Arms Wide Open

        What do you think of when you hear the phrase "arms wide open"? I always pictured this: a father throwing his arms out, a child running into them, a warm and passionate embrace. It's how I envisioned my relationship with Christ, my Heavenly Father. He had his arms wide open, waiting for me to abandon myself and run into His embrace.
        I was at church recently and we sang a song by Misty Edwards called "Arms Wide Open." I had a vision that changed how I see Christ. "What does love look like?" is the question I've been pondering. / "What does love look like?" is the question I've been asking You. I've been having a hard time grasping the concept of how much God loves me. I have grown up in the church and the teachings have been engrained in my mind--"God loves you," "Jesus died for you," et cetera. But I'm trying to understand God's love on an intimate level, going beyond the cliche phrases and the routine of church.
        And then I saw Him there, hanging on a tree, looking at me / He was looking at me, looking at Him, staring at me / I could not escape those beautiful eyes / And I began to weep and weep. I began to vividly see what the song described. I began to see Christ's eyes, looking at me deeply, intently. In that moment I couldn't catch my breath; it hit me harder than ever before that my sin had put Him on the cross. I wept.
        He had arms wide open, a heart exposed / Arms wide open; He was bleeding, bleeding / This is how I know what love is. My heart was pierced hearing these lyrics. Christ's arms are wide open because they were nailed that way. His arms stretched from one side of the cross's beam to the other, held there by a nail in each wrist. This is how I know what love is. Love is the perfect Son of God pouring out His blood, His life, while hanging on a tree for my sin.
        And as I sat there weeping, crying / Those beautiful eyes, full of desire and love / He said to me, "You shall love Me, you shall love Me, you shall love Me."  When I first saw His eyes I thought I saw pain, sorrow, and betrayal. I felt like I had betrayed Him, as if I had personally kissed His cheek to turn Him over to the soldiers, as if I had swung the hammer that drove the nails into His flesh. But His eyes weren't blaming me. His eyes were full of desire and love for me. He died for His love for me. "This is how God showed his love to us: He sent his one and only Son into the world so that we could have life through him." (1 John 4:9) When you understand how deep and infinite His love is, you can only begin to love Him back. "You shall love Me, you shall love Me..."

Highways and Freeways

        Lately, I have been using a lot of freeways and began to wonder the difference between highways and freeways. It turns out, freeway can be defined as a "limited access highway." Oh, the irony! Who knew "free" meant limited access? A highway is a road going from point A to point B, most often connecting cities, with many intersections, businesses, and homes in between. Highways have more stop lights and fewer lanes (sometimes even have more traffic), while freeways go faster and are wider. That's probably why we hear of highwaymen and not "freewaymen"--there's a slim chance of a robber being successful with cars zooming by at seventy-five miles per hour.
        Something has also been bothering me about using the term freeway... There's really no freedom in deciding where you want to go. There are different on-ramps, exits, and freeways you can take, but you can't suddenly decide what to do. For example, if you see a McDonalds next to the freeway, you have to wait for an exit; you have to use the roads that have been made, not carve your own path on a freeway. And if, by chance, you miss your exit, you can't turn around. You have to keep driving and wait for the next exit (and hope there's another one close by).
        Somehow, in my mind, I made a connection between highways, freeways, and obedience to God. Freeways are when you are trying to obey God, while highways are the times of disobedience. This epiphany came when I heard someone say "It's my way or the highway." I feel like God is often saying this to me--Obey me. Trust me. Do as I say. As I said before, highways are slower and encounter more cross-roads (therefore more wrong turns), detours, and highwaymen. Especially without directions or a map. That seems to describe what happens when we disobey God.
        Freeways best illustrate obedience. God has a path planned for us, He tells us to make a specific turn, and we can choose to go His way or not. Sometimes that means we take the wrong exit and start driving the highway. Other times, we get stuck in traffic because we hesitate to listen. And still there are times where we actually follow His instructions and experience a pleasant journey.
        Another thought about the term freeway... It is called free, not because of the freedom to choose where to go, but for the lack of toll fees. The freeway is paid for by taxes, but it is not required to pay each and every time you enter or exit the freeway. Think about it. Each and every time you disobey you don't have to pay your way back into His presence. He asks you to sacrifice (money, time, etc.), but He doesn't charge you every time you decide to obey. God made the ultimate sacrifice to pay for our entrance onto the freeway--Christ.
        Now when I go on a freeway I think of God saying "My way or the highway." I pray that we can all have the strength and grace to do God's will, and never have to leave the freeway of obedience.

