Judging.

Last Tuesday, I interviewed at a private Christian school here in Wasilla. Thanks to help from Chris via Skype, I put together a very nice, professional outfit: black heels, a knee-length gray pencil skirt with a tucked in burnt orange turtleneck, and of course, the recent pink streak in my hair.

Well, I show up at the interview, which was my third of the day, and the principal is cool towards me, at best. Within about five minutes (which was a third of the way through the meeting) she hands me the school handbook and mentions the dress code recorded therein. Ten minutes later, I thank her and we part.

That night, I'm in my room looking over the handbook she gave me. And indeed, I find the dress code.

I had broken EVERY single rule they had, from my shoes to my hair and literally everything in-between.

Shoes were to be closed toed... and mine were not.
Panty-hoes or tights were to be worn... and I was not.
Skirts were to cover your knees at all times, even when sitting... and mine did not.
Skirts also could not have slits in them... and mine did.
Girls could not wear turtleneck, unless they were under a sweater... and mine was not.
And hair could not be unnaturally colored... and mine was.

Oops.
Needless to say, I don't think she'll be calling me back.

But it's interesting. I feel that, based on that dress code alone, they miss the potential for some great teachers to work at their school. I left the interview feeling a little bit judged and inadequate, especially after reading the handbook later. But at the same time, I thought it was insanely ridiculous and funny. To be judged by something like the pink streak in my hair, put there in honor of women I know who have survived breast cancer... insensitive.

And then I think, how many times do I do that to other people - Judge them by how they look? Or talk? Or smell?

MZE.

Monday: I start a four-week subbing position at an elementary school.

I am so excited; I danced at work when I got the call.

Teaching again. Happy day.

Part Two.

There is a whole ceremony that surrounds a Jewish betrothal.

First, the father of the groom chooses the Bride for his son.
Then, the Groom and the father of the Bride negotiate a bride price that consists of silver and some material item.
Then, the Groom goes to the Bride's house for the betrothal ceremony.

When he knocks on the door, the Bride must answer. If she does not, she is refusing the proposal and the deal is off.
If she opens the door, the Groom asks to dine and drink the betrothal cup with her.

They share a meal, and a glass of wine.

They invite the Priest and their family in to witness the signing of the legal document. This document outlines what the Groom promises the Bride as his betrothed. Included in this document must be a promise for food, clothing, and sex.
Then, the Groom gives the Bride a plain gold band, to be worn on the index finger of her right hand. This serves as a reminder of their betrothal because next, the Groom leaves for a year to prepare their bridal chamber and house.

When he leaves, the Bride undergoes a year of preparation for their wedding: making food, her wedding gown, and going through several ceremonial bathings.


I am the chosen, betrothed bride of Christ.
I was chosen by His Father, before the creation of the world, before I did anything to deserve it. Why? Because I was created by Him, to show His love to a world that so desperately needs it. The Father's love was not enough; the Son's - my Groom's - love makes me complete.
He paid a great bride price: All of my debt. Ever. For all of my sins. Ever.

Then he came, knocking on my door.

I opened it when I was five years old. I was playing with my Barbies and realized, "I'm a sinner!" I ran to the living room, crying, knelt at the couch, and prayed. I asked God for forgiveness, to save me. Then, I got up, rejoiced, and returned to my Barbies.

We've had betrothal meals, sharing the cup. It's called communion.
He gave me a document, the Word, promising food and clothing - the birds of the air and the flowers of the field do not worry about such things, so why shall I? He even promises to bear fruit, as an earthly husband does for his earthly wife. This is not a baby-fruit; it is spirit-fruit. Love. Joy. Peace. Patience. Kindness. Goodness. Faithfulness. Gentleness. Self-control.
He gave me a ring. The Holy Spirit is the seal on my heart, reminding me of our betrothal. And now, He is off preparing a place for us.

Meanwhile, I am being cleansed, purified. I've been washed - baptized. My past has been cleaned away to prepare me for new life with Him.
Life with Him. My Groom.

I am the beautiful, chosen, holy, blameless Bride of Christ. I was chosen, paid for, dined with, and sealed. I am His and He is mine. The rest is History.

Part One.

Okay. I'm ready.

"Melissa! What are you up to these days?"
"Well... I was going to move to India, but instead I'm living at home, working in a warehouse for 40 hours a week."

How much longer will that be my answer? "I was going to move to India..."
But what? But the LORD said no? He told me to go home? I had missed His leading?

As my friend Emily reminded the whole blog-o-sphere... I am in a season of waiting.
What am I doing with the wait?
Complaining. Anticipating the end. Mm, yeah, lots of bitterness....

Everyone said, "J-man will CHANGE your life!! You will never be the same!!"
And they were right.
It only took me a week though - not two years.

I know what it means - how it feels - to be completely outside the will of God. I know the anxiety that accompanies it and it is literally excruciating.

I know what it means - how it feels - to think I'm not allowed to talk to one of the most important people in my life. And it was more difficult than I anticipated. Worst. Ever.

But I know what it means to be obedient, even when it is unexpected and difficult and strenuous. And then, after the initial obedience, I'm learning what it means to continue to have a humble, obedient heart and spirit. That means trusting.

There is so much about which I feel I could write.

But it just takes soooooo long....

Ugh.