Nothing Short of Thankful

In the whirlwind that has been my last two weeks I have learned my fair share of life lessons: lessons on independence, money management, packing for a move, what you actually need in the event that your power goes out, etc. One of the biggest lessons I've learned, however, is how to live without.

When I first moved into my new digs I was without hot water. Have you taken a freezing cold shower lately (or ever)? I don't recommend it... at all. Then, with the storms from the hurricane I lost power for 14+ hours (which just so happened to co-inside with my cold showers and first day of work). I also find myself existing without the luxury of furniture as mine hasn't been delivered yet due to my tricky work schedule. Air mattresses are really great until they become the only furniture you have, but it still trumps the floor (as I've quickly learned). To add insult to injury I have also decided to opt out of the frivolous expense of cable and internet. As a young twenty-something recently out of college I spend an embarrassing and unnecessary amount of time on the internet doing a whole lot of nothing... and the same goes for mindless TV watching. So I've decided to give living without it a go... partly because I find being free of these modern day "necessities" liberating and partly because I am really, really cheap. So far, so good. (This blog post, in fact, is brought to you by my local Starbucks: both their internet and their caffeine being major contributors.)

I have found myself getting continuously caught up in the mindset of self-pity... it's easy to allow yourself to throw a pity party when you're without nearly everything you've come to rely on daily. I have to keep reminding myself that my situation is only temporary. Next week brings the promise of furniture, my hot water has been restored (hallelujah!) and I can access the internet with a short car trip.

However lately it's been weighing on me just how lucky we are. I've found myself burdened with thoughts of those "starving children in Africa" who would love all of the food I didn't want to eat as a child. I bet they've never had a hot shower. And they surely don't have the luxury of electricity, furniture or internet.

But more importantly, they and most other people around the world don't know the freedom we take for granted, freedom to worship and to live and to work and to wear what we choose to wear. The freedom that was threatened nearly 10 years ago today, an event which many of us have all-too-easily forgotten. And when you consider that priceless freedom, what else even matters?

So with a full heart I've been thanking God for all that I do have and letting all that I don't be a reminder of those less fortunate: I'm sure they'd be overjoyed by my four walls, air conditioning and carpeted floors. And as has happened many times before and will continue to happen for the rest of my days, I find renewed import and urgency in the words of 1 Thessalonians 5:18—

"Give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God's will for you in Christ Jesus."

Friend of God

There are a lot of things that I love about my generation. We are fearless in our faith. We are powerful in our praise. We are brave in our brotherhood. We are wild in our worship. We, as believers, have revolutionized the Christian faith in many ways. One of these ways is our understanding of the idea that it's not about religion, but rather about a relationship, and the urgency to implement that into our daily walk.

Because of how much this idea of relationship has grown we have taken strongly to the concept of God the Friend. However, in sensationalizing this movement in which God calls us "friend" I worry that we have lost sight of God the Father.

It is easy to love your friends. They are fun, they hang out with you, they support you, and you can talk to them about anything. You can tell them anything without fear because they have no authority in your life. Your parents are sometimes harder to love. They are fun, they hang out with you, they support you and you can talk to them about most things. But they have authority over your life. They can punish you. They can implement rules. They can take away privileges.

I think that it is the same with God. We are so into this idea of God the Friend. We carry on a dialogue with Him about everything that is going on. We share our hopes, dreams, aspirations. We expect Him to be fun and to hang out with us and to support us. But we forget about God the Father, and we struggle when hard times set in. Why would He let us suffer? Why would he let us feel pain? Why would he let us feel loneliness, hopelessness, unhappiness?

Perhaps I am generalizing. Maybe this is a personal struggle and nothing more. I know that in my life I am so quick to be buddy-buddy with God. When the going is great He and I are great too. But the second the dark clouds begin to roll in I struggle because I think that God my Friend has forsaken me. I am quick to anger and to feel abandoned and alone. I forget that God my Father has my best interests at heart. He knows what I can handle and what will make me stronger. He knows the obstacles that are necessary in my life to keep me on the correct path. He knows the plans he has for me, plans to prosper me and not to harm me, plans for hope and a future.

