Author: Megan

Hi, I'm Megan. I'm a Minnesota girl with a love for all things outdoors and a passion for spreading a good message.

Imagination

I can believe anything, provided, it is incredible~ Oscar Wilde  

Imagination. The whole concept of reconstructing the past, dreaming of the future, creating people, conversations, scenery, events– it  simply amazes me.  Imagination allows us to do anything, be anyone.

But what is it for?

Like most of the questions I ask and ponder about, I don’t think this one has a single, or simple answer. But the more I’ve been thinking about this, the more I realize that the imagination is a very powerful, God-given tool. It can be used for many evils, but I believe there is much deeper element to this gift than we often see.

what does this look like to you?

So, here’s my thoughts on what I want to start using my imagination for:

1. Imagining what person could do, be, or create if they were living at their full potential. 
— because I believe God has a unique plan for every individual, and a kingdom identity for them, this means I would look at that person with the eyes of Christ and see them with His passionate, irresistible love.  He wants more for them, He sees they’re potential and still loves them where they’re at.

2. Imagining who I could be, what I could do, create, etc. if living at my fullest potential.
–I have dreams, who doesn’t? Sadly, I think a lot of people don’t. Or they did once and traded them in. They settled. “Contentment doesn’t mean being passive.” I read that once somewhere. There is always passion, always courage, and always risk in pursuing something that seems, at the time, to be nothing more than a far-off dream.

3. Imagining what the Kingdom of God is like.
–True, no eye has seen, no ear has heard… but oh man, but minds have imagined! Think of C.S. Lewis (what a guy!) Why was he one of the greatest Christian writers/thinkers of all time? I believe a great deal of this is due to his lively and vivid imagination. He put it to work in books like The Great Divorce, which describes the kingdom of heaven like I’ve never heard, and of course his epic descriptions of Narnia, when it is whole again.

Now that I’ve rambled, I’m curious what you think. As always, this is meant to be a conversation. So what do you think? How do we live with redeemed imaginations?

The Giving Life

**Thank you to Annie and Amanda for always encouraging and inspiring**  

So, I’ve failed these last few Mondays on getting a post out there, and I’ve given myself every excuse in the book.
1. no internet in my apartment
2. no time
3. nothing to write about

All but the first one are false, and even the first one wouldn’t keep me from blogging if I didn’t let it.

Okay, confessional done.
Story time =)

Last night I met up with a couple of women for some frozen yogurt at a place in Dinkytown. If you’ve never been, Dinkytown is one of the most vibrant places to experience in Minneapolis. Humming with humanity, the place makes me feel so alive.

In some sense, we’re all people watchers. There’s nothing quite so fascinating as another human being. So as I’m sitting outside the little yogurt shop, I simply can’t take my eyes the army of skinny boys riding their skateboards back from wrestling camp, a hipster couple holding hands, a tired-looking manwalking with two children.

He seems distracted and doesn’t notice his little followers were taking up the entire sidewalk, blocking the path of a dedicated, spandex-clad cyclist. Finally, the father notices what’s happening, apologizes and guided the child gently to his side. I looked away.

Just as this little family is about to pass, the man stops and, to my complete surprise, speaks to us.“Excuse me ladies. I hate to interrupt your evening.”
Oh stink, I’m thinking, he saw me watching them. Maybe he’s offended, maybe…
and then he says, “I recently lost my job–and any help you can give–even if you can’t help, even if you won’t, I’ll still say God bless ya.” He is talking a fast, practiced at his speech. He takes out two IDs from local charities, continues to say, “Anything you can give helps. Anything. I don’t care if I eat, but I’m thinking about my wife, my kids.”

He could be scamming us, using those kids. I’m thinking as the women I’m with are shaking their heads. No cash. And what do I have? I few dollars? I’m looking at these kids, reaching for my billfold. One bill. One measly dollar and a fist full of coins. That’s what I have, and I’ll give it to them. I motion with my finger, and the little boy smiles and comes. I fill his little fist with the money, put some more in his pocket. “Yes,” the man says, almost regretfully, knowledgeable of my distrust. “Yes, give it to the boy.”

They keep walking. And we sit in silence.

There was a man once, walked up to my brother and I in a coffee shop. He had a filthy piece of paper, said he was deaf, and wanted money. Needed it. I didn’t believe him, shook my head no, and my brother handed him a $20.

The deaf man left and I felt a little sick. “He’s probably a scam artist,” I said. “What if he is?” My brother said. “Who am I to judge.”

What if that man I met was lazy, what if that’s why he lost his job. Worse, what if he was lying? Does it really matter? Not now–it was only a couple bucks. But what if I’d had a $20 in my billfold, would it have mattered then?

