Radical is Radical

So I'm finally reading Radical.

Wow.

Ouch.

And, wow, again.

I decided a hot bath with chapter four would be relaxing and get me closer to achieving my goal of finishing one book this season.

Why is it that being a mom suddenly means I no longer finish books?

As a side note, let me just mention I've learned that Radical isn't a book you take to the tub if you intend to relax your mind. Nor is it a book to grab if you are hoping for someone named Calgon to take you away.

Instead, you might find yourself sitting upright, vigorously scrubbing away layers of both dead and live skin cells and hair follicles as you suddenly feel the need to run 42 miles except that it is 11:30 p.m. and you are naked because you are in the tub. Also, it is 33 degrees because Texas has finally realized it is DECEMBER. So, instead, you get all that energy gained from, "This book gets it!" and you turn it into exfoliating to the fifth layer of the epidermis (yes, I wikipedia'd that).

And then you might find yourself so connected to the book you start adding your own notes to the front and back covers of the book because the words are just pouring out of your heart. You don't even have to think.

So here is what I wrote (and more...because you know I'm wordy)...

So many years of restlessness. A deep-seated desire for there to be more. I was following "the plan" for my life. And I was happy. College degreed, married, living in the suburbs, going to church, having kids, etc. But something didn't sit right. Was I going to get to heaven and go, "Well, what was all that about?" Was I going to be hanging out with James at the banquet table and say, "Man, that was a great life. I tried not to sin, I forgave others, I cried for starving babies on t.v., I taught Sunday school and, get this, Jim...I even went on some MISSION TRIPS. I lived to be pretty old but I could still take my grandkids skiing. And, then I DIED IN MY SLEEP because that is the American Dream right there. Pretty sweet, huh?"

Awkward pause because James is just so in awe of the awesomeness of my life. To help him out, I ask, "So...how did you go, Jim? What was that? You died by the sword? Like a beheading?"

My turn to deliver the awkward pause.

Then I turn to my left and there is Abednego. And I can't really make conversation with him because, HELLO, he walked into FLAMES for God.

Thankfully, Luke is across the table and I know this guy was a doctor. I just know he owned my dream house on a lake. And Andrew is next to him. I remember something about him fishing and dropping his nets or something. I'm gonna guess he got some good fishing in once he retired from following Jesus.

But, seriously, when I think about the end of my life and I ask, "What was that all about?" I don't want to have missed the point. I spent many years feeling like, somehow, something told me life as I knew it wasn't it. There had to be more. We've got one life to live. Shouldn't there be more to it than the stuff?

But it couldn't just be that I had some need to be some kind of awesome. To live on the edge just so I could stand a little taller at the judgement seat or so I could feel important and have "an identity." A "legacy."

No, it can't be about me and simply filling a need for my life to count.

Instead, it's gotta be about His glory and His purpose. If everything is made FOR Him, then I am grouped in there. He sets eternity in the hearts of men. We all have that itch to do something with our lives. We all have that deep-seated something that says, "There's something much bigger than living and then dying."

I used to have a "go with the flow" attitude toward the American Dream. To do what was expected, to get to enjoy comfort, family and security.

No more.

I want to get to heaven and be able to say, "A-HA."

"So that's what that was all about."