I died tonight in the bathtub.

At 26 years old.

 I died having lived a life comprised of a relative amount of victories, but an even greater amount of defeat.

 I died.

I imagined my funeral. There were a lot of people there. About a third, to maybe half,( if I'm allowing myself the geneorisity of imagining there were people on the outsides of my imagination I couldn't see), of the people whose opinions I have made more important than my family's,God's, and my own, since I was old enough to understand the concept of evaluation, came to my funeral. I imagined my mother weeping. I imagimed she would not be able to give an eulogy, but I imagined if she could, she would be the only person capable of remembering me as I really was. My sister was able to speak, and she spoke of memories from our years of sharing rooms and small spaces on family vacations; but when she spoke of me being a great example and someone worth looking up too, I think she lied. It is not good to lie at a funeral, but I know God will forgive her. My father spoke of a rough start; of a stubborn child who, in the very sudden end, had much more in common with him then either of us realized. I imagined Jesus giving me an eulogy, and all he kept saying was, "she had potential." Had.



None of the people I made a priority my entire life spoke on my behalf. The ones who murmured nice things about me in the parking lot or servie lobby, perhaps genuine things if I can give them the credit, spoke of my sense of humor. No one commented on my weight. No one commented on how skinny I was. No one took the time to mention that at one point, through the dedication and willpower of Joseph locked in a prison and still standing strong, that I starved and exercised myself to a size seven on my 5'11 1/2 (thank you) frame. Not one person even coughed under their breath how pretty my hair was, that I never let my roots go past six weeks. No one commented on how nice my nails were, how my purses always matched my wallets, that my make- up was perfection, expensive perfection. They didn't stand in a circle and mention how cute my outfits had the tendency to be; and that my iphone always had cute cases on them. No one even talked about my tan, and I have a CALIFORNIA GIRL TAN for Pete's sake!! You know what else these rude people didn't say about me? That I lived for the Lord. That my love for Christ overpowered me and radiated from the inside. That my words, and actions, and choices, and activities, and hobbies, and friendships, and relationships, and every single thing in between coexisted with my love for my savior. No my friends, not one person said that. Even Jesus, and he knows my heart. Because really, if these people can't lie at my funeral, Jesus sho' ain't gonna!


I have all the potential in the world. I am from the internet generation. I cannot remember a time without beepers, cell phones, instant messaging, or other social network avenues. I am from a time where we can pause live TV; the resources allotted to my peers and me is overwhelming, and the things that I, because I can't speak for the casts of the hundreds of reality TV. shows that are obviously focused on world change, have chosen to do with these resources is, quite frankly, underwhelming, at best. Jesus says in Matthew 10:32-33, " Whoever acknowledges me before men, I will acknowledge before my Father in heaven. But whoever disowns me before men, I will disown him before my Father in heaven." If I was asked in line at the grocery store today if I was saved, if I knew Jesus Christ as my Father in heaven, I would say, "YES YES YES." But the same person listening to me answer the question, is the same person that witnessed my eyes rolling in the back of my head in utter impatience at how slow the line was moving maybe two seconds prior.


Can I write Christian on my biography form? Yes. Can I mark "regular attendee" on my welcome form at church? You bet your sweet bottom. Can I check, "lived my life for God and God only"? Not even on a Sunday ( an eight-o-clock in the morning after getting off work at two in the morning Sunday). When I died in the bathtub tonight. I left nothing. I left this Earth in the same way I found it. And the funny thing that isn't so funny is, we, well by we, I mean I, can rationalize so easily, that changing the lives of five people won't matter, so why even try? I have this all - or - nothing attitude that allows me far too easily, to walk away from an opportunity to share Christ, or at times to simply behave as a Christian, because it's "just one person". Well Jesus was just "one person", and Mary was just one person, and Rahab was just one person, and they changed the world. If I died tomorrow, at least that would have been one.


