Gordon-Conwell Blog

Finals Week Rest | Seminary Student Blogger

April 30, 2014

Amy Gannett

We’re in the middle of finals week, and I can’t help but take a little break to reflect. As things stand now, I have one final down, one to go and a serious exegesis paper to finish and turn in. This past week, I’ve had strep throat and a cold on top. Add to that some long days at work that don’t pause for finals like the Hamilton campus does and just enough stress to make sleep less refreshing, and life gets a little out of control.

I get sick every finals week. Seriously, every single semester, when this time of year comes around, my body crashes like it’s Y2K. And it doesn’t seem to matter how much EmergenC I take or how religiously I alternate between DayQuil and NyQuil, life slips just beyond the grasp of my control.

I’m starting to think my God’s up to something.

In an already trying season of more work and less play, or more thinking and less sleep, relationships become more strained, words come out more biting, and it seems as if all graciousness is gone. And no matter how much effort I put forth into holding my tongue, studying my Greek flashcards, balancing time between my relationships on campus and my relationship with the library, getting to bed at a promising time, finishing the reading due last week, and still getting all the little life-things done that make us human, too…I fail. I can’t. They don’t get done, relationships are strained, and the fill-in-the-blank answer escapes me.

Having things beyond my control is semi-unfamiliar territory, if I’m honest. I’ve put a lot of effort into keeping my schedule manageable and organizing my time. I like everything to be do-able. I like to be able to manage everything on my own, and I put a lot of pride in my ability to handle my world well.

And then the semester begins to spin towards an end…

And I wake up with a sore throat…

And I stay up too late…

And I snap at my husband…

And I get a cold…

And I’m too tired to study…

And I’m reminded that I never was in control all along. I’m reminded that there’s a pertinent way that our Lord is supposed to be needed in our dailyness.

One thing I’ve said repeatedly to those around me is that I don’t want to be needy. When I say it I mean that I don’t want to be overbearing or a burden. But I think there’s something that reeks of independent western culture: I don’t want to need. I don’t want to need someone or something. I want to do it on my own.

And I’ll try.
And try
And try
And try…

Until all the world seems to be slipping away from me. When all my best-laid plans crumble and fail, I’m reminded that I am inherently needy. That I was created to need, and when I come to think that I am not or I convince myself that I am self-sufficient, then I am not living into who I am to be as a child of God.

We are needy beings. We are people who are not in control, people who weren’t made to manage and organize and get by. We were created to trust and lean and depend on the God who gave us challenges and exams and relationships. We are to do what He has given us to do, but to do it from a posture of resting in the knowledge that He is in control.

At the end of the day, no amount of vitamin C is going to be my helper. Only He, the One who knows all my needs and savors my neediness, is my Helper.

“Behold, God is my helper; the Lord is the upholder of my life.”
Psalm 54:4
 

Hi, friend. I'm Amy. Mostly, I’m just another twenty-something trying to figure out the stuff of life. I am a nerdy seminary student who loves the smell of old books and early mornings in the library. I am an artist wanabee, a liberal to the conservative and conservative to the liberal, guilty social justice groupie, and a recovering Bible know-it-all with the unreal ability to put my foot in my mouth an astonishing number of times each day. I am a sister to eight of the most hysterical creatures ever created. Good theology, used book stores, and autumn make me giddy. I preach passionately, think deeply, and ask too many questions. I write prayers, poetry and prose. I write about preaching bad and good, gender roles in the Church, the sacraments, stupid things we do on Sunday, politics, and almost everything else that you are not supposed to discuss in polite company. I also blog at oneyellowbird.blogspot.com. Welcome to the journey.

 

Tags: Author: Amy Gilbaugh , current students , student blogger

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New Old Lessons | Seminary Student Blogger

April 15, 2014

Amy Gannett

Finals week is quickly approaching, and with it there's much to say, think, feel, and yes, do.

Finals week is a peculiar beast for me, and I know I’m not alone. The nerdy side of me absolutely loves every single minute of it—seriously, long days in the library reading, reciting, reviewing. Sigh...heartthrob. But the free-spirit side of me is getting weary by the long days indoors while the trees are budding outside where sunshine replaces florescent lighting.

Though my mind and heart are strapped to the pendulum perpetually swinging between the two extremes, the Lord is reminding me of an old familiar truth I've long neglected.

He's here.

