I think we need courage to get up in the morning and face another day of sameness. We need courage to live another season of singleness. We have to fight for joy, face our fears, and wait on the Lord’s timing in every phase of life – and that takes courage! But like me on my mountain run, we get weak and want to give up. We want to collapse in a ditch, wheezing, “Just leave me here! Go on without me!”
Last night I hosted our first EVER Facebook party on the blog Facebook page – what a fantastic time! We had people from all over the United States, quite a few in Australia, and several in Indonesia, Malaysia and other countries across the world. During the party, I asked for feedback about future posts on the blog. One of the hot topics was “ideas for how to study the Bible”. I thought, “What a great thought!” So here we go! (And like the Facebook page to join us for future parties! We have a book giveaway and all sorts of fun!)
It’s easy to get in a rut when reading our Bibles. I know I’ve been there, and I fall back into that pit often enough. In the Religion program at Liberty University I have the opportunity to learn new study habits and acquire new resources, all of which inspire me to continue studying on my own time. But many of these resources are available to YOU as well!
Below are five ideas to aid you in your own study of the Bible, even when you’re in a dry spell.
1. Choose a place to start (and don’t bite off too much).
I have tried to read through the Bible at least five times. I have never been able to read straight through the old and new testaments consecutively – but I’ve managed to read all the books of the Bible individually! Don’t force yourself to do something in which you can’t maintain consistency. If reading through the Bible in a year doesn’t work for you, focus on one book at a time, get some commentaries to understand the context, and do a deeper study.
One of the flaws with the ‘read-through-in-a-year’, at least that I’ve encountered, is the pressing need to rush through the book. I like to sit down, read a little, mark it up, and truly understand what is happening in the passage. When I have to read my allotted chapter for the day, I don’t do as much study.
The project was in full, Type-A swing – the project I mentioned in Contentment Is not a State of Being.
‘Embrace Lynchburg’ is an effort on my part to ‘grow where I’ve been planted’… to accept the place God has me in a city that is constantly changing.
That epiphany – that contentment-choice – opened my eyes to notice.
I first realized a shift in my mentality as I stood streetside by our downtown bank. Mr. M was getting cash from the ATM and I was looking at the quiet Sunday intersection, overarched by gray November skies that blended into the fading facades of Greek revival buildings.
A leaf blew by my feet, and I noticed the brilliant red against the cobblestone.
The man who always sits at the corner of Main and 9th – he hums and rolls his eyes at you when you walk past. I noticed him this time, not in the ‘walk as fast as I can because I’m so uncomfortable’ kind of way.
I’d left my phone in the car. I’ve been leaving my phone more often these days. I read in the Wall Street Journal that this habit of taking pictures of every moment actually shortens our memory of those things – those baby pictures, the fall leaves on the mountain, that coffee date with a friend. When you take a picture, you don’t have to notice.
I chose to move to Virginia. I chose to make that change from small town of 5,000 to a bigger city of 75,000. I’d say it’s a good choice – I got a great job, made wonderful friends, and met my husband!
But I never really accepted this place as my home.
I have this routine for putting on pants.
To be honest, I don’t like pants that much. I don’t like jeans that much, actually. Six out of the seven days of the week find me in a skirt or dress, and I never put on jeans of my own volition after work.
This is partially due to my hatred for the whole pants-putting-on process.
Jeans straight out of the dryer are a force to be reckoned with – can I get an ‘amen’? I spend a good two hours doing squats, donkey kicks and high knees to loosen them up to a form worthy of the public eye. Trolls would love to see me transgress my own posts about modesty, so fear not: I’m not wearing jeggings. It’s just really hard to get slim leg jeans on drumsticks.
I’m quick to put a shirt on during the pants-dance routine, because the whole cupcake-look doesn’t appeal to me. I’m also quick to put on makeup, style my hair, and wear my signature pink lipstick. I’m quick because it is urgent: this covering-over, making-up, be-presentable womanhood I’ve embraced. I have scars to cover. I have curls to tame. And I have no upper lip, so I have to draw that on.
