the God who sees me.

There is a story in Genesis about an Egyptian slave named Hagar. She didn't have a lot going for her. In fact, looking at her story in whole, she basically had nothing going for her. She served two of the biggest celebrities in the Old Testament--Sarah and Abraham--so it's no surprise that her story often gets pushed to the side.

Most people find Sarah's story to be the fascinating one. You know, how she was barren for so many years only to have a child in her ripe old age. In fact, she named him Isaac--which in Hebrew translates more or less into "laughter". She thought it was so hilarious that God would grant her a first born when she was ridiculously old that she felt it appropriate to give him a name that expressed her sentiments. And sure, I guess it's kind of a big deal. A miracle, if you will. And so her story gets talked about the most. Which is fine.

But there is another story there that is of equal importance. Before Sarah ever got pregnant, Hagar was the first to bear Abraham a son. Actually, this is where her trouble began. Since Sarah could not conceive, it was Hagar who was sent to Abraham in an attempt to carry on the family line. Fertile woman that she was, she had no trouble getting pregnant and eventually giving birth to Abraham's son, Ishmael.

This made Sarah mad. Because even though it was her idea in the first place, what barren, old woman really wants to see the hot lady concubine be the one to start a family with her husband? Not Sarah. And so Hagar was mistreated. Which is understandable, but incredibly unfair. She had no control over the situation--this is what being a slave meant. She was there to serve, relinquishing all rights not only as a woman, but as a person as well. 

Eventually, Hagar couldn't take it anymore. She fled to the desert (despite being completely pregnant and void of resources), hoping to escape the brutalities of Sarah's despise for her.

Except God had a plan. He knew how important Hagar's son would be--how important Hagar was to the story. He commanded her to go back, but not before promising that her descendants would be "too numerous to count."

And in the midst of the pain and suffering and hopelessness, this promise brought Hagar life. She knelt, right there in the middle of the desert, pregnant as can be, and declared:

"You are the God who sees me."

Damn.

I don't know about you, but if I was in this situation, I would be hard pressed to be praying any kind of thankful nonsense like that. She was shit out of luck. She was pregnant,  alone, and most likely scared as Hell. Sarah hated her, baby daddy  Abraham already had a wife, and she was a SLAVE. Sure, it was a miracle that Sarah got pregnant. But Hagar? She was the miracle. All that faith and love and wisdom wrapped up into one really crappy life. And through it all--she found solace in the God who saw her.

I think this is the beauty of who God is, though. He sees us....He really sees us. He sees our pain. And I don't think He stands in judgement over how we carry it. I think He bends down low to meet us, to carry us through the hardships that this very cruel world can unjustly bestow upon our shoulders. He looks at our shame and bitterness, and He feels great love. He feels compassion because He is the God who sees.

And you know what, I think part of the way God sees us includes the omission of how we often see ourselves. He doesn't see the failure that we so readily claim as a part of our identity.When He looks at us He sees who we were meant to be. Our potential. Our worth. He sees love and hope and promise. Where we see a lack of importance He sees infinite worth. And it's His desire that we see the same.

He sees the pain and believes the promise. And because of that you can trust again--you can rest knowing that He knows you. He stands in awe of you. He never belittles the hurt and always remains faithful.

He is the God who sees you.

May you be able to see the same this holiday season.

teach me that you love me.

I prayed these words over and over for a full two years of my life. I was so lost in my pain--so blinded to everything good and right and hopeful in the world. I was confused. I felt let down and left out by the God who claimed that He cared. I had given life my best shot and had come up short on everything. On joy, on peace and most of all on love.

My journals were wrought with questions. The tear-streaked pages were evidence of the desperate heart that desperately needed to be heard. Even now as I look back on those entries I cringe at the complete loss of sanity I experienced in the midst of the most turbulent season of my life. I truly cannot believe I made it through, and I am thankful to now be in a place where I can reflect thoughtfully on my past self.

However, what is most incredible about the ability to reflect is that I am now able to see the miracle that God was working all along. Yeah, I said it--miracle. Anyone who knew me over the last couple of years can attest that it is true. My life is a miracle.

Here's the thing--people always say that their hardest times in life are the times that they felt closest to God. Now, I wouldn't necessarily say that is always the case. There were times that I felt the Lord's presence in the darkest hours, but then there were also a lot of times that I didn't. In fact, there were times that I felt nothing but emptiness. I felt nothing but exhaustion. I felt nothing but sadness. I felt that there was no possible way that God gave a crap about my life, because the emptiness and exhaustion and sadness were so deeply penetrating and so unbelievably never-ending. No one told me that pain could be like that. That life could be like that. So void of hope and challenging in the most ridiculous ways.

Where was the God that loved me?

And so, that became my request of Him--teach me that you love me.

In my finances--teach me that you love me.
In my relationships--teach me that you love me.
In my job--teach me that you love me.
In my depression and fear--teach me that you love me.
In sickness and death--teach me that you love me.

I could go on. There were so many ways that I had given up on the Lord. So much bitterness and anger in my heart. So much doubt. I stopped believing. I stopped trusting. But I never stopped saying, "teach me that you love me."

I had to. I had nothing left. I think your body and mind get to a point of surrender where you stop fighting the way things are and give in to the process of pain. Its a strangely freeing experience--to know that there is nothing you can immediately do to change your situation or what you are going through. To confront the things that you have spent so much time running from. To ask yourself the honest questions--of yourself and God.

I would never choose to go back to that season. But I would never ask for it to be removed from my life either. Because here's the thing about it--God showed up.

Not in the sense that he wasn't there one day, and then suddenly appeared the next. I think its more that He was there all along, that He knew my heart and knew what I needed to get to the point where I am today. I was just too burdened and weary at the time to lift up my head and see him bowing low to meet my broken life.

I came across this verse in my old journal today. It was towards the end of my fight, right before I was to enter the joyful season I am currently in:

Israel, put your hope in the Lord, for with the Lord is unfailing love and with him full redemption.

Yesterday, I was talking to my housemate about what God meant to me, and I found myself saying these exact words: "I feel like I have learned to trust God with my whole life, because I know that He loves me and knows me far better than I know myself, and the peace I have in being able to rest in Him is well worth the wait."

Wait, I said that? Those words came from my mouth?

I have learned to trust in love again. I could not be more blessed, or more in love with life as I am right now. I feel whole, I feel healed. I feel this great big hope that I want to share with everyone, that I want to explode with because I feel it so strongly. I know deep in my heart that He loves me. I know that I know that I know. He has taught me in such a sweet way that could never be replaced or reproduced by anything other than what I have been through these past years.

