I have lived a full life in Virginia Beach these past two years. No other season has produced quite as much growth as this one, and while I am sad to be leaving I know it's time to move on. However, what has made this stage most meaningful are the many friends who have so graciously walked with me through it. They have taught me so much, and I feel their lessons should be passed on to the world. Therefore, this blog is dedicated to them: the courageous, the strong--the ones that taught me not to be afraid of the dark.
Jenny: By being who you are, you have given me the gift of patience. You are an extremely dedicated and loyal friend. You don't give up on those around you no matter what the circumstances are, and you are committed to standing with them. Your sensitivity to the needs of others is such a beautiful thing, and a true part of who you are. You have taught me grace in such a tangible way, and I can honestly say you are one of the most caring people I know. You are my sister-friend! Memories: that time we decided to "wash" the blinds", CRACK DONUTS, THE SQUALLS, just going out in general, tequila, watching illegal movies, crying a lot as we figured out we were a little more messed up than we originally thought, all our talks (about the s word), being obsessed with the Olympics, GOT, your baking, festivals and concerts, CRACK BAT, trying (and failing) to make fires, sharing a bathroom with you, and just really all the moments we shared together talking about absolutely everything on our bedroom floors.
Lydia: You are my person. Whatever I've been through--you get it. You know before I even say it, and you normalize my experiences. You have given me the freedom to be who I am, where I am. That's a once in a lifetime sort of thing. It is rare to meet someone who knows. You are actually probably the only person who would even understand what this means. You love me because of my flaws, because you see how they have made me who I am. You get me. Let's get married one day. I love you! Memories: fort building, laughing at things no one else gets, Baxters, that time we just stared at everyone at Eagles Nest, IT'S NOT MY FIRST TIME IN THE WORLD and SO FAR SO BAD, all the salsa nights, dancing in the rain, hanging up the twinkle lights for approximately one hundred hours, being terrible at karaoke but still singing to THE HEARTS ALL OVER THE WORLD, all the beautiful gifts and thoughtful notes you left for me, THE CIRCUS and a thousand balloons, our lesbian dates, running the 5K we did not train for, listening to J. Cole and T.I. on repeat, FROYO all day, ODing on Brad Pitt, ABSOLUTELY NO BINGO PARKING, being in the dark place, timbs, and our times contemplating the darkness of the world and the strengths of our souls at the lake
Sammi: Your spirit! I just love your spirit. You are so humble and kind. I love our hippy backgrounds and I love that you have a great deal of wisdom. Thank you for letting me be, for letting me sit with you and watch endless hours of Dexter and Gossip Girl, for listening to my problems and really thinking about your responses. You see people. That's a gift. Hold on to it. Memories: Being very introverted and very OK with it, Gilmore Girls, Gossip Girl, Dexter, drinking so much wine and eating so much chocolates, complaining about how our bodies are failing us in our old age, that time we did that project together but didn't really know each other, sharing knowing glances because you can read my mind, throwing a party, listening to chill music and just being chill together, talking about boys that are idiots and acknowledging the irony of our lives, spending all the best times in your bed and not talking and watching Community
Elise: My scar sister and beautiful friend. Thank you for ALWAYS believing in me, loving me, and talking me through my crazy. I have shared so many laughs with you and can't wait to share many more. You have a genuineness about you that cannot be faked, and a wisdom that can only come from experience and insight. I absolutely cherished our time together in VA Beach, and all the fun-filled moments that we shared EMBRACING life after depression. Thank you for teaching me how to enjoy all life has to offer--you have made my life richer in so many ways and I have learned how to CELEBRATE because of you. Memories: CHKD, going to the Banque, going line dancing pretty much all the time, getting sloppy swish, dancing on dead grandmas table, NOBODY ASKED YOU PATRICE, hitting up the beach, training and somehow running the Shamrock, BRUNCH!, "Who's to say, really?", having effing problems, KIKI, your memes!! (erase them), summer shandys, GALentines day, life is hard move on, THE OFFICE quotes, WARBYS, complaining about Regent, eating pasta, grasshoppers
Tranese: Thank you for being such a great listening ear! Living with you for a year was a blessing, and I learned so much from you as we connected over our past. You are understanding, humble, and compassionate, and I know that these traits will only benefit you as you continue forward in your program. Thank you for teaching me how to be gracious and for taking the time to answer and examine some of the harder questions in life. Your willingness to engage in "messy" topics in order to bring about healing is really admirable, and such an example to me. Thank you for being who you are!
