You Just Run

Have you ever involuntarily screamed? I don't mean a yelp while watching a scary movie, or when someone jumps out and scares you.

I mean scream.

Like what the heck is that noise, scream.

I've only done so twice, the first during one of my high school track meets. I'll tell you about the second, in an other long winded post. For now, lets focus on this one with all of it's run on sentences. If we lived in a perfect world, the outcome of the meet would have been far different from reality. If you have ever been to a meet, the last event is the 4X400 relay. One of the athletes backed out, and I was put in as a sub. In a word, ohmylordpleasehelpme flashed across my eyes in large red letters. It wasn't my first time running the event, but my first as the anchor.(The last and most crucial runner; if they run fast enough they can pull the team up to a better spot)

Allow me or unpack that a little.

I joined track because I'd never been in a sport besides peewee soccer, and it was my last chance to try something new, since I was a senior. To put it plainly; I am not very athletic. I have the build and stature of a runner, but I am not very skilled at it. Usually my nerves and self consciousness got in the way of giving my all and throwing myself into the sport completely.

I got my feeling of being a champion by encouraging my friends and team mates across the finish line. I loved cheering on my friends, but as I myself got into the blocks or walked out onto the track, nerves mounted and I found myself complaining that I wasn't enough, even though I had plenty of people encouraging me constantly. I battled with this feeling constantly, and I still do. I can remember sitting at my coaches desk and hearing "You can't let other people determine what you think of yourself. You have to prove yourself to yourself." And an other coach who told me "You can't be afraid of getting out there and failing. Failures mean you learn. Get out there and try."

Super deep and emotional things I will carry with me the rest of my life.

Anywho--there we were, the very last event of the year, for those of us who didn't make CIF.

And I was the ANCHOR.

{Kinda sounds like one of those cheesy Disney movies right?}

I found myself asking if they had a fever.

There were only three schools in the event, so if the worst happened, we had third place. Before the event, the four of us prayed together for God to aid us in running to the best of our abilities, and to give him the glory no matter the outcome. We prayed  for safety and sportsmanship. We prayed for nerves to subside. We did this before every event we were in. My loving boyfriend gave my pointers of how to run the lap and calmed my nerves. As the race began and progressed, we fell to third place, and were slowly slipping behind. As my friend came in with the baton, I grabbed the sick and ran. It's kind of an indescribable feeling, running a four hundred; you can't run too fast at first, you have to conserve your energy. As I ran, I began to catch up with the other runner, in second place.


Let me flash back a little. About two weeks previous, I faced the same girl, and I didn't pass her when I could have, because I wasn't confident I could have. This cost us precious time and second place.

Let's just say I was determined that I would pass her.

When I finally got to her heels, I began to run next to her. When I would run faster to pass, so would she.

It was an awkward heavy-breathing-wind-in-your-ears-sorta-silence. By this time, we were rounding the third turn and making our way toward the finish line.
I pushed as hard as I possibly could to get there. My feet and legs turned to concrete and everything seemed like it was in slow motion. I gave everything I had, and I knew she did too. I silently prayed (begged) Jesus would strengthen me the last few feet.

Then I heard this strange grunting scream noise...I barely had time to wonder what it could be, when I realized it was my throat. I was screaming, as well as you could while in a dead sprint, I guess. I prayed the young lady next to me didn't think I was a lunatic...which I guess could have helped my situation if she had;)

Still running side by side, we approached the finish and threw ourselves at the line.

The second place "victory" was too close to call.

As I wobbly-run-walked the few feet after, I dropped the baton and slowly descended to the floor...ahh the floor.

My thoughts were as follows:
Done...finally done. OHMYGOODNESS I DROPPED THE BATON.

See, when you get done running like that in 90 degree weather, you're not thinking very clearly. And you think dropping the baton after the finish line is a bad thing.

My loving boyfriend and kind-hearted coach came to my aid, and grabbed me off the ground to prevent me from becoming a writhing ball of muscles. A short while later, the other athlete was seated next to me.

She was one of the sweetest and most gracious ladies I have ever met. We congratulated one an other and secretly prayed for our team's victory.

My team mates and coaches came and hugged me, and waited in agony those few moments before the word--who placed in second?

 It seemed the entire stadium took a collective breath in those seconds.

I was one of the happiest people in the world. I gave up the voice in my head saying I wasn't enough as I ran. I didn't care of what everyone else thought of me. I wanted to compete not only for my team, but my own determination to conquer that annoying voice in my head. I wanted to give my all for my friends, and there is no doubt in my mind that is exactly what I did, because The Lord answered my prayer for strength.

I felt like a champion, and I didn't care what the actual results were.

My coach came back with the word; the young lady to my left took second.

A second passed for the statement to sink in. Then my team mates congratulated me like I won the race, even though we came in last.

This is one of my most cherished memories of high school. God answered all of our prayers, and blessed me with such loving people.

