A fairy tale is not a fairy tale because it is perfect. A fairy tale is a fairy tale because it transforms imperfections into the kind of magic we call love. And there's only one way that can happen - with God. So, here's my fairy tale, imperfections and all. To God be all the glory.
Once in a lifetime, you meet someone who changes your life in a single glance. That someone for me was Joel, and that glance happened on New Year's Eve, 2013. I liked Joel the moment I first saw him - the moment he lit my sparkler. I would have never admitted it at the time, always having been my own personal love story's greatest critic. But it's true. There was something about Joel that I liked right away. Something that made my heart smile before I even really knew him.
I remember standing around the fire with friends, freezing cold and wondering if Joel had a girlfriend. My heart actually skipped a beat when he said something about an ex-girlfriend of his. If he was bringing up an ex-girlfriend, he had to be single, right?
New Year's Day I added Joel on Facebook. Of course, I added his sister and his sister's boyfriend (among other people) to be a little more conspicuous. I can remember how excited I was when he accepted my friend request. A real middle school-like emotional high. But, that high only got higher when he started liking my Facebook statuses. I even went so far as to show my mom his profile picture, telling her about the "cool, funny, nice, good looking, perfect" guy I had just met.
Joel and I started talking through Facebook messages, and then one day, he asked for my phone number. Not long after that, we went on our first unofficial date. Hiking. I think I knew Joel was a keeper when he asked me if I wanted some trail mix. I said no, and he said, "I think you would really like this kind." I agreed to try the trail mix, and he pulled a baggy out of his backpack with a mixture of Froot Loops and Goldfish. For those of you who don't know, that is my absolute favorite snack (and I'd only ever mentioned it in passing)!
As the weeks went by, I would take coffee to Joel and sit with him in between his college engineering classes. Joel sent flowers to me, and he wrote me one of the most beautiful poems I have ever read to this very day. Everything seemed to be going so perfectly. I mean, how often in real life does the man of your dreams walk out of your dreams and into your life?
Around that time, I stopped talking to Joel. I'm talking absolute silence - no responses to his texts and no answers for his phone calls. I ignored him 100%. Crazy. right? And the reason for that? Well, I couldn't tell him. After all, how do you tell your perfect person that you're not perfect? How do you tell him that you have a past that is currently invading your present? That you have made mistakes, and they have come back to haunt you?
Joel refused to let me have the easy way out with my silence. He showed up at my house and waited across the street in his car until I finished my run. At the time, I didn't realize that he'd already talked to my parents and that they had told him I was outside running. In my mind, all I could think was that I'd come across a real life stalker. (I probably watch too many scary movies.) That night, Joel asked me if I wanted to go on a real date with him, and I said no. After all, at this point, I was fully convinced that my stalker theory was correct. Mainly that theory was a cover up for the fact that I was deathly afraid that Joel would turn out to be a jerk hiding behind a nice guy mask, and if he really was the nice guy, I was deathly afraid that I wasn't worthy of his love.
Time passed, and I realized that Joel wasn't really a stalker. He really was the nice guy I had met on New Year's Eve. I also realized that I owed him a big apology and not just the kind of apology that says, "I'm sorry I thought you were a stalker." I'm talking the kind of apology that says there's a lot more to my story than what I've let on, and you need to know my full story, as uncomfortable as it is for me to share, to understand why I gave you the cold shoulder. I think it took me at least four months to muster up the courage to give a real apology with full details. I'll never forget Joel's response: "I've really missed you. No hard feelings."
Joel and I dated for several months. He ended up taking a job that caused him to work every weekend, and I ended up having ankle surgery on my right ankle (meaning I couldn't drive at all for six weeks). Being a quality time kind of person, I quickly grew frustrated with our relationship. It felt worse than a long distance relationship because we never got to see each other, and we lived in the same town. I hit breaking point and broke up with Joel. Of course, I regretted that decision the moment I carried it out. I didn't want Joel out of my life. I wanted him in my life more.