Elementary? Maybe. But it struck me afresh when...

I was reading a commentary for my exegesis paper and He stopped me and reminded me that the Book was written about Him, and me and Him.

I was sitting in the sunshine trying to read (and failing epically, I might add) and a spider on my quilt fascinated me—the way it moved with agility and grace and the meticulous way He must have designed it.

I was talking with a friend about Hebrew exegesis and we were reminded that soon it will all be over, and His Spirit pulled me aside and said, "Yes, one Day, it will all be over...all of it. And it will just be the beginning."

I was translating Psalm 51 and was actually starting to get a smooth translation and was filled with awe that we serve a God who articulates Himself to us so well and so intentionally.

I was talking to Him on a quiet morning and asking Him to remind me of His presence and instantly a flood of these memories came to mind...

He's here. And He wants us to know it. There's something about the busyness of this season that has made me forget that He wants to intrude every moment, and that inviting Him turns an intrusion into an intimate moment shared with Him. I've asked for open eyes and I'm beginning to see Him...

In the way the tulips relentlessly push back the winter earth and insist on newness.

In the constant way my husband forgives the rough edges in my spirit and, in doing so, preaches the gospel to me.

In the way my friends consistently show me grace when I still haven't figured out how to love them well, and even when I've given up trying.

In all this and more, He's here. He's pushing towards us, prompting us, calling to us in every crevice of the day. He's catching us unexpectedly, reminding us of His love, taking our breath away by the wonder of His constant love. And all we have to do is notice. 

Hi, friend. I'm Amy. Mostly, I’m just another twenty-something trying to figure out the stuff of life. I am a nerdy seminary student who loves the smell of old books and early mornings in the library. I am an artist wanabee, a liberal to the conservative and conservative to the liberal, guilty social justice groupie, and a recovering Bible know-it-all with the unreal ability to put my foot in my mouth an astonishing number of times each day. I am a sister to eight of the most hysterical creatures ever created. Good theology, used book stores, and autumn make me giddy. I preach passionately, think deeply, and ask too many questions. I write prayers, poetry and prose. I write about preaching bad and good, gender roles in the Church, the sacraments, stupid things we do on Sunday, politics, and almost everything else that you are not supposed to discuss in polite company. I also blog at oneyellowbird.blogspot.com. Welcome to the journey.

 

Tags: Author: Amy Gilbaugh , current students , student blogger

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Alleluia: A Sabbath Prayer | Seminary Student Blogger

April 06, 2014

Amy Gannett

We come readily enough to Your Sabbath rest.

We come with wearied hands, looking to Your ignition. We come with hungry souls, looking to Your body. We come with inclined lips, looking to Your Church to say

Alleluia.

In this season of wantonness, in our weeks of longing, we gather ourselves here and press our ears to the lips of the saints. And from their tongues we hear the whispered chorus

Alleluia!

When our hearts have forgotten, when our memories fail, we come to this meeting. Here, we are welcome. Here, we may stay and be reminded until the words sink in like ink to the skin, until the measure courses through our veins and raises off our own lips

Alleluia! Alleluia! 

Hi, friend. I'm Amy. Mostly, I’m just another twenty-something trying to figure out the stuff of life. I am a nerdy seminary student who loves the smell of old books and early mornings in the library. I am an artist wanabee, a liberal to the conservative and conservative to the liberal, guilty social justice groupie, and a recovering Bible know-it-all with the unreal ability to put my foot in my mouth an astonishing number of times each day. I am a sister to eight of the most hysterical creatures ever created. Good theology, used book stores, and autumn make me giddy. I preach passionately, think deeply, and ask too many questions. I write prayers, poetry and prose. I write about preaching bad and good, gender roles in the Church, the sacraments, stupid things we do on Sunday, politics, and almost everything else that you are not supposed to discuss in polite company. I also blog at oneyellowbird.blogspot.com. Welcome to the journey.

 

Tags: Author: Amy Gilbaugh , spiritually vital , student blogger

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Unconvincing Words of Aspiration: A Prayer | Seminary Student Blogger

March 20, 2014

Amy Gannett

God of our dreams,

God of our hopes,

God of our inner space,

It is toward You we turn our faces.

We lift our eyes to rest on Your face,

and, perhaps, to rest a while.

We are a people of many whispered desires and unspoken longings.

We believe, and yet we dare not anticipate.

We crave, and yet we dare not expect.