Our God is real. He is unfailing in hope, fully redeeming in love, and absolutely 100% for us.

He loves you. Let that be lesson enough for today.

Restless.

I think we were born into restlessness. As I have gotten older it has become painfully apparent to me that we were not meant for this broken world. Our souls were built for so much more life than what is offered here on earth. And because of it, we are always striving, always challenging, and always in a state of restlessness.

Or at least I am. I had the opportunity to visit some of my beautiful friends from NYC this past week, and I was reminded of how alive I am really capable of being. It was so good for my heart to experience joy and laughter and real, genuine love through my time with them. They bring out the very best version of Sarah there is, and I always leave feeling extra privileged to be a part of their lives.

But this time, I also left with a deep sense of restlessness. And you know, I think much of this stems from a fear of losing control. I want the things that I want when I want them. I want to know that God cares about my happiness, that He is going to deliver the things that I have neatly written out on a list of life expectations for the coming years. And until I receive them, I feel restless.

Or so I think. But really, the truth is--I can be satisfied and fully rested in the here and now.

One of my friends put it so simply when he said "you will never come second by putting God first." And you know what, I think he is right. The fact of the matter is, the Lord created us restless so that we would find real rest within Him. I know it's a typical Christian idea that only Jesus can satisfy, and that I am just another person writing another blog about what is really the whole meaning of the gospel. But here's the thing--so many people write about it because it is really, really true.

I could spend a whole lot of time complaining about my life. I could also spend alot of time planning out my future, fighting and pushing and running really hard after the dreams that I must have. I have already spent many nights in fear of a hopeless future--a terrifying world where I live alone with cats and work as a secretary in a dark office in the most remote part of suburbia.

And so then I feed into the restlessness. I work hard to avoid any possible requests that God may make of me--any challenges that may make me uncomfortable or force me to give up the things I really want.

Here's the thing--God is for us. Did you know that? He loves us. He ultimately wants us to be satisfied and most of all, He wants us to take our restlessness and rest our hopes in Him. I have spent so much time looking for the place where I belong. It is tempting to think that if only this or that were to happen or if I were different or had another job life would be better.

The incredible thing is, we can take our restlessness to Christ and He uses it. He directs us, fulfills us and leads us to the very places we never thought we would be. He does this not because He's vindictive or wants us to suffer, but because He knows there is no greater peace and joy that can be experienced except that which is found in Him.

I don't want to miss out on my life anymore by being restless. I want to be very still, to listen to what God has to say to me about myself and my day-to-day experiences. He can do so much if only I let Him. And that is the tricky part--we have to let him. We can not accept His blessings if we do not learn to let go of our ultimately unfullilling ideals of happiness.

Mostly, I think we want easy satisfaction. We want to be gratified now, and we would rather settle for less love than more. And when we are restless and then run after those things which are short-lived and small glimpses of true life, that's exactly what we are doing. We are rejecting the life which Christ lovingly gave us, we are settling for half of what has already been made available to us on the cross.

So, be restless in the best possible way--run after Him who made you, knows you and wants to see His glory displayed wherever you may be.

You won't regret it.

The countdown.

One year ago at about this time, my life was changed. By Beyonce.

I'm not kidding. If you want a picture perfect painting of a woman with unapologetic strength and incredible beauty, just pop in one of her fabulous CDs. She has taught me the very important aspect of sass in every day life. She has brought truth to my questions of single-hood and empowered me to become a survivor. And yes, I do that believe that girls run the world--did you even have to ask?

Most personal to me, however, is the fact that she taught me to count down. I don't know whether or not you have heard the actual song, Countdown, by Ms. Sasha Fierce--but if you haven't, you should, and you should right NOW. I have posted the youtube link below for your convenience.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2XY3AvVgDns

I mean, can an anthem get any better than this? If you want to know how to love someone wholeheartedly while also remaining fiercely independent, Beyonce is most certainly your woman. She makes it all sound so easy and so AWESOME at the same time. You tell me you didn't want to prance around your kitchen in some hott high heels after listening to THAT.

Anyway, the Countdown is mostly meaningful to me because it signifies how much growth can occur in a year. Last fall, I was a struggling person. Actually, I don't even know if you could call me a person at that point in time. It was a tough life, you can take my word for it. I was running after Jesus, for sure, depending on my friends (and therapist), alot, and doing whatever I could to find the spark of life that had seemed to disappear in my soul. But I was dying inside. Slowly, painfully, I was fading into darkness.

And then--a halo appeared.

Now, I know you are thinking I'm being over dramatic, and truth be told--I am . But I really do feel like God sent me the angel of Beyonce to boost my spirits and remind me that, I too, have a Sasha Fierce within me. I have the potential for greatness, respect, and all around kick-ass awesomeness. And what was sweet about the Countdown, was that it was OK that I wasn't quite there yet. That didn't mean I wasn't trying, it didn't mean that I lacked what it took at the time, and it most certainly didn't mean that it would never happen. It was, however, the start of my very own countdown.

I would play this song over and over and over again, until the words no longer held meaning for someone else but for me, Sarah, the girl who had exhausted her options and come up empty so many times before. The girl who never took chances, who accepted life as it was handed to her, who refused to be anything more than what she was for fear of failure.

One year later, that girl does not exist. The countdown has dwindled to one, and Sarah?

She's back. Rocking those high heels and demanding from life all that she so sadly gave up before.

So thank you, Beyonce. Thank you for teaching us to believe in who we are, for reminding us of all we have to offer, and most of all--for teaching us to countdown to the most fabulous version of ourself there is or ever will be.

The coloring book.

There are days where I wake up and that feeling is still there. You know--that one. The feeling of depression, hopelessness, despair.

For as good and as great as my days and life have been lately, I still get them. Those days.

I don't like waking up like that. Feeling empty and purposeless inside. Feeling dead--numb to the world and apathetic to my relationships. Feeling like my life doesn't matter, that life itself doesn't matter. The worst is feeling nothing at all--no pain, no anxiety. Just blank. A canvas that has lost its color and substituted all that beauty for grey. For nothing.

Well, if therapy (and being a counseling graduate student) has taught me anything thus far it is that I have the power to PAINT IN ALL THE COLORS I WANT. I have the choice to use whatever materials I can handle, really. Newspaper, yarn, chalk, pastels--they are all mine and my responsibility to engage. Art doesn't just happen on its own--you have to create it.