We pinch, poke, and prod; diffuse, scrub, exfoliate, and pluck; run, lift, and crunch. Even then, we thousands of women peer into mirrors, hoping to hear we are the fairest – not to them all, but at least to ourselves.
We aren’t all discontent with our bodies, lives and homes. But I do think, like me, many women have trained themselves to meet expectations. When we fail, we feel we have no excuse for that failure.
Faith in God is not evidence of a great person, but of a person trusting the greatness of her Savior.
It’s in those stressful moments I cease to remember that greatness. I cease to trust. In that moment, I cease to have faith.
Normally I would work on a post for today, but I'll be honest with you all: I am focusing my energy on being 'filled' before trying to 'fill' anyone else. It's been a difficult week and my heart has been very burdened. So today I'm going to share the Psalm I've been...
Chop, chop, chop.
I sliced the green peppers in slim lines, then cut them crossways and pushed the pieces into a little pile on the cutting board. I moved to the cherry tomatoes, and then the carrots, then the romaine. My Kitchen Aid whirred loudly, beating a batch of pumpkin bread, and I could smell the banana bread as it rose in the oven.
“I still need to do the laundry, vacuum the bathroom, and wash the dishes…” I muttered to myself, because not talking simply isn’t an option, even when there’s no one around.
As I moved around the kitchen I thought about the last week. I’d done all these things before. I do them every week, some of them every day. I get up at 5 AM most days, make breakfast for myself and Mr. M, and do devotions until 5:45. Then we head to the gym until 7 AM, when I shower and head to work by 7:45. Then it’s phone calls, Excel sheets, deposit bags, meetings and tour times until 5 PM, when I battle traffic back to the apartment and make dinner, pack the gym bag, and chop peppers for the next day’s salads and lunches once again.
We read the words mommy bloggers who go through this with their little ones: the diapers, baths, and bottles; the “Why?” and “When?” and “I’m hungry!”s of the day after day. But we have those, too: the needy infants of our own in-between lives. To-do lists with menial tasks we do again and again.
I recently took a personality test, just for giggles. The result stated my type was ‘The Executive’:
“The ENTJ has many gifts which make it possible for them to have a great deal of personal power, if they don’t forget to remain balanced in their lives. They are assertive, innovative, long-range thinkers with an excellent ability to translate theories and possibilities into solid plans of action.”
The results went on to state that people of this personality may “have a problem with being constantly absent from home, physically or mentally” due to their intense focus on achievements and goals.
As I read that paragraph, I thought of myself chopping peppers in the kitchen. My mind is never on those peppers. So menial. So pointless. Yet so necessary.
Dear Girl,
You see my pictures where I look happy, laughing-happy. Happy because I’m married and have a cool job, because I go on business trips and girls’ weekends. Because I drink coffee and blog, because my hair looks good in that picture and I probably don’t have a care in the world.
I look happy to you, like I don’t worry, don’t stress, like I woke up this way. Like my apartment is perfect, my clothes and husband and life are perfect. And yours isn’t.
In a world where we all ‘follow’ each other – a discipleship of image and best-face-forward – you look at me and think less of yourself. Or you look at me and think more of yourself.
Just like I look at others and do the same.
Dear girl, I’m just like you.
I’m the woman at the gas station in the scuffed heels. I’m the girl answering the phone with annoyance in her voice. I’m the one with the fighting heart and the too-strong tongue that stings sometimes, even when I don’t mean it.
Mondays are my least favorite day of the week, and my resentment towards them builds from 5 PM Sunday night to my alarm’s unwelcome tune at 4:50 the next morning. Yet another week of trying to juggle everything, my mind stews as I make the familiar drive into work, usually running late. I enjoy the busyness; I thrive in it. I love my coworkers. Yet when Monday comes, the dread builds as I realize I must shift from the ‘optional’ to the ‘required’ mode of operation.