Apologizing a second time isn't so easy as apologizing a first time. After all, it's hard for someone to fight for you when you're always running from them. Apathy begins to take root. And that's what happened to Joel. I had pushed him out one too many times, and he wasn't eager to jump back into working things out. In retrospect, I'm quite thankful Joel didn't accept me so readily because God used that time to grow my heart for Him. I gained a burning desire for missions, and I signed up for a mission trip out of the country - a mission trip to Costa Rica.
Despite the apathy in our relationship (or whatever it was that we were), Joel and I still hung out 24/7. I prayed for weeks that God would reveal to me whether or not Joel was the one for me. It wasn't that I was desperate to have Joel in my life. I just didn't want to be consumed by something that was not in God's will for my life. New Year's Eve 2014 (the one year anniversary of the day Joel and I first met) was coming around, and I prayed that God would use that day to give me my answer. I asked God to make it simple so that I couldn't manipulate circumstances or meanings to my own liking. I prayed that Joel would spend New Year's Eve with me (without me manipulating circumstances) if God wanted me to be patient and wait on Joel to get over his apathy. If I didn't spend New Year's Eve with Joel, I would know that we didn't have a future together, and it was time for me to move on.
New Year's Eve rolled around. Joel had plans with his friend, and I had plans with my friend. I assumed that I had my answer. It was time I closed that door and trust that God had another someone out there for me. But, around 8:30, Joel sent me a snapchat saying that he was bored. I asked why he wasn't at his friend's party, and he said that the party hadn't started yet. I told Joel that my friend and I were going to grab some coffee before our party, and Joel decided to join us. While we were having coffee, my friend invited Joel to the New Year's party we were going to, and Joel decided to come with us (despite the fact that he already had other New Year's plans). And I knew that was my answer. I was to be patient and wait.
The being patient and waiting process was incredibly hard for me. But God used it for His glory. One day after church, God placed on my heart a strong desire to tell Joel in person just how much he meant to me. That was a really bold move for me because I really struggled sharing my true feelings, being so afraid of rejection. My words weren't the magical fix I'd hoped for. Joel appreciated what I had said, but he didn't want to pursue a relationship. I remember getting in my car and saying, "God, why would you want me to say that if I was just going to get rejected?" I remember even more what God said back to me, "Do you really love him?" I thought for a moment. "Of course I love him." That's when it hit me. I loved Joel because I wanted Joel to love me. I didn't love Joel because I wanted him to grow and develop in his relationship with Christ. I loved Joel selfishly, not sacrificially. It wasn't love at all. Not real love.
I made the decision at that moment to be Joel's friend. I wanted to really love him. Not for what I could take from the relationship. Not even for what I could offer to the relationship. I wanted to love him because I wanted to be a vessel of God's love in his life. Believe me when I say all of that was a lot easier said than done. My patience ran thin more times than I'd like to admit. But in my heart, I knew Joel was the one for me. Deep down, I felt a peace about it, and the more I prayed, the more at peace I felt.
I don't remember the exact moment when our friendship transformed back into a relationship. It just kind of happened one day, but once our relationship was restored, I knew that my love for Joel was no longer about me.
Just when we were getting our relationship back on track, I left the country for Costa Rica. In Costa Rica, I met a girl who was on staff with YWAM at the Guatemalan base. She asked me how I'd heard about YWAM, and I told her that I had heard of it through my best friend who was on staff at the base in Costa Rica (this just so happens to be the same friend who invited Joel to the New Year's Eve party) and through my boyfriend who had done a DTS with YWAM in Belize with his outreach in Guatemala. The girl asked me what my boyfriend's name was, and when I told her she couldn't believe she was meeting me.
Apparently Joel and this girl were friends when Joel was on his outreach, and they'd had a conversation about future relationships. Joel had told the girl that he wanted to be devoted to God and not worry about dating, and the girl's response had been, "Whatever girl you end up with is going to be one lucky girl."
My time in Costa Rica made me realize two things: one, I wanted to follow God with my whole heart for my whole life, and two, I wanted my adventures with God to include Joel. I was not at all ready to leave Costa Rica when the end of the month came, but Joel helped me to adjust back to Alabama life. He encouraged me to see the mission field in the here and now - the mission field that I'm a part of every day of my life. That is when I started praying every day that God would show us how we could do His kingdom work hand-in-hand.
