suffering and God

What if God's goodness and God's love don't necessarily remove the cruelty and suffering and injustice and pain from the world?
What if they were never intended to?
What if goodness still exists even though life is hard and cruel, and even though people suffer?
What if God's goodness wasn't meant to take away the world's suffering, but was meant to provide a refuge in the midst of it?
If these realizations are true, then the only thing that God's goodness would eliminate was hoplessness.
Because if God is good, then there can always be hope... though there may continue to be pain and suffering and injustice and cruelty and heartbreak.

There is only this and nothing more-- God is good.

It does not mean that things in one's life will always be good...but that God is good.
It does not mean that one's life will be an easy one...but that God is good.
It does not mean that one's prayers will always be answered in the way that one would like...but that God is good.
It does not mean that tragedy may not visit one...but that God is good.
It does not mean that the human struggle is not difficult...but that God is good.
it does not mean that there will not always be suffering in the world...but that God is good.
It does not mean that there will not be times when one is so overcome by sadness at memories in life that you must go outside and find a place to be alone and cry...but that God is good.
It does not mean that there will not always be many who will deny His very existence because of the pain and seeming unfairness of life they see all around them...but that God is good.
It does not mean that there will not always be many questions for which we have no answers... but that God is good.

God's goodness is the larger truth over the whole, the largest truth overspreading all of life-- over cruelty, over suffering, over tragedy, over doubts and despair, over broken relationships, over sin itself.
Why that goodness doesn't eliminate such things, I don't know. Perhaps we shall ask him one day.
For some reason our tiny human minds cannot comprehend, God has allowed pain in his universe. You and I might have done it differently, but then, we are not God.
And as such, it is impossible for us to see all the way into the depths of the matter.
We therefore cannot perceive the many ways in which the very suffering we rail against may in fact contribute to the overall eternal benefit and growth of God's universe and its created beings.

We cannot see to the bottom of such things. So we foolish creatures look at the world's hurting and say God must not exist, or if he does he must not care, or must be a cruel God. Yet I suspect, that when we are one day able to see all the way into it, we will see that Goodness and Love lie at the root even of all the suffering that was ever borne by this fallen humanity of which we are part.
Therefore, hope must be the basis for our faith, not that God will give us a happy life.
For it is that God is good, loving, and trustworthy that are the deepest truths of the universe. These are the ingredients of the soil out which grows our salvation.

For indeed, it is not the cross that is the basis of our salvation, but rather, that the cross is evidence of our salvation.

Men and women are so prone to place limitations upon what God does, or can do, or might do, so that they can explain his ways and means to the satisfaction of their small intellects.
God's love and slavation are never limited by man's interpretations or by the boundaries man would place around the extent of their reach.

say a little prayer for me

It seems that this semester is going to be a bit hellish.
Hunter, never learning from her past mistakes, has once again spread herself too thin.

18 hours of class work, all upper level courses.
Council for BCM.
Leadership with CRU.
The Honors College.
Further involvement with Christ Fellowship.
My regular volunteer hours with Parker Bennett and the Great Acres Nursing Center.
Rushing, which is enough within itself.
V.P. for College Republicans.
N.S.C.S.
More involvement with AID and The Invisible Children.
and now an application for internship in Brett Guthrie's district office.

Really??
Really??

I honestly don't know what I am thinking.
I somehow have to be there whenever and wherever I am needed and still maintain a 3.5 GPA for scholarship.
I really don't see any time for friends or fun throughout the coming months.
I really don't see any time for rest or food in the coming months.
Welcome to the life of an overly invested college student.
Obviously, my prioritizing talents leave a bit to be desired, as does my ability to sometimes just say "NO".
I'm the Hermione Granger of Western except I don't have a time stopper like in the Prisoner of Azkaban.

Great, on top of everything else, I'm a nerd.

You're thoughts and prayers are welcome.

P.S. If you see me around campus, throw me some food, becasue I'm sure I won't have taken the time for food, and if you can stop me long enough, give me some words of encouragement, maybe a hug. Any human contact would probably be welcomed.

That is all.

if you're ever wondering, just ask the three year old; the world according to miss briley brown

I'm not one of those people that waits until the ending to title a piece of writing or rambles.
I just can't seem to reach that plateau in my life.
(in a side note, I honestly think that is the first time I have ever used 'plateau' in a sentence.)
I suppose I'm just a stickler for sequence.
The title sets my tone; shows the path my words shall tread.

However, I'm attempting this new thing in my life called "acceptance".
Strange, huh?
Trying to better gain foothold and graspings on the everyday changes of a moving, growing life.
And also with the fact that, gasp, I am not in control of that life.
Ahh..wouldn't you think that this knowing would be enough?
Shouldn't I simply take the knowledge that the Father has placed within me for good reason and run with it?
Oh no.
And why not?
Because I am stubborn as a mule, spoiled, self centered, and broken.

Somehow I have travelled far from my point or at least my journey toward a point,
and must once again reign the thoughts that are spilling forth.
Before I begin the introspective walk down Hunter Lane, back to the whole title thing.
This will be the first writing (if this can even be called as such) or humble babbling that I have ever begun without that title heading as my constant beacon and guiding light.
As such, this post may seem a bit queer and quite 'Alice in Wonderland'-ish.
Can't say you weren't given fair warning.