In the moments that you let go of everything and run toward Him without anything holding you back, He makes you fly. When you run toward Him, the perfecter of our faith, you don't worry about dignity or looking like a lunatic scream-running.

It doesn't mean you win.

You just run.





Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on to toward the goal to
to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus.
Philippians 3:13&14



But for those who hope in The Lord,
He will renew their strength.
They will soar with wings like eagles,
they will run and not be weary,
they will walk and not be faint.
Isaiah 40:31

The Namesake

Many of you (I'm just going to assume that someone out there, besides my loving sister and devoted friend, is reading this, okay? :) have probably looked at the name of my blog and wondered why it's named after a rather unattractive stone. Well, it's not exactly after the stone and not exactly after the Rend Collective song, so what is it named after?

In biblical times, alabaster was used to preserve things of worth like perfume or jewelry, after being made into a jewelry box or bottle. Mary's perfume she used to anoint Jesus' feet was kept in an alabaster bottle. If you're not familiar with the story, Mary, a woman who followed Jesus (not his mother), poured out all of the perfume she had onto her savior's feet. This perfume was no Bath & Bodyworks people. This stuff was called nard.

Now I don't know about you, but I don't recall seeing a commercial or ad with a beautiful woman saying "Nard" in a Spanish accent or rolling around on the beach. (I know, perfume ads don't make any sense! But that's an other topic for an other day...) Well, allow me to educate you briefly on what this good smelling essential oil is. This bad boy comes from the Himalayas and is extracted from the plant known as the spikenard. Nard has earlier references in the old testament for the tabernacle and in Song of Solomon and was also used in ancient cuisine. Anyway, it's expensive.

Now that I have turned into the human Wikipedia, let's get back to the point.  Mary had, according to the scripture, a pound of this stuff, equivalent to a year's worth of work. What this must have meant to her, apart from it's sheer value, I have to imagine it had some kind of deeper bond with her. When I smell Twilight Woods I am brought back to the best summer I've ever had. And that's just super cheap perfume. I wonder what was going on in her heart before she walked into a room of men and knelt at Christ's feet. Nervousness? Bravery?

What about humility.

As I read through and explore the bible, this story sticks out as one of the most humbling. Mary, a woman who was supposed to be helping serve with her sister Martha, found herself sitting at the feet of God, listening. Then again, anointing. She went against what was customary to follow her God, to understand what He truly wanted for her life.

It was at the feet of God that she poured out the most expensive thing she could find to anoint Him. Usually, people are blessed on their head, but Mary went the extra mile to show that she did not deserve Christ's perfection. She blessed his feet. Then, as the oil began to run she mopped it up with her hair, yet again an other custom she broke, since her hair would have been covered during biblical times. She wanted to show her savior that He meant the absolute most to her. Custom didn't matter, money didn't matter, disapproval of those around didn't matter.

Only. He. Mattered.

I want to be like Mary. I want to give every single bit of what I have that can bless the Lord, no matter what. When judgment day comes, I want to be told "Well done, good and faithful servant". I don't want a single drop of my talent or kindness or encouragement or love to be left in me. But that's hard isn't it? That's exactly why I have to work at it every single day. I can only pray that He makes me strong enough that I can pour out myself. Wonderful things happen when we bless the Lord.

"I am broken at Your feet
Like an alabaster jar
Every piece of who I am
Laid before Your majesty

I will bow my life
At Your feet
At Your feet
My lips
So lost for words
Will kiss Your feet
Kiss Your feet

Oh the gravity of You
Draws my soul unto its knees
I will never be the same
I am lost and found in You"

There you have it. That's the namesake. I guess it really should have been named Nard...but Alabaster sounded a whole lot cooler, and it has an awesome jig by Rend Collective! Which happens to be my favorite Christian band.

Have an awesome day!

Patience to Providence

Hello, cyber world!

My name is Tori, and I am a sinner.

My birthday is June 13th, 2004. No, I am not ten years old, and this is not the date that goes with the piece of plastic in my pocket that permits me to drive and vote. June 13th, 2004 was the day that I was baptized into the family of God. At that time, I didn't know what having a relationship with God completely entailed. I knew Jesus paid the debt for my sins, but I had not committed completely to a life spent serving Him. I thought since I'd been washed by the water, I was done. Time to kick back and drink a spiritual lemonade!

HA!

My rude awakening came a while later in my freshman year of high school bible camp. I realized that I needed to have a personal relationship with Christ, otherwise judgment day wouldn't go over so well for me-- I would never experience the life my heavenly Father planned so perfectly for me. And that my spiritual calling was to serve Him, by serving others, literally. Missions! Who knew...Quite a few highs and lows later, here I am, pouring out my thoughts and feelings into the internet...something I made fun of my dear sister for.

Anyway, I wanted to share a little something about what The Great I Am has revealed to me over the past week. Bear with me here, first time blogger in the house.

