Better: of superior quality or excellence

      Sometimes I look at myself and think..."I should be better." I should be a better listener, be more diligent, more trustworthy, self-disciplined, should make better grades, be a better friend, take better care of myself, juggle responsibility better...do everything...better. And then I wonder if other people think the same thing.
     Do people look at me and find themselves disappointed in who I am, in comparison to who I could be, or should be? Is it possible that I fail to meet the expectations of others based on the fact that I am called to greatness, yet settle for mediocrity?
     I find myself wondering this a lot...probably a lot more than I even should. To an extent I want to throw out the, "You shouldn't care what other people think about you" card, but then there's is this nagging truth that people should be able to look at my life, my actions, my words, my thoughts, my love, and see that it is, in fact, better than what they have tasted and seen in this world. Shouldn't my life be an example of a better way to live, a better way to fight this battle? After all, that's what Jesus was for us. Better. Better than the late nights that consisted of a nauseating amount of alcohol, ending with your face in a toilet bowl...better than the days exhausted by trying to impress and fit in, ending with a pillow soaked in tears and night of restless sleep because you know you have to wake up the next day and do it all over again...better than the crushing pressure of a future with little hope beyond what you, yourself, can conjure up in what little imagination this world has left you...better than the cheap love you can find in the eyes and arms of the next available warm body...He was better, is better.
     I almost find myself wincing at describing Jesus with such a simplistic word, or notion, but then I remember that simplicity is His best friend. Perfection will some day come, but what I want to strive for now is simply to be better...better than yesterday, better than a year ago, better than now-

In the Eyes of Justice

Had to write a "Justice Narrative" for class, so I thought I'd share...

 “The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing…” –Edmund Burke

            I was sitting at the diner last night with Grace and Courtney, laughing at how Grace thought the word “brothel” meant “soup,” when a familiar face walked past our table. At first I couldn’t put the face to a name but then suddenly, like a train going full throttle, it hit me. It was Tommy. Immediately this wealth of emotion, full of pain and bitterness washed over me. My cheeks felt as if at any moment they would catch fire and spread flames throughout my entire body. I went numb, but at the same time felt intensely aware of my body movements. Should I say hello? “No, no, ignore him…don’t say anything…he’ll never notice,” is what I kept thinking over an over. I was wrong, he did notice. He stopped right in front of me. His mouth twisted in a crooked way and for a second I thought, no he actually was, he was smiling at me. Smiling? How could he smile after everything that had happened, everything I had done to him? I guess it’s time I explain why this encounter was so gut-wrenching and terrifying for me…

            In High School, I guess you could say I was part of the “in-crowd.” I was head cheerleader and not terrible looking (though looking back, I wonder if ppl were blind…), the combination of which made me some kind of god-like creature within those walls. My boyfriend, Captain of the football team (does it get more cliché?), thought he owned the world. His little minions, and now that I think of it, I guess me too, also thought the world rested in his hands; what he said went, what he did, we followed. One day after cheerleading practice Randall (my boyfriend) thought it would be funny to play a prank on this kid named Tommy. Tommy had gone to school with us since I could remember and was always a little strange. He didn’t have a dad (that we knew of), and his mom worked like three jobs, or something awful like that. He was quiet, reserved, always kept his head down in the halls and had no apparent friends. I remember in fourth grade, Ms. Kimmel’s class, a note got passed around that Tommy was “gay.” A lot of us didn’t know what that meant at the time, but still thought it was pretty funny. Tommy got beat up on the playground at recess that day by some of the boys in our class. I remember feeling sorry for him, but also felt like he probably deserved it if he was “gay,” whatever that meant. Kids can be so cruel sometimes, an example of that I am about to tell you.