It's God the Father I need to rely on in times of hardships. It's God the Father who will carry me when I can't walk on my own. It's God the Father who will fight off my enemies. It's God the Father who provides unending mercy, grace and love. It's been my aim lately to try to focus on not only thanking God the Friend for opening doors and providing opportunities but also thanking God the Father for closing other doors and keeping things out of reach, knowing it is for my own benefit.

Do you have a healthy balance in your view of God?

I've Got Friends

God’s timing is one of those things that always fascinates and amazes me.

As you may (or may not) know, I am a recent college graduate. As you may also know, as such I have everything figured out. Okay… that’s a lie. But one thing I have figured out that there is no messing with God’s timing.

My final year of college was very different from the three before. In that one year of school I built some of the most sincere, deep, genuine, close and trusting friendships that I’ve ever experienced. God put some really incredible people in my life almost all at once and they completely changed my world. They changed how I thought, how I felt, how I acted, how I loved. These people entered my life and immediately gained my trust and became a support system that I had never known outside of my family. They learned about me, I learned about them. We spent countless hours together and made even more memories.

And then, graduation happened. And all of a sudden I was moved back in at home and none of those friends were with me. And I was confused. Why would God put me in this situation? Why would He fill my life with these people, these boys and girls who had become like family to me, and then yank me out? I didn’t feel ready for real life, much less without these friends I had come to rely on and expect to see regularly. How would I function without their hugs, their advice, their company? But God’s timing is perfect. He knew that I had taken what I needed from them and that it was time for me to go off in the world, seemingly on my own.

It’s like they were my training wheels. They taught me how to live the life that I deserve and want and need. And then, when God saw fit, He took my training wheels off. I’m still in the unsteady phase of riding on my own: the part where I have fear in the pit of my stomach, I feel wobbly on my own two tires, scared that I will fall at any given moment. I still want my training wheels back. But there is one thing that I can be forever grateful for: unlike really learning to ride a bike when my dad eventually let go of the back of the seat, God will never let me go. He will be there, running next to me, holding on to the seat of my bike as I ride through life: never alone.

Bring On the Rain

Today was a big day… today it rained in The Woodlands, Texas. I know what you’re thinking… “big deal, it rained.” But now consider the fact that it has rained twice here all year. Twice. And consider the fact that I am absolutely infatuated with rain and everything that goes along with it: thunder, lightening, dark clouds, naps (okay, that last one might be situational, but still). So now do you see what a big deal this rain was?

Regardless, it was a big deal to me. I was sitting on the couch, watching a movie and I just couldn’t tear my eyes away from the rain out the window. It was such a welcomed sight… I had been longing for rain: the sound it makes, the comfort it brings, the calm it exudes. Before I knew it I was up and walking towards the door. Yes, I am a twenty-two year old college graduate. But without thinking I found myself standing outside, in the pouring rain, looking skyward: eyes, mouth and heart opened.

I’ve always wondered why people say that rain is God crying. I’ve never felt that way about rain. I find it to be such a blessing, something I always look forward to. I’ve been wrestling with the “post-collegiate blues” as they call it and today, standing out in the rain, I was reminded that God is here with me and He would never throw anything my way that I couldn’t handle.

Every raindrop that hit my face was a promise: of hope, of happiness, of healing. And with the rain He washed away my fears and failures. I am His, and in Him I am perfect. It’s something I lose sight of all too often.

“…He has shown you kindness by giving you rain from heaven…” Acts 14:17

Man In the Mirror

I’m at a cusp in life. As Mr. Allen would say, “things are happening.” A lot of things are changing in my life, and with that comes a lot of unknown.

With all of this unknown I’ve found solace in focusing on things I can control. One of the most exciting things about a new phase of life, in my opinion, is the opportunity to change the things about yourself that you’ve found unsatisfactory. When you move to a new place people don’t know you… they don’t know your habits or your fears or your social tendencies. If you were always shy you can be outgoing. If you were a gossip you can keep your tongue in check. If you feared confrontation you can be bold. You can change how you’re perceived.

