Category: daily life

story writing

I read about cinnamon tea once in a book. It sounded so delightful and romantic that I went out and bought some, then snuggled on the couch with my book and pretended like I was the heroine of the story.

Today, as the first day of October, seemed like the perfect opportunity to pull out the cinnamon tea and sip.

I love to picture myself as the heroine in a book. I narrate in my head what the writer would say about particular circumstances – everything from the constant creaking of our 4Runner  as I drive around town to my emotions at the end of the day’s events.

In real life, lately, I have felt more like the victim.  And I am realizing it is because I characterize myself as such. The perspective I take on the story affects how I see the story being played out. If every situation seems to fall short of what I wish would happen, I don’t see any progress in the story. The current is against me, and I can’t swim upstream. And I victimize myself so much that I end up hopeless, surrendered to despair and doubt of my purpose in the plot.

All of this – my perspective on myself and the story, the characterization I have assigned myself, the attitude I use to react to life’s lemons – is a reflection of how I view God. Because He is, after all, the author.

It all of a sudden changes from, “Things aren’t going my way” to “God doesn’t care about what I want. His plan isn’t good enough. He must not really love me, or I wouldn’t have to walk through this chapter.”

But I would never say or think that.

Not intentionally, anyway.

What do I actually believe about God?

  • Do I believe that He offers me rest? (Matthew 11:28-29)
  • Do I believe that He cares for me? (1 Peter 5:7)
  • Do I believe that He will provide the desires of my heart? (Psalm 37:4)
  • Do I believe that He will establish my steps? (Proverbs 16:9)
  • Do I believe that He knows where I am going, even if I can’t see? (Job 23:8-10)

Unless I put that head knowledge into practice, I will go through life as a victim – I will feel alone and hopeless and directionless and vulnerable to each and every attack.

I cannot change the fact that there is a villain in the story.

But I can change the way I approach this enemy – I can remember that, as a heroine, I am not alone. I am desired by the God of the universe, and protected by the Almighty Father.

My course has been mapped out by the ultimate story writer, but it is up to me to change my perspective on where the story is going.

He is plotting something great, and it’s okay that I can’t figure out what will happen next. That’s the thrill of reading a book.

Posted on by Samantha Barnes 0

the gospel of my today

“We dilute the beauty of the gospel story when we divorce it from our lives, our worlds, the words and images that God is writing right now on our souls.” [Shauna Niequist, Bittersweet]

As I finished reading Bittersweet for the multiple-teenth time, this line convicted me. The essay discusses how essential our stories are – how our testimony is more powerful than any academic lecture. When people discuss who God is in their life, Biblical concepts become more relatable. Not only is it easier to listen to, but it is also easier to relate to.

But I don’t always want to share the messy parts of my life. Those are meant to be hid under the bed, in the basement, or on high closet shelves where I keep the rest of my stuff that I don’t want to organize or show off.

Even though that’s what the Gospel is based on. Jesus took our wreckage, and made it beautiful. His sacrifice changed us from hopeless to hopeful. If we were capable of taking care of ourselves, we would not need Him to rescue us. But I am finding I need this rescue daily. 

You could look at me right now, in this moment, and think that my life is picture perfect. I am lounging on patio furniture in our screened in porch (decorated with glowing stringed lights, of course), typing away, while my hunk of a husband serenades me with the guitar. Atypical for an Arkansas August evening, the weather feels like it is much cooler than the 89* my WeatherBug app tells me it is, and the crickets are chirping in a rhythm to match Eric’s strumming. It feels like a movie-worthy moment.

The truth, though, is that the past two weeks have felt like I am driving a car that breaks down every thirty-three miles. And never at the right exit signs. And always where there is no cell phone reception. And I could go on about how desperate I have felt at times.

Work has been a roller coaster of busyness but good conversations with coworkers but rude customers but friends leaving but small victories but stress. I don’t always handle the hard days like I should. Instead of leaning on the Lord’s strength, I choose to sulk or allow people whom I have never even met to hurt me, even though they don’t know me. And even though they are normally acting irrationally.

I choose to push forward on my own, convincing myself that I am tough enough, but at the end of the day, I repeatedly find that I have failed.

Eric and I had a rough week last week. Out of  the five weekday evenings, we spent four with other friends. We had separate plans every single morning before work. We had separate lunch plans almost every day. Eric had a couple of interviews which seemed unfruitful, and I didn’t know how to respond. We probably didn’t communicate like we could have. One night, I waited until he fell asleep then crept out to the living room to journal, because I was too embarrassed to admit to him how tired and distant I was feeling.

So where is the Gospel in this?

Right now. This redemptive moment. My day wasn’t any easier at work. My husband has two more interviews tomorrow.  We have lots more to sort out when it comes to our next steps together in life direction.