When I came back from my funeral, I realized I was sitting in the bathtub, with Francis Chan's Crazy Love pressed against my forehead, in the same exact position as Julia Roberts, playing Elizabeth in Eat, Pray, Love, was sitting in the bathtub listening to her friends arguing over her current mental state. I had Chan, Julia had an Italian Dictionary. Julia was playing a character whom was going through a divorce and a difficult, transformative time in her life; and I am done playing a character who isn't. I devote hours a week to exercise. I will lose sleep to get that extra cardio in, or to make sure I have my lunch packed for work so I don't eat fast food. I get up an hour early to make sure my make-up (Bondo as my Dad would call it) is perfect, and my hair is perfect, and my outfit is perfect; but my soul is broken. I show up to work looking beautiful, and skinny, and tan (California tan, need I remind you); but I am tired, and grumpy, and stressed, and lethargic. If Christ was reflected through perfectly applied eyeliner and acrylic nails, I'd be golden; but He is not; and the second I opened my lip glossed mouth I ruin it for myself, and anyone around me. Ask me my Starbucks order, I'll smile and give it to you; compliment my hair or nails, I'll blush and whisper, "thank you so much", ask me about why I believe in the Lord I serve and you should too, and I'll clam up and spit, "I'm not defending my religion to you, go get me my latte." And we wonder why God is missing? (and by we, I mean me). Why is God missing in schools, offices, gyms, courtrooms, college classrooms, therapy offices, and coffeehouses? Because I'm a believer, and I won't even bring Him there. I would rather lay under the radar than be labeled the Holy roller and watch seas part when I come into work. I would rather my outside reflect physical beauty than a love for God that brings me a joy that radiates from within.


And I am tired, and grumpy, and stressed, and lethargic. And I am not alone.


Don't get me wrong, I promote physical activity, and exercise, and a healthy lifestyle. I am dedicating my career to focusing women on a lifestyle that promotes mind, body, soul; with God at the center. I advocate a woman taking the time to get a pedicure every two weeks, or buy a shirt from her favorite store, or WHATEVER it is that makes YOU feel as beautiful as YOU are. I love nothing more than a woman in killer shoes who walks with a confidence that screams, "I'm living my purpose". But I am tired of feeling uncomfortable walking by a group of women in church, wondering what they're thinking about my outfit, my hair, my new lipstick color. I am tired of this being how we evaluate our sisters, I am tired of this being all I am worth, I am tired of giving women the power to take confidence that should stem from my God alone, and I am tired of knowing that if I'm not walking by that group, I am a part of it.






I am tired, and grumpy, and stressed, and lethargic. I am perfectly tweezed and arched, I am smelling nice and matched head to toe, and I am tired. And I am not alone.






I died in a bathtub tonight. A bathtub filled with expensive bubble bath and Epsom salts. I went into that bathtub excited to let the warm water soothe my sour muscles, and a good read to convict me and take me away for awhile. And I heard the water dripping, "you're wasting your time"; drip, " but it's not your time to waste"; drip, "when does it become about more than this"; drip, "your life is empty because you serve two masters"; drip, "twenty years at the same church and you're barely more than an attendee"; drip, "should have said hi to the lady on the treadmill next to you"; drip....."should have"....drip....."what a wasted opportunity"....drip.....tired....."I'm so tired"...drip..... grumpy....drip....... and then I died in the bathtub. And when I walked out, I was alive in Christ. For the first time in twenty years of church attendance and Christian lifestyle (attempts) I really got that verse. In a way true to God and all His glory, I walked out of the water, and I dried off, and I got it.


I am still tired, but I am excited. I am not grumpy, because I have no reason to be. I am not stressed, because half that mess wasn't important in the first place, and the half that matters is being handled by God, far more powerful than me, and I am not lethargic.. because I am alive and made new again in Christ.


If I die a week from now, trust you, me, there will be people at that funeral that will say, "I finally started seeing her love for Christ, she seemed so happy in her last days". And who knows, maybe one of them will have been touched by me. One is enough. One is beautiful. I just hope, that the one I touch, knows me well enough to know, I wear MAC, even at my funeral. Make sure they get that right. Amen.