Give Life

If a man asks you for your shirt, give it to him. Just give it to him. That’s what Jesus said. I’m sick of playing judge. I’m no good at it, and I’m not called to be. I’m just called to give. Love, service, time, money, whatever. It’s all His anyway.

 Give to everyone who begs from you, and from one who takes away your goods do not demand them back. Luke 6:30 ESV

The Fourth of July Scintilla

Scintilla (n) A Spark, or very small thing.

With the Fourth of July coming up, I’ve been scrambling to make plans, to find something wildly entertaining, adventurous, or unique to do. The thought of sitting outside and watching some secondhand fireworks doesn’t really fire me up to celebrate our nation’s freedom.

Then today the word scintilla came into my life (or vocabulary). And it’s already got me thinking. I was reminded of  a conversation I had with a good friend, recently. Of course, I was chattering away about what we could do to make the fourth fun, when she quietly added, “I’d be happy with just a sparkler.”

At the moment I thought nothing of it. But, apartantly I needed to hear that, because here I am blogging about it. The simplicity and contentment of that statement is what gets me. It’s a scintilla. Something so small and often overlooked by anyone above the age of five. But that’s all she needed.

Yes, there are big things to think about. Much bigger than sparklers and it’s the fourth and what if I don’t have fun! A teetering economy, possible MN government shutdown, our troops at home and overseas, and, of course, the bloody & beautiful beginnings of this nation.

But should we forget the small things?
I don’t want to.

Contentment, enjoyment–it shouldn’t take so much.

A spark, a sparkler, a scintilla.

Thanks to my friend Amanda and stumbleupon for some inspiration

The Patience of a Father

The other day I was warming up a bottle for Bax, the massive 3-month-old I care for three days a week. As I scrambled to get the water warm, apply the nipple and screw on the cap, all that I heard was Bax’s half-cries, half-screams.

“Don’t you realize I need to warm this up for you?” I thought. “Of course he doesn’t, but oh how I wish I could just explain that he can’t have the bottle until it’s warm. I wish he could understand.”  All of this ran through my mind as the baby continued to wail.

That is you. You are that child to me.

I heard the words clearly in my mind, spoken, I believe, from God the Father. I was taken aback. C’mon, I’m not this foolish, this helpless. But the impression only grew stronger. As much as Bax relies on me, so I rely on God. Whether I know it or not. I cry out in complaint; I’m worried or anxious about some perceived need; I’m angry or impatient.  I cannot see all the ways He’s preparing what’s best for me. Warming up the milk.

Even though I pray for love and patience every day, I suddenly realize that the reason I can ask the Father for it is because He is filled with it in perfect measure. I am nowhere near the expertise of a parent when it comes to caring for children, and yet what little I’ve seen has shown me with what great care my heavenly Papa loves me.

Commitment

I'm committed to this little man right here. He's pooped on me, screamed at me, driven me mad. But I've resolved to always show him love and patience

Commitment?
I’ll start tomorrow.

Sounds like the procrastinator’s prayer, right? Ya, it disgusts me too.

And so I’ve resolved, (truly only a minute ago) that I must, MUST,  post every Monday. Or this will be another project started and left to dust on the shelf.

My soapbox today: stay committed.

It’s so easy, so common in our Facebook generation (click yes, no, or maybe) to simply wait for the next best thing to come along.  For myself that means I often start something–books, letters, chores, relationships– but never carry through to the end. What is it holding me back? Is it fear? Fear that we’ll only fail eventually? Or is it apathy? That little worm that whispers, what does it matter anyways?

I don’t know what it is for you, but for me it’s a bit of both.  But not all is lost. There are ways to fight it.  Persevere. Say you’ll do something, then do it. Care about your words, let them mean something. After all, there’s only one real way to fail: giving up.

Is there a dream, a goal, a person, even a good habit you’ve given up on? I encourage you, be committed.

 

What are ways you practice commitment? 

 

 

Osama: An Infamous Icon is Dead

Christ the Redeemer by Andrei Rublev (ca. 1410...
Image via Wikipedia

It’s been too long since I last wrote. And unfortunately, I haven’t found the time until tonight when the world’s longest hide-and-seek champion finally took his last breath.

From what I’ve seen on CNN, twitter, and facebook people are just plain ecstatic. Our nation’s icon of fear is finally six feet under; we weren’t crazy for going to war; and on and on…

I remember watching those two towers flame and fall as a sixth-grader, the tangible fear surged through me.

Osama was man, but he was more than that; he was an icon of fear, a proponent of a sinister way of spreading false beliefs.

But does killing him mean the death of fear, of evil, and hate?

