out for the musical, with dreams of being a beautiful sister in the play, and everyone telling me I did so well afterwards. So I tried out and left the auditions confidently and excited to see the results.
Want to know my part?
The Hag.
Yep. That's right. I'm the hag. I'm in one scene, and beautiful is probably not the adjective that will describe my costume for that one scene.
Ouch.
And last Thursday night I found myself begging God out loud in the car. You see, I had confidently agreed to be in charge of a Day of Prayer session, knowing I could think up of a topic to speak on, since I had been through a lot and clearly knew so much about God. Of course I could delve into the depths of my wisdom and share a nugget of truth from my soul, thanks for asking!
But after a week of trying to figure out on my own what to do for this session, I found myself the night before session titles were due, at a loss. I had nothing to say. Absolutely nothing was coming to mind. I was going to look like an idiot for Day of Prayer. And that's when it dropped in my lap.
Oh, Whitney. It's all about MY glory.
Ouch.
This simple truth found throughout the whole Bible dropped in my lap, and the culmination of all the above events now made sense. It is all for Him. And sometimes He is most glorified when our role is The Hag. Sometimes an opportunity to bring Him most glory is NOT through a perfectly accompanied song, but through a gentle response to a correction from a freshman. We cannot even think of Day of Prayer session topics on our own. It is all through Him. And for Him. We can do nothing on our own, and yet we think we are so cool because we come up with awesome announcement skits. (as if our announcement skits even compare to the works He has done. duhh)
And so I learned all this two days before my race. And it hit me.
Whitney you are going to fail at this race. You are going to trip and fall in the first mile because God is going to break your pride. Get ready. This race is going to fail. Just like your accompaniment and your musical auditions. Have fun getting injured.
And I was prepared for that. I knew I deserved that, with how I had been acting and thinking. And so I said, Okay, God. Whatever brings You most glory.
Maybe I'd go to the hospital and get to witness to a nurse there. Maybe I'd get to be Jesus to the person who wakes me up when I pass out. I was somewhat excited to see how God would use my utter failure for His glory, though I was admittedly a bit disappointed that all my training would culminate in about one mile of running and then probably a fractured ankle.
And the fact that I was okay with that wasn't even me either, it was Him. Normal, full-of-herself Whitney wouldn't think that way.
So I woke up and read this
And told Jesus I will worship Him with every step He gives me to run, because He is worthy. And because when I really think about it, I don't really understand how I can run 13.1 miles anyways...pretty sure that's a miracle too.
And so I worshipped Him. For a whole 13.1 miles. For 1 hour and 47 minutes. And I was so grateful that we can worship Him in the things we love to do. In our favorite things, like running. Races can be worship services because our God ripped the curtain. It is all holy ground, and I ran on that holy ground for a long time.
God is good. And He is worthy of being worshipped in bad accompanying and small, distasteful musical roles. And He is worthy of 13.1 miles of praise.
And suddenly, I'm really glad I'm not that great.
That's it I'm going to blog.
Which was a big accomplishment for me, because this whole week I used my waterfall of activities as my perfect excuse to not write about what was mostly on my heart, because the things that were on my heart were...kind of embarrassing. Stuff I didn't exactly want to reveal to the entire world, but I knew that was the exact reason why I needed to reveal it. Christians have struggles we like to share, and ones we don't reveal, either because they make us look really bad, or they are so subtle we aren't even aware of them.
Well God made me aware of my struggle, and now He wants me to tell you. To keep me accountable.
But I just got a note from Sarah saying she's been praying for humility for me which resulted in the "oh crap I really do have to blog about this now" sign I had been needing.
I'm avoiding getting to the point.
So here we go. I'm just doing it.
For those of you who don't know, I'm like Miss Grace University this year. I literally do it all, I have good friends here, make funny Toilet Talks, am on the good side of the professors, and find myself onstage more than offstage most days during chapels. Boys are starting to notice me. Numerous boys. And I get complimented on my wit, on my outfits, on my shoes, on my humor, on my blogs. My half marathon picture gets 75 likes on Facebook.
 |
| it would be cool if any other runners were as excited. but no, everyone else crossed the finish line normally. and then there's me. |
And I like it, I'm not going to lie. I like it.
These compliments, this attention. It was getting to my head. And worse...to my heart.
And God was not okay with that. So He came up with this awesomely awkward and pride-shaking plan to re-think how I'm thinking.
So in women's choir we were learning a new song and I was just...not accompanying well. And that's always been my pitfall: I can learn a Bach prelude, I can play any worship song. But there is something about accompanying that is hard for me. One of the freshman in the choir had to correct me. She raised her hand in front of everyone and told the professor I was playing it wrong. And I was.
Ouch.
And then I tried out for the musical, with dreams of being a beautiful sister in the play, and everyone telling me I did so well afterwards. So I tried out and left the auditions confidently and excited to see the results.
Want to know my part?
The Hag.
Yep. That's right. I'm the hag. I'm in one scene, and beautiful is probably not the adjective that will describe my costume for that one scene.
Ouch.
And last Thursday night I found myself begging God out loud in the car. You see, I had confidently agreed to be in charge of a Day of Prayer session, knowing I could think up of a topic to speak on, since I had been through a lot and clearly knew so much about God. Of course I could delve into the depths of my wisdom and share a nugget of truth from my soul, thanks for asking!
But after a week of trying to figure out on my own what to do for this session, I found myself the night before session titles were due, at a loss. I had nothing to say. Absolutely nothing was coming to mind. I was going to look like an idiot for Day of Prayer. And that's when it dropped in my lap.
Oh, Whitney. It's all about MY glory.
Ouch.
This simple truth found throughout the whole Bible dropped in my lap, and the culmination of all the above events now made sense. It is all for Him. And sometimes He is most glorified when our role is The Hag. Sometimes an opportunity to bring Him most glory is NOT through a perfectly accompanied song, but through a gentle response to a correction from a freshman. We cannot even think of Day of Prayer session topics on our own. It is all through Him. And for Him. We can do nothing on our own, and yet we think we are so cool because we come up with awesome announcement skits. (as if our announcement skits even compare to the works He has done. duhh)
And so I learned all this two days before my race. And it hit me.
Whitney you are going to fail at this race. You are going to trip and fall in the first mile because God is going to break your pride. Get ready. This race is going to fail. Just like your accompaniment and your musical auditions. Have fun getting injured.
And I was prepared for that. I knew I deserved that, with how I had been acting and thinking. And so I said, Okay, God. Whatever brings You most glory.
Maybe I'd go to the hospital and get to witness to a nurse there. Maybe I'd get to be Jesus to the person who wakes me up when I pass out. I was somewhat excited to see how God would use my utter failure for His glory, though I was admittedly a bit disappointed that all my training would culminate in about one mile of running and then probably a fractured ankle.
And the fact that I was okay with that wasn't even me either, it was Him. Normal, full-of-herself Whitney wouldn't think that way.
So I woke up and read this
And told Jesus I will worship Him with every step He gives me to run, because He is worthy. And because when I really think about it, I don't really understand how I can run 13.1 miles anyways...pretty sure that's a miracle too.
And so I worshipped Him. For a whole 13.1 miles. For 1 hour and 47 minutes. And I was so grateful that we can worship Him in the things we love to do. In our favorite things, like running. Races can be worship services because our God ripped the curtain. It is all holy ground, and I ran on that holy ground for a long time.
God is good. And He is worthy of being worshipped in bad accompanying and small, distasteful musical roles. And He is worthy of 13.1 miles of praise.
And suddenly, I'm really glad I'm not that great.
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