The Wheels on the Bus go round and round.

I th ought it was time to update once again! Life has been insane. Literally one thing right after the other. It's crazy, but good for me. So here's an update...

First, Friday night I rediscovered the efficiency of taking the bus. I've had a lot of anxiety over my finances, so it felt really good to come up with a solution. I went to ArtPrize with Chelsie Friday night. SO much fun! We walked to lots of different exhibits and then went to Madcap to relax for a while. Then yesterday I took a bus downtown by myself. I was really nervous, but the bus drivers were super nice, especially when I jammed the hole where you put your change. Then I headed to church for the 100th anniversary. Good times with old friends, even though I don't know half of them.

Anyways, as I was sitting on the bus heading to church I sat there looking out the window and watching the people who got on an off. At one of the stops near the city a little guy, probably no more than 10, jumped off. I sat there realizing how displaced I am. Well, no wonder people living in the inner-city think we are better! I have never taken the bus before the poverty-simulation. Never. I've always riden in a car or flown in a plane. I never really came in contact with drunk people on the sidewalk; I have never seen the darkness of prostitution until recently.

I am not any better than then the scared mom on Division or the man on Bridge Street. I am a sinner. I deserve death. And yet by the grace of Christ I am saved and forgiven. It's sad to look into the eyes of a mommy protecting her kids or a child who has lost their innocence or a drug dealer. It's sad. They have so much darkness in them. You can see it in their eyes.

I have become displaced. It's time to pop my bubble. I am a white, midwest girl. I've grown up in the suburbs and gone to a Christian school my whole life. The walls are falling down.

Taking the bus isn't really a big deal to the average person. Really. It's not. But for me it's breaking down those stereotypes. And it's freeing. Scary, but freeing.

I look around my room and there is stuff and it's sad. It's just very sad. I've let go a lot in one month and yet i still feel like I need to let go of my stuff. It's not going to save me. It brings me no joy or fulfillment. It's meaningless. It's worthless. Yet, it's not that easy. It's hard discerning Jesus' words, "In order to find Life you must lose life." Those words aren't exactly easy ones to take in. Yes, America, I do think we are all called to let go. Some of us might be called overseas. Some of us called to stay in the suburbs. Some of us in the urban environment. But we have to let go, because until we physically and spiritually let go of ourselves the Spirit will never have room to work. It's just not worth it. I don't want to get to the end of my life and realized I spent my whole life chasing after the American dream.

I want to live and experience and learn. Not accumulate things. The cycle has got stuff. I long to remain consistent. Because either I let go or I don't.

Sometimes I have this huge urge to put everything in boxes and give it away and sell it. But more times than not my heart is tied to my stuff.

It's time to put an end to that.