I think that life, by in large, is very similar. There is a whole lot of mystery out there--a whole lot of beauty and love and peace that is meant to be experienced--that needs to be experienced by someone. Its pretty easy to get stuck in routine. We get caught up in our schedules and our responsibilities. We forget how to color outside the lines. We forget to find joy and and meaning in the world around us. Most of all, we forget ourselves. We dress ourselves in grey and substitute the canvas for a coloring book. We want direction, not imagination. We crave control and exchange adventure for what seems safest.

Ultimately, we lose.

LIFE is WAITING. It's there, just for you. There is so much, so much good to be done in the world. Hope is a possibility--for you, for others. We have dreams to fulfill, our own dreams as well as the dreams of others. You can change, and in turn, change the world.

So today, when you catch yourself in a cycle you don't want to be in, do something. Anything--take a walk, watch the sunset, ask a friend to get coffee. Don't stay in your cubicle and color in that damn coloring book. Buy a canvas, fill it with color. And in the same way, color your days with the things that are important--the beauty of love, laughter, and always life.

To the kids of Mont Lawn Camp-I owe you.

To my MLC campers:

After my first summer at camp, a teacher I had asked me to compose a letter to someone I thought needed to hear how I felt about them. I chose you all. Thank you for allowing me to be a part of your lives for all these summers--you are my heroes and I am so incredibly blessed by what each of you have brought to my life.

Don't ever forget it!

An Open Ended Letter the Kids of Mont Lawn Camp

            Do you know how loved you are? Do you know that you are precious, unique, and one of a kind? No one can replace you in this world. Your smile, your laugh, and all your movements are things to rejoice over. The day you were born you brought forth light and life you didn’t even know you had. Even if you do nothing at all, your importance does not dwindle. You are beautiful by just being.

            When you are sad, when you feel that you are nothing special, do you know how meaningful and irreplaceable you are? You are worth everything, without the makeup, clothes, or money. You don’t have to be a good dancer, singer, or anything else. You are wonderful just as you are. Do you know that? You don’t have to be tough, and you don’t have to fight back. Your power does not come from other people, no one can tell you who you are or what you deserve—because you deserve the world.

            If you fall, mess up, or feel unsuccessful, know that you have grace. Know that not one is perfect in this world, and never will be. Outward appearances and brittle smiles mean nothing if your heart is not in the right place. All that is expected of you is what you can give, and that, my dear, is everything. Don’t be afraid of failure, because it does not determine your value. I sincerely believe that you can do anything. Dream big, little one.

            Please know that it is ok to cry. That it is ok to depend on someone else, and ok to love. Yes, it may be painful, and yes, you will get hurt, but there is nothing left in this life if you close your heart to every opportunity to care and be cared for. Move forward in hope and faithfulness, giving help to those who need it. Pick others up as you go, because sometimes healing comes from walking with them through their own struggles. You will be amazed at your own strength.

            When you feel that you are at your breaking point, that nothing will be right again—remember that life is always worth living. There is such joy yet to be had. You have the opportunity to write your own story with whatever you want in it, the very world is at your fingertips. Don’t be ashamed of your background; don’t be ashamed of where you’re from, because they have made you who you are today. You are capable of all things. Your story is one to be proud of. You are smart, you will excel, and I believe in you so very much.

            Thank you for being a part of my journey, you have no idea how much it has changed me. I have been inspired by your hearts, by your talents, by your very presence in my life. I have received such joy from watching you work together, love each other, and selflessly place your friends and family before yourself. You put almost every adult I know to shame, including myself. It has truly be a privilege to spend time with every one of you—I hope you know that you have taught me to love, that you have taught me the tenderness of caring for others, and the life that comes from opening your heart in vulnerability.

            Continue to smile, continue to reach out, and continue to let your colors show. You are going to rock the very core of this world with who you are. Stop comparing yourself to others. You are who you are, where you are—you can and will make a difference however little it may seem. And always remember, please always remember, that you are a blessing in every way. Rest knowing that you simply are—and that is more than enough.

Have the courage to be OK.

How did I get to be so blessed in this life?

There are these friends I have from this camp I worked at--I call them family. We are a diverse, crazy group of individuals that only God himself could have possibly placed together. We come from different  everything. Different backgrounds, different states, different ethnicities and completely different cultures. Who would have thought that a White girl from small town suburbia and a Puerto Rican from the Bronx could ever be friends, much less familia?

This is just one example of the many awesomely inspiring relationships that I have had the privilege of experiencing first hand.

You see if I had to sum up what my friends from camp--my family--have taught me in the five years of knowing them, it's that I am loved exactly as I am. I am accepted, I am celebrated, and I am genuinely and whole-heartedly loved. Do you know what that feels like? To be surrounded by people who graciously and openly welcome your successes, your heartbreaks and even your failures into their lives? Who take you by the hand or hold you by the heart and remind you of who you are when you feel like you can't even begin to be yourself again?

It feels like heaven. It feels like God knows your heart and put those people there to show his infinite love and care for you. Not "people" in general or the stranger next to you in church. You, the individual, unique and broken as you are. He knows.

I think for me, he knows that what I needed most of all was courage.

You see, my family has courage with a capitol C in the front. It is what shapes their days--it shows up in the way they serve the people around them, in the way they view themselves, and most of all in the way they love me. They have all faced their share of challenges and some pretty dark tunnels. They have wrestled with the hard things and struggled through their doubts. There are seasons they are not so proud of, but I can find many more reasons to be proud of them. They have shown me what it means to courageously step out into the world with big expectations and even bigger dreams.


And you know what? Courage isn't always what it looks like in the movies. Sometimes it is quiet--even unseen. It can be in the decision to take a tricky job or a leap of faith on something that isn't exactly guaranteed. But best of all, I think I see it in their courage to be OK. They look at themselves, at the people around them and at me and say, "you are OK." Not, "you need to try harder" or "you could have done better" but , "YOU ARE OK."

I don't mean OK in the sense of mediocre or barely acceptable. I mean it in the all encompassing, grace inducing love filled acceptance of the person exactly as they are. When I am freaking out or insecure or positive they think I am a total failure, they look right past my crazy, grab hold of my hand and say, "YOU ARE OK." I love you, and I'm not going anywhere.

Courage. They have it--and little by little they are instilling it in me.


 So family--know that I am so incredibly thankful for every hour you have spent telling me that my crafts are the best thing the Hobby House has or ever will see. Thank you for assuring me that though I may have fifty emotional break-downs in front of you, you do not get tired of hearing me talk (though I know that sometimes you do...we've all been there). For letting me make mistakes and waiting patiently for me to grow into the person I was made to be.

And in the meantime, thanks for giving me the courage to be OK.

Be kind, rewind.