Memories: cooking southern food, listening to Backstreet Boys during lightening storms, laughing at dumb YouTube videos, oooh child things are gunna get better, Regent CARES and our crazy callers, helping you put together your bed, and all of our talks about family, love, and life. You are amazing!
Justin: Unconditional confidence. You have always seen me, even when I would try to convince you otherwise. You have never let me sit in my shame or in my not-good-enough, and for that I am grateful. You let me be who I was, where I was, and I never worried that you would change your mind about me if you saw my dark side. From you I learned that vulnerability does not equal weakness, and that I am worthy of love and belonging. You are going to be an amazing therapist! Memories: Principle Frye, FOR YOUUUU, getting Wendy's way more than we should have, hours upon hours at Starbucks, comparing our lives to New Girl, JAR, laughing at the ridiculousness of life, just laughing in general, YouTube videos and Vines, suffering through summer semester together, learning from our weaknesses and our strengths, realizing that we'd LOST THE ABILITY TO LOVE, going through my MMPI results as you patiently convinced me I was not crazy, EVERYTHING ALL OF IT
Tiffany: You are my girl! I love you so much! I am SO THANKFUL for everything you have taught me this year. You have made me a braver, better person. You are so compassionate and full of genuine care for others, I know that you would do anything for your friends and for the kids at Seton. You are hardworking, strong, and confident in your abilities. You have taught me to believe in myself, and I will always carry that with me. Memories: Planning our Halloween Hunt, talking for hours about our relationships, laughing at our crazy kids, embracing the drama in our life, going to Rainbow Cactus, celebrating my birthday, figuring out how to be better counselors, talking about Charming Charlies!
Jasmine: So much love. For you. Always. I love our adventures, I love our talks, I just love everything about you! If I could live with you for the rest of my life I would probably be content. You SHINE from the inside out and have a way of impacting those around you for the good. You are a life changer. I am so blessed to have met you, and I can honestly say you are one of the COOLEST people I have ever met. You have taught me NEVER to be afraid of what other people think, to embrace everything life has to offer, and to live LOUD. I go into my future with great hope and expectation because you have pushed me to follow my dreams! Memories: Goofy movie (you know), the Valentine's Day Olympics, raiding the kitchen ALL DAY, eating way too many donuts, drinking wine and going to Trader Joe's, NACHOS!!, walking around Ghent, making the kids do that crazy laser maze, bonding over similar pasts, GETTING OUR TATTOOS. I love you to the moon and back!!
Chief Keith: You have been such a big part of my life this year. Thank you for ALWAYS bringing me back to reality and for constantly reminding me of who I am. You were such an amazing support this year and my intern experience would have been so different without you! Thank you for going with me into dark places and for holding the light up when I could not. Because of you I have learned to own my positive qualities, embrace my crazy, and to get out of my head (though we both know I am still working on that one). I will be a better clinician and a more whole person because of you!
Memories: CRAZY TOWN (enough said).
Wednesday, June 18, 2014
Monday, June 16, 2014
Less love.
"It is not that she wants more, child. It is that she wants less. Arthur's love for her exceeds reason, surpasses all the prescribed rules, and it frightens her."
I have been disengaging my whole life. Disengaging from people, from relationships. From myself. I have always felt things really strongly, past my soul and straight to my heart. It makes it difficult to be present because so often I am not. I am lost in my head, trying desperately to keep my emotions from overcoming my thoughts. It's exhausting, but it's the way I have learned how to live.
And with this disengagement I have hurt and been hurt. Lost in a sea of trying to care less in order to be less vulnerable. In trying to be strong. Unfazed. And within this space I have become the definition of cool. Nonchalant. Safe. And also a little bit dead inside.
I don't want to be perceived as crazy, needy, emotional--you know. All the words we get slammed with as women. We never want to be that girl. The unhinged one. The one that wants just a little too much, who gets a little too attached too quickly. And so we play the game. We distance ourselves from who we are and from each other. Because in loneliness there is at least predictability.
But that's the thing--we are alone.
Your heart will break a million times, in this day and days to come. We will be crazy at times. That's also a guarantee. Love is still worth it. That's a fact. Because without it we will not survive the dark. We will lack purpose and meaning, joy and hope. We must lean into the love we feel--from God, ourselves, and others. We must want more love, not less.
