Flavor: Continued

I clearly have a very lose definition of “tomorrow” when it comes to blogging. Forgive me my temporal confusion, this week I’ve spent my first three nights in our new home, though I can only remember two of them, taking care of my mother, who just had surgery. Which almost relates, since in her drugged state she told Joe, who was mom-sitting her, about my former escapades.

“Did she tell you about when my panties fell off in the Randall’s parking lot?(i was two)”

“No. She told me about when you (lots of things that may or may not come back to haunt me).”

Which got me to-thinking (today I’m typing in my semi-hick accent) about the past, and how I blog a lot about it.  The night after that conversation, I looked through some old year books, photos, and journals.  And that made me want to blog even more about things remembered, rethought, some even restored.  But mostly made me think about how I constantly compare myself to who I used-ta be.

Is that helpful? And moreover, is it Godly?  I seriously stayed up all night thinking, “Does it benefit anyone or serve the kingdom in any way to talk about my past? Especially the parts that weren’t holy or righteous?” and the answer I saw was emphatically: yes.

The Israelites make a lot of sense to me. Their short attention spans and inabilities to recall simple details of beautiful covenants like: only love one God, don’t worship other things.  As I read the Bible, the most helpful, useful (don’t dog me, it says itself that it is both of those things) text a being could hope for, I see an example of recording many, many past events, neither holy nor righteous, for the building up of God’s people.

Why do I like to look at who I was? Because otherwise I have a very hard time understanding who I am. I am, at my very core, just one thing: God’s.  And that is part of every bit of me.  But sometimes it isn’t how well, but how poorly I reflect my maker that shows His glory and goodness. For instance, the fact that most people have never seen my belly tattoo doesn’t say much about God’s power or work in me. The fact that 8 years ago, when I got my belly button pierced, I “walked around with my shirt hiked up for everyone to see,” (direct quote, Debbie Tidwell, Dobie Choir room 2001) and now no one even sees my knees very often – now that communicates a change.  Sometimes we just plum have to compare things to other things in order to grasp their scope.

Like the solar system:  I can vividly recall the day that I grasped some semblance of reality in regards to the size of the sun. I was watching Bill Nye the Science Guy. To explain the size of the sun, he painted a marble like the earth, the used thousands of marbles to fill a giant orange ball.  This, he said, was comparable to how many of the earths it would take to make the size of the sun.  Though I still cannot truly fathom something so large (the super croc is about as big as I can go)  it gave me a good source of comparison, a sort-of, almost, kinda way of understanding a very very big thing.

And so it is with my past and my God.  I continue to see him working, largely in reflection of where he has brought me to and where I see us going, together.  The story of God’s love for his people is not a perfunctory bed time story meant to lull us to peaceful sleep, but a deep and moving hero’s epic wrought with chilling, powerful details. And I am part of that story, part of His story to His people.

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