You could still get away, you know.
I haven't released the arsenal of my jumbled thinkings upon the pure tapestry of the world yet.
Get away while you still can.
The only image coming to mind is a blobby monster attacking the innocents of a sky sraper filled horizon.
Sounds like a plot for a black and white horror film, huh?
And this is what I compare the contents of my mind to? Yeesh.
Call the Feds.

And again,
woah horsey; bring it in.

Digressing.
This evening I lay upon the carpeted floor of my family room, rolling with my niece as my nephew slumbered upstairs whilst my sister and mother watched on.
Briley and I (the niece in question) swung from the winding staircase, road piggy back for hours, and wore matching headbands.
Again, all of these details are superfluous.

And as I lay on my stomach with a 2 and a half year old on my back listening as I read a pop up book of 'Santa flying through the night sky and stars', this sweet little innocent says:
"Jesus made the stars."

Again.
"Jesus made the stars."

Now,
admittedly, this is partially marked down to just plain old fashioned good parenting.
But I can't help but think it is more than that.
This little girl had just stated, with all of the assurance in the world a truth which has had scholars and scientists, professors and theologians around the times baffled.
To Briley this was not a suggestion, not a hint, not even a questioned statement of belief.
But merely the simple spoken word of an affirmation.

When we are young, our minds are like a small cup.
A small cup that takes very little to fill to the brim.
As it is with faith.
However, as we grow, and our mind expands, taking in the world around us,
so does that cup.
And so does the amount of faith it takes to fill that cup.

I have often wondered if it wouldn't have been simpler for the Father to make us eternally childlike in our mind and wonder.
But I am no one to question our Maker.

As of now, my little Briley's cup is overflowing.
Yet everyday, she learns a new word, she changes, she grows, her mind forever whirring like an old Singer sewer.
At the want of keeping her forever innocent and her cup forever flowing, I would not only hinder the creature God created her to be,
but also deny her the joy that will accompany the heartache she is sure to encounter.
And so as of now,
I shall be content to watch in wonder the person she is fast becoming.
A perfect mixture of worlds and lives.
A perfect innocence that doesn't yet think to question the voices she trusts.

I would like to think that I have always been the self sacrificial type.
Willing to give and if necessary lay down for those I love.

Yet I have never in my life, felt towards anyone, the love that I feel for Miss Briley Brown and her brother Eeagan.
It is an overpowering, frightening love.
And it leaves me in wonder at the works and ways of God's hands.

And so as this mess of a pondering comes to a close,
it is done so with a sense of hope.

Since childhood, my cup and the level of faith to sustain the filling of that cup has indeed grown,
but so too has my ability to love the Lord and his children.
So too has grown my wonder at the works and words.
Indeed, my hope, and my prayer for all of you world wide webbers is that your mind and cup will never cease its growing and never become content. That you will forevermore be seeking and that your faith will forevermore keep filling.

My advice?
Just remember to look through the heart of a three year old every so often.

and now...a title.

That is all.

confessions of a shopaholic

I have a problem.

I really do.

It's not my fault. That's what all the crazies say, right?

I blame my mother.
Except honestly though, have you ever seen that woman's style?

Frances H. can most definitly pull off some expensive wares from one Mr. Joseph Ribcoff.

Fan of the name designers, she is.

And my Peepaw.

Don't even get me started on that man in a shop.

Yet I digress.

This isn't about the diseased limbs of my family tree. No.
This is about me.

It is afterall, my blog.

Go get your own.

This is about my very own physiological downfall.

My weakness.

My achilles heel.

The noose on the neck of my being.
Shopping.

Now, please do not judge me.

I am not your average ditz who enjoys: "boys, talking on the phone, shopping, and rainbows. like totally!"

You know; the very one ending every sentence with an upward slant, punctuated by an infinitly perky exclamation mark.

egh.

Not at all.

The furthest thing possible, in fact.

Yet I simply cannot deny the boldly carved writings on the wall of my life,

"I, Hunter Stevens, am a shopaholic."

HELP!

I am addicted to fashion.

Fedoras are my heroin.

Scarves my personal crystal meth.

Dresses are my cocaine and skinny jeans, my marijuana. (The appeal not quite as strong you understand.)

Dainty tops are like alcohol rushing into my bloodstream,

and v neck tees, oh lord, are the speed to jumpstart my system.

And shoes, beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeppppppppppppppppppppppp.

overdose.

Where there is a will, there is a way.

Where there is a will, there is a way.

I do not need you, silly little purse.

My life is full.

My life is happy.

My life is....hopefully, shopping free.

While this entire post is comical at best,

it is also a contract (binding tighter than a covenant with an archangel) that my relationship with shopping is dying a painful death.

Sigh.

I am reformed.

That is all.

unprepared on all accounts

Spring semester for Western Kentucky University ended in May.
Around the 20th or so if I recall correctly, which is, in fact, a rarity,
so do not, dear readers take my word for it.