I’ve always wondered how I portray myself to the world. As a Christian, I know what my life should look like. But do I always succeed in putting my best face forward? Can people look at me and see what I’m living for? Who I’m living for?

I was getting my hair cut last summer when I had an epiphany. I was sitting there, staring in the mirror (it’s either that or staring at the other customers which, I’ve discovered, can get you into trouble). I was looking in the mirror—at the floor in the mirror, at my hair in the mirror, at the art on the wall in the mirror—when I realized something: you can’t look at a mirror. You can look at things in a mirror but you can’t actually look at a mirror. If you try and recall a mirror you can think of the frame and when you think of the mirror itself you will undoubtedly imagine what is reflected in it’s surface: the bathroom wall, the bedroom behind it, your face in it. A mirror’s sole purpose is to reflect, and it is good at it.

Then I had this thought: what if every Christian sought to be a mirror. To be reflective of God and all that He is. What if you looked at me, Aimee Belcher, and couldn’t see me, but only God in me?

It’s a beautiful concept, one I’ve been thinking about for a while now. We are called to live a life acceptable to God: to be a picture of our maker. So imagine if we each started to live with the intention of being reflective. If our one goal was to emulate God as much as possible with our human flaws, enough to be a reflection of His mercy, His grace, His compassion and His love. Think of the difference it could make. Think of the beauty we could create. Think of the lives we could change. All of that by simply being reflective.

Fish Out of Water

Something strange happened at the Belcher house this summer. As you may know, we have two pets—an extremely spoiled dog who speaks with a french accent (or so we assume) and has every Belcher wrapped around her paw and a Beta fish. I feel bad for the fish for a few reasons, the first of which is that it is neglected. It occasionally goes unfed and always goes without the benefit of a belly rub (for obvious reasons). Another reason I pity the fish (if you read that in Mr. T's "I pity the fool" voice then we are on the same wavelength) is that I am fairly certain it is suffering from an identity crisis. You see, when the fish first came to our family it was as a birthday present for Drew. At that point in time it was male and named Gloop. However, when Drew went off to school (without Gloop) Butch and Ellen decided that the fish was female and renamed her Prissy Fishy. Ergo, identity crisis.

I digress. Back to the reason I'm even telling you about the fish. Towards the end of the summer my mom, dad and I went out to dinner. After we returned home, mom went to feed the fish (yes, we actually remembered). The usual routine goes something like this: turn on the light over the fishbowl, tap on the glass, watch the fish get excited, drop in three food morsels then watch the fish eat them. Fairly simple. This night, however, was no typical night. After tapping... and tapping... and tapping... mom said that she couldn't find the fish. Sometimes the curved glass plays tricks on the eyes, so I went to lend my assistance. No fish. So, we began to joke about the dog eating the fish, the fish making a break for it, the fish succumbing to its identity crisis, etc. That's about when mom decided to check under the table.

There he/she was. Gloop. Prissy Fishy. Flopping around on the floor. I watched from the couch (where I ran upon the sight of the fish flipping around on our kitchen floor) as Butch grabbed the fish and tossed it back into the bowl. For days I was astonished by the stupidity of the fish. I mean really... it was born in the water and has always lived in the water. It has a very spacious fish bowl all to itself. There is a big, fluffy white dog outside the water with hunger in her eyes. So why why why would the fish jump out of the bowl? It ran through my head on repeat: stupid fish.

Then one day it hit me. I am the fish. We all are. I am a Christian. I live an amazingly blessed life in God and have never wanted for anything. He has a will for my life and I am asked to do nothing to earn His grace and mercy. Sometimes, though, I knowingly choose to do things that I know God would not approve of. Things that do not reflect my beliefs. Things that won't inspire others to choose God's love for their life. I know that in His will there is peace and comfort. I know that His love cannot be matched by any earthly pleasure. I know that there will be consequences in my life if I stray, and yet I do. I stray. I disobey. I jump out of the water... leap from my fish bowl. Then I flop around in sin and materialism, unable to save myself from the mistakes I've made.