We cheapen our value when we only accept the love we think we are worthy of. Because the true truth is that our behavior and who we are does not determine how much love we are to receive. Love is not dependent upon these things. It is within our human relationships at times, which is why so many of us have shut ourselves off from the world. But at the center of it all, the greatest love that we can experience, that steady, unchanging adoration--that's not less love. That's more. It's powerful and scary and a little bit overwhelming. It's the God-of-the-universe kind of love. It's the lens that we should be looking at ourselves through. That we should be asking other people to see us through. That we should believe as most real about ourselves because it is the actual reality.
And we can feel God's love and live out of it, but we also have to tell ourselves our worthiness and live out of it. We have to keep bringing our minds and hearts back to these things, because we forget. Because so many people tell us differently, because we are capable of hurting and being hurt. But you are the only you there is--flaws and all. And we all have flaws. We don't look at each other as broken and unworthy because of our scars, and we should do no less for ourselves.
Don't settle for less love. For disengagement. Be brave. Take heart. Love wildly.
Love more.
I have been disengaging my whole life. Disengaging from people, from relationships. From myself. I have always felt things really strongly, past my soul and straight to my heart. It makes it difficult to be present because so often I am not. I am lost in my head, trying desperately to keep my emotions from overcoming my thoughts. It's exhausting, but it's the way I have learned how to live.
And with this disengagement I have hurt and been hurt. Lost in a sea of trying to care less in order to be less vulnerable. In trying to be strong. Unfazed. And within this space I have become the definition of cool. Nonchalant. Safe. And also a little bit dead inside.
I don't want to be perceived as crazy, needy, emotional--you know. All the words we get slammed with as women. We never want to be that girl. The unhinged one. The one that wants just a little too much, who gets a little too attached too quickly. And so we play the game. We distance ourselves from who we are and from each other. Because in loneliness there is at least predictability.
But that's the thing--we are alone.
Your heart will break a million times, in this day and days to come. We will be crazy at times. That's also a guarantee. Love is still worth it. That's a fact. Because without it we will not survive the dark. We will lack purpose and meaning, joy and hope. We must lean into the love we feel--from God, ourselves, and others. We must want more love, not less.
We cheapen our value when we only accept the love we think we are worthy of. Because the true truth is that our behavior and who we are does not determine how much love we are to receive. Love is not dependent upon these things. It is within our human relationships at times, which is why so many of us have shut ourselves off from the world. But at the center of it all, the greatest love that we can experience, that steady, unchanging adoration--that's not less love. That's more. It's powerful and scary and a little bit overwhelming. It's the God-of-the-universe kind of love. It's the lens that we should be looking at ourselves through. That we should be asking other people to see us through. That we should believe as most real about ourselves because it is the actual reality.
And we can feel God's love and live out of it, but we also have to tell ourselves our worthiness and live out of it. We have to keep bringing our minds and hearts back to these things, because we forget. Because so many people tell us differently, because we are capable of hurting and being hurt. But you are the only you there is--flaws and all. And we all have flaws. We don't look at each other as broken and unworthy because of our scars, and we should do no less for ourselves.
Don't settle for less love. For disengagement. Be brave. Take heart. Love wildly.
Love more.
Friday, June 6, 2014
What I learned mowing my lawn. In the dark.
This week, I decided to mow my lawn. In the dark. I grabbed my headlamp, headed out the door, and revved that beautifully red rusty machine up at approximately 9:15 PM. I'm not sure what I was thinking. Maybe I wasn't. All I know is that mowing the lawn brings me peace and clarity, however strange that may be. And after a particularly long week, I knew I needed to sort things out--to center my reality and stop my mind from spiraling wildly towards the point of no return. For some people it's running. Journaling. For me it's mowing. I love it. I don't know why, but it works.
So there I was, blindly making my way through the jungle that had became our backyard and praying to God I wouldn't chop off my feet as I stumbled through the foliage. You never really notice how many particles are in the air until your headlamp highlights all the possible debris you could be ingesting in the dark of the night. It's quite alarming and also sort of surprising to acknowledge that the air you are breathing in isn't exactly clean. It makes me wonder what else in my life is unhealthy that I don't see or choose to pretend is not there. Bad behavioral patterns, comfortably uncomfortable relationships. Things that keep me from being all that I am trying to be. Things that aren't true. It's much easier to inhale and suffer the consequences. Unfortunately the long-term effects usually outweigh the immediate satisfaction.