And these thoughts that come to us late,

You know, the ones that come in the dark,

in the quiet,

and remind us how fragile we are

and how unconvincing are our words of aspiration.

The words are "not possible,"

"impractical"

"unimaginable."

But we have. We have imagined.

And we come to You with watery eyes and timid faith

asking that You would imagine it possible, too.

Be the God of words made flesh

and promises kept;

the God of dreams in daylight

and hushed ambition spoken without a shaking voice.

Be Your daring Self toward us again today.

We pray in the name of Hope Himself,

Even Jesus.

Amen. 

Hi, friend. I'm Amy. Mostly, I’m just another twenty-something trying to figure out the stuff of life. I am a nerdy seminary student who loves the smell of old books and early mornings in the library. I am an artist wanabee, a liberal to the conservative and conservative to the liberal, guilty social justice groupie, and a recovering Bible know-it-all with the unreal ability to put my foot in my mouth an astonishing number of times each day. I am a sister to eight of the most hysterical creatures ever created. Good theology, used book stores, and autumn make me giddy. I preach passionately, think deeply, and ask too many questions. I write prayers, poetry and prose. I write about preaching bad and good, gender roles in the Church, the sacraments, stupid things we do on Sunday, politics, and almost everything else that you are not supposed to discuss in polite company. I also blog at oneyellowbird.blogspot.com. Welcome to the journey.

 

Tags: Author: Amy Gilbaugh , spiritually vital , student blogger

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To Remember the Confession: A Prayer | Seminary Student Blogger

February 25, 2014

Amy Gannett

We have grown languid with time and misuse,
and far too accustomed to the language of
“us” and “them."

Yes, even among those who You insist upon calling “us.”

God, look at us
and at the mess we have made.

We have divides ourselves into crafted clubs,
broken up into polite little affiliations
of visceral self-righteousness.

And we are in need of saving.

Yes, even saving from ourselves
and, perhaps, even especially from ourselves.

Would You
in Your startling way of holiness
lift our eyes from our own limitations,
from our self-imposed boundaries that are
so preoccupied with labels.

Would You
in Your potent way of long-suffering
reorient us to the creeds of our faith.
May the words of confession undyingly occupy our tongues.
Let us orate with gratitude and long-vision,
keeping close at hand the faith of our fathers…
…and their fathers, and their fathers, and their fathers before.

Would You
in Your grand way of reconciliation
Recall to our feeble minds the reality of a Church Universal.
Fixate in our minds the communities of the confession
that come in all shapes, sizes, colors and languages.

And bemoan us to remember well
that this creed and catholicity is the reality
of that long-awaited horizon
we have long labeled “Home.”

Beckon us toward that reality, good God of our confession,
and until then bind us together in Your unity,
as we recite with all flesh
the ancient words of faith
confessing the Word that You made flesh. 

Hi, friend. I'm Amy. Mostly, I’m just another twenty-something trying to figure out the stuff of life. I am a nerdy seminary student who loves the smell of old books and early mornings in the library. I am an artist wanabee, a liberal to the conservative and conservative to the liberal, guilty social justice groupie, and a recovering Bible know-it-all with the unreal ability to put my foot in my mouth an astonishing number of times each day. I am a sister to eight of the most hysterical creatures ever created. Good theology, used book stores, and autumn make me giddy. I preach passionately, think deeply, and ask too many questions. I write prayers, poetry and prose. I write about preaching bad and good, gender roles in the Church, the sacraments, stupid things we do on Sunday, politics, and almost everything else that you are not supposed to discuss in polite company. I also blog at oneyellowbird.blogspot.com. Welcome to the journey.

 

Tags: Author: Amy Gilbaugh , spiritually vital , student blogger

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Your Vast Self | Seminary Student Blogger

January 28, 2014

Amy Gannett

Oh, Lord, 

our Lord.

You are the One we called Father through the ages.

The Father of our fathers and their fathers and theirs.

You are the One who was before,

extending Your vast Self infinitely in all directions of time.

It is You who have outlast our every fear and every fortune.

You are the One standing at the dawn of time with limitless history behind You

and an eternity of days before You.

So it is to You we call when we sense our time-bound selves

have come to the end of ourselves,

because only You never will. 