            Randall came over to me and some of the girls on our team and told us all about their “evil little plan.” Operation Destroy Fag is what he cleverly called it. I was told that I would instrument the whole thing, which I’m not going to lie, made me feel powerful and proud. I was told the plan and that it would take place tomorrow afternoon, same time. The next day I spent in somewhat of a hellish state. I wavered between whether or not what we were going to do was right and if I actually wanted any part in it at all. Eventually, the pressure of popularity forced me to resist my moral thoughts and agree to continue with the plan accordingly. After 6^th period ended, I slipped a note into Tommy’s locker. The note read: “Tommy, I know you won’t believe this, but I’ve had a crush on you since ninth grade. I was too scared to tell you before, but I want you to know I dumped Randall hoping you’d be my boyfriend. If your answer is yes, meet me on the football field at 4:00 this afternoon. If you don’t show, I’ll be heartbroken. Hopefully yours, Ashley.” It was irresistible, fool-proof. Tommy showed at the field five minutes early (what a nerd), and we were all eagerly waiting under the bleachers. Before I even knew what was happening there was a whirl of commotion around me, and the next thing I knew, Tommy was tied to the goal-post half-naked, bleeding, crying, begging. What should I do? Untie him? I didn’t have the strength. Call for help? No one around cared. Cover him up? With what? My mind raced for what seemed like days, and pretty soon I found myself standing on that field alone, just me and Tommy. He pleaded for me to help him, begged for mercy…the smallest ounce of it. I said nothing. I walked away and pretended like the scene wasn’t real. Tommy missed the rest of the week at school. Eventually, he returned, but it was as if that day never existed. He acted like nothing ever happened; same old Tommy, head down, quiet, reserved, talked to no one, kept to himself. Sometimes I would cry myself to sleep thinking about Tommy and what we did to him that day. The shame, embarrassment, ridicule we bestowed upon him. He was just a kid. I never told Tommy I was sorry for what I did. Actually, I never spoke to him after that day…

            Looking into his face now, I felt sick. I was embarrassed, ashamed, angry at myself for the injustice I had done him. His eyes though, his smile, they were warm and welcoming. Not bitter or full of rage, just calm and quiet. We said hello and he went on his way. I thought for sure that would be the extent of our encounter, and honestly, I was relieved. But, before he got up to leave, he slipped a note on our table. The note said, “I forgive you.” He proceeded to leave his number and address and asked if we could get coffee some time. I went to the bathroom and sobbed for a solid fifteen minutes. I couldn’t believe what just happened.

            In the next few weeks, I worked up the courage to call him and take him up on that coffee. We sat in a corner booth for hours talking, laughing. The man who sat in front of me was hopeful, his qualities quirky, yes, but enchanting. All those years, and I never took the time to know him. Saying I “missed out” would be a complete understatement.

            Tommy told me he works with a child advocacy group in the area that focuses on the issues of bullying and harassment. He travels the country lecturing, conducting seminars, and mentoring kids just like he used to be. Tommy is a hero to many, including to me. I can never erase what I did, can never take it back, but what I learned from Tommy is that it is never too late to right a wrong, never too late to change and move forward. I found forgiveness in the most unlikely of circumstances, and my hope is that I will offer mercy and forgiveness to others in much the same way that Tommy did for me.

A "good" Laugh.

It's not funny,
Don't you see?
It's not funny,
That you laugh at me.
It's not funny,
That you cut me down.
It's not funny,
That silence wears the crown.
It's not funny,
That I can't just be.
It's not funny,
That you are just like me.
It's not funny,
That now it's you, not me.
It's just not funny,
Don't you see?

Life lately.

      Ever feel like you are standing still and life is moving right past you? Like everyone around you knows some secret about how to catch up with it, but you're left in the dark? I've been realizing more and more how fast time really does go by...I was stalking a few of my friends from High School last night on Facebook (what else do you do at 3am?), and felt like it was literally last week that we all graduated and were talking about starting college. Now, most of them are married, or will be in a few months, have "big people" jobs, and are leading lives that our parents are supposed to, not us, right? I ask myself all the time, "When did I get old?" And yes, at the ripe age of 22, I feel like I am nearing adulthood ever so quickly and there is nothing I can do to stop it. Every day I wake up, pretty much do the same thing, go to bed, and then start the routine over again the next day. Redundant doesn't even cover it. Where is the adventure, the danger of the life that I want to lead? Instead, I'm stuck in this town feeling like at any minute I could die from asphyxiation of the norm. My tombstone would literally read, "Herein lies Liz Breeden. Death by the daily drudge." Complacency and monotony creep up like a cancer that invades your cells quietly one day and then, before you know it, you're slowly (or maybe rapidly in some cases) dying a harsh death. But the thing about that kind of cancer is that, unlike say, lymphoma or breast cancer, it is 100% curable. It is hard work to rid your life and self of these things, but it can be done with the help of a Loving and Perfect Father who is anything but dull or stagnant. He is the antonym of anything lackluster and wants us to be too. Help me be more like you today, Jesus. Help me to live on the edge of the cliff, not comfortably ten-feet away. Actually, I'm going to jump off the cliff...just catch me when I do.

Time.

