I am less loving than I seem. I know this because of the lengthy inner dialogue and wrestling I undergo to love people around me. 

"It's easier to survive this life on the surface, brushing up against people gently, rather than doing the mess of intentionally loving them." - Jennie Allen, Restless

This is so me. I can do without the mess. I would rather be around people who don't require as much effort, yet I seem to cross paths regularly with those who require more. It seems almost humorous when the respite I seek cannot be found even in my concerted attempts to avoid people - taking the short cut to the printer to avoid unnecessary conversation, slipping on earphones to signal my don't-talk-to-me public transportation mode, or avoiding all eye contact to escape human interaction. 

If Christ did not enter the mess of humanity I'd be dead in my sins. My pride has no grounding, as being loved  compels my love for others (2 Corinthians 5:14-15). 

This is my reminder to get messy. 

I had a best friend growing up who happened to be better than me at everything. For so many reasons I wanted to be her. She was the essence of cool, and I was just trying desperately to follow. I knew for many reasons that I would never quite match her, but I could sure as heck try. All that trying left me disappointed, questioning why I had seemingly less to work with. It wasn’t fair. Comparing ourselves to others stops us from running the race that is set before us - one that is in plain view, but our unwillingness to journey it stops us dead in our tracks. I am still derailed by the ugly game of comparison. It can get me as far as questioning if God even cares about me (just the other day, in fact). Believing that lie is a slippery slope, leading only to self-pity.

Dear runners, let us throw off that sin that so easily entangles so that we may run this race with the endurance it requires! (Hebrews 12:1-2)

There's a tension in me that craves uniformity with my peers, but at the same time is restless for more, something bigger than myself. Case in point: I wasn't the typical business, engineering, or science major, but chose liberal arts. My mainstream job in marketing turned into a 10+ year career in teaching English as a second language, a profession of nomads and save-the-world types. I left a perfectly decent job and promotion for the missions field. I entered seminary and finished a second masters degree. I'm unmarried and give lots of my time to the church. On a good day, I'm thankful for my journey. On my bad days (which seem to outweigh the good), I'm painfully aware that I stick out, and that mine is a road less taken.

I sometimes lament the urge that keeps me restless. But as much as I tout being alone, I know that I am surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses - many throngs of others who have contended for Christ's sake and have given up far, far, more than me. No more self-pity. Back to the race.

As a child I had a world of pretend that spanned an empire of retail, restaurant, hotel, and banking, which also featured, of all things, a library (all this the product of growing up without a TV). I was at the helm of the entire operation, running each with the deftness of a skilled CEO. That was my personal, private world at home. Reality was much different as in public I was a timid child who couldn't manage the same confidence with her peers, stifled by the need for approval.

Somewhere in college I got over myself and started to move with greater faith. I made decisions in my early adulthood that intimidate me now. It seems that stakes grow higher with age.

There are seasons where dreams are more easily had, but there are also those where our dreams are just that - the hoped for but never pursued. Opposition to our dreams can been fierce, taking various forms from ourselves to that outside of ourselves.

I want to dare to dream with the faith that propels me forward to action. I want to dream knowing that the kingdom of God is certain, and that Jesus' return is imminent. And I hope that others (you!) will dream with me as we wrestle with this tent called our flesh, the sin which so easily entangles, and the Enemy who would discourage us.