In the midst of what is the biggest storm we have experienced together through this point in our marriage (today is our nine month anniversary, by the way), we get to end the evening quietly. God is good. Though we are two broken people, we have a marriage that works despite difficulty. We are well taken care of and provided for. We have not given up in the midst of failures, and we are forgiven for our selfishness.

Redemption doesn’t always mean that you have reached the “happily ever after” ending of a story. Redemption happens while the story is still going on. Redemption happens even without a found resolution.

My story is certainly not over. But the Gospel is being played out daily, as I realize more and more how big God is, and more and more how much I need Him. I am going to be more honest about the state of my life, no matter how unorganized and out of tune it may seem, because I need to continually focus on the composition God is arranging and rearranging.

Posted on by Samantha Barnes 0

working out – and working it out

Eric and I joined the gym. He needs an outlet since it’s too cold to ride his bike or run, and I need physical activity to keep me from being mopey in the winter. Plus I hear it’s good for me.

Eric used to be really into going to the gym. Throughout his first few years of college, I think he was in the gym more than in class. He knows his way around the weight machines and knows how much weight to work with.

Me? I played sports at a small high school. We didn’t have a weight training gym, but boy did we run. Sprints, laps, line drills, suicides… my work out involved alternating sprinting, sprinting with a basketball in my hand, and crouching in a defensive position and shuffling in patterns around the court. When we messed up, we did push ups until we collapsed. I had actually never worked out in a gym until college, save maybe goofing around once or twice in high school with friends who had memberships to local fitness clubs.

In college, I went to the gym for social reasons. If my friends went, I didn’t want to be left out, so I tagged along. I think I can count on one hand the number of times I went alone and of my own initiative in four years of college. I normally would go with two or three girls and follow them around, doing whatever they did with however much for however long. I was a copy cat, and going with friends meant I had the security of knowing what to do since they would do it before me.

If I were ever forced to go alone, I stuck to cardio. The elliptical and the bike are fairly safe bets – no matter the brand, no matter the location, they are going to work pretty much the same. I don’t do any of those pre-set programs, either; quick start all the way. Easy. Embarrassment-free.

And that has kind of been my philosophy the first couple of times Eric and I have gone to the gym. I let him do weight training, and I’ll stick to my cardio, thank you very much. I hate feeling clueless, especially in a gym where it feels like everything is common sense to everyone else. It’s a trendy gym with brand new equipment, iPod chargers and TV screens at each cardio machine, and quotes over the walls describing the different ways they are doing things “green.” I always feel a little like I don’t belong, like I’m a few dri-fit shirts short of being legit.

One morning, I was pedaling along, by myself, until some guy came and sat on the machine next to me. I know people say it doesn’t matter what you are doing on your own machine because no one is looking, but I am one of those people that looks. I’ll admit it – just don’t tell anyone at my gym. I am not ready for any sort of a reputation.

I just have this tendency to compare my work out with the person next to me. I really should stop, because it never makes me feel better. I was going at a resistance of three, thinking I was doing good, then noticed that this guy was up to eight. I didn’t even know the numbers went that high! And he was going the same speed as me, maybe faster. I hoped he wasn’t looking at my screen, but I still wanted to scream, “I just joined the gym! Give me time! Don’t judge me based on this!”

But, that’s the thing – I just joined the gym. I have to work up to that level – which, at the rate we are going, might take a very long time. However, it’s a process. I can’t go once and all of a sudden be in shape. I am going to have to go more frequently and try new things and not care what other people think.

And my level is going to look very different from the person next to me. There are guys in there who look like they probably rip deer apart with their bare hands and eat the meat raw – my little 10- or 15-pound weights are going to look puny next to the amount they are lifting, but that’s (obviously) not the direction I am headed in.

I should probably remember that mindset in life outside the gym, too. It’s easy to compare where the Lord has taken me and what He has given me to another person’s and be embarrassed because it’s no where near the “status” I think they have attained.

Just like working out, though, it’s a process – I am not going to simply “arrive” without the effort and the discipline it takes to build my spiritual muscles, as well as make it a habit to “work out” more than once a week.

The Lord is growing something in me, but I know it’s going to require action and perseverance on my part. It’s not about trying to get to the same stage as someone else, but figuring out what stage the Lord has designed me for and how He has wired me, where He has put me. And when I compare my job, my car, or my wallet to the next person’s, I will always come up short. Because I’m not supposed to measure up to them. I am supposed to grow and measure my growth by the Lord.

Because I will never reach anywhere near lifting the same weight category as a body builder. And I’m okay with that. I will have my own measures of success. Like being able to do more than ten pushups at a time. (Hey, it’s been awhile since high school basketball practice!)

Posted on by Samantha Barnes 0