Hi, friend. I'm Amy. Mostly, I’m just another twenty-something trying to figure out the stuff of life. I am a nerdy seminary student who loves the smell of old books and early mornings in the library. I am an artist wanabee, a liberal to the conservative and conservative to the liberal, guilty social justice groupie, and a recovering Bible know-it-all with the unreal ability to put my foot in my mouth an astonishing number of times each day. I am a sister to eight of the most hysterical creatures ever created. Good theology, used book stores, and autumn make me giddy. I preach passionately, think deeply, and ask too many questions. I write prayers, poetry and prose. I write about preaching bad and good, gender roles in the Church, the sacraments, stupid things we do on Sunday, politics, and almost everything else that you are not supposed to discuss in polite company. I also blog at oneyellowbird.blogspot.com. Welcome to the journey.

 

Tags: Author: Amy Gilbaugh , spiritually vital , student blogger

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At the End of the Day | Seminary Student Blogger

December 17, 2013

Amy Gannett

There are moments like these, coming at the end of an academic day, that make all the world seem to halt. I've had Hebrew and flipped flashcards and read books and articles and syllabi. The whirr of academics is constant and becomes merely background noise, going almost unnoticed as the semester takes is shape and pace.

I've been reading here all day, and took in words of Your wonder and majesty from the pens of saints long ago—mothers and fathers of our faith who knew the same You and wrote of the very same You in a setting anything but the same. I've translated the Text and furrowed my brow at the philosophical theologians of modernity and tried to wrap my head around the complexities of spiritual formation.

And then I looked up and looked out the window. A storm is rolling in. Thick and rich clouds are churning above make me feel all so very small.

And I'm reminded again that Your ways are mysterious and wonderful. They can be written about, but there are not books enough to hold them. They can be preached about, but not human language can encapsulate them. Arguments can be formed and persuasions can be attempted, but this day has no lesson better than sitting beneath Your threatening sky. 

Hi, friend. I'm Amy. Mostly, I’m just another twenty-something trying to figure out the stuff of life. I am a nerdy seminary student who loves the smell of old books and early mornings in the library. I am an artist wanabee, a liberal to the conservative and conservative to the liberal, guilty social justice groupie, and a recovering Bible know-it-all with the unreal ability to put my foot in my mouth an astonishing number of times each day. I am a sister to eight of the most hysterical creatures ever created. Good theology, used book stores, and autumn make me giddy. I preach passionately, think deeply, and ask too many questions. I write prayers, poetry and prose. I write about preaching bad and good, gender roles in the Church, the sacraments, stupid things we do on Sunday, politics, and almost everything else that you are not supposed to discuss in polite company. I also blog at oneyellowbird.blogspot.com. Welcome to the journey.

 

Tags: Author: Amy Gilbaugh , student blogger , thoughtfully evangelical

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I found your post to be entertaining and enlightening. It is funny how the little things are what He uses to to teach us about His ways.
Wilbur Byrd 1:19AM 12/22/13

The Push and Pull of Grace | Seminary Student Blogger

November 19, 2013

Amy Gannett

Grace is a wonton commodity in our economy of checks and balances. It is a strange creature; a peculiar beast of unknown proportions. We are a people of rush and do-to, and we hurry past grace noting the way she sits awkwardly in the midst of our busy.

Grace—the thing of gifting and giving and forgiveness. And just her posture provokes craving and yet makes us shift in our seats. If we’re honest, grace makes us just a bit uncomfortable. We like knowing our debts are paid from our own pockets, our time is managed by our own multi-tasking, and our memories are maintained by our own control. We would rather not have to handle grace or call upon her services. We are a self-propelled people, hastening on and on not taking unless we can repay:

We’d love to come to dinner, but what can we bring?
Oh no, please let me pay; really, I prefer it.
Sure you can take my kids this afternoon, but we’d like to have Tommy our way next week.

And yet, when the sun sets and the schedule calms, when the bustle runs out and the dust of the day settles, we cannot escape the reality that we are a people for whom grace must be prescribed. At the end of the day, at the end of ourselves, we are all too well aware that all our efforts will not suffice.

When we are late, those minutes will not return to our watches. When we forget a birthday, no length of words will satisfy. When the money runs out or the credit card is maxed, there simply are no more pennies to throw to the gatherers. And in the midst of our lost minutes and money, grace speaks a language we do not understand. Falling foreign on our ears are words of nothing owed and abundant pardon. And while they are strange to our hearing, they come like balm on our failures nonetheless. Well aware of our shortcomings, we turn ourselves at last to grace.