That air made it hard to mow. You know what else made it hard to mow? The dark. I could see approximately five feet in front of me, and had to rely mostly on my memory map of our yard to make sure that I was actually headed in the right direction. Plus I couldn't be sure that I wasn't actually mowing the same patch of grass over and over again. So I did the best I could. I stuck with what I knew, didn't stray too far from the path, and kept moving forward. And isn't life like that sometimes? We aren't sure what's ahead and we sure as hell don't want to look behind, so all we can do is keep pushing. Keep trying. Keep using all our resources, everything we have, just to pick ourselves up and make it through our day.
We are uncertain. We are afraid. We feel the pull of "not enough" and perhaps the greater tug of "enough already". I'm not cut out for bright and shiny. I can stay about as positive as the next person, but sometimes living is just plain hard. Fact. Our seasons wax and wane, and some are better than others. We cannot be our very best selves year after year. All we can be is our best selves in the moments that are offered to us, and at times that will feel like failure. But if you are trying to mow your lawn in the dark and all you have is a headlamp to light your way, you may as well cut yourself some slack. You can't control the sun or the fact that the grass may look massacred in the morning. You do the best that you can with what you have. And so you keep mowing, praying that the God of the universe is holding your hand in the ultimate game of blind man's buff.
And that's really where we learn to put our trust. I think we fear that God will let go, that we will somehow wander too far for him to ever bring us back again. That we won't be strong when push comes to shove, when it's time to be brave and courageous. That we will be afraid of the dark. And you know what? We probably will be. We are human after all. But here's the thing--God knows how we are when we cannot see. He knows that we are prone to panicking, to doing foolish things in order to maintain control. To doubt. He knows. But that does not make him turn away. Love us less. Shame our actions or ridicule our mess. He sees what we have made in our struggle and gently reminds us that there is grace. And that with that grace comes redemption. So that even when we mow the lawn in the dark, we know that when light hits the horizon we have a chance to make everything new once again. Because here's the thing--the grass will regrow.
And so will we. We are not alone in the dark.
And the sun will always, always rise again.
So there I was, blindly making my way through the jungle that had became our backyard and praying to God I wouldn't chop off my feet as I stumbled through the foliage. You never really notice how many particles are in the air until your headlamp highlights all the possible debris you could be ingesting in the dark of the night. It's quite alarming and also sort of surprising to acknowledge that the air you are breathing in isn't exactly clean. It makes me wonder what else in my life is unhealthy that I don't see or choose to pretend is not there. Bad behavioral patterns, comfortably uncomfortable relationships. Things that keep me from being all that I am trying to be. Things that aren't true. It's much easier to inhale and suffer the consequences. Unfortunately the long-term effects usually outweigh the immediate satisfaction.
That air made it hard to mow. You know what else made it hard to mow? The dark. I could see approximately five feet in front of me, and had to rely mostly on my memory map of our yard to make sure that I was actually headed in the right direction. Plus I couldn't be sure that I wasn't actually mowing the same patch of grass over and over again. So I did the best I could. I stuck with what I knew, didn't stray too far from the path, and kept moving forward. And isn't life like that sometimes? We aren't sure what's ahead and we sure as hell don't want to look behind, so all we can do is keep pushing. Keep trying. Keep using all our resources, everything we have, just to pick ourselves up and make it through our day.
We are uncertain. We are afraid. We feel the pull of "not enough" and perhaps the greater tug of "enough already". I'm not cut out for bright and shiny. I can stay about as positive as the next person, but sometimes living is just plain hard. Fact. Our seasons wax and wane, and some are better than others. We cannot be our very best selves year after year. All we can be is our best selves in the moments that are offered to us, and at times that will feel like failure. But if you are trying to mow your lawn in the dark and all you have is a headlamp to light your way, you may as well cut yourself some slack. You can't control the sun or the fact that the grass may look massacred in the morning. You do the best that you can with what you have. And so you keep mowing, praying that the God of the universe is holding your hand in the ultimate game of blind man's buff.
And that's really where we learn to put our trust. I think we fear that God will let go, that we will somehow wander too far for him to ever bring us back again. That we won't be strong when push comes to shove, when it's time to be brave and courageous. That we will be afraid of the dark. And you know what? We probably will be. We are human after all. But here's the thing--God knows how we are when we cannot see. He knows that we are prone to panicking, to doing foolish things in order to maintain control. To doubt. He knows. But that does not make him turn away. Love us less. Shame our actions or ridicule our mess. He sees what we have made in our struggle and gently reminds us that there is grace. And that with that grace comes redemption. So that even when we mow the lawn in the dark, we know that when light hits the horizon we have a chance to make everything new once again. Because here's the thing--the grass will regrow.
