Tag Archives: mistakes

If Jesus had a car thousands of years ago, you think he would've passed that up in favor of walking across the desert for 40 days?

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My mom never told me not to talk to strangers on the Internet. If she had, my life would’ve turned out drastically different.

my own road trip through virginia

My dad wouldn’t have driven me—on his 40th birthday—to a golf course down the road from our house where I would, presumably, meet a boy I’d never met face-to-face. Running on pure faith that he wasn’t a child molester.
Well, maybe not that much faith. He turned out fine.

I don’t remember how it started six years ago. The beginning doesn’t matter.

What matters is that my parents have, for as long as I can remember, trusted me to befriend the right people. Whether they live 20 minutes or 20 hours away. Doesn’t much matter.

The fact is, I’ve met so many wonderful people through this crazy Internet thing. And a lot of them are doing absolutely awesome things with their lives.

But I have a little story about two of them for you—Lauren and Max—who know a bit more about blind faith than my 16-year-old self did, standing in a golf course parking lot on a hot August afternoon.

More than two months ago, Max decided to travel the country. Counting on the kindness of strangers to carry him from one end of America to the other. And about a month ago, he stopped in the middle of Ohio to pick up Lauren—a girl he fell in love with through the Internet—for the ride. The two of them are devout Christians with a love so intense it puts a lot of people to shame. A lot of people.

And as they drive through the country on a wild road trip that many openly disapprove of, I am giving them major credit. Because even though I have never met these two wonderful individuals, they taught me one of the most valuable lessons:

That Christianity does not demand perfection. That to sin is to be human.

I’ve lost my way, steering toward all the other directions in life that are screaming out with flashy lights and bright colors for me to come toward them. They’re more exciting, more real, more right-here-and-now-oh-yeah. I have trouble sitting still, reading a book that wasn’t published within the last ten or fifteen years, and going on blind faith that in order to be a good Christian, you don’t have to be perfect.

For some reason, it doesn’t matter that making mistakes is in our nature, or that I’ve heard people write that and tell me that hundreds of times. Even Miley Cyrus. Or should I say Hannah Montana?

For the girl who makes her share of mistakes on a daily basis – yes, daily – but has a boatload of trouble accepting herself for them, this is a big deal. World changing thinking. My shins will thank you for stopping me from kicking them (figuratively speaking, of course).

Nobody who wanders the world on the generosity of others has everything perfectly tied up. And neither does someone who jumps in the car to follow, ready and willing to leave her city behind. But that’s good. That’s what’s real.

They don’t devote every single moment of their lives to other people. They devote a lot, but not all of it. They’ve both stumbled through moments in their pasts and they’re both trying to figure out what they want in this world, but they know they’ve got God in the backseat, making sure everything is safe.

They have houses to crash at, friends to depend on, and love to hold onto and spread out. And you know what? If Jesus had a car thousands of years ago, you think he would’ve passed that up in favor of walking across the desert for 40 days? Yeah, didn’t think so.

By the way, every month I send out a short + sweet newsletter brimming with cool finds related to the monthly theme. It'd be stellar if you subscribed. If it's not worthy, it doesn't go in the newsletter. That. Simple.

There is no impending catastrophe. There is just you, sitting in a room and worrying incessantly.

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caught in a downpour - drenched

caught in an unexpected downpour on the way to the dining hall

Sometimes, I think the world’s going to implode. But then I remember that I live with two science majors who, in the event of a catastrophe, would give me a little more advanced notice.

Stress is my best friend. I cling to it the way other people cling to stress reliever techniques like exercising or listening to music. I let it envelop me and define me and mark my day like invisible ink written up and down my arms.

Perhaps I should’ve been a character in Harry Potter. He had invisible ink and half of the wizarding world conspiring to kill him. And he turned out ok, right?

My real best friend—the living, breathing one—gave me some of the most sound advice a couple of weeks ago for handling stress.

And I listen to her. The girl’s working 30some hours a week, practicing for two separate plays, casting/directing another scene and is enrolled full-time at a community college that, oh yeah, is 30 minutes from her house. If anyone handles stress well, it’s her.

“Let yourself stress about anything you want for 30 minutes,” she told me.

At first, I thought that was a little odd. Who actually condones stressing for half an hour? That can’t be good. Imagine the hole I could work myself into in such a short time.

Then, when she explained, I felt a little better about the idea.

“You give yourself half an hour and that’s it,” she said. “Then you can’t stress for the rest of the day.”

Half an hour for all the stuff writhing inside me? All of a sudden, 30 minutes wasn’t long enough for me to drown myself with deadlines and expectations.

But it’s perfect. It’s perfect because stress makes us go crazy over the things we cannot control. I cannot stop the unexpected from cropping up. I cannot stop someone else from not holding up his or her end of a bargain. There will always be a small moment in which, despite my best efforts, I fall short.

And letting my mood and my day and my whole life revolve around all the minor unexpected twists and turns will only make me feel like I’m

carrying around an anvil on my back.

Instead, I’ll take 30 minutes to write it out. To get worked up or angry or frustrated or irritated or whatever I want to feel. But as soon as those 30 minutes are up, it’s a good day again.

Yesterday started off raining. By noon, the sun was out. That’s the sort of day we should come to expect. But only if we stop freaking out long enough to realize the rain’s not falling anymore and the world’s not imploding.

There is no impending catastrophe. There is just you, sitting in a room and worrying incessantly.

By the way, every month I send out a short + sweet newsletter brimming with cool finds related to the monthly theme. It'd be stellar if you subscribed. If it's not worthy, it doesn't go in the newsletter. That. Simple.