Deborah Spooner
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it's all too much.  it's all too much at once.

maybe it's not that the world is too big.
maybe it's just that i am too small.

Jesus.
oneism.
changing the world.
reaching the lost.

we are lost
what is lost
what is found
who is who
what is right
right is what
now is why
why is now

they talk
they walk
they do
they die
they scream
they seem
they seem like
so much
wallowing around in a world
of so much that it's so little

they do
they die
they don't
they talk
they think
who can know
know is what
what is known.

Jesus.

2000 years old
a time so long ago that it seems as cold as stone
in a world where we're surrounded but we really walk alone

alone
but we all are glued to the phone
to afraid to realize the lives we're living are phony
in one place before we do and die
we do or we die; we always die but do we actually do

it's a world where change seems impossible
and meaningless is probable
where everyone thinks something but sometimes no one knows anything.

where anything can appear at the flip of a hat
and maybe its still not that the world is so big
but that i am so small.

Jesus:

the Maker of the Stars
when the sky seems too big and the lights seem to small

the Giver of Life
when life seem too short, too fast, too empty of what feels like it will last

the Hope of the World
when the hope seems to be disintegrating with each shot of a gun, each swing of a sword, each death of a child

Jesus:

we need you. 

"To deny oneself is to be aware only of Christ and no more of self, to see only him who goes before and no more of the road which is too hard for us.  Once more, all that self-denial can say is “He leads the way, keep close to him.”
Dietrich Bonhoeffer 
© 2015 Deborah Hope Shining




Again, dear readers, I am not able to talk with each of you face-to-face.  This makes me more sad than you know!  In hopes to give you some more perspective of the life of this blogger behind the screen, here are seven things you might notice if we met.


1.  I have an obsession with Spanish.
It's been an obsession seriously ever since I was a four-year-old girl having a dream about witnessing in a Spanish speaking country.  Maybe it's the fact that my dad is a pastor who used to frequently go on missions trips, or maybe it's because my mom is so big on international Christianity.  Either way, Spanish-ness and the wonderful language itself have a part in my past and have a place to stay.

So, if we ever meet, prepare yourself for movie watching.. in Spanish. Brace yourself for random song outbursts.. in Spanish.  And I apologize in advance when I start speaking to you, occasionally, in Spanish.  If you come in my car, too, well the tunes might sound a little foreign to your ears cause I got my Spanish Hillsong jam.  I'm nowhere near fluent, though, but I seem to love it more each time I speak/hear/listen/write it.


2.  I can be absolutely terrible at texting or messaging back.
Call it short-term memory loss or blame it on the fact that my phone could basically be anywhere at any given time (and I probably couldn't tell you where), but it's just the unintentional reality.

{Really, I'm trying to improve, though..}


3.  I'll always choose left.
When faced with the choice: right or left? my theory is: always take the road left traveled...


4.  I (potentially) have problems navigating... through my home-town.
Starbucks drinker {leaning over to my table}: Hey, do you know you way around this city really well?
Me: oh! I'm so sorry, but I don't... (to myself: uhm, why don't I know this?  Wait.  You've been living here for ten years, Deborah, and don't know your way around {the struggle is real}.  Well, this is awkward..)


5. I just really love shoes (like, a lot).
When I was five years old, my dad lost me.  We were in Target, and I disappeared.  He ended up finding me... in the shoe section.  Ever since then, I like to say, my love of those wonderful things we put on our feet have only grown.

I may potentially dig pretty strange ones, too, and match them with outfits that are.. unconventional.  (Hey, somebody's gotta do it, right?)  My Dominican Republic canvas shoes may have seen the sunlight (or lack-of) more than a few times in the middle of winter even, and -let me tell you- they have negative two traction. 
  

6.  I'm a men's small.
Being a tall-ish and broad-shouldered girl has it's downsides (though I think it's like amazing, in general). Truth be told, a men's small in clothes can fit me pretty well, and my man clothes are some of my favorites (this zip-up I have, though..).

It only gets a little weird when you're at a youth retreat and you see a guy wearing a shirt that you happen to also have brought with.  {It just keeps life fun, right?}


7. One word: croutons.  
I'm not big on comfort food, but I do have a go-to snack: croutons (Olive Garden ones, in particular).  I may have been recently found sitting on the floor with a mega-sized bag of these crunching and typing away.  (Really, there's just a seasoning that can't be beat..)