And so will we. We are not alone in the dark.
And the sun will always, always rise again.
Sunday, June 1, 2014
Revolving.
I am constantly trying to outrun my future. Like, constantly. Constantly planning, constantly managing, constantly fighting against what seems to be gravity's intense intent to pull me back down into all that I do not wish to be. It gets tiring after awhile. All that struggling. Stressing. Worrying. I want to believe that if I just try hard enough, I can fix it. Fix me. Save myself. I want to believe that I am in control. Because if I'm not, then what happens? What happens when shit hits the fan and it's my fault? What then? I'd like to think that I won't self-destruct one day but who knows really? Sometimes life smacks us in the face and there's no guarantee we'll get all the way up again.
Some days I'm scared to dream because I don't know if I'm strong enough to carry out all that I want to in this world. I'm scared. I want to be brave, to be courageous. To push forward when everything is telling me to run in the opposite direction. I'm afraid. Afraid I will succumb to the voices that are whispering, "You are not good enough." And most of all, I'm tired. Not just physically, but mentally. Every night I go to sleep with a list of things that I didn't do right and wake up with a list of things I feel I will never be able to accomplish. At best I feel below-average. And below-average makes no promises, contains no hope.
At least, in my reality. But in God's reality--well that's a different story. And it's surprising to me how often I forget about this whole other truth, this whole other plan for my life. One of my favorite songs right now is "Revolving" by this little band called The Assemblie. I had never heard of them, but their song came on my Pandora last week and jolted me out of a slew of negative thoughts. I've pasted it below so you can take a listen.
http://theassemblie.bandcamp.com/track/revolving
I know I’m a mess and You’re constant
Always here come rain or shine
Life is fast and You are still
I could never outrun You.
Some days I'm scared to dream because I don't know if I'm strong enough to carry out all that I want to in this world. I'm scared. I want to be brave, to be courageous. To push forward when everything is telling me to run in the opposite direction. I'm afraid. Afraid I will succumb to the voices that are whispering, "You are not good enough." And most of all, I'm tired. Not just physically, but mentally. Every night I go to sleep with a list of things that I didn't do right and wake up with a list of things I feel I will never be able to accomplish. At best I feel below-average. And below-average makes no promises, contains no hope.
At least, in my reality. But in God's reality--well that's a different story. And it's surprising to me how often I forget about this whole other truth, this whole other plan for my life. One of my favorite songs right now is "Revolving" by this little band called The Assemblie. I had never heard of them, but their song came on my Pandora last week and jolted me out of a slew of negative thoughts. I've pasted it below so you can take a listen.
http://theassemblie.bandcamp.com/track/revolving
I know I’m a mess and You’re constant
Always here come rain or shine
Life is fast and You are still
I could never outrun You.
We could never outrun Him. Think about that. No matter how hard I fight or try to resist failing, He is constant. He is greater. And He is within us. So that means there is HOPE. Hope for change, hope for healing, hope for a future. For wholeness. It means I can stop running. Because the greatest thing that I have learned today is that I cannot outrun the maker of the universe. I cannot outsmart Him, surprise Him, or convince Him that I am not, in fact, the person He made me to be.
My small group leader in college would always talk about how sometimes we are running around this track as fast as we can, trying to "do" our way into being loved by God and others. And God is over there in the sidelines like, can I get a word in? And we are all like NO NOT NOW GOD, I'm busy. And then God yanks us off the track, makes us pop a squat, and tells us something about ourselves. And that something is that we are LOVED, we are REDEEMED, and we DO NOT HAVE PROVE IT ANYMORE. We are enough! We are enough. And out of that enough-ness flows our real accomplishments. The ones that matter. We are His plan A. And His plan B. We cannot write ourselves out of His script in a way that will make Him give up on us. He won't.
So keep revolving around Him. Give up on absolutely everything but Him. Know that you could never outrun Him. Stop trying. Listen--and hear the voice that is cheering you on towards everything you were meant to be.
Monday, May 26, 2014
Becoming the sun.
"He's not the sun. You are."
If you saw the last Grey's episode with Christina leaving, you know what this quote is from. Referring to the relationship between Meredith and her McDreamy, Yang gently reminded her person of her place in the world. And it worked. Grey channeled her inner sun and stood up for herself and all that she wanted out of life.