We are in a stage of life that urges us to go faster, be better and make few mistakes. It is incredibly tempting at times to shame or guilt myself into doing things that I know aren't true to who I am inside. We take jobs we hate, offer time to others that isn't really available, and dedicate little space to growing and resting our souls.

Most of all, we find ourselves in a constant battle to achieve perfection. For me, the fight is chiefly up against my perpetually annoying friend--anxiety. I oftentimes crumble under the weight of fear, playing out scenarios in my head that are far from the actual happenings or remote possibilities. And I let these thoughts win. They overtake my mind, fray the nerves of my already worn body, and crush the spirit.

They are not worth my time, or yours. They are a part of my body and yes, they do exist as parts of my everyday experience. But they do not have to be truth. They do not have to alter me and repress what I was so beautifully made to do. And I AM beautiful. I am unique and special and made for such a specific purpose. I feel things deeply and express them wildly. I'm not perfect--I speak my mind too often, become dramatic on occasion and am prone to crying easily. But these are areas for growth, not definitions of my character.

So today, be kind to yourself. When you feel your thoughts racing or your heart burdened with feelings of worthlessness--stop. Rewind. Go back to before the room started to spin and you felt the lies seeping into your being. Give yourself permission and grace to make mistakes. Value the process and value yourself most of all. We were not made to get it right the first time around, and you will get no where at all by bullying yourself into oblivion.

Be kind. Rewind--and feel free to start over again.

Baby spiders.

First off, let me just say I found three baby spiders crawling around my scalp just now.

Did I freak out?

Is that even a question?

I don't know where they came from or what they were thinking trying to nest it up in my hair, but it's safe to say I'm not going to be sleeping very peacefully tonight. One of my biggest fears is that a bunch of tiny little spiders are going to be be born at the foot of my covers and overtake me--a rational thought if YOU have ever found more than one spider comfortably crawling near all the openings that lie within the facial area of the body.

I'm finding that lately my old life has been creeping up like those spiders. There are days I think I am rid of my past ways and then BAM! Baby spider attack. Except that the spiders are the lies of my old life and the attack is much more destructive than anything a harmless eight legged creature could attempt (unless it was a poison one).

I miss the comfort of my misery. It may sound strange, but depression was always a safety net for me. I knew who I was when I was depressed and what was expected of me. It felt more natural for me and right for me to think negatively of myself than to believe something that seemed less true than the labels of "depressed" and "anxious". The lack of responsibility for myself and others was easier than getting better, and far more consistent than anything else had been in my life. I was content. And I was miserable. I had a choice to choose then so I chose it--I had to get up and get out. My life depended on it.

So I did. And I am much, much happier now. Much more filled and fruitful. Anticipatory of the glory and hope that I already feel coursing through my bones. But I also feel pangs of fear. A little freaked out about letting that old me go. About letting certain relationships go, certain expectations for my life. Certain ways that I thought would always be, certain ways of relating to myself and others. I'm resisting the change but the hairs still stand up on my back when I think about the spiders.

And so I have to brush them off. Shake them violently off, if I have to. They want to remind me, to drag me down into the web of destructive thinking. But I am smarter than they, and more capable now. Stronger, and I know that while the feeling of them crawling up my spine is enough to throw me for a spin, I am bigger and more powerful to say the least.

So I kill them with great satisfaction. I still am wary of them, careful of their sneaky ways. But I know that as time goes on they will learn to keep their distance, and I will be better at avoiding their webs. There will be less of them, until there are no more of them that plague my life.

And the old me? Squashed.

The most beautiful lightning bolt.

Her name is Tessa. She is the beautiful spark of lightning that has illuminated my life for the past five years. When I first met her, I didn't know how special she was (truth be told). I remember thinking that she was pretty and athletic, and quiet in a good way. I asked her to be my roommate for our freshman year at JMU, she agreed. I figured she would be a fine person to live with, but didn't expect us to be much more than that. We were so different--different interests, different ways of interacting, different friends.

I was dead wrong.

And that's the understatement of the century. As soon as our parents walked out that dorm room door we became absolutely and irreversibly inseparable. Something about who we were as individuals was brought to incredible life when we were around each other. She taught me to be steady and true, she let me be who I was when no one else was watching. She endured my crazy and loved every minute of it. She taught me to run and to love my body by eating well, and she nurtured my need for adventure.

Most of all, she made me laugh. Simple sentences said in complete honesty and innocence became the basis for inside jokes that would last for years to come. No one else understood our humor, and we created a world in which we were the greatest comedians of all time. I am absolutely positive that everyone loathed being around us, as it was very hard to catch up on what hours of time and daily life together had created--true, beautiful best friendship that could never compare to any other relationship in our lives. We ended up living in the same room together all four years of college, and shared much more than just common space. We had the same major, same job and were involved in the same clubs. And while there were times we definitely needed our space, we always had each other at the end of the day.

And I am so much better for it. Tessa is unlike anyone I have ever known. She has the discipline and grace of a wicked fast and wildly successful marathon runner. In fact, she is so committed to her love of running that it often competes with her relationships (I never minded). She has run countless races, at least three marathons, and has expanded her repertoire to include rocky trails and terrain. She pushes herself to be the very best that she can be, and is one of the hardest workers I have had the privilege of being around. She is always organized, always on top of things, and always there for those that are close to her.


She is also one the most kind, caring individuals you will ever meet. She is committed to her friendships, and is the best at sending cards and gifts via mail. She is encouraging and motivating, and makes you want to find the life that she has managed to grab hold of every single day. She is constantly on the go but always there in spirit--reminding you of her friendship in little ways that make the biggest difference.

Tessa knows exactly who she is. She knows what she loves, what she wants to be, and how she wants to live her life. She has never tried to be anything but herself--and I love her most for that. Having such a constant, stable and never wavering friend has been the biggest blessing at all. She is my family in every way, and I can't say enough to explain how much she means to me.

Some people say that lightning never strikes the same place twice. That the magnificent bolt that streaks the sky is a once in a lifetime experience that cannot be exactly replicated ever again. I think that friendship often occurs the same way. And Tessa...she is my lightning bolt. Whether I get married or not, there will never be another person who will replace the spot in my heart that is reserved specifically and only for her. We have the love of a lifetime filled with all the fruits of a friendship that no man will ever understand. We have walked arm in arm through the good, the bad, and the absolutely heartbreaking. We have laughed, cried, fought and grown into the women we are together. She is my friend, she is my family, and she is the spark of lightning that will never burn out.

As for me? I'm just glad I got to be a part of the strike.

Psalm 34:4.

I sought the Lord, and He answered me; He delivered me from all of my fears.