The beauty lies in the grace. The mercy. Every time I leap from the fish bowl God swoops down, plucks me off of the kitchen floor and tosses me right back in. He does not judge me for it. He does not reprimand me. He simply tosses me back in and gives me a second chance. And a third. And a fourth. All because He send His son thousands of years ago to die for my sins, knowing full well that I would still, from time to time, jump from the fish bowl, filled with His love and promises for my life.

The best part? Prissy Fishy lived! She is still going strong and living as a beautiful (and slimy) reminder of the amazing love, grace and mercy of our Father. She even made the trip to Auburn to live with Drew... which I guess makes her a him named Gloop... again.

Father of Mine

I haven't written a blog post in quite sometime. It's not for lack of wanting either... I wanted to write. And, even more than that, my dad wanted me to write. He continually asks me if I've lost my faith and that's why I don't write anymore (he's joking, of course). It was so strange though... I had plenty of ideas, I even had entire posts written out in my journal. It just felt wrong though. On a few occasions I even logged on and stared at the screen, but something was off. I don't like to post just to say something, so I didn't. Hence, my absence. Now I've got it though, and it feels nothing but right. (And yes, it is 2:00am but don't worry, I'm off of work tomorrow.)

Have you ever had to do something that you just really didn't want to do? To act like you care about something you'd rather have nothing to do with? I'll be the first to tell you that I'm not very good at that type of thing. I am, however, pretty excellent at not doing things. I just cannot fathom doing something I don't like. But, for the sake of this post, try to wrap your head around it for a second. Imagine waking up, and going do a job that you just didn't enjoy. Now imagine doing it for a week. A month. A year. Tired of it yet? I would have quit 364 days ago.

23 years. For 23 years (this is an estimate, based on the age of my older brother), my dad (more commonly known as Butch) has been doing things he doesn't enjoy, day in and day out. Why? I can give you four reasons. Ellen, Travis, Aimee and Drew. A lot of people don't like to work. I'd easily put myself in that number. Not Butch. I think he's a worker. But the thing about Butch is he is not a member of his job's fan club. He does not like it. He does not enjoy it. He is not fulfilled by it. Yet, he does it. Every. Single. Day.

For as long as I can remember, Butch would get home from work and I'd say "how was work?" and the response has always been the same: "sucked." I used to think it's funny. I used to think it was a joke. Then I grew up: now I think that one word beautifully sums up every sacrifice my dad makes for our family.

Butch is a dreamer, you know. We all know he loves motorcycles and dirt bikes; his "toys" as it were. He's always talked about retiring and opening up a parts shop in the hills of Alabama. We all know he loves the Civil War. A lot. He wants to open an online bookstore, even. One summer Butch hired me to organize his filing system. In one folder I found a sheet from a yellow legal pad, written on in red ink: very Butch. It was a list of goals. Things like going to college again, taking history classes, maybe becoming a professor. Things Butch talks about to this day. The date on the paper, though? 1995.

1995.

My dad has been putting off his dreams for fifteen years in order to make the dreams of my mother, brothers and I come alive. Fifteen years! And the best part? He doesn't resent us for it. Not. One. Bit. That man is a lover. He is a hugger, and he is a lover. And if he loves anyone, it's his wife. And then it's his kids. Hang out with him for a day... you'll see.

So you know, here's how I see it. Butch is definitely human. He gets angry, he gets sunburned, and he gets beer in his belly. He sins. We all do. But, in my personal opinion, I could not choose any other man on the face of this planet who more accurately depicts God: the sacrifice, the unconditional love, the mercy. The more I think of it, the more obvious it is. Especially as I watch one of my best friends lose her father's presence in her life. And now I see why I couldn't write a blog for Butch... I had to write a blog about Butch.

A father's love. I'm drowning in it. God's love. Butch's love. It's all perfect.