I love this quote because I feel like it is so reflective of how we operate in life. We have our "sun". The thing that our hearts and minds revolve around, that dictate who we are and what we believe to be true about ourselves. It's usually very draining and extremely blinding to reality. And we can't see around it. We devote all our energy to our sun, forgetting ourselves in the midst of it. Making ourselves smaller. Less bright. Less beautiful. And we let it happen again and again. We watch that sun set and rise and convince ourselves that it's the way it must be.
And we become discouraged. We feel out of control and powerless to the patterns that run us. The sun seems so powerful, too strong to overcome. And in all honesty, we don't want to try. We are afraid that if we do we will have to acknowledge that what we have been running after is not as significant as we have made it to be. That it does not fulfill us. Rule us. Shape our days and nights. And that's terrifying, because who are we when we can't define ourselves by what we do?
Our suns fail us. They do. And they always will because they were never meant to be the center of our universe. Who we are was never meant to be dictated by the things we accomplish or the people around us. By our suns. In the same way that we could never exchange earth for the sun, it is absolutely useless trying to shove anything but ourselves into the role that we were meant to play in this life. We are valuable. We cannot be replaced. Why do we spend so much time trying to be someone we are not? Paying attention to the things that are unimportant? The things that are mere stars in the vastness that is our own galaxy?
People fail us. Professions fail us. We fail ourselves. But that is a component of the things that happen, not the core of who we are. We do not have to listen to our suns! We do not have to keep circling around the things that make us smaller, that diminish our own light and keep us from being all that we were meant to be. I'm not trying to say we should be narcissistic. I am trying to say that we have a choice--a choice to believe that we are brilliant and powerful and capable of changing the world. Of taking hold of our worthiness and believing it over the things that will eventually pass away.
Let your sun rise today. Push everything else back into place. You were meant to be you--shine bright.
If you saw the last Grey's episode with Christina leaving, you know what this quote is from. Referring to the relationship between Meredith and her McDreamy, Yang gently reminded her person of her place in the world. And it worked. Grey channeled her inner sun and stood up for herself and all that she wanted out of life.
I love this quote because I feel like it is so reflective of how we operate in life. We have our "sun". The thing that our hearts and minds revolve around, that dictate who we are and what we believe to be true about ourselves. It's usually very draining and extremely blinding to reality. And we can't see around it. We devote all our energy to our sun, forgetting ourselves in the midst of it. Making ourselves smaller. Less bright. Less beautiful. And we let it happen again and again. We watch that sun set and rise and convince ourselves that it's the way it must be.
And we become discouraged. We feel out of control and powerless to the patterns that run us. The sun seems so powerful, too strong to overcome. And in all honesty, we don't want to try. We are afraid that if we do we will have to acknowledge that what we have been running after is not as significant as we have made it to be. That it does not fulfill us. Rule us. Shape our days and nights. And that's terrifying, because who are we when we can't define ourselves by what we do?
Our suns fail us. They do. And they always will because they were never meant to be the center of our universe. Who we are was never meant to be dictated by the things we accomplish or the people around us. By our suns. In the same way that we could never exchange earth for the sun, it is absolutely useless trying to shove anything but ourselves into the role that we were meant to play in this life. We are valuable. We cannot be replaced. Why do we spend so much time trying to be someone we are not? Paying attention to the things that are unimportant? The things that are mere stars in the vastness that is our own galaxy?
People fail us. Professions fail us. We fail ourselves. But that is a component of the things that happen, not the core of who we are. We do not have to listen to our suns! We do not have to keep circling around the things that make us smaller, that diminish our own light and keep us from being all that we were meant to be. I'm not trying to say we should be narcissistic. I am trying to say that we have a choice--a choice to believe that we are brilliant and powerful and capable of changing the world. Of taking hold of our worthiness and believing it over the things that will eventually pass away.
Let your sun rise today. Push everything else back into place. You were meant to be you--shine bright.
Thursday, May 22, 2014
Even if you were told.
"Look out at the nations and pay attention! Be astounded! Be really astounded! For I am going to do something in your days that you would not believe, even if you were told." Habakkuk 1:5
We are unstable creatures. As much as we want to believe and hope that we are less crazy than the next person, by and large we all have parts of us we fear being exposed. We are vulnerable. At times, we are afraid to trust in good things. To accept joy because we aren't sure where it's going to end up in the long run. We wrestle. We attempt to control, to brace ourselves for the fall we feel is inevitably coming.