I'm sitting at the coffee shop I grew up in, the same shopping center that has been here since I was six years old--right next to my neighborhood. Not much has changed here. Shops have come and go but it has mostly stayed the same. There's the same book exchange, the same salon, the same drug store. Small changes have been made, but as a whole it is has stayed true to its moderately helpful if not sub-par shopping experience.

And as I sit here and think back on my own life, I feel the same. I have changed in many small ways, but I'm still the same girl who bought frapps and read magazines in the aisles of the Eckerd pharmacy. I have the same adventurous spirit that prompted me to turn the parking lot into a playground and the Fresh Market into a fascinating documentary on produce. I still walk here from my house, fully believing that the use of cars where bikes or feet are more than capable is a waste of life and money. I still engage my people watching skills, although in a much socially acceptable way (not as a spy who sneaks around and writes things down and creepily stalks peoples' eating habits....I was in a Harriet the Spy mode for awhile there).

I'm still me. But I'm more alive. I don't know exactly when it happened or how, but I am different than before. I am more whole. I am happier. Most of all, I am not afraid. There is still anxiety there--I think that is my natural tendency. But I'm not the nervous wreck I was before. I have become a fighter. I have seen a little bit of what I am capable of, and am hungry for more. I have seen and felt the Lord--his affection for me, his quiet confidence in the plans for my life, his joy at watching me succeed. And I have learned to trust him.

Thinking to last summer, I never could have imagined I would be where I am now. Suffering from some serious depression and anxiety, my view of myself and life as a whole was in the pits, literally. I felt fear and despair over everything. I didn't trust myself, I didn't trust my God, and I did not trust my emotions. I didn't know where life was headed, and I was terrified of the darkness that seemed to consume my waking hours. This year was an emotional and mental hell, and each day felt like a mountain with no summit. Eventually, I stopped expecting to find the top. I focused on my day-to-day, on what I could find joy and life in within the moment. It wasn't much. A cup of coffee, a phone call from a friend, a constant thankfulness for a steady job (though not exactly and easy one). And I made it through. Slowly. Painfully. With much doubt and a great deal of tears.

I stopped looking for answers. I stopped trying to figure out myself and the situations surrounding me. I stopped trying to avoid the pain and anger and sadness. I confronted myself. I confronted my emotions. I confronted the God who claimed to care about this world and the things going on in it. I couldn't see hope, and I couldn't fake it anymore.

The strange thing is, my acceptance of myself and the life that was happening around me ended up being my salvation. Instead of trying to make things work the way I wanted them to, I became aware that I may not always have the best solutions. I realized that things don't works in my timing not because God is mean, but because he is ultimately good and wise.

The most important thing I came to understand is that if there is one thing that God promises it is to be there in our emotions. While he often shows up in our circumstances, these are not the things he garentees. He comes through in his ability to instill confidence and hope, to offer peace when the world is crazy chaotic. He promises to lead us in truth--truth of who we are in him, truth of what his death really meant on the cross. He is hope, even when things are most desperate. And this hope--it is instilled in us. We are Christ--the hope of glory through Jesus. Do you know what that feels like, to know that his hope and glory are shining through you for the world to see? To know that no matter your faults, your failures, your weaknesses, that he can use you. He will use you, it is not in his nature to let you fall.

And that's how I have changed. I sought the Lord for two long years, and he answered me. Fully, without me bettering myself first. He delivered me from my fears and instilled a hope for a future. In the area that scared me most--my emotions--he brought incredible grace and truth. He propelled me to do things I would have never done before, he helped me in my fear.

I am going to grad school in the fall to be a counselor. Me, the queen of all fears. The one who is afraid of emotions, afraid of taking chances, and who fights for control. I have listened to the one who made me, and have decided to follow no matter the cost. I have decided to live.

And the King of Glory--he is going to bring hope. Through me, through you, if only we let him deliver us from our fears.

The queen of papusas.

I love food--I love Mexican food more. Perhaps someone who loves this food group more than I do is my beautifully diverse friend Kristen Frederick. Fortunately for both of us, we lived in Harrisonburg for the past five years (and more), where authentic and delicious latino food reigns supreme. You can find taco trucks nearly anywhere within this small town, and there is never a shortage of avocado, lime, or pico de gallo to be found.

The most unique dish I encountered in my time there was papusas. These are kind of hard to describe to those of us who have never had them--but I would say they are a mix between a pancake and hash brown. Kristen pretty much stumbled upon them one day and immediately convinced me they were a necessary food group....which was true for my taste buds but bad news for my stomach (an unfortunate reality of most mexican food out there). Either way, whenever I craved this or any other taco truck delicacy, I knew I could count on Kristen as a readily available and willing date. She was the queen of papusas, and continues to hold a spot in my heart as one of my very best friends.

However, Kristen's love of latino goes deeper than the comida described above. Her heart explodes for the many populations of people that represent this rich culture. She volunteers regularly for an after-school program that seeks to assist low-income, hispanic families in the community. She has traveled abroad to several spanish speaking countries, recently returning from four months of service to a women's shelter in Peru. She is both a friend and mentor to many of the women and children who live in the neighborhood behind her church, never hesitating to help in any way she can. It is not unusual to see her with a car full of kids on the way to some fun event that she had planned for them, or to find out that she had spent the day with someone who simply needed a ride to the doctor's office or hospital--she  is that gracious with her time.

Indeed, I am constantly amazed at the room in Kristen's heart for others. It seems like there is never a shortage of love for those that are most important to her, and even to those she barely knows. She has to be one of the most empathetic people that I have ever been around. In some of my darkest moments Kristen was there--not only to hold my hand but to cry with me. Her patience and endurance through the trials of life are an incredible blessing to those whose burdens are too heavy to carry alone. She takes on these hardships as her own, asking no questions and demanding no answers. She actively loves no matter what the situation. As Father Boyle (founder of Homeboy Ministries) puts it, she lets the pain of others have a purchase on her life. Her compassion passes no judgement and her arms open wide to those who suffer, offering a place of refuge and protection for the weary. She is the embodiment of a gentle spirit, and I am privileged to have witnessed her gifts first hand.

Kristen is also a Registered Nurse, and while I know the job can be less than gratifying at times, I have no doubt that she is excellent at what she does. Her hope is to eventually serve in those countries which have little or no health care, another example of her selflessness. I know that wherever she ends up she will continue to bring love and light to those around her, for these are natural aspects of who she is that cannot be stifled by her surroundings. Her dedication to caring for others physically, emotionally and spiritually are sure to transform the people she serves--no matter how long the process may take.