Grace, the stuff that wedges itself in the cracks of our lives, between the lacking and the wanting, holding all together and whispering, All is pardoned, all is covered. Let’s try again tomorrow. And surrendered to her presence we wrap ourselves up and finally let our eyelids rest. 

Hi, friend. I'm Amy. Mostly, I’m just another twenty-something trying to figure out the stuff of life. I am a nerdy seminary student who loves the smell of old books and early mornings in the library. I am an artist wanabee, a liberal to the conservative and conservative to the liberal, guilty social justice groupie, and a recovering Bible know-it-all with the unreal ability to put my foot in my mouth an astonishing number of times each day. I am a sister to eight of the most hysterical creatures ever created. Good theology, used book stores, and autumn make me giddy. I preach passionately, think deeply, and ask too many questions. I write prayers, poetry and prose. I write about preaching bad and good, gender roles in the Church, the sacraments, stupid things we do on Sunday, politics, and almost everything else that you are not supposed to discuss in polite company. I also blog at oneyellowbird.blogspot.com. Welcome to the journey.

 

Tags: Author: Amy Gilbaugh , student blogger , thoughtfully evangelical

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The Folly of Forgetfulness, the Joy of Remembrance: A Prayer, Day 6 | Seminary Student Blogger

November 02, 2013

Amy Gannett

Amy is contributing a week-long series on reflection and remembrance. You can read her introduction here; day 1 here; day 2 here; day 3 here; day 4 here; day 5 here.

You Have Always Remembered Us

We remember the childhood trek through the store,
when mommy and daddy faded from sight.
We scurried and scrambled and shook just a bit
and they found us again down the next isle.

We remember the more serious journeys of youth,
the ones that led down dark paths.
We scurried and scrambled and shook a bit more,
and the way out was found after a while.

Now we a grown, big, and mature,
and our seasons of loss are the same.
And we do not see the way out.

But the theme of our past
stings brutally with the truth:
Your eyes have not left us, not once.

In each flight of fear,
In each journey of darkness
In each season of pain,
Your eyes have not left us, not once.

Though we have forgotten,
You never have.

And so we ask,
limply,
humbly,
and undeservingly,
that You might make us among the remembering ones,
even as You have always remembered us.

Would you punctuate the dialogue of our lives
with pause and reflection
that we might, in every season,
recall Your goodness that carried us there. 

Hi, friend. I'm Amy. Mostly, I’m just another twenty-something trying to figure out the stuff of life. I am a nerdy seminary student who loves the smell of old books and early mornings in the library. I am an artist wanabee, a liberal to the conservative and conservative to the liberal, guilty social justice groupie, and a recovering Bible know-it-all with the unreal ability to put my foot in my mouth an astonishing number of times each day. I am a sister to eight of the most hysterical creatures ever created. Good theology, used book stores, and autumn make me giddy. I preach passionately, think deeply, and ask too many questions. I write prayers, poetry and prose. I write about preaching bad and good, gender roles in the Church, the sacraments, stupid things we do on Sunday, politics, and almost everything else that you are not supposed to discuss in polite company. I also blog at oneyellowbird.blogspot.com. Welcome to the journey.

 

Tags: Author: Amy Gilbaugh , equipping leaders for the church and society , spiritually vital , student blogger

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The Folly of Forgetfulness, the Joy of Remembrance: A Prayer, Day 5 | Seminary Student Blogger

November 01, 2013

Amy Gannett

Amy is contributing a week-long series on reflection and remembrance. You can read her introduction here; day 1 here; day 2 here; day 3 here; day 4 here.

That Wonted Place

The mornings roll together in sleepy familiarity.

The routine is consistent, the rhythm the same.

But this morning I heard a bird trill a familiar tune,

and suddenly I was back in that wonted place dear to my heart.

Swept up in the music, I sat on my old back porch with Your Words in hand.

I climbed up the apple tree just to check the nest.

I hid between the berry bushes and listened to a searching sister's voice.

And here, on this big brown couch, I remember -

Your eyes upon me are the same eyes,

Your voice within me the same voice,

Your goodness toward me to same goodness.

Two worlds apart, and many journeys between,

You are my constant custom.

And I am grateful. 