.   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .
 
Now it's your turn!  I would love to hear something(s) that I would notice about you on the other side of this screen if we met.  Feel free to comment below!




My feet were going over both the slushy puddles and the ice.

When I opened the mailbox, I saw the letter.  It read "Honors Program" above the college's name in the top left corner.

My feet skipped over both the puddles and ice as I literally ran inside.  My heart was pounding, but my stomach was filled with an ocean of dread and apprehension.  My mind was coated in doubt, but my heart wouldn't stop beating hope.

It didn't take long.  "We're sorry, but we are unable to accept everyone who applies."  My mind's doubt was icing into cold, numbing fact while my heart moved from beating hope to bleeding disappointment.

I knew it was doubtful.  Only fifteen people out of the entire incoming class are selected, and my APA stylistic mishap had been haunting me during the final days of waiting.  I had not been able to rid myself of the hope, though.  A different school, nicknamed "the Harvard of the Evangelicals," had already accepted me and even given me their highest academic scholarship.  My ACT score allowed me to apply for this elitist program.  I was co-presidnet of the National Honors Society, for Pete's sake.

Yet, I was facing "you're a good candidate for our 'second-chance' opportunity."

I dropped the letter and turned away.

I dropped the letter and felt my hope drop to the floor.  I turned away and felt like my dreams had totally turned away from me and left me in a place unable to engage in the shattered reality I now faced.

Very few times have I literally not been able to speak because my emotions are like a torrent washing me so completely that words are buried and my tongue is too coated in their waves to move.  This was one of those times, and I...

lost it.

I would like to say otherwise, but it's just the truth: this rejection letter felt like it broke a dam inside of me that allowed a flood of held-back doubts and too-long held fears to pour out.

This was supposed to be the final confirmation that I should go to this school.
I prayed.  I prayed, yet this is the result that I get.  again.  
My family literally can't afford the practically $18,000 that this is going to cost us; doesn't God understand that?
Why, why is the effort (forget about my own effort) of my parents yet again seemingly unrewarded?
Why do I have to deal with all the doubt and baggage that this is going to cause me from this day forward?  I. do. not. have. the. strength.
Why do I have to carry and work through what this is bringing up in my life?  When can it just be what I wanted?

Tears are an interesting reality.  Although it may feel like they are drowning you, they're often just washing you clean: washing you clean of gunk that has been building up inside.  Sometimes, something as strong as a torrent of tears is the only thing that can wash that buildup out.

When the buildup was coming down, I see this: we're not built to stand alone.

When the hope was dropping to the floor, I see this: maybe our hope should start at the floor.  It should start beneath us and be grounding us.  It should be an anchor for our soul, and this is not an anchor that 'ties us down' but one that enables us to stand up (Hebrews 6:19).

When my whole reality seemed to darken, I see this: God is light, and in Him, there is just no darkness (1 John 1:15).  Isn't that enough?

When my life seems shaken, I see this: though the hills be shaken and the very mountains move, His steadfast love just isn't going to change (Isaiah 54:10).  Doesn't that steadfast love still have you covered even when, hey, it seems like it's forgotten about you?

When my heart is bleeding and I don't think I even have the strength to cover the wound, I see this: when I am weak, oh man, then is when I am actually strong (2 Corinthians 12:10).

When life brings you through solid ice of doubts, fears, and crumpled dreams, I see this: life has both the pain and cold and danger of ice, but there is always the melting of this ice where the pain will fade, and you will find that you are stronger for enduring the ice.  Really, though, both ice and melting puddles are made of water, but they just come in different forms.  And both are good.

Now, that letter is now sitting not even eight feet away from me.  I wanted to burn it not even a week ago.  Today, I want to frame it.  Call that strange desire swap what you will - character defect, bizarre tendency - but I've seen that in the dark tears of weakness are the brightest cleansings of His strength.  

And I don't want to forget that.

.       .        .        .        .        .        .        .         .       .        .         .        .      .