As I mentioned before, papusas are hard to describe because they are difficult to define in texture and in taste. They are a little bit of everything--meat, cheese, beans--and are prepared different ways depending on where you go. They are surprising. They are an experience--the truck, the smells, the people and the food. But they are always good. And the reina of papusas? She is the same. You don't know the gem that you have until you are with her and can understand her love for you. It is surprising, and it is an experience straight from the heart of Jesus. And while papusas come and go, this queen will rule the world with her goodness and kindness and extraordinary heart for years to come--and we will all be better off for it.

The Unkle of the world.

If you haven't met Steph Raj, you haven't met an Unkle. I'm not sure where or how it was started that she should call herself an Uncle (much less an Unkle), but it's the truth all the same. She is the prime example of a crazy but harmless relative that rules the world and changes lives. It's really that simple.

 I'm not kidding or exaggerating when I say she is the stuff of miracles. Her ability to love people is supernatural--the kind that Jesus always talks about in the Bible. I know of no one else who so readily embraces her enemies, has patience with the poor in spirit and who sacrifices so willingly what others begrudgingly give up. Her understanding of people and their needs goes past compassion and straight to the heart of empathy. She goes into the darkest places courageously and confidently, knowing that there is always hope and light to be found even in the most desperate of situations. She fights for life and always wins, paying no mind to how big or small the victories may seem to others. It doesn't matter to her--all people are worth the same amount of care and effort in her book.

Mostly I love her because she has the best sense of humor I know. She can have fun with anyone, and makes everyone laugh at her ridiculous jokes or (affectionate) impressions. She doesn't take things too seriously, which is really an advantage in the grand scheme of things. Most importantly, she doesn't take herself seriously. Steph is the biggest example and greatest receiver of grace. She lets it permeate all of who she is as well as her actions towards others--a rare gift that few are able to acquire. She doesn't give up when things get hard or messy. Truly, the perseverance she has in believing the best in people makes those people believe the best in themselves. It's an incredible and beautiful thing, really.

The reason I can say these things about the Unkle are because 1) she has demonstrated them in my own life, and 2) she has demonstrated them towards her campers/staff every summer I have known her. We both work for a non-profit organization that serves low-income kids from New York City (an adventurous feat in itself). She is incredibly talented at counseling the young girls that are placed in her care for the week, and is able to speak to them with great authority and humility all at once. And her campers eat it up. They trust her and believe her when she talks about Jesus. They know she expects the best from them and know she is serious enough about their lives to hold them to a higher standard than the rest of the world does. She breaks them down and builds them up. They go home changed forever, knowing that they are wholly loved and accepted on a level they may never have experienced before. Miracles, I tell ya.

During the school year, Steph is studying to be a nurse, which is maybe the best profession she could ever pick short of being an Unkle. Once again, I am constantly impressed by her diligence in working towards this goal. No matter what the obstacles are that come her way, she beats the crap out of them. She is a force to be reckoned with, and never takes no as an answer. There is no doubt in my mind that wherever she ends up, she will continue to transform the lives of those she encounters. She loves hard, and isn't scared away easily. I am so blessed and so thankful to have her as one of my friends, and I know that anyone who knows her would say the same. So thanks, God, for sending her out and making her so naturally amazing--the world will never be the same.

The completing joy of community.

"I have told you this so that my joy may be in you and that your joy may be complete. My command is this: Love each other as I have loved you."

To me, community is the tangible representation of love. I have seen many examples of love being displayed individually or in particular instances. But I think that the love found in a community of close knit friends is the most beautiful of all.

Community is messy--I think that's why love found within its walls is so special. To find a group of people who are able to walk together through life faithfully and full of compassion is a unique feat worth paying attention to. Relationships take work. Relationships between couples take even more work. Relationships between and among more than three people can be seemingly impossible.

And I'm not talking about those communities in which you know peoples' names but not their hearts. You know the ones I'm talking about. The ones where you see someone in passing and promise to get coffee or catch up "when things get less busy." Let's be honest here--it's not going to happen. I always promise to give up that game, but fear of seeming rude seems to overrule that decision. It should probably be more important to me to be genuine than popular, but again, let's be honest. Most of the time, we love ourselves way more than we love others.

So, I'm talking about those small and rare communities that really live out life together. That attend every wedding, graduation, baby shower or dinner party that there is. That are present in the best of times and also in the really hard times. Most of all, the ones that are there in the pretty ugly times. The times where you are perhaps the worst version of yourself, but they still show up and love you and remind you of who you truly are again. Those are the communities I think that we were made to create and sustain, and the ones that we so often give up on.

I will be the first to say, I am absolutely terrible at community stuff. I am 100% an introvert by nature. I love being by myself. I have alot of fun by myself. It's so much easier for me to exist on my own. It's much safer, and much less complicated. You will most often find me in the corner at parties, or clinging to someone I am familiar with. I can be extroverted if I want to and am trying really hard, but it is most definitely not my first choice.

But lately, I have been craving community. It's true. All my friends are really surprised when we get together and I beg everyone to hang out or stay up or play a game together. I think it's the loss of them and the dispersion of our lives that has made me this way. I have realized how blessed I was to have such close, loving friends to experience the last five years with.

Most of all, I have been learning the healing nature of communities and those friendships within them. I was almost positive that I needed to spend this summer in solitude, prayer, and intense personal time with God. And I have needed that--it has centered me and grown my heart in many ways. But the most and best healing that has come has been from my time spent with friends. They have slowly and surely brought the Sarah back out that has been missing for the past year.


They have listened to my stories and my heartache, have encouraged me and told me truth about who I am and who God has always been. They have made me laugh so hard I cry and moved me with their own thoughts on faith and courage and life. They have been genuine--both in their love and vulnerability. They have shared themseleves in humility and offered me much, much grace.

If you find yourself in a community like this, hold on to them. Make the effort. Buy the ticket, drive the miles to see and spend time with them. They are the most important relationships in your life. Love them well because it brings you joy, and most of all, because it makes you complete.

The extraordinary peek-a-boo opponent.

Peek-a-boo is a pretty normal game to play with kids. It's a really easy way to keep a baby entertained. It can even been fun for the adult to play if the child is interactive and easily amused. We've all been there--made the faces and laughed with delight at the immediate, joyous reaction.

Have you ever played it ten times in a row? How about twenty? How about five times an hour every hour for a whole day? Times 180 days?

Erika Gascho has. And she is my hero. My extraordinary peek-a-boo opponent.



Twin day!

