memories

for my writing group this week, we wrote about memories.
this is a memory I think of so often, i wrote two separate pieces about it - one short & one long.

(#1)
youthful thoughts and bodies
stood staring at the sky
with words of praise and adulation
fingers straining wide

my head burned with hunger
my body stiff with ache
legs enflamed, stomach tumbling
is it supposed to be this hard?

i can't see the words on the screen
or the point of screaming to you
when i don't feel enraptured
or caught up in the tune

im pressing my feet firm in the ground
and bending my heart flat to yours
you are worth telling you
that you are worth alone.

(#2)
My freshman year of college was like a big introduction to Jesus. I had started to meet and longed to understand him a few years back, but mostly those years were an introduction to christians and trying to understand their life, trying harder to mirror it. But that year, something shifted, and I grew less enamored with the people and more drawn to their Person. He really was perfect. Perfect. Perfect. And we were not.

I wanted to be caught up in Him, swept away in relationship with Him, stuck prostrate at His feet and life continued to get in the way. But there was this trip coming up, an outside worship/camping trip with 20,000 people crying out to the Lord and communing with Him. I was all over that. Let's leave it all behind, let's gather and worship, let's get to the heart of what is real.

Unfortunately for me, it was a camping event and I am well, not a camper. I started off the trip about as horribly as you can with a massive case of food poisoning at the beginning of an eighteen hour drive. I sat in the back of a fifteen passenger van, swaying with the movement of the van and willing myself to die, and then I'd bust through the doors at each stop to rid my body of the offensive poison that was absolutely ruining my trip.

As we approached the small town of Sherman, Texas - my stomach was beginning to heal itself and a new ailment was raring its head. If anyone should get their period on a camping trip, it should be me - for sure. With about 200 portapotties for 20,000 people, I could calculate that trouble for myself. This just wasn't what I expected and I was beginning to get frustrated. I longed to be with Jesus - period and stomach virus free. Picturing myself on the open field with my hands stretched out to him and my heart filled with his presence, I vowed to get through the next few days. There were two days of messages from theologians and evangelists, time to prepare our hearts for the big day of corporate worship.

In those two days, there was a Texas-sized thunderstorm that electricuted several people, left our tents with a few feet of water, soaked our clothes and food, and expanded all my tampons - leaving them useless and me just a step more miserable. Somewhere in there, I got about a thousand chigger bites and because I couldn't shower, they stayed beneath my skin & got infected. Instead of closer and closer to the throne of God, I felt closer and closer to my own personal hell. I wish I could say I was encouraged by teaching and fellowship, but I was really just miserable.

The night before the main worship gathering, Nick and I were sitting just outside the designated field, watching and listening as people continuously read the Word over the area from a watchstand, and I think we were both feeling a little reflective and anxious in our hearts. What do you talk about when you know you are about to experience the Lord in a few hours in such a tangible & amazing way? What things do you talk about? Our wordless conversation was abruptly interrupted by the fist-sized raindrops we'd come accustomed to over the past few nights, and we knew we only had a few minutes to race back to our campsite, about a mile away. As we started running, we got separated and I was just standing in the middle of a field - with a wall of rain in front of me and behind, feeling so stuck and so disappointed in Jesus. I had come all this way for problem after problem, so I just sat and sulked in the rain. I saw no point in moving my body or my heart.

The next morning I woke up with itchy legs, a sensitive stomach, and woman troubles galore and we all headed out to the field. We made sure to scout out seats up front, but didn't bother to be sure we could see the screen and sure enough - we were too close. These were all new worship songs and none of my group knew the words. So we all sat and stood in silence, gathered with all the thousands, worshipping God. Probably every one but me.

I remember feeling apathy and confusion. Jesus was who I wanted to know and who I longed to be near, but this was miserable and I didn't feel him. There were no fuzzy feelings and no prophecy on my lips, I couldn't really even see the words everyone was singing - so it was hard to comprehend what worshipful thought I was missing out on.

In the middle of my grumbling, amidst my hunger and irritation, it hit me. Worship had nothing to do with Jesus making me feel good and everything to do with me trying to bless his heart. He deserved praise and good feelings, I deserved much worse than little bugs stuck beneath my skin and second-degree sunburn. For the rest of those hours, I never felt good. I never felt peace or joy or other-worldly inspiration. But I felt indebted to praise. Required to dance. Blessed to be able to sing.