Allo? Anyone home?

I, just like any other 'big sister', older cousin, or youth minister, have heard my fair share of knock knock jokes. And, although I don't admit it very often, I'm sure I went through a stage where I was annoying everyone within a 10 foot radius with the not-funny, annoying jokes. That was exactly what I was thinking about as we played music this morning.

After attending the Ash Wednesday service this week, I left with the feeling that the Holy Spirit is very much at work in a heart that is cracked, worn, and fighting off an infection. And slowly, as the service progressed, it became all the more apparent that little by little, the HS was beginning to pull the dead layers off to give air and light to the young seeds, hoping they will take hold of the soil and grow. Painfully necessary for new life to take up residence.

Today, I was part of a music ministry that really made me pause, stop playing (thank goodness others continued on), and question whether I am actually in control of this journey back or not. We sang a relatively newer worship song entitled, "Somebody's Knockin at Your Door"

"Somebody's knockin' at your door; somebody's knockin at your door.

Oh sinner, why don't you answer? Somebody's knockin' at your door.

Knocks like Jesus... somebody's knockin' at your door (2)

Can't you hear him.... somebody's knockin' at your door (2)

Jesus calls you... somebody's knockin' at your door (2)

Can't you trust him... somebody's knockin at your door (2)

Oh sinner, why don't you answer? Somebody's knockin' at your door"

So, taking this as a prompting, my reflection time for the next little while will be in tackling the big question: why can't I answer the door? Why did I opt for the comfortable music playing role today rather than attending an Anglican service? Why can't I get myself to go to the student 'Worship Room' tonight with other post secondary students?

Advice on why sinners are more likely to ignore or be too scared to open the door?

The Tides are Changing

This time yesterday morning (almost exactly to the minute), I was standing on a Bahama beach in sandals, a pair of long shorts, and a very light jacket. We had just finished eating our last meal on the island as a family and when the rest of the six went upstairs to pack, I snagged my youngest sister and made her come down to the water to take pictures with me. I had missed a friend's birthday back home and just to prove that I was thinking about her while away, I wanted to get a lovely picture of "Happy Birthday (Friend)" written in the sand with the ocean in the background for a half decent birthday card.

And what seemed like a 30 second task to find the "perfect spot", write the message in the grains, and snap the picture... turned out to be incredibly and deceivingly challenging. The tide was not quite out all the way and it took a number (higher than 10) of attempts to time the writing in between the big waves and get the picture taken. So much so, that I nearly lost a sandal to the undertow and managed to provide quite the comedy to the security guard further up.

And now, 24 hours later, exhausted and wide awake, I find myself chuckling at how beautiful of an image yesterday's adventures were in illustrating life itself.

In about an hours time, I will drag my jet-lagged, sleep-lagged body out of bed, shower, and drive to the local university where I will embark upon a two year, professional degree of studies to hopefully graduate as a Registered Nurse - fully certified, trained, and health conscious. The logical part of my brain keeps telling me that these are just courses... they are no different than the six years of undergrad courses I just finished taking. But that middle section of my body that houses the digestive system seems to be saying something else. My stomach is churning, I feel like I'm going to either pass out or puke, and although nerves are not a horrible thing - I cannot remember feeling like this when I attempted to start theological studies a little over a year ago.

I am pondering the whole concept of the tides changing and what that means for me: a single soul standing on the edge of something so deep and profound as the ocean having the waves wipe out the message I try to write each time.

Maybe pondering the journey as a whole is too overwhelming and impossible to do, but I cannot help but ask the question of whether this journey is going to the "thing" that leaves my mark in the sand or whether this is something I am embarking upon as an attempt to run away from facing God's call once again. On the flip side, perhaps the tides have indeed changed as has God's call on my life, morphing the expression of discipleship that I am called to live and breathe and emulate.

Makes me wish that I could have a brief cup of tea with one of three wise spiritual mentors. One, because she would ask the hard questions in a way that would make sense and then share her intuitive opinion on what she believed the answers to be. Two, because although I only recently met him, he is a truly incredible young man who frankly - hates change and transition as much as I do and although he couldn't offer tips on how to cope, just sitting in his presence and sharing the hate of transition moments would be enough. And three, because although I detest green tea, she steeps a wonderful cup and whether via custard and bananas or curry or simply a peaceful accent... the world always seems alright from her viewpoint; she always has a plan B, even when having done something completely backwards or downright wrong - scolding and shaping is done in and through love - always, and frankly/finally - I miss her.

But, as these three individuals either live on the other side of the world, are in school themselves, or unreachable - I guess I am left to ponder these waves as any brave soul has done in years gone by: experimentally. Here is to hoping that I do not get sucked under by the pull of the ocean, wiped out by a massive tidal wave, or get lost wandering aimlessly along the beach front of life.

Cheers!