That prayer was answered when my former students started coming to church. With Joel's help, it was easier for me to get my male students plugged in; whereas, my focus on my own had been on getting my female students plugged in (simply because males need male leadership and females need female leadership to grow). Seeing Joel with my students made me love him all the more. There's just something so special about seeing the man you love surrounded by the kids you love.
At the beginning of this month (October), Joel took me to his home state (Oregon). I was so excited to meet all of his old friends. Not to mention, we had plans to stay a couple of nights with a best friend of mine from my time in Costa Rica, who just so happens to be from Oregon and just so happens to have a brother-in-law who does worship with one of Joel's friends from college. Crazy, I know.
Well, on this trip, Joel and I went backpacking with his cousin and her husband. Underneath a waterfall (he chose the location because I like fantasy novels and have a very vivid imagination), Joel got down on one knee and asked me to marry him. Of course, I said yes.
I could not be more excited for the lifetime of adventures to come for Joel and me. I know that God has amazing things in store for the two of us, and even if the road isn't always easy, I know it will end with a beautiful story - a fairy tale that glorifies God and reveals His perfect orchestration in the midst of our insanely imperfect lives.
Tuesday, October 13, 2015
Wednesday, September 30, 2015
He's Gone - The Loss of a Hero
I was in the 7th grade when my hero passed away. I remember sitting in my history class that year, 2001, and watching the Twin Towers collapse before my very eyes. I remember thinking how horrific it must've been to be a part of that, but even more so, how heart-wrenching it would be to lose a loved one so suddenly. With no warning or preparation. Just a simple one minute they're there, and the next, they're gone forever.
Little did I know, that heart-wrenching feeling was one I'd come to know all too soon. On September 30, 2001, my hero breathed his last breath. There was no warning and no preparation. Frenchy (the only name by which I ever knew my uncle Jean-Marc Plante) was out playing street hockey with his friends, and he had a heart attack. He was 30 years old. Much too young to die. Much too young to be gone from this earth.
I remember the moment I heard the news. My grandma told me two simple words: "He's gone." At first those two words didn't make sense to me. Gone? Where did he go? Did he get to leave the hospital? Then, it hit me. Those two simple words were not so simple. They were the two of the most loaded words I would ever hear in my life. And with those words, my whole world, everything I'd ever known, collapsed. In my 7th grade mind, I feared that I, too, might be dying of a heart attack. I remember trying to swallow back the knots that kept forming in my throat and trying not to cry because I wanted to be strong for everyone else.
Frenchy was more than an uncle to me. He was my friend. My big brother. My favorite person to hang out with. He was always taking me somewhere fun - rollerblading around the neighborhood, ice skating, out to lunch, the list goes on. Frenchy had even promised me that he would take me rollerblading on Halloween because then we could get double the candy. Though we never got to do that, I know that Frenchy's impact on my life did not stop at his death.
Frenchy's death set off a chain reaction in my life that ultimately led me into becoming the person I am today. When Frenchy died, two things happened. One, I realized that Frenchy was the kind of person I wanted to be - someone who walked about this life always making others smile and always making others feel loved. Two, I realized that writing was more than a hobby for me. Writing was something that was as crucial to my life as breathing, and whatever it was about writing that was so important to me, I would make it my life's ambition to find and tell that story.
At age 12, I set out to write my first book. I called it Seventeen in honor of my uncle's hockey number. In the book, I planned to tell my life's story (more so for my ability to overcome tragedies and hardships than to actually share my story with others). I worked on the book for years. Each year, I added a new chapter with new life events - the good ones, the bad ones, the ugly ones. By college, I had reached seventeen chapters, and I'd found myself at a stopping point.
My best friend in college, Caroline, stumbled across my writing one day. We were probably supposed to be doing homework, but you know how college kids are, as unproductive in terms of homework as they come. But, Caroline read my story about Frenchy, and she said this to me: "If I die, will you write something about me?" I didn't realize it at the time, but those words would become as loaded as the two words: "He's gone."
