The Biggest Tragedy

Distraction. Distraction. It's like a fog the is brooding over Salem. It makes people sleepy and keeps their eyes down, looking only to the next day, or to the upcoming weekend. It gives that people the feeling you get when you are warm and sleepy and have nowhere to go. Movement seems unnecessary.
Or maybe you like to move. Maybe you can't stop moving, and the fog of distraction is like a cold wind blowing on you. You can't stay in one spot too long or you'll start thinking about what life is really like.
Distraction. Is synonymous with deception. When you believe a lie, it's a hard to imagine something else besides it could be true. When you believe that it's perfectly fine to have your life lined up, with the schools you'll attend, the person you'll marry, and the career you'll have, and treat the Creator of the universe like He is optional, that is when you commit the worst tragedy of tragedies.
Distraction can be sleepy, it can be active, it can be fun, but it is all wrong. All wrong. All wrong. It makes me cry, makes me weep, when I see it. When I commit it. Because, when I see distraction, it is like seeing a blind man refusing to have his sight restored. It is like seeing a child that is starving stuff his face with mud and refuse to come inside and be filled.
I think part of the reason this distraction is so deceptive is because we think God is all cuddles and fluff. It is TRUE that we can call Him Daddy. It is TRUE that we can be intimate, that He loves us more than life. But it is ALSO TRUE that He is a big, huge God who made not us, but everything we see with our eyes. It is ALSO TRUE that He is a God of justice, a God of power, and a King. If you were in the same room with the President, or with your favorite celebrity/author/athlete (Michael Jordan, etc), you wouldn't ignore him would you?
C.S. Lewis probably would be my best friend if he was still alive. I love how in Chronicles of Narnia he has this part talking about Aslan, and how he is this wild, untamed lion. But. He's good. That's our God. He is a GOOD, WILD, UNTAMED GOD. He's not a God that we can keep in our pocket and then take out whenever we're in trouble, or at our final exams and realize we haven't studied enough. He's so HUGE, so out of our control, and I feel like our distraction from Him, our blatant ignorance of His presence, is the biggest tragedy of all.
I know this distraction is hard to avoid. Like I said earlier, it pervades our city, our society, and it is sneaky. It seems harmless. To watch as many movies as you want. Spend as much time on facebook as you want. And maybe that's totally fine. Maybe you can do that with Jesus and it can be an awesome experience. All I know is that I've been hearing His voice lately, stronger and stronger. And He says, "Make room for me." Clear out the junk. Accept the new sight He wants to give you. Accept the real meal deal He has for you.
We can only live and honor Him like He deserves IF He helps us. Isn't that funny? We're so dependent on Him to worship Him. So, I just say, Jesus, I know you're the only thing in life worthy of my love; help me stay clear, and not be swept into the cycle of routine and pleasure. Into this meaninglessness. There is MORE to this life. Get hungry, people.

The World of Wrestling - aka How Christen is Spending Her Saturdays

Micah has another wrestling tournament tomorrow. You know you really love someone when you spend five hours in a gym that smells like it 100 armpits and is full of teenage guys maxed out on testosterone. Last year (when the baby bro started wrestling), I was really reluctant to go to these matches, or meets, or whatever the appropriate term is. Once, he had to wrestle a g-i-r-l , and I felt like my stomach was going to fall out of my body.
This year, I think I've improved in my wrestling fan skills. I've gone to two tournaments, and I've learned how a wrestler earns points in his match. So, now, when I'm cheering at Micah, or yelling at the refs, I can at least sound half-educated.
Last Saturday he wrestled these burly farm boys, and one of them (a little stinker) started choking Micah. Micah's face was turning blue and me and my mom were screaming at the top of our lungs at the ref. Thankfully, Micah couldn't really hear us, so he wasn't embarrassed. Apparently the ref couldn't hear either.
I'm actually kind of excited for tomorrow. Excited and nervous. Geez, I feel almost as nervous as though I'm wrestling. Ha - but if it were me wrestling, the match would last 20 seconds. I would be on my back, pinned, or running away from my opponent. Not my sport.
Ah, highschool sports. I'm glad to be out of those four years and its abundance of drama and self-absorption, but I do miss certain things. And sports is one of those. For non-athletes, this won't really make sense, but going back to my old highschool's gym to watch Micah wrestle or Abby play volleyball is a nostalgic time.
Just the smell in South's gym (before it smells so bad like armpits) takes me back immediately to when I was wearing my white jersey with the red number #15. The squirmy, anxious feeling I got right before tip-off, the sweaty palms, the jittery legs, the thrill of hearing the crowd. It all comes back.
Unfortunately, Micah won't be at South's gym but McMinnville's tomorrow. Must brace self. Must learn wrestler lingo. Must avoid embarrassing brother.