I learned long ago that we aren't promised the life that we imagined. We aren't guaranteed the white picket fence, or whatever it was we were putting all our dreams into. In America, I think we hide this better. We have things that can mask our pain, that convince us that we are full and happy. We can pretend. Not always, but we can at least work at pretending, assuring ourselves that we are satisfied with what has been given to us. And I think at times we are. Sometimes we have been fighting so long to keep our head above water that when we can finally stay afloat, we think we have achieved our goal. So we go on floating, struggling to keep the waters from overcoming us once again.
We wonder where to hope. I have gone through seasons where I felt nothing but despair, where I seriously questioned the goodness of the God I claimed to believe in. I have seen so much pain, and at times it seemed that there were no answers that could ever account for the injustice I witnessed on the behalf of others. Eventually, I became so emotionally distraught by the prospect of such continuous suffering that I became severely depressed. Nothing made sense to me anymore.
These feelings hit me particularly hard as I worked in a classroom with children who had multiple disabilities. For some of them, life would never get easier. This was their world--doctors appointments, medications, endless therapies, death. To see them suffer was to feel the weight of everything this life was not meant to be. It was soul crushing. I was helpless. I became bitter towards God.
That was the longest year of my life, and it was only a portion of theirs. Despite my wariness, I kept questioning. Kept looking for hope. Kept wondering at the purpose of it all. For them, for me. To find meaning again.
Slowly, God answered.
And it wasn't all at once. I wrestled. I cried. I ate lunch in the closet. I prayed quite a bit. I asked God to show me where he was in the mess, in the unfortunate realities that seemed to be the only realities there were. He didn't answer directly, but in a very tangibly intangible way. He didn't change my circumstances or the circumstances of those around me. He changed my heart. He changed my perception. He allowed me to see the beauty and hope that was being created within myself and the lives of those courageous children. In the millions of moments we shared, good and bad, as we struggled through that year together.
They were my hope, and I was theirs.
They taught me to struggle well. Sometimes I would look into their eyes, and I would just know that God was peering back out at me. Tenderly. With great concern. And most of all with understanding. They understood. They knew. They loved me. On my good days, on my bad. They had patience. And I want to say I believe they had hope. Because they knew where to place it--not in their bodies or in their brains or even in their doctors. But in love. In strength. In the belief that while the things of this earth would pass away, their bright spirits would not. And so they lived.
And so did I. I came to realize that God does promise to be with us--not always in the ways that we want but most certainly in the ways that we need. He is there in our emotions. In our crazy moments, in the darkness that we are so afraid to peer into. And He sees our light. He believes in it so firmly, no matter how far the distance, and is willing us to look. To come and see our scars, because He is working even now to heal them. To know that though things may look broken and beyond repair, He is present and unwavering, standing in the gap until we are ready to believe in hope again.
There are no easy answers to suffering. To our own battlefields of the heart and mind. But if there is one thing I know it's that God does not deny the pain, but quietly and compassionately gathers it up into his arms, whispering new life and healing into that which we believe to be eternally damaged, until one day we look up and realize we have reason to hope. We have changed. We have found those things that are stable in the midst of instability, and they can never be taken away from us.
We have hope, are hope. And I would never have believed, even if I was told.
We are unstable creatures. As much as we want to believe and hope that we are less crazy than the next person, by and large we all have parts of us we fear being exposed. We are vulnerable. At times, we are afraid to trust in good things. To accept joy because we aren't sure where it's going to end up in the long run. We wrestle. We attempt to control, to brace ourselves for the fall we feel is inevitably coming.
I learned long ago that we aren't promised the life that we imagined. We aren't guaranteed the white picket fence, or whatever it was we were putting all our dreams into. In America, I think we hide this better. We have things that can mask our pain, that convince us that we are full and happy. We can pretend. Not always, but we can at least work at pretending, assuring ourselves that we are satisfied with what has been given to us. And I think at times we are. Sometimes we have been fighting so long to keep our head above water that when we can finally stay afloat, we think we have achieved our goal. So we go on floating, struggling to keep the waters from overcoming us once again.
We wonder where to hope. I have gone through seasons where I felt nothing but despair, where I seriously questioned the goodness of the God I claimed to believe in. I have seen so much pain, and at times it seemed that there were no answers that could ever account for the injustice I witnessed on the behalf of others. Eventually, I became so emotionally distraught by the prospect of such continuous suffering that I became severely depressed. Nothing made sense to me anymore.
These feelings hit me particularly hard as I worked in a classroom with children who had multiple disabilities. For some of them, life would never get easier. This was their world--doctors appointments, medications, endless therapies, death. To see them suffer was to feel the weight of everything this life was not meant to be. It was soul crushing. I was helpless. I became bitter towards God.