Time is something I have yet to figure out. I feel like I have this unlimited supply of it stored somewhere and I can drain from it whenever I want like an ATM. Why though? Why do I feel like I can use and abuse this gift, this present the Lord graciously gives me with every passing second? I have found this taking time for granted to be a chronic problem in my life, and as I am sitting in the library about to finish yet another semester of college, I'm wondering what I have done with the past three years of my life? Can I honestly say that I have used that timely wisely, or worse, used it for the Lord and the furthering of His kingdom? I would love to answer yes, but it wouldn't be honest. I take days, hours, minutes and seconds for granted every single day and it never occurs to me until so much time has passed I feel like I can't do anything about it. Then I stop. I take a breath. And in an instant I am reminded of the Lord's goodness, and His ability to forgive me and forget my wastefulness. He just stands there with His arms wide open and tells me to get up, dust myself off, and try again. I can handle this time thing God, I just have to give it all to you. That is the only way to truly use it anyway, right? I need more time to look like you, and help this world do the same. What's mine is yours, so take my time. Consume all of it and be stingy with it. I don't want to waste any more of it. Thanks for second chances. 

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

Why is it that when the Lord moves, speaks, and reveals, the enemy thinks he has the next move? Last night I was sitting in a prayer meeting and the Lord very clearly spoke to me, revealing things about His will for my life, and wouldn't you know it, the minute the meeting was over I was sick to my stomach. This isn't the first time this has happened either. Throughout my walk, and even before, a recurring pattern is seen: God moves, I get sick. The summer before my senior year of high school, my youth group went on a mission trip to Mexico. I really felt called to the ministry at this time, specifically to the mission field, and while we were there I ingested the water, and was car sick in the back of a van for 3 hours. This is only one of the many stories I have about this, but last night I got to thinking about it...I realized that the enemy is not only trying to take me out spiritually, but also physically. Why does he feel like he can do that?? I actually think its funny in a way. You're mad that I won't be joining you for eternity and that I'm taking as many people with me as I possibly can, so you give me stomach problems? "Count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds, for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness. And let steadfastness have its full effect, that you may be perfect and complete. lacking in nothing." -James 1:2. 

Two part prayer.

Miracles. They followed in Your wake. Everywhere You went, they were present. Can my walk with You be like that? Will You awaken a faith within me that stirs You to do miraculous things through me? Will You use me to heal the lepers…cause the blind to see…cast out demons…heal the sick…raise the dead…cause the mute to speak…preach the Gospel to all who will hear? I don’t care if I am hated by this world for doing so because it has nothing to offer me. “Some want to live within the sound of chapel bells; I want to run a rescue mission within a yard of hell” C.T. Studd. That is the desire of my heart. Do with me what you will. I’ll sacrifice everything to gain You and to see Your glory revealed in my measly life. I will give up dreams, hopes, plans, whatever You require of me, in order to save lost and dying people.

You hid Moses in the cleft of the mountain so he could see your back…I want to see all of you, even if it means my death. The word “radical” isn’t sufficient for what I want to be for You…”For if we are beside ourselves, it is for God; if we are in our right mind, it is for you…” (2 Corinthians 5:13).

Since when did I become so worried about offending people that I began to sugar-coat the Gospel to the point it is almost unrecognizable, or even left out all together in my conversations? And why,  from the pulpit and the mouths of christians, are “warm fuzzies” more prevalent than the truth? Proverbs teaches us that, “An honest answer is like a kiss on the lips” (24:26), and that, “Whoever rebukes a man will afterward find more favor than he who flatters with his tongue” (28:22). James tells us, “Whoever brings back a sinner from his wandering will save his soul from death and will cover a multitude of sin” (5:19-20).You weren’t afraid to offend people’s sinful nature, so why are your people? 

This is not to say I am not sinful, or we, as christians aren’t, because like Paul said, “I[We] am[are] the least of these” (1 Corinthians 15:9), but to the Pharisees and the lost in our world, I want to be an example by not only how I live, but also in striving to always have truths on my lips.

Not that this “brimstone and fire” message is necessary to scare people out of hell, because that isn’t the Gospel at all, it is “God’s kindness [that] leads you to repentance” (Romans 2:4), but that we stop fearing rejection from man, and start showing the lost the love of a perfect Father who wants nothing more than to be in fellowship with them.

No matter the sacrifice demanded of us, or what we have to endure,God give Your people the grace to do what you have called us to. “But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you, and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem and in all Judea and Samaria, and to the end of the earth” (Acts 1:8).

I want to leave this earth knowing nothing held me back from fulfilling Your plan for my life. No more timidity, I’m ready to burn for you…