For today, though, with it being the 14th anniversary of his death, my focus is on Frenchy so I will stop my story here - the place where my story all began.
Tuesday, September 29, 2015
Jesus Calms the Storm
I found all of my old blog entries that I thought I had lost so I will be posting them a few at a time to add a little flavor and some past experiences to this blog. The following story is true.
He got up, rebuked the wind and said to the waves, "Quiet! Be still!" Then the wind died down and it was completely calm. Mark 4:39-40
Amid the stories of tragedy and despair regarding the tornadoes of April 27, 2011, I would like to share a different kind of story - a story, well, nothing short of a miracle. This is a story of one who lost nothing and gained everything.
My anatomy lab final was scheduled to fall right in the midst of the Tuscaloosa tornado. I checked my email at least 20 times that afternoon, hoping for some form of notification about lab. Honestly, I had my fingers crossed that lab wouldn't be cancelled. Nerdy, I know. But I knew the lab material (or memorized it), and I didn't want to re-study everything.
A notification didn't come, not before I had to leave for lab anyways. My parking permit requires me to park in the farthest possible lot from campus. Since the weather was threatening, my parents told me to ignore the restrictions on parking and park as close to my class as possible. Did I listen? No. Looking back, I'm not sure if my disobedience was more to save my parents the expense of a parking ticket or if I simply didn't believe a tornado would really come.
By the time I made it to the bus stop (a parking lot's distance from my car), I began to regret my disobedience. The sky was a shade of gray I'd never seen, and the wind was strong enough to knock me over. I debated walking back to my car, but the bus arrived. The bus dropped me off right in front of the lab building. I made my trek to the second floor, secretly glad I hadn't added a parking ticket to my parents bills.
The lab TA arrived early, allowing those of us in the hallway to begin the test. I hadn't answered many questions when the building's alarms sounded. All students in the building were required to sit against the wall on the first floor. Students began complaining and crying. A worker brought out a radio, shouted that a death had been accounted for, and the crying grew worse.
After a while, students were given the choice to leave. There was an hour break in the tornadoes. A girl from my lab, who I'd never spoken to until that day, asked if I could give her a ride to her apartment. I nervously agreed. We walked at a near sprint, backpacks beating us in the spine with every step. The time was ticking.
Somehow, a group of people in a car recognized the girl from my lab. They offered us a ride to my car. I felt relieved, knowing we'd shaved off several minutes. We flung our belongings into my car and raced in the direction of her apartment (the opposite direction as mine). By this point, I'd determined that I wasn't going to make it home before the next tornado hit, but if I could get the girl from lab home, that would have to be good enough.
When we neared her apartments, she offered to walk a little to give me a little extra time. I set off toward my apartment, praying twenty minutes was ample time to get me home. If I'm being honest, I was more worried about my three-year-old West Highland Terrier than myself. If the next tornado was to hit my apartment, I wanted to be there with him.
I took a different route to my apartment than usual. The routes I knew were blocked with fallen trees. At a church I'd never seen in my life, I was told to get out of my car and walk. Shakily, I pulled the key out of the ignition and grabbed my phone. So many people were texting me that my inbox was overflowing. My battery was blinking. I looked up from my phone to something I hadn't noticed at first - complete and total destruction. I recognized nothing. I recognized no one. Climbing over rubble, fallen power lines, and tree branches, I heard a man shout, "Fifteen minutes until the next one hits. Find shelter immediately."
To my left, an elderly couple was bawling, arm-in-arm. I'll never forget the look on their faces. A herd of people rushed by me, making their way to the church. Their homes were gone. Their possessions lost.
"Jesus calms the stom. Jesus calms the storm. Jesus calms the storm." That was all I could think - all I could remember. I'd read that verse the previous night. I knew it was true, but like the disciples, I was still afraid - so afraid. It didn't seem possible for me to survive the situation. The next tornado was due in less than ten minutes, following the same path, and all around me was rubble. I sent out a few texts, hoping the people in my life would realize just how much they meant to me. I didn't want to miss the opportunity to say goodbye. Before the last of the messages could send, my phone went black.