That was the longest year of my life, and it was only a portion of theirs. Despite my wariness, I kept questioning. Kept looking for hope. Kept wondering at the purpose of it all. For them, for me. To find meaning again.
Slowly, God answered.
And it wasn't all at once. I wrestled. I cried. I ate lunch in the closet. I prayed quite a bit. I asked God to show me where he was in the mess, in the unfortunate realities that seemed to be the only realities there were. He didn't answer directly, but in a very tangibly intangible way. He didn't change my circumstances or the circumstances of those around me. He changed my heart. He changed my perception. He allowed me to see the beauty and hope that was being created within myself and the lives of those courageous children. In the millions of moments we shared, good and bad, as we struggled through that year together.
They were my hope, and I was theirs.
They taught me to struggle well. Sometimes I would look into their eyes, and I would just know that God was peering back out at me. Tenderly. With great concern. And most of all with understanding. They understood. They knew. They loved me. On my good days, on my bad. They had patience. And I want to say I believe they had hope. Because they knew where to place it--not in their bodies or in their brains or even in their doctors. But in love. In strength. In the belief that while the things of this earth would pass away, their bright spirits would not. And so they lived.
And so did I. I came to realize that God does promise to be with us--not always in the ways that we want but most certainly in the ways that we need. He is there in our emotions. In our crazy moments, in the darkness that we are so afraid to peer into. And He sees our light. He believes in it so firmly, no matter how far the distance, and is willing us to look. To come and see our scars, because He is working even now to heal them. To know that though things may look broken and beyond repair, He is present and unwavering, standing in the gap until we are ready to believe in hope again.
There are no easy answers to suffering. To our own battlefields of the heart and mind. But if there is one thing I know it's that God does not deny the pain, but quietly and compassionately gathers it up into his arms, whispering new life and healing into that which we believe to be eternally damaged, until one day we look up and realize we have reason to hope. We have changed. We have found those things that are stable in the midst of instability, and they can never be taken away from us.
We have hope, are hope. And I would never have believed, even if I was told.
Tuesday, May 6, 2014
The best thing I never had.
I love Beyonce. I mean really, who doesn't? This isn't the first time I've written a blog about one of her songs and I'm sure it won't be the last. Recently I was driving in my car and her amazingly sarcastic song "Best Thing I Never Had" came on. I found myself being unusually pumped by the lyrics as I loudly and proudly sang them off key in my car. It was sort of confusing though because I didn't have any recent exes to speak of that I felt particularly better off without. So with my counselor self I took a moment to examine what was going on inside me and realized that B's words were moving because there was something that I felt triumphant to be moving on from--and it wasn't a man.
It was my old life.
I know this sounds cheesy and perhaps even a little far fetched, but I needed to write it because it signals to me how far I have come. There is something within me, that is now a definitive part of my makeup, that knows I have moved on to better and brighter things. I remember so distinctly a time in my life when all was dark. When I thought my world would not get better, that my days had been numbered and all that was left was more pain and sadness. More fear. A time when I really believed I was going to end up alone and hopeless, without a future and barely clinging to the present. And now, that time is gone. That future that I held on to with such conviction and loyalty turns out to be the best thing I never had--and I can't help but joyfully sing about it.
I was so certain of where my life would go, the type of person I would emulate. I thought I knew what I wanted, what relationships I needed in order to be able to function. Truthfully, my world was small. I was confined to a box that I had built around myself and was so sure that no other reality could possibly exist. I couldn't imagine a better life for myself because I couldn't see all that I was--a bright, beautiful young woman full of hope and resiliency. Capable and strong. Worthy.
How often do we do this? Define ourselves by what we think we deserve. Quietly deafen our screams for something different because we are too afraid to hope. Believe that we are invaluable and disposable, that we could not possibly matter to the world. Give up or make ourselves smaller.
I want to look back on my years and realize that I chose to let go of that which only served to bring me down. To triumphantly realize that I did not settle for a life that was less of me and more of everyone else. To know that I fought for goodness in the midst of difficulty, that I tried with all my might to let my light shine brightest even in the darkest of storms. To recognize my potential and live with unconditional confidence in my ability to change and grow into all that I was meant to be.
To acknowledge who I thought I would be as the best thing I never had.
Today in the midst of all the doubt and uncertainty remember that you get to choose where your path goes from here. Don't give up. Don't surrender. And wave goodbye to the past in true Beyonce fashion.
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