Maybe for a short while. But there’s bound to raise up another icon, another advocate of fear and hate. The same mind numbing hate can be found in other hearts…

Is it yours, or mine?

Don’t let it be.

There’s a man I know. His name is Jesus. He believes in love and tells us His perfect love casts out all fear. He is the conquerer, the all time victor. So tonight, I’m going to praise Jesus. And fight against the hate that so easily sneaks into the harbors of our hearts.

The Curse of Knowledge

Picture this: Two groups of people. One group, the “tappers” have to tap out a tune using only their knuckles on a hard surface. “Listeners” listen to the taps and try to decipher which song it is out of a well-known list of twenty-five.

Tappers predicted Listeners had about %50 chance of guessing their song. The results: 3 out of 120 listeners guessed the song right. *

Imagine the frustration of the tappers—the song was so obvious, so easy! Yes, for them it was. Yet they were playing the song in the heads! All the listeners heard were raps on a table that sounded like nothing more than Morris code.

It’s called the “curse of knowledge” and it’s not a new idea. But! I think it’s something we often overlook when it comes to sharing our beliefs. We’ve been served knowledge, fed ideologies and eaten our own share of information for years. It makes sense to us, and eventually we forget what it was like to have a lack of that knowledge. So when we spit it back out: green-gray  mess.

I’m fond of a man named Jesus. He had a crazy-vast amount of knowledge and wisdom, yet it wasn’t His brilliance that made Him stand out. It was His ability to spread an idea** which set Him apart.  He did it with story, simplicity, concrete examples, credibility (integrity) and element of surprise that shocked the world. Ironically, His approaches are now widely used as marketing techniques and by social media gurus.

My point is this: If we want to do it (be a good teacher, share our story, start–or even carry on a movement) we’ve got to do it right! We’ve got to make ourselves memorable, spreadable, understandable. We’ve got to do it like Jesus did!

 

* This is a real study conducted by a woman named Elizabeth Newton at Stanford. Super fascinating. Check it out!

* *People need a Savior to reconcile them to God, and He would die for them to be that Savior

 

Taking Communion

I’ve been thinking about communion.

How the word itself is like an invitation. When whispered one might hear, “Come—union,” and then God is waiting there to meet us.

I am thinking about the thin, tasteless cracker and the small plastic cup. How we down it like a shot, licking purpled lips and coughing quick confessions. And God is still waiting. Come—have communion with me.

And I wonder, how it became this— our tasting of God a stale, small cracker, our life-water a one ounce cup? “I will hide you in the crevice of rock,” God said to Moses, “And show you my glory.” Moses understood true communion with God—meeting with him, yes. But wanting to see his glory! And God, our Father, the faithful and good, said, I will show you only my back, for you cannot look upon my face. God knew what was good for this part-time oracle. He knows what’s good for us. He intimately knows our every need, and how to reveal Himself to each and every personality.

So often we pass around a stale and over-used understanding of an infinite God. Have we lost the desire and passion of our predecessors to truly know God’s glory for ourselves? I challenge myself (and anyone who’s stuck around to read this) to ask! To ask a good God to reveal his glory and tell him you’re ready (who’s ever truly ready?), but at least willing to know Him as He wants to be known. Then get ready to taste and see a God beautiful and good as He so desires; get ready to leave behind your pre-packaged understanding. Take communion.

Alone

Immediately upon writing that word. Upon putting it up there in that empty white slot, I hear the little army of negative connotations marching in to set up camp.

It’s true, it is a very forlorn word. Speak it aloud. It sound like the hushed moan of a dying loved one, the far-off cry of a loon.

Now I’m just ranting.

But I don’t think it’s a horrible word. At least, I wish it wasn’t considered to be. There is something lovely and serene about being alone. Something divine.

When I’m alone I realize things about life. I stop. I listen to the silences. I appreciate things, the pale morning light, the gentle rustle of snow skating across snow. I appreciate people–this is the best part– I learn to love them better.

It’s alone I see where I stand, how far I have to go. And who’s been there always, walking beside.

From T.P. to Duck Tape…

desperate times call for desperate measures

When it comes down to it, we are simply not always prepared for what “life” throws at us. And sometimes it’s not always life that’s pitching anyways. What I mean is this: often times people are the ones surprising us–in good ways, yet often bad. I don’t expect my friend was prepared to “do some business” and find his t.p. replaced with a lovely roll of duck tape. OUCH. At this point he has one of two choices

1. Get mad

2. Laugh.

Knowing the kind of person he is, he laughed. I wish we did this more often. People are going to fail us, hurt us, disappoint us—it’s inevitable. But how we react is always up to us.