Update:  The day after receiving the honors program rejection letter, I got a phone call.  The leadership development program that I'd applied to at the same school had accepted me.  Frankly, this program is the better fit for me at this point in my life, and it is highly doubtful that I would have been able to be in both programs.  Yet, I had to live through an emotional hell before finding out this news.  But, my God is the God of heaven, and I want to encourage you: hang on.  He's just not finished yet. 

© 2015 Deborah Hope Shining


Does anything ever just make you mad? Like really, really mad?

I'm there right now. I've actually had this post written for over four months, but I never published it. I've never published it because I'm afraid: afraid it will come across all wrong, afraid that people will misunderstand my heart, afraid that it's just too harsh. I see the exceptions to my words and the people who are the real deal, and I don't want them to feel like their lives are unseen or their witness is wasted because they're definitely not. 

In fact, they are the very people for whose sake I decided to publish this post, after all. Cultural Christianity is just so repelling and yet so alluring all at the same time. I felt like, for the sake of those on their face seeking Him, something had to be said, and I am tired of not being bold enough and just putting it out there. 

Without further ado, then, here are some thoughts I'd like to share despite the fear I still feel. Would you please read with grace and understanding? I would love to hear your thoughts on this endemic, too. Please comment, and we can talk over this some more. 

.    .    .    .    .    .    .    .    .    .    .    .    .    .    .    .    .    .    .    .    .    .

I'm sick of "Christians."
I'm sick of churchy-ness. 
I'm so stinking sick of my generation saying they love God but never mentioning His name outside of Bible class or chapel (unless, of course, they need a convenient cuss word). 
I'm sick of people who believe we are supposed to be strangers and aliens in a world that's not our home but who I can't even pick out in a room of the secularized West. 

I'm so done 
with cliche.
with assumptions. 
with people just believing what they hear and not searching for truth themselves. 

I'm so exasperated with people telling me to have a relationship with God while their prayers sound like they are talking to somebody they don't even know. 

I. Am. So. Sick.
Of these people claiming to know my God while living like He means nothing. 

I know I am in no place to judge.  That's just not my role.
I can't help noticing these things, though, and these thoughts keep surfacing.

Where is the place where I walk into a room of my peers who call themselves "Christians" and feel the peace of Christ?  

Where is the place that Jesus is real to people?

Where is it that prayer is powerful and people live dead to themselves, by grace, and through faith?
Where is it that people are open to the Spirit and following His leading?
Where is it where Christ actually means something?
Where his name has power and is seen at work in powerful ways?
Where is it that He is more than a word in a song, a picture on the wall, a "good-doer" that your supposed to remember when asking "what would Jesus do?"

When does it become less of "Yeah. I know about Jesus" to "No. I know Jesus!"

Is He not more than another piece of doctrine we need to fit into our do-good lives?
Is He not alive, the God-man?
Doesn't a relationship with someone actually look like something in people's lives?
Shouldn't we be spending time with Him and listening?

He tells us of sacrifice. He tells us of being devoted. 

Shouldn't accepting Him into our lives mean that He is now involved?  (and ain't nobody gonna change that or deny it.)

My soul aches to be part or a generation where Christ is more than a name, more than a name to sometimes include in our us-orchestrated lives. 

My soul longs to be part of a generation where Christ means something, where our devotion to Him isn't taken lightly but is a way of life, and where He is real in a real relationship. 

For there is power in His name.

There's power in the name of Jesus, and I long to see it unleashed in our lives. 

Power for peace. 
Power for joy. 
Power for endurance. 
Power for love. 
Power for hope. 

Power to stand strong when everybody else is gone. 
Power to live even as we fail. 
Power to live bigger than ourselves. 

Power to serve. 
Power to sacrifice. 
Power to give up and give to. 

To my generation - Jesus Christ is real. 
Please stop saying you are a Christian unless you are dead serious about it (ain't nobody got time for that). 

It's time to get real ... or get out.
(And I truly hope that we choose to get real).

© 2015 Deborah Hope Shining
This post was originally seen on The Rebelution.

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About Me

Deborah Spooner is an analytical creative enamored by ideas and addicted to dripping words in candor. Serving as a Marketing Strategist for LifeWay’s Adults Ministry, she loves all things big-dreaming, difference-making, and Jesus-pointing. A pastor’s daughter with a background in communications and theology, you can find her at her local church with her students (and probably way too excited about the color yellow) as she seeks to know Christ more and make Him known.

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