After my graduation from high school in a lovely little town in the middle of no where, I decided to go on a mission trip with the youth of my church. I've been to one other trip like this, in Tacoma WA, to help fix apartments and reach out to the local homeless community. Super fun trip with loads of inside jokes and ministry opportunities I will never forget.

This year, our youth group packed up and drove to Tucson, AZ. {AKA; just like home, save the joshua trees and insert the cacti} A place where only 4% to 7% is churched. That leaves almost an entire community that does not know the love of Jesus Christ, which absolutely breaks my heart.

I grew to know everyone there so much more in the past week than I have in the years that I've known them. Love y'all!

While in Arizona, the youth of our church helped renovate a church, install a baptistery (three people are in line for it, praise God!), wash feet and give new shoes to a women's shelter, fold clothing for an outreach program, sort donations for an organization that supports refugees from Nepal, foster homes, and local ministries, and we were involved in local outreach to the homeless.

Holy cow, right? That was way more than I had expected to do going into the week!

I was able to do all of these things at least once, which was amazing. Where I spent most of my week happened to be renovating Westside Church. There, we painted. When I say painted, don't take this phrase lightly.

We. Painted. A lot.

First, it started with the back drop of the stage, then we were asked to paint the whole church. Um...sure!

Three days later, Westside Church had a facelift and a baptismal. May I say again, holy cow. Now, I can't admit to having the most Christ-like attitude during this three day period of painting. Gasp! The cat's out of the bag, I'm human!

Moving on.

Thoughts went through my head like "Who on earth is paint going to impact? It's PAINT." This question bounced around in my head for a while, until my spirit was reminded that it was going to impact someone, take a chill pill, girl! Little did I know the person the impact would be made on was me.

Let me explain one thing--the walls we were revamping were cinder block walls. If you've never had the great pleasure of painting brick, you've never experienced the tediousness of it. First, line the grout in paint. Then, roll the wall. Then, go over the craters and tiny holes in the wall so they don't show through. THEN...it's time for the second coat. Heaven forbid a third. This is no small task when you are painting an entire church. Thank you God for such an amazing group of youth I was able to serve with! People, by the grace of God we finished this project in three days. Back to the point!

After the third and final day of lining and rolling and taping and having meltdowns over spilled sodas and stubbed toes, we had our final group meeting. For this meeting, we all threw on our closed toe shoes and hiked to the top of a mountain for an awesome sunset and some root beer floats. After hearing an awesome testimony and witnessing a sliver of God's beauty in the sunset, we shared how God met us that week.

One amazing story of God's incredibly perfect timing, then an other, then my hand was in the air. (The "Oh-crap-I-can't-back-out-now" moment. But I had to share what was going on in my heart.)

Between rolling and taping and melting down over spilled Dr. Pepper, the Lord spoke to  my heart something I've needed to hear for a long time this year.

If I were a brick wall, I would be a dingy, somewhat dirty, scuffed, in need of fresh paint, brick wall. My final year of high school was marked by high highs and low lows. Things I rejoice in, and things I'd rather cover up and not think about. If I tried my best to make myself new and beautiful again, there would be gaps and craters missing of beauty. From far away, the wall would look new and fresh, but up close? Incomplete, and half finished. I would need someone to go over the fine details and fill in the cracks where I can't reach or do on my own.

Friends, we are brick walls. I thought this year that I could make myself beautiful again for my King by rolling over my mistakes, masking them how I thought best, never truly trusting that HE would still think me worthy of HIS all-consuming grace. To hand HIM the paintbrush and make me beautiful again. Because of the blood of HIS son, the dirtiness of my soul has been covered and made new, beautiful, and fresh.

Yes, I will falter. Surprise! I'm human.

It's only when I stop trying to make myself good enough for my King again (because that would never happen without Him), and ask Him to make me new that it will happen. When I admit that my soul needs revamping and some elbow grease, He sweeps in and makes me beautiful again.

Yes, touch ups will be needed. I'm human.

But He is always there with the paint can and brush, ready to cover my scuffs and scratches in the paint. Sometimes it will need total sanding of the walls to start over, but He will not turn his face from me when I need it.

This week I learned that I can't make myself clean before I go to Him. I have to call on Him where I am.

Pretty deep for paint, right? After I finished my story (not easily, and with many breaks to keep my composure) I felt awkward, like I was the only one who was crying or impacted like that. But yet again my King showed me just how great He is. I had many people come up to me and thank me for sharing, and let me know what I said made them cry as well. That I was not alone in my trials. In turn making me cry more. (The never ending cycle of being emotional!)

God amazes me by how awesome He is.

So that's my story...I felt lead to share this more than just on FaceBook. I know now that I am not the only one who needed to be reminded that I need to depend on the Great I Am to make me new, no matter what I did to get where I am.

I am so grateful for my youth group and those who have supported me this week.

I'm sure more will come of this trip, which means more rambling.

YAY!

That's all folks!