I had the privilege of getting to know Erika when I worked as an assistant in a multiple disabilities classroom this past year. She was the teacher of our students, and even more so, a teacher of me. We started the year with nine kids, and settled about half-way through with six. Trust me--in that classroom six was still an enormous number. Our beautiful, unique and particular children required everything from us. Emotionally, physically and socially they depended on our care to survive. There were good days, and there were bad days. All around, it was the hardest and most demanding job I have ever had.

Erika (though she would deny it) was truly a life changer in that classroom. She was so attentive to the needs of every child, and her endless energy and positive interactions were nothing short of inspiring. After just one week of working with her, she changed my entire perception of special needs students. That girl listened. She was able to hear and see and feel things that I was incapable of. She loved our kids with such a genuine and pure heart. She enjoyed them. You could see it on her face, in the way she taught and provided for them.

And I will be the first to tell you, that class was no walk in the park. We both struggled. There were times when we wanted to quit, where we felt hopeless, where we didn't know what else we could do. But if there is one thing that Erika taught me, it was that those kids were worth it. That they had personalities and lives to live that deserved to be shared with the world. And while we were definitely burnt out towards the end, there is no doubt in my mind that she loved those students with her whole heart. She carried their burdens, fought for them, and never stopped showing compassion.

Best of all, she knows how to laugh! We had so many funny moments with those kids, and there is no one else I would have rather shared them with. The amount of inside jokes we had was kind of sickening, and I'm sure annoying to anyone who hung out in our classroom for more than five minutes. Whenever I ever hear or see anyone playing peek-a-boo, I will forever think of her and the endless times she played that game with our students. And let me tell you, no adult could match her willingness to play it over and over again. No. One.



Erika and her husband, Andrew

Finally, (I could seriously write forever about her) she was my very best friend this year. As I have mentioned before, this season of life was incredibly hard for me--maybe the hardest. She walked through it with me boldly, with great patience, and with no hesitation. She made me feel heard and well loved. She gave advice when needed and never made me feel small. In short, she became my sister. As one of the teachers at Smithland said, we went through war together. I don't think anyone could ever replace her this year, and I am SO THANKFUL that she was a part of my life. God certainly knew what He was doing giving us each other.

So Erika--here's to you! Thank you for being my teacher, friend, sister, and ultimate peek-a-boo opponent. You are going to continue to change lives whether you like it or not...get ready world, you will never be the same!

The greatest sap I know.

I have decided to dedicate some of my posts to the great women in my life--a privilege and blessing to be able to write about those who have influenced and changed me with their love, passion, and character. I wrote about some of them generally a couple of posts ago, but I realized that they deserve their own sections and introductions to the blogging world.

So the first person I am writing about is my beautiful sap of a friend, Victoria Lama. Now, some people view the word "sap" in a negative light, but I assure you I only mean it in the most positive and affirming way. This girl loves everything even slightly romantic, artistically moving, or moderately inspiring. You know those girls who go to a wedding and complain about being single or make gagging noises at the gushy displays of love? This is not Victoria. She eats it up. She lives for it. Truly, her appreciation of the good things in life is so genuine that she can be nothing but endearing to those around her.                   

This is only part of the reason I love her. The second reason has to do with her incredibly insightful wisdom and deep understanding of emotions. I cannot even count the number of times I have gone to her with my issues--be it boyfriend troubles, stress at work, or just day to day emotional funks. She always knows exactly what to say. Better yet, I know that she emphasizes and does not judge me for what I am feeling. She is always honest and never complains about how much I talk. If anything, she encourages me to process more and makes me feel very validated in whatever it is I am rambling on about.

Victoria is also an adventurous cook. She loves looking up new recipes and isn't afraid to try less typical things. I often come home to find her baking or chopping or frying up food. And the best part is, she always shares with me!!! So not only does she inspire me in her culinary endeavors, but she also challenges me to be generous with my gifts--and one of her gifts is definitely cooking. She makes the best pumpkin cookies and is very invested in her burritos--two things that might possibly make her my favorite chef. She is proof that putting time and effort into food is a necessary part of healthy living that no one should be too busy to include.

Finally, I have to say that Victoria loves people well. She recognizes the good parts of everyone, and always tries to find a way to make those around her comfortable. She is content to enjoy a person as he or she is, and this makes her rare indeed. I have learned so much from her desire to include people, and I have been so blessed to be one of the people included in her life. I will miss her next year as I move to VA Beach, but I know she will continue to change lives as a teacher (just one more year of school)! Thanks for being a part of my year, Vicky!!

Friends are fun.

It's been about two weeks since school got out, and I have to say I was somewhat disappointed when my life didn't improve drastically the hour that blessed school bus rolled away. I have to admit that a huge part of me felt that this break would somehow solve all my problems--cure my heartache, heal my wounds, and miraculously present hope in a perfectly wrapped box. Mostly, I think I thought that time alone and journaling and praying would renew me instantaneously. Well, after a whole week and one half of talking to no one but myself and the Kardashians (yes, on television), I realized that I need to go. I didn't know where, I didn't know for what--I just knew that my mental and emotional health depended on it.

So I packed up my car and visited some friends. First it was Fredericksburg to see my small group/YL friends. These girls are my truth tellers. They are beautiful and unique and fierce, all in one. They know the Lord in a genuine way, and have a special gift in bringing out the best in people. Visiting them was like finding a part of myself again--a part of me that I had forgotten about and was unable to recall. They reminded me that I was beautiful and unique too. That I have things to offer that are special to who I am as a person, that God has a very specific purpose for my life that cannot be carried out by anyone else. I am so thankful for time with them and for the blessing that their lives are to me. There is no other group of women that I admire more, and I am continuously humbled by their love.

Next, I went to see my dear friend Christin, who is getting ready to be a missionary abroad. Another beautiful heart selflessly going into the world to serve others. I had the honor of attending her goodbye party, and it was so fun to see how many lives have been loved by her. She is so steady in her acceptance of all people, and I know that as she moves into a new culture, she is bound to profoundly impact people by her presence. Few people are as peaceful as her, and the gentle spirit she embodies is sure to heal hearts. She has taught me that love is found in graceful approach of the human-ness in all of us.

Finally, I traveled up to Nova to spend some time with my dodgeball team. Love. Them. Made up of my old SoupBowl housemates and our fun guy friends, any amount of time with them lately has been filled with laughter and tears. Tears usually because I am laughing so hard I am crying. They are the purest hearts and the biggest jokesters. I have been so well loved by them in the past five years, and they have been with me through everything. I don't know anyone else that would have stuck with me through thick and thin, and who so easily accept the things about me that are hard to live with. I often look back at our time together and feel unworthy of their grace--but so thankful for their persistence. If love is an action they embody it, and the community they have built up around me is one that has slowly taught me to trust in family again.