Just then, I looked up and saw four college students. They told me to join them. Their house was down the road, and it was one of few that remained standing. I didn't know the four, but when one of the girls told me her name was Caroline (the name of my best friend who was killed in a car accident two years ago), I knew it was safe to follow. I knew God had provided me with a way. I entered their house, and Jesus did exactly what he promised he could do. He calmed the storm. The next round of tornadoes never came. I sat in the company of complete strangers completely awed by the power of my God.
That night, around midnight, I made it back to my apartment. It was a miracle I made it home alive. Not only was there the danger of the tornado looming over me, but also the danger of being a girl alone on the streets at night. God was watching over me. I came out of the tornado unscratched, but changed. I don't follow some ordinary God. I follow the God who heals the blind, who moves mountains and who calms the storm.
Three times in my life I have prayed that God would break my heart for what breaks His. Three times He has answered my prayer. In every broken heart, He has drawn me closer to Him. Through the heart breaks, I have gained an intimate relationship with Him. If it takes brokenness, to bring me in line with His will then it is brokenness I must take.
I lost nothing in the tornado but selfishness and pride. What did I gain? I got a glimpse into God's mighty power. I learned what it means for His people to come together in love and spirit. I learned what it means for Him to be the only constant in this everchanging life.
My heart goes out to those who lost their homes and loved ones. I pray that everyone affected by the tornadoes sees the power of God in the circumstances, never giving up hope for all things truly do work for the good of those who love Him.
He got up, rebuked the wind and said to the waves, "Quiet! Be still!" Then the wind died down and it was completely calm. Mark 4:39-40
Amid the stories of tragedy and despair regarding the tornadoes of April 27, 2011, I would like to share a different kind of story - a story, well, nothing short of a miracle. This is a story of one who lost nothing and gained everything.
My anatomy lab final was scheduled to fall right in the midst of the Tuscaloosa tornado. I checked my email at least 20 times that afternoon, hoping for some form of notification about lab. Honestly, I had my fingers crossed that lab wouldn't be cancelled. Nerdy, I know. But I knew the lab material (or memorized it), and I didn't want to re-study everything.
A notification didn't come, not before I had to leave for lab anyways. My parking permit requires me to park in the farthest possible lot from campus. Since the weather was threatening, my parents told me to ignore the restrictions on parking and park as close to my class as possible. Did I listen? No. Looking back, I'm not sure if my disobedience was more to save my parents the expense of a parking ticket or if I simply didn't believe a tornado would really come.
By the time I made it to the bus stop (a parking lot's distance from my car), I began to regret my disobedience. The sky was a shade of gray I'd never seen, and the wind was strong enough to knock me over. I debated walking back to my car, but the bus arrived. The bus dropped me off right in front of the lab building. I made my trek to the second floor, secretly glad I hadn't added a parking ticket to my parents bills.
The lab TA arrived early, allowing those of us in the hallway to begin the test. I hadn't answered many questions when the building's alarms sounded. All students in the building were required to sit against the wall on the first floor. Students began complaining and crying. A worker brought out a radio, shouted that a death had been accounted for, and the crying grew worse.
After a while, students were given the choice to leave. There was an hour break in the tornadoes. A girl from my lab, who I'd never spoken to until that day, asked if I could give her a ride to her apartment. I nervously agreed. We walked at a near sprint, backpacks beating us in the spine with every step. The time was ticking.
Somehow, a group of people in a car recognized the girl from my lab. They offered us a ride to my car. I felt relieved, knowing we'd shaved off several minutes. We flung our belongings into my car and raced in the direction of her apartment (the opposite direction as mine). By this point, I'd determined that I wasn't going to make it home before the next tornado hit, but if I could get the girl from lab home, that would have to be good enough.
When we neared her apartments, she offered to walk a little to give me a little extra time. I set off toward my apartment, praying twenty minutes was ample time to get me home. If I'm being honest, I was more worried about my three-year-old West Highland Terrier than myself. If the next tornado was to hit my apartment, I wanted to be there with him.