Star-Gazing In Vegas

       I must say the most unexpected joy of the trip was star-gazing in Vegas. Every night, I would quickly check the sky for stars and be disappointed by the lack of stars. I love to gaze at stars, and here I was in Vegas and not able to see any because of all the city lights.
       On the last night of our trip, I was outside writing in a journal when I paused and looked at the night sky for the last time. There, I saw a few twinkling stars.
       My grandma stepped out of the RV and looked up. She has been teaching herself all sorts of astronomy, and passing her knowledge onto me. She has taught me what zenith meant (the highest point in the sky) and where to find Orion and Polaris and many other stars. We've spent nights in Tahoe, at the beach, and even at home looking up to the sky and pointing at various speckles of sparkles in the dark sky.
       That last night we stood together once more. It was unusual-- I thought-- to see so many stars in Vegas. Maybe they've shown every night and I just never noticed. Perhaps I just assumed they wouldn't shine, so I didn't look hard enough. Nevertheless, there those gorgeous stars were, shining as brilliant as they ever could.
       I think I'm the same way with other things in life: I assume they are one way so I don't even bother to check. There are times when this doesn't even apply to physical or tangible things (like stars). Truth-- the always just-out-of-reach snippet of fact. People take things for truth at the blink of an eye, whether it's their own opinion or what someone else told them.
       It's the same way with sin. Think about this: Satan is referred to as the Angel of Light. Why? My guess is because he disguises himself as a magnificent, light "angel," attracting people to him because they assume "light=good." Yes, light is mostly good, unless it is blinding us from reality. Vegas seems to be an angel of light in a way. The glowing, flashing lights leading people in, then snatching them into a wrong lifestyle.
       Yet even through all the light pollution of the city, I could still see stars. It was as if God was finding a way to be seen through the glare of the glitz and glam of a sinful city. And isn't that true always? He always finds a way to shine through, even in the midst of the distractions of the glaring, blinding, destructive light of sin.

Red Rock Canyon

       On the Friday of our trip, we went to Red Rock Canyon National Preservation Area. At the Visitors' Center, there were four sections, each describing the four forces that shaped the canyon: earth, wind, water, and fire. I laughed to myself that it left out the biggest force of all: God. After going through the center, we drove on a narrow, winding road through Red Rock Canyon. It was amazing to look around me and see the natural beauty. I couldn't help but think, with a bit of scorn, The city slickers probably don't even know what they're missing. All they'd have to do is drive a bit outside of town and they'd be in this beautiful, new world.
       We drove for miles in the canyon. Many people would get tired of the drive-- they'd say "If you've seen one rock you've seem 'em all." But I beg to differ. I couldn't get enough! It took everything in me to not go running into the hills, climbing the rocks, wandering the trails. I had this inexplicable urge to just get lost. Of course, now I'm glad I didn't act on that bizarre impulse. But at the time, the only thing keeping me from wandering off was that my grandparents were in the car, waiting for me. Every now and then-- no, every few hundred feet-- they had to slow (sometimes stop) the car for me to take pictures. I wanted to take a picture of every peak of every mountain and all the plants and rocks in between. Most of the time, though, I would roll down my window and take pictures as quick as I could, before the scene would disappear in our trail of dust.
       I really liked the feeling of being almost alone. Occasionally there would be other cars and other sight-seers, but most of the time it was just us.
       It was sad leaving the beautiful landscape. As we zoomed away, I rolled my window down and stuck my head out so I could look back. I now know why it is that dogs hang their faces out of cars. It somehow brings such freedom and joy! While I enjoyed myself, my family laughed at me for my silliness. But I wasn't being silly-- I was being as free as I could be while cramped in a car with my family.
       I'm not sure why, but those few minutes of wind blowing my face, whipping my hair around me, were some of the best minutes of the whole trip.
       I don't really have a life-lesson to make from this, but it was fun to reminisce on a small yet joyful event. I guess maybe that's the point-- Finding the small moments of life that are insignificant yet oh so very significant, the moments that don't last long but make a lasting impression.

Las Vegas

I just came back from a trip to Las Vegas, Nevada today. While on the trip, I continued to write and now I can finally post what I wrote...

       I learned I was going to Vegas about a month ago. To say I was unhappy would be the biggest understatement-- I was mad. Since who knows how long, I have hated Vegas. I tried to be optimistic about the trip, I really tried, but it was an uphill battle. When I packed, I focused on the fact that vacation was vacation, no matter where it was. But that's no consolation considering I was expecting a trip to Lake Tahoe. Instead, I was headed off to Las Vegas-- the hot, sticky, over-populated Sin City.

       On the first night of our trip, I asked my grandparents if we could drive down the strip-- I wanted to see the lights I remembered from my trip there years ago. My grandparents, cousin, sister, and I piled into the car and drove away from the RV resort we were staying at and began our drive down the Strip. It was a lot less impressive than I remembered. Maybe it's the fact that I've grown up and the buildings aren't as big to me. There were still zillions of dazzling lights-- like I remembered-- but they weren't as amazing for some reason. It was almost overwhelming-- there was so much to look at-- yet underwhelming. I had been expecting to be blown away by the lights and buildings, but there was something nagging me at the back of my mind.

       When I was little, it was easy to be impressed at the spectacle of the Strip. But now, at seventeen years old, I saw more... the darker side of the city full of lights, Sin City. It's as if my eyes were opened to a new aspect of the city.
       I saw advertisements for call girls posted on the enormous billboards. Inappropriate magazines sold shamelessly on the streets. Ads for recreational hypnotists. Ads for alcohol of all kinds. Excessive gambling. Girls walking down the Strip in bikini tops and flirting with strange men. People staggering while clutching their bottles of booze. Billboards lined the highways, boasting of topless bars and all sorts of debauchery. Maybe I'm just naive, but I never expected to see nearly nude women on the largest billboards in the city. Then again, I should have expected something like that because it is, after all, Sin City.

