stoned.

There is this one line of my Bach Fugue that I dread each time I play. And, though only six measures long, it has made me re-think my major basically every time I play it. It is like tax season. It has given me that same depressing feeling I get the day after Christmas. It's like that terrible blind date you're dreading but your friends are making you go on.

It's like laundry day.

the middle line. I'd rather bite my own fingers off.

This is me attempting to play it. Let's all thank God my senior recital is six months away.

Weren't you SO glad when it was over? Did you even make it through the whole thing? I'm not offended if you didn't. I hope that I got you to hate those six measures with the same passion I have.

Anyways. I'm in love with blogs. Facebook is too stupid and I'm over Twitter and I've become addicted to other people's blogs. You should blog. Yes, you. And tell me about it so I can read it. I don't care what you blog about. Your day. Your hair. Your breakfast. I will read it! It will help me feel connected to you even if I never see you. Blog. You. NOW.

It's that time of year. The time when we all realize how much we have over-committed ourselves. I don't know about you, but I'm looking back on all the things I agreed to do with nothing but deep sorrow. I'm forgetting my SeNiOr YeAr No ReGrEtS mentality and all I want to do is take a nap.

SPEAKING OF SLEEP.

I have done a few experiments this week because all last week I found myself scrounging around for coffee and energy drinks to keep me awake despite my 8 hours of unconsciousness each night. I was unglued. How am I getting eight hours of sleep and STILL tired? What is wrong with me?! I was about to throw a tantrum that I had mono and didn't even have the fun of kissing anyone to show for it, when one night I had a lot to do (shocking) and only got five hours.

AND

I

FELT

GREAT.

My mom reminded me this weekend that I stopped taking naps when I was two years old, and I've finally concluded that my body doesn't need very much sleep. It just...doesn't. Which is fortunate because I'm not going to be getting much this semester anyways. And very unfortunate because though my body rejects it like a foreign liver, I love sleep so much.

my heaven: sleep + carbs

So I'm figuring out what I am this semester, what the combination of formal planning+toilet talk making+piano practicing+half marathon training+choir accompanying+online science class hating equals out to be. I'm figuring out what Whitney is going to be this semester. What He is carving in my heart and what He will show me. I honestly love being busy. I love getting to the end of it all and praising God for the miracle of my survival. I kind of love giving Him the challenge of my impossible semester and knowing He will sustain me (or let me burn out to show me how stupid I am...crap)

I love staying up late doing homework and blogging. I thrive on last-minute stresses and full schedules. There is an adrenaline that courses through my veins when I sprint across campus.

I've started eating breakfast in the cafeteria, mostly so that I can read my Bible and get away from everything (because NO ONE eats breakfast in the cafeteria). I love sneaking away, eating some eggs, and reading His words.

that is Lyndsi. I told her about the greatness of by-yourself breakfast Bible reading so she tried it out too.

Though I love being busy, I am kind of a snot when I'm busy. I don't say hi to people I don't know when I'm walking across campus. I don't take the time to get to know new freshmen. I don't go to our school's coffee shop to hang out because I simply don't have time. I'm walking down the hall, emailing someone back on my phone, when I realize I completely passed someone without even looking at them!

I don't do that.

Unfortunately, Busy-Snotty-Whitney does. And I hate that.

I read this verse today and it has been steadily blowing my mind since:

"...you yourselves like living stones are being built up as a spiritual house, to be a holy priesthood, to offer spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ."

1 Peter 2:5

It gave me this maddening, beautiful picture of our sweet Jesus building His temple. His church, in which He abides. And some of us stones are running around, telling other stones where they are supposed to go, what they're supposed to do, ignoring the true Builder. Some stones are hiding because they don't want to be used; others have walked out because they somehow think they will be useful somewhere else.

But there Jesus is, picking up the quiet, submissive, willing stones and placing them in their proper places. The places He has prepared for them. He seeks out the stones that will go where He puts them, on whatever wall He wants and next to the stones that He sees best to place them by.

I look around. Stones are trying to switch with other stones out of discontentment. Yet His church still stands.

Stones are ignoring Him and bossing others around as if they know the blueprints. Yet His church still functions.

I myself am restlessly jumping out of my place in His temple in a discontent and mad search for something else. 

Yet His church does not crumble.

His power and His blood overcome our failures and shortcomings. There is a glue holding this temple together that does not rest on our performance. We fail at the small job of BEING A STONE.

And sometimes, I get tired of running (because stones were never meant to run). I get tired of talking back and being a diva about where He places me. I calm down, I go to breakfast and just sit there. And I let Him gently put me back in my place of seeking Him despite the mountains of other distractions. I let Him set me in my spot of worship and adoration. And I begin practicing those horrible six Bach measures with a little less angst.

And, with my Builder's help (and unending forgiveness and grace), try to be the best stone I can be.