I took a different route to my apartment than usual. The routes I knew were blocked with fallen trees. At a church I'd never seen in my life, I was told to get out of my car and walk. Shakily, I pulled the key out of the ignition and grabbed my phone. So many people were texting me that my inbox was overflowing. My battery was blinking. I looked up from my phone to something I hadn't noticed at first - complete and total destruction. I recognized nothing. I recognized no one. Climbing over rubble, fallen power lines, and tree branches, I heard a man shout, "Fifteen minutes until the next one hits. Find shelter immediately."
To my left, an elderly couple was bawling, arm-in-arm. I'll never forget the look on their faces. A herd of people rushed by me, making their way to the church. Their homes were gone. Their possessions lost.
"Jesus calms the stom. Jesus calms the storm. Jesus calms the storm." That was all I could think - all I could remember. I'd read that verse the previous night. I knew it was true, but like the disciples, I was still afraid - so afraid. It didn't seem possible for me to survive the situation. The next tornado was due in less than ten minutes, following the same path, and all around me was rubble. I sent out a few texts, hoping the people in my life would realize just how much they meant to me. I didn't want to miss the opportunity to say goodbye. Before the last of the messages could send, my phone went black.
Just then, I looked up and saw four college students. They told me to join them. Their house was down the road, and it was one of few that remained standing. I didn't know the four, but when one of the girls told me her name was Caroline (the name of my best friend who was killed in a car accident two years ago), I knew it was safe to follow. I knew God had provided me with a way. I entered their house, and Jesus did exactly what he promised he could do. He calmed the storm. The next round of tornadoes never came. I sat in the company of complete strangers completely awed by the power of my God.
That night, around midnight, I made it back to my apartment. It was a miracle I made it home alive. Not only was there the danger of the tornado looming over me, but also the danger of being a girl alone on the streets at night. God was watching over me. I came out of the tornado unscratched, but changed. I don't follow some ordinary God. I follow the God who heals the blind, who moves mountains and who calms the storm.
Three times in my life I have prayed that God would break my heart for what breaks His. Three times He has answered my prayer. In every broken heart, He has drawn me closer to Him. Through the heart breaks, I have gained an intimate relationship with Him. If it takes brokenness, to bring me in line with His will then it is brokenness I must take.
I lost nothing in the tornado but selfishness and pride. What did I gain? I got a glimpse into God's mighty power. I learned what it means for His people to come together in love and spirit. I learned what it means for Him to be the only constant in this everchanging life.
My heart goes out to those who lost their homes and loved ones. I pray that everyone affected by the tornadoes sees the power of God in the circumstances, never giving up hope for all things truly do work for the good of those who love Him.
For My Students
I've found that the longer I teach, the more I love my students. Don't get me wrong. I don't mean by that statement that I love my current students more than I love my former students. I also don't mean by that statement that I love my actual students more than the students who have talked to me so often that they may as well have been my students. What I mean is that the longer I am around students, the more special the sum total of all my students becomes to me. The longer I am around students, the bigger my heart grows.
Let me be more specific. Over the past two years, I have been blessed to come across the most extraordinary people on the planet earth. I realize that is a bold statement, but I know it's true. I have met students with burdens much too large for their age and stature. I have met students with hearts twice the size of their whole bodies. I have met students who have changed my life.
This entry is for my students. The ones who think they have it all together. The ones who know they don't. The ones who refuse to ask for help in the middle of their troubles. The ones who are begging to be heard. The ones who want nothing more than a shoulder to lean on. The ones who want to be that shoulder to lean on. The ones with ambitions greater than make sense. The ones who haven't yet made sense of their ambitions. The loud ones. The quiet ones. The goofy ones. The serious ones. The happy ones. The sad ones. The hopeful ones. The hopeless ones.
Here's what I have to say to all of you (current, former, future students): You are important. You are special. You have a place in this world whether the world wants you to believe that or not. You don't have to be any skinnier, bigger, funnier, cooler, smarter, older, taller, shorter. You're you, and that's enough. You're enough. You have the power to change lives, and I can say that with confidence because you have changed mine. If you've walked through the doors of my classroom, I am talking to you. Yes, you. The one who believes me right now and the one who doesn't. Because here's the thing. I believe in you. With all of my heart, I believe in you.