       As we drove down the Strip, I prayed. Most of the time, I couldn't find the words to pray. As strange as it sounds, I felt my spirit aching and crying for the lost people of Vegas. I constantly felt like I was trying to speak telepathically to passersby: Put down your beer bottle and walk straight... Girls, respect yourselves... I just wanted so desperately to see an end to what went on in the night.

       We got back to the RV after our drive and I couldn't sleep; I felt sick to my stomach. Thoughts milled through my mind... How did Vegas become the mecca for pilgrims of perversion? What is it about Vegas that allows people to lose any sense of good judgment or morals?
       The answer: Safety in numbers. In Vegas, you can act like a chameleon, and blend into the background. No one will notice you if you do something everyone else is doing. There's no shame in Vegas because no one notices you. No one is going to point out the speck in someone's eye because everyone else has a plank in their own.
      There's something fascinating (and disturbing) about this "mob mentality" or, as some call it, the "majority opinion" (which sounds a bit nicer, don't you agree?). In his book The Martian Chronicles, Ray Bradbury brings to light some important thoughts and questions regarding the majority :

“I hate this feeling of thinking I’m doing right when I’m not really certain I am. Who are we, anyway? The majority? Is that the answer? The majority is always holy, is it not? Always, always; just never wrong for one little insignificant tiny moment, is it? ...What is this majority and who are in it? And what do they think and how did they get that way and will they ever change…? I don’t feel comfortable [as a part of the majority]. Is it claustrophobia, fear of crowds, or common sense? Can one man be right, while all the world thinks they are right?”

       What if the mob mentality wasn't negative? Why can't the "minority" step forward and prove the majority wrong for the sake of morality? Again, Bradbury captures the essence of this issue:

“[T]here was always a minority afraid of something, and a great majority afraid of the dark, afraid of the future, afraid of the past, afraid of the present, afraid of themselves and shadows of themselves.”

       My question, now, is this: What is the minority afraid of? In Las Vegas, the minority is the people who know that any sin is a sin against God and shouldn't be taken lightly. What could the reason for not confronting the problem? Is it intimidation? If that's the problem, the "minority" should realize: God is on their side. Why should they be afraid?

Romans 8:31 "If God is for us, no one can defeat us."

Doctors

      Only doctors can get away with saying "I'm glad I haven't seen you in a while." They live, after all, by the old saying no news is good news. Obviously no one goes to the doctor just for fun, so it can be assumed something is wrong if they show up at a doctor's office.
      If I was a doctor, I would get sick of people coming in and complaining about their various illnesses. I would also hate to be the one to inform a patient of a terrible disease they contracted.
      I'm glad I'm not God.
      God is a sort of doctor. Too bad we treat Him like one. We often only go to Him when we're sick or when we're in need.
      At least God doesn't require insurance. Imagine... Everyone is praying for a miracle healing over you. Then, you hear a booming voice: "Sorry. You don't have the right insurance. Come back later." What would the price of such insurance be? Then again... There is a price to pay for receiving God's healing--Faith. You have to do the difficult task of abandoning any ideas you have about the ordinary and expecting the extraordinary.
      Instead of calling on God only when we're sick or in trouble, we need to treat Him like a best friend, rather than a doctor. No best friend would (or should) say "I hope I don't have to see you again soon."

Birthdays

Today is my birthday, so I figured it would be an appropriate subject to write about...

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       Birthdays: A symbol of birth, new life. An annual reminder of how far you've come, a progression from one stage of life to another, the beginning of a new chapter.
       Age is a tricky concept. Some see age as a negative thing (the more we live, the closer we are to death), but others view it as a process of becoming wiser (wisdom comes with age). In that light, why wouldn't someone want to be older?
       It's funny thinking about age as a number. Some numbers sound so much older than they are. Seventeen sounds a lot older than sixteen, eighteen sounds a lot older than seventeen. It's a progression. Certain years are super important: 13 (you're finally a teenager!), 16 (you're starting to become a young adult!), 18 (you are an adult!--legally, anyway)... To anyone under twenty, twenty sounds old. To anyone over twenty, twenty sounds young.
       Any increase in age represents an increase in maturity (hopefully).
       It's the same principle with our spiritual lives. At the point we accept Jesus as our Savior, we are born again as new creations (2 Corinthians 5:17). And, like babies, we need to be nurtured. 1 Peter 2:2-3 says, "Like newborn babies, crave pure spiritual milk, so that by it you may grow up in your salvation, now that you have tasted that the Lord is good." What is spiritual milk? What nurtures our spirit? Reading the Bible--hearing God's Word, living and breathing new life into you daily. Praying--no baby develops properly without the love of a parent, and what better way is there to experience that love than to be in constant communication with our Heavenly Father? Fellowship--being with other Christians to keep you accountable, and to pray with you and for you.
        If we are born again, why don't we celebrate spiritual birthdays? To me, everyday can be--or should be--that celebration. Who doesn't want to party everyday?