Hi, friend. I'm Amy. Mostly, I’m just another twenty-something trying to figure out the stuff of life. I am a nerdy seminary student who loves the smell of old books and early mornings in the library. I am an artist wanabee, a liberal to the conservative and conservative to the liberal, guilty social justice groupie, and a recovering Bible know-it-all with the unreal ability to put my foot in my mouth an astonishing number of times each day. I am a sister to eight of the most hysterical creatures ever created. Good theology, used book stores, and autumn make me giddy. I preach passionately, think deeply, and ask too many questions. I write prayers, poetry and prose. I write about preaching bad and good, gender roles in the Church, the sacraments, stupid things we do on Sunday, politics, and almost everything else that you are not supposed to discuss in polite company. I also blog at oneyellowbird.blogspot.com. Welcome to the journey.

 

Tags: Author: Amy Gilbaugh , equipping leaders for the church and society , spiritually vital , student blogger

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The Folly of Forgetfulness, the Joy of Remembrance: A Prayer, Day 4 | Seminary Student Blogger

October 31, 2013

Amy Gannett

Amy is contributing a week-long series on reflection and remembrance. You can read her introduction here; day 1 here; day 2 here; day 3 here.

The Fidelity of Dawn

The dark horizon hides itself
in the blackness of the sky.

The world is concealed in night this hour,
and we watch the motionless mass once again.

We have sat awake in many midnights.

Never has this black horizon persistent.
Never has this darkness been eternal.

And in the unintentional expectations of our own minds,
our hearts respond in new awareness:

Never once have You withheld the sun.
Never once have You left us in the dark.

Every morning,
each dawn,
You are faithful.

Every midnight,
every dark hour,
You are faithful.

And in this dark hour of waiting,
we choose again to remember,
and we choose again to believe. 

Hi, friend. I'm Amy. Mostly, I’m just another twenty-something trying to figure out the stuff of life. I am a nerdy seminary student who loves the smell of old books and early mornings in the library. I am an artist wanabee, a liberal to the conservative and conservative to the liberal, guilty social justice groupie, and a recovering Bible know-it-all with the unreal ability to put my foot in my mouth an astonishing number of times each day. I am a sister to eight of the most hysterical creatures ever created. Good theology, used book stores, and autumn make me giddy. I preach passionately, think deeply, and ask too many questions. I write prayers, poetry and prose. I write about preaching bad and good, gender roles in the Church, the sacraments, stupid things we do on Sunday, politics, and almost everything else that you are not supposed to discuss in polite company. I also blog at oneyellowbird.blogspot.com. Welcome to the journey.

 

Tags: Author: Amy Gilbaugh , equipping leaders for the church and society , spiritually vital , student blogger

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The Folly of Forgetfulness, the Joy of Remembrance: A Prayer, Day 3 | Seminary Student Blogger

October 30, 2013

Amy Gannett

Amy is contributing a week-long series on reflection and remembrance. You can read her introduction here; day 1 here; day 2 here.

The Grace of Decided Impatience

We have heard the whispered promise
that You are still to come.

And we, too, have been those who
preached those promises,
claimed those confessions,
declared those decrees.

But we also confess
that as soon as the creed slipped from our lips,
we left the pews without expectation, viable hope, or any bit of impatience.

He ascended into heaven, seated at the right hand of God, the almighty Father, from where he will come to judge the living and the dead.

And so we ask, dear God, that You
would grant us the grace of
decided impatience.

Press our eyes to the horizon,
our ears to the ground.

Fix our feet in holy restlessness
and quicken them towards that which is our final Rest. 

Hi, friend. I'm Amy. Mostly, I’m just another twenty-something trying to figure out the stuff of life. I am a nerdy seminary student who loves the smell of old books and early mornings in the library. I am an artist wanabee, a liberal to the conservative and conservative to the liberal, guilty social justice groupie, and a recovering Bible know-it-all with the unreal ability to put my foot in my mouth an astonishing number of times each day. I am a sister to eight of the most hysterical creatures ever created. Good theology, used book stores, and autumn make me giddy. I preach passionately, think deeply, and ask too many questions. I write prayers, poetry and prose. I write about preaching bad and good, gender roles in the Church, the sacraments, stupid things we do on Sunday, politics, and almost everything else that you are not supposed to discuss in polite company. I also blog at oneyellowbird.blogspot.com. Welcome to the journey.

 

Tags: Author: Amy Gilbaugh , equipping leaders for the church and society , spiritually vital , student blogger

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