So, as you can see, I am finding more healing in community than I thought was possible, and my goal is to keep moving toward it even when it becomes financially difficult to do so. I am convinced that we need other people to be whole, and especially at this time in my life, I need people to remind me who I am again. To remind me that crying from laughter is possible and relationships that aren't broken are just a phone call again. To find out that I am--that life is--totally worth it. That there really is hope for community and hope for me. I'm going to live for these moments this summer, being thankful for the ways that God has brought me himself through my closest friends.

The unfortunate life of a lemon.

Resignation.

In my life definition, to resign is to give up--to sit back and silently take what life has thrown at you. I mentioned in my last post that 'hopelessness' has also been a big word for me this year. Well, if there is an action to accompany the word hopeless, for me it is resignation.

Reflecting on this season, I came to the grim realization that there are no guarantees in life. I once thought that love and happiness, children and marriage, job security and life insurance--that all these things were life's natural gifts to me. I knew there would be hard times. Seasons of dryness and mountains that seemed less than worth the climb. I also knew that I didn't have to fear what most of the world does--famine, war, perpetual death. I knew I was blessed to be born where I was, when I was.These things were indeed offerings that I did not and do not deserve.

And while I can wish and hope whole heartedly that the blessings continue, I know that there is a very likely possibility that they will not. I have already seen some of those unfortunate dreams die this year, and have failed to understand the whys and hows of their disappearances. For awhile, I sat in these disappointments. I grumbled and complained. I became angry. I became, I am not proud to say, very bitter and selfish.

I thought alot during this time. As I went into work every day and observed the lives of my students, I wondered at the state of their existences. They could do little on their own--everything was dependent on the decisions of their caregiver. Many could not eat on their own, and their personal space was constantly invaded by strangers they had no option but to trust. And this will not change for them. They will spend their days this way. This is not fair. Why them and not me? What did they do? What do their families think and feel? How do they cope? Life has certainly not been kind to them. Life is very hard. Day to day is hard.

So, what do we do when life gives us very real lemons? Do we give up? Roll over? I very much want to most of the time. I don't want to face these uncomfortable realities. I want to believe that life, by its own righ,t is good and faithful. But if it hasn't been, and will not be, where do we go from here?

I want to fight. No, that's not quite right. I need to fight. It is imperative that I start making lemonade, right now, today. Mostly, because I can. I have a working body. A (fairly) sound mind. An ability to start over, dream big, and beat the hell out of those lemons. And while I will always be reminded of the tartness of those struggles which threatened to bring me down, they willnot, I repeat, will NOT replace the sastisfying sweetness of the lemondade. Of the victory.
So I will fight. I will squeeze. For me, for my students. For life.

Hope deferred makes the heart sick.

This sometimes feels like it has been a year of hopelessness. I have had hard times before. Times when things didn't go exactly the way I wanted or times when I questioned the involvement of God in my life for good. But this year has felt exceptionally difficult. There were so many times where I thought to myself, "really? REALLY? this has to be happening right now?" I'm sure you can relate.

And I know that my problems, for starters, don't even compare to some of the big questions that go on outside my life. And I felt hopelessness in them to. Working in an MD classroom isn't the ideal picture of hope. I often looked at my kids and their pain and suffering and countless doctor's visits and asked the same question of God that I asked for myself--why? Is God here? Is he even listening? I know enough to understand that God doesn't promise our happiness or endless blessings in our personal lives. He doesn't even promise the day to day. And if I can't trust Him in those things, then where do I place my trust? I want so badly to believe and to feel in my heart that my God loves me. But sometimes the evidence is so completely overwhelming for the opposite argument.

I desperately hope that God will show up and heal this heart of bitterness and a year or more worth of hope deferred. I want to know that this God, the one that sent His son to die, deeply cares for what is going on in this very real earth. I want to know what He is present--fighting my battles and the battles of those around me until life is restored. I want to believe in hope again.

Life's only true opponent.

“I must say a word about fear. It is life's only true opponent. Only fear can defeat life. It is a clever, treacherous adversary, how well I know. It has no decency, respects no law or convention, shows no mercy. It goes for your weakest spot, which it finds with unnerving ease. It begins in your mind, always ... so you must fight hard to express it. You must fight hard to shine the light of words upon it. Because if you don't, if your fear becomes a wordless darkness that you avoid, perhaps even manage to forget, you open yourself to further attacks of fear because you never truly fought the opponent who defeated you.”
--Life of Pi, Yann Martel

I have been faced with a great deal of fear this year--sometimes so much so that it was laughable. The mind is most certainly a battlefield, and for someone such as myself who thinks enough for two people, it can be a particularly dangerous place. Oftentimes, my fears were not rational. Some of them were borderline ludacris. Last summer, I remember crouching on the floor of the Hobby House (where I taught arts and crafts) and going into a state of pure panic over the quality of my camp crafts. Yes--I was having anxiety over crafts. My thinking went somehow like this:
"If my crafts suck, then I suck. If I suck, this means I don't love the campers. If I don't love the campers, this means I'm an awful person. If I'm an awful person, then there really isn't much point in living. If I can't single handedly change my campers' lives with my crafts, then THERE IS NO POINT IN LIVING."

Scary. One--that I was that narcissistic. Two--that my fears had entered a whole new level of unrealistic pandemonium. Unfortunately, this trend continued on for the better half of the year, leaving my nerves completely shot and my brain on overdrive. I would wake up every morning before work and obsessively run a list of possible failures for the day through my ever running mind. These fears mostly addressed my own emotional state. My biggest worry was that my anxiety or depression would affect the people around me in a big way--not only upsetting their lives but my own.

It is an exhausting thing to live in fear. Especially when, in my particular life, there was much peace to be thankful for. There were no ongoing wars around me. I was not starving. I was not in massive amounts of debt. My fear linked directly to the state of my soul--which, in some cases is scarier than the tangible things we try to control.
Here's what I discovered and what I'm still trying to believe: IT'S not worth it. If fear has a name, it is the all encompassing IT. There are many things that may cause us to feel fear, different for every person and experienced in many ways. But, as stated by Martel above, whatever IT addresses, the core of the obstacle is always our own fear. If we can learn to overcome this, to discover a new way of thinking, to persevere even when our heart and brain are struggling to run as far away as possible, we can do anything.

All I know is that I don't want to wake up one day safe but dead inside. So here's to taking chances, to change the way I perceive myself and to give grace in the times that I falter. Here's to believing that all things really are possible, and that fear is merely an emotion waiting to be defeated. In the end, I'd rather find out that I failed than be left wondering what would have happened if I tried at all.