Four Things

Someone asked me yesterday to list four things I learned this semester. I, of course, could barely think of one at the moment. So later I cracked open my journal and read the 70 pages that make up these past four months.

1. January 26, 2012
     Our first Singers trip went well! Much better than I expected. The drive home, however, was perhaps my favorite part. Karisa drove me back, and we left earlier than the rest. We stopped at Backyard Burger to get my dinner before leaving town. I was so upset they didn't make my burger plain. We were in a hurry to head back because the weather was supposed to get bad. And it did. Extremely bad.
     We drove through lightning first, the sky flashing every few seconds to reveal dark clouds with sinister tails threatening to drop from their roiling blackness. In minutes we were swallowed into the belly of the storm. The rain pounded so hard all we could make out were the reflectors on the road. The lightening electrified the sky, so bright it hurt my eyes. It was strange: such brightness that didn't illuminate, but merely filled the air with light.
     I felt a bit nervous, but it was peculiar. I was not scared. I looked at the rain and the flashes and saw the magnificent power of God. The radio played the most perfect songs, one being "Light Up the Sky." I was not afraid, not because I was at peace with dying (which was a real possibility), but because God was in control. I knew He would take care of us.
Just minutes earlier I had been worried about pickles on my sandwich.

2. February 18, 2012
     This weekend is our first overnight Singers trip. I've decided this year to learn something from each home I stay in... I learned two things:
     The first is a small something. We talked a bit about crazy coincidences, things we laugh about and say "It's such a small world!" Mrs. Ellen made the comment, "Well I guess we know Who has a hand in that!" I'd never considered that. I'd never considered God planning those delightful, unpredictable encounters.
     The second is a bit larger and deeper. Natalie made a comment about the closeness of our youth group in high school that I suppose stuck with Mrs. Ellen. She later told us that she had heard an alarming statistic on the rate of youth group members that maintain church attendance after graduating. She told us that her sons had all grown up in the same youth group. Now, one attends church, one is nominally a member, and one does not attend at all. And all from the same youth group. I suppose I always knew, but at that moment it hit me how vital the personal relationship is. I think perhaps the statistic has always been alarming. But there are and always will be exceptions to the statistics. They are rare, yes. But there are, scattered among us, the truly dedicated disciples. Like jewels hidden in the depths of the mine, lying between ordinary chunks of rock and earth, they exist. Oh how I long to be such a gem!

3. March 25, 2012
     We had two "wow" moments on the retreat. The first was Thursday night.
It had been a gloomy, rainy day. In our final session, the last song we sang was "You're Beautiful" by Phil Wickham. As soon as we started singing, the sun burst through the cloudy sky into a beautiful sunset. The light illuminated the room in a shower of gold and orange. As we sang about how beautiful He is, He showed us. All I could do was turn and sing, looking out the window at the light that does not even compare to the light of Christ.
     The second came Friday night.
We watched the Louie Giglio video "Indescribable." In it, he shows the vastness of the universe and the tininess of our earth. God displays His power in space. The day had been cloudy and rainy (again!). In fact, we had just played outside in the dark with not a star in sight. The whole video, I asked God to sweep away the clouds and reveal His stars, reveal His power, reveal Himself. When I walked outside to the bonfire, I looked to the sky in amazement. The sky glittered with a million diamonds, with balls of fire miles upon miles away. He showed Himself.
     The universe is huge. God is bigger. He measures it with the width of His hand. If our planet is a speck of dust in a ray of light, how small are we?
And He died for us.
He wanted me so badly, He gave up His kingdom, His title, His safety, His life for me. He became sin Who knew no sin that we, we minuscule beings living on a tiny speck of dust, might become His righteousness.
That is my God.

4. April 1, 2012
     Last night, I went to see "The Hunger Games" with some friends. It was late; we went to the 10:05 showing. On our way, our friends called to tell us that there was an accident, that we should take a detour, but we misunderstood the exit to take. We stopped in traffic, waiting to move on. We could see the number of emergency vehicles, more arriving as we waited, and we knew it was bad. But we had no idea.
     When we drove by, all I could say was, "Oh, God... Jesus, please." I was not using His name in vain. I really was crying out to Him.
Debris littered the highway, like a tornado had torn through a house. The vehicle itself lay on its roof, barely resembling a Jeep. It looked as if a giant had heartlessly crushed it with his fist. A young man, a teenager, sat on the side with his head in his hands, a woman next to him offering what comfort she could.  And on the asphalt lay two black bags. Two black bags holding two soul-less bodies. I have never seen anything like it.
     I felt so selfish to carry on my way to the movies. It felt so meaningless. I felt shallow to cry at the loss of a character when, that night, parents in real life would be told they lost their child. So instead, I turned to the wall and cried for those families. I had so anticipated that movie, but I didn't truly enjoy it. I kept thinking of those black bags and those suddenly smaller families.
     On our way home, we drove through the place where the accident had been. All that remained was a bit of scattered debris, broken glass, and the wetness on the road where they had attempted to wash it all away. I think one of us commented, "Oh good, it's cleaned up." But it wasn't really. You can't clean a mess like that. You can pick up pieces and take away debris. You can kick the glass into the ditch and blast away oil and blood with water. But you can't clean it up. From now on, families are smaller. From now on, friends are always missing one. From now on, two souls are spending eternity somewhere.
You can't clean that up.