That being said, the 20th of May commenced my pining for the town of Bowling Green, the routine of school, and the presence of the people with whom I had grown to love.
This dazed state of inactivity and boredom, interrupted only by video chats and trips to the drive-in ended rather unexpectedly around the 21st of June when I left behind the shining city of Greensburg for an out of way camp called Crescendo.
If for no other reason than convenience, I shall from this point on refer to my summer in parts.

Part 1: The Great Slumber; mainly due to the fact that I rarely, if ever, excaped the grasping claws of my bed sheets.
Part 2: Sugar, Spice, and Everything Nice

It was around the beginning of S.S.E.N (I enjoy acronyms) that I finally began to not only make my peace with being away from Bowling Green and the college environment but to actually enjoy the sunshiny reprieve from the constant stream of papers, exams, and the neverending stress to "make the grade" and "be the top".
Note to Hunter: Self motivation can be very unrelenting.

And now the date, as of 22 minutes ago CST, is August 5th, 2009.
Just to clue you in, classes for the Fall Semester begin for Western Kentucky University on August 31, 2009.
That leaves exactly 17 days until I will be moving my self and my belongings up to Minton Hall, floor 6, with one Savanna Gulley.
Tell me please, where the time went.
The plans to visit here, to go there, to grow as a person before entering the nonstop parade of the American college student.

Only now, when I had finally begun to enjoy this life, is the other calling me to its return.
How on Earth can one exist in two lives for four, grueling years without losing track of self identity?
A few months here, a week there, pack up and home again; the process never stops.

Yes, I am sure I will "get back into the swing of things" as Gare Bear gushed in his last email.
I only wish that I had held a greater appreciation for the life of home while I still had the chance.
19 years of experience in the realization that one shouldn't wish her life away,
and yet here I am.
Continuing in the same bad habits.

So I suppose my advice to you, whoever and wherever you are in this world wide web, is simply this: do not fight the cliches.
When you are tired of forevermore hearing the words: "you don't know what you have, until it's gone"; take a deep sigh, and look around you.
Enjoy the arguments with your moms,
the giggling with your grandmas,
the toothless grins of your nephews,
and the warmth that spreads over you in your hometown churches.
Enjoy the reprieves and the last lingering moments of childhood and store them away.
Hold them close for a rainy day away from home.
Appreciate it.
Love it.

That is all.

the thoughts that started it all

change: n. the act of becoming different; to replace or exchange with another
For as long as I can remember, I've hated any alteration to my life, any bump in my routine.
Example? I order the same meal, from the same restaurants, and eat it in the same fashion; one thing at a time.
I don't like the furniture to be rearranged, the church bulletin to be printed differently, or the type of haircut my grandmother has to be shorter or longer. And trust me, I always notice.
So, try, if you will putting yourself in my shoes for a quick minute;
because change will not, for some reason, be held at bay.

Most usually, I can accept this as a fact of life.
Today, again for some unknown reason, both my mind and my heart refuse.

I hate the fact that 84 year old Grandpas aren't around for any more tea parties. But more so, the fact that little girls seem to think they 'outgrow' these tea parties while the Grandpas are still around.
I hate the fact that 19 year old girls die before they find the cure for cancer or AIDS, or just have the chance to hug their moms one more time.
I hate the fact that best friends become strangers, and that we make new ones and forget, until like our parents we say 'hey there on the street.
I hate the fact that people break up. But more so, that people move on and the cycle continues.
I hate the fact that I don't remember every memory I ever had.
I hate that little babies grow up to be toddlers and teenagers. But more than that, I hate the fact that their lives are wished away through dreams that they would just start talking, just start walking, start school, and 'grow up already.'
I hate the fact that every hurt seems like it's going to shatter the world, only to be forgotten tomorrow.
I hate the fact that every year, a new class graduates, new somebodys gets their hearts broken, and new babies are born, but at the time it feels as if we are the very first and the very last.
I hate the fact that I can't remember that first time I 'felt' like a grownup, but more so, the last time that I felt like a kid.
I hate the fact there is a world full of hurt around me and I don't know what I've done to add or detract from it.
I hate the fact that it is only when I am in moods like these that I give pause to life.
I hate the fact that we have become so accustomed to pain that we rarely separate it from joy.
I hate the fact that the age when people lose their childlike wonder is lowered with each word of hate and each slap on the cheek.
I hate the fact that there are people in the world that aren't told everyday that they are special and unique and gifted, but more so, the fact that I've never told anyone that.
I hate the fact that people feel like they need to pretend to be something else than they are, simply to be loved, when really what they need is to be hugged tightly and told that they are.
I hate the fact that there are people living everyday just to 'get by' and that they have no joy in what they do, when there is so much passion to be had.
I hate the fact that we have forgotten what trust means, let alone how it feels.
I hate the fact that people live their lives just trying to get to that next step, that next phase, only to realize that people in every step and phase are the same, just taller and more cynical.
I hate the fact that the idealistic are looked down upon as naive, when really, what is wrong with a little innocence in the world?
I hate the fact that the opposite of optimism has become realism, when what reality needs is for someone to start looking for some good in it.

But above all, I hate the fact that as much as you fight it, change comes, and that eventually we all stop fighting.

That is all.