Repentance is not Self improvement

I've got this cousin. He's delightful. And all the time he tells me stuff that make me think "That's true, but I'm not sure how. I'd never said it that way before." which is exactly the kind of person that I want it my life.

So you know those days that you wake up in the morning and everything is just gross? Cause maybe hormones or maybe tests or maybe just life is hard? What do you do on those days?

I think I usually go run 3 miles and listen to a podcast. 

Sometimes, I curl my hair. Or make a really great lunch and clean the whole kitchen. 

These are all pretty empirically good things to do. But I think that's why I do them. I'm trying to prove to inner Josie that I'm a smart competent lady who eats salads with avocados and homeade dressing so definitely my life is together. In a slightly more cynical version, I'm presenting my coiffed life to everyone else. Regardless, there's nothing there that implies actual change. 

What if when I woke up on those mornings, I spent an extra 5 minutes in prayer? What if I changed my heart and learned more love of self and others? What if I let God be in control instead of my hair straightener?

Then it would be called repenting. 

Readiness

I'm taking the GRE tomorrow. That might mean that I should be going to sleep.

Readiness is a strange thing to me. I don't know if I've ever felt ready.

Waimea

Seems like I'm standing on a lot of ledges these days. We talk about climbing the ladder of success (bop to the top anyone?) and the steps upwards, but that doesn't really capture it for me. I certainly concur with the sentiment of rising; we're commanded to rise upwards and be like Him. That's the greatest thing we can do. However, I'm still just one of the Littles on a step, not able to peek over and know what's below, but trusting that I have to jump down, and somehow that will help me go up. It doesn't make sense, but it works wonderfully? That's Jesus.

So on the edge of another precipice, (admittedly this is not a very large one because me+standardizedtests=besties (secretly, (you can tell that this is a legit secret when you have to put it in a parentheses^3) I'm a little excited. Adrenaline, endorphins, woot.)) I'm going to bed. Two feet first tomorrow. Wishing the same for you!

Imperfect

Today in church, we celebrated the Resurrection of Jesus Christ. Simple words on an anonymous blog do little to express the greatness, the bigness that I feel about him. I'll definitely keep trying, but here's what I have today.

I love listening to my fellow travelers try to describe how they feel about Jesus Christ. It's the most important topic, but there aren't really any right words to describe him. Or rather, words come up short when trying to encompass the Alpha and Omega.

But we try anyway. Maybe with words, we'll bridge the walls that we put around our hearts. Maybe we'll talk soul to soul. Have you ever really looked someone in the eyes? If I do it right, I can't even say anything- I'm so taken aback by the majesty.

The choir sang, the speakers spoke.
A wonderful girl played the song "I Believe in Christ" on the piano. It was all very nice.
However, I found the beauty in another part. Halfway through the piano piece, this women started shaking and missing notes- enough that she stopped at one point and played a couple of measures again. That's when I started crying.
I'm not quite sure why. But I think it has something to do with imperfection.

I will probably never live a perfect day. All the time, I shake and miss notes, even in the times that I'm trying to praise him with my whole life. Sometimes, I just play the wrong piece, or I forget what I'm supposed to be doing. But I am trying.

This woman's piano playing was beautiful, because it wasn't perfect. So later, when the soloist couldn't continue because of his tears, and the alto made ugly crying faces, I cried along side them. I know exactly how it is to be inadequate.

And yet he makes it enough.

For that, I say- Hallelujah.

Eponymous

When I first started writing for something more than a grade, I thought a lot about adjectives. Hopefully, it wasn't as much as Christopher Paolini. I like the idea that my word can mean something different when combined with different words. Diction had real rhetorical power, and I'd always been the audience. In all this musing, I came up with some words that were untouchable- because I liked them too much. Not everything could be lovely, articulate, and even-keeled. But I decided on one: Bright. I'd rather be bright than anything else. Smart, yes, but shining, lighting, aware, glowing, all those things and more.
Am I bright? I'm not sure.

But the title is a command.
Siga means light, or glow or shine. Shine's probably the best translation. So shine bright like a diamond. Except not a diamond because I don't like those.
Shine out, shine far,
shine bright,

Siga bright.

Una

I like this state of being hidden in plain sight.
I'm like a woman with brown hair and a blue shirt in a Where's Waldo book- difficult to find in the masses, made infinitely more difficult because you don't even know what you're looking for.

But I've felt a need to be on the page, in the book. I know Blogger's going out of style. But it's a space to create, to follow my biggest heroes.

**Reserving all rights to delete previous posts, but cautioning myself to remember that it was real then, so it deserves your respect.