Sunday, September 27, 2015
Questioning My Faith
Lately, I've been thinking a lot about what it means to really have faith in God. I mean, yeah sure, I go about my day claiming that I believe in God, but do I actually put my full trust in Him? Would I really follow Him anywhere, even if it didn't make sense to me (or anyone else for that matter)? Or, does my faith really rest in me? Is my whole life dictated by what I can and cannot do, completely void of my Father's power working in me?
As much as I hate to admit it, I think too often my faith does rest in me. I'll do what God wants me to do so long as it's simple or easy - maybe even if it's challenging but only if it fits right in with my tiny little bit of human understanding. Then, once I've done whatever it is that God has called me to do, I seem to only want to manipulate the circumstances to get what I want out of it as quickly and easily as possible when I know good and well that God's timing is exponentially greater than my own. Besides, all that manipulating and all that self-absorption is exhausting. Especially when my source of strength comes from the Lord, not me.
So, I've set out to stop trusting in me and to start walking in faith. Real faith. I'm chasing after God, and He is leading me into places I never thought I'd go. More and more, I'm starting to see that my life is a series of orchestrations - orchestrations straight from God. Many would say that they're mere coincidences, but I believe otherwise. God is too great, too powerful, too sovereign for mere coincidences. The more I let go of my life and stop placing my faith in me, the more I see these orchestrations taking place, and the more I see the dots of my life aligning into this breathtaking thing called life abundant. When my faith shifts from me to Him, I don't have to be so OCD about life because I know the details are all taken care of. No matter how many millions and billions of people are in this world, I know that my God doesn't forget a single detail of my life. And here I've been, all this time, putting my faith in me - the one who can hardly even remember what she had for breakfast this morning. Crazy, huh?
I know one thing for sure: Life's an adventure when you decide to go all in with God. It's not always easy to jump into the unknown with both feet, but it's a lot more exciting to let God carry you once you've made the jump than to keep both feet firmly planted to the ground. That adventurous life with God - the one in which my faith resides wholly in Him - that's the life I'm after. I want to be able to say, "YES!" to every single thing that God asks of me, never thinking twice about whether or not I am capable of it. Never thinking twice about whether or not I am equipped for it. You see, God is so much greater than me, and I don't have to rely on my own capabilities or my own equipping. All I have to do is say, "YES!" to God and know that in Him, all things are possible.
As much as I hate to admit it, I think too often my faith does rest in me. I'll do what God wants me to do so long as it's simple or easy - maybe even if it's challenging but only if it fits right in with my tiny little bit of human understanding. Then, once I've done whatever it is that God has called me to do, I seem to only want to manipulate the circumstances to get what I want out of it as quickly and easily as possible when I know good and well that God's timing is exponentially greater than my own. Besides, all that manipulating and all that self-absorption is exhausting. Especially when my source of strength comes from the Lord, not me.
So, I've set out to stop trusting in me and to start walking in faith. Real faith. I'm chasing after God, and He is leading me into places I never thought I'd go. More and more, I'm starting to see that my life is a series of orchestrations - orchestrations straight from God. Many would say that they're mere coincidences, but I believe otherwise. God is too great, too powerful, too sovereign for mere coincidences. The more I let go of my life and stop placing my faith in me, the more I see these orchestrations taking place, and the more I see the dots of my life aligning into this breathtaking thing called life abundant. When my faith shifts from me to Him, I don't have to be so OCD about life because I know the details are all taken care of. No matter how many millions and billions of people are in this world, I know that my God doesn't forget a single detail of my life. And here I've been, all this time, putting my faith in me - the one who can hardly even remember what she had for breakfast this morning. Crazy, huh?
I know one thing for sure: Life's an adventure when you decide to go all in with God. It's not always easy to jump into the unknown with both feet, but it's a lot more exciting to let God carry you once you've made the jump than to keep both feet firmly planted to the ground. That adventurous life with God - the one in which my faith resides wholly in Him - that's the life I'm after. I want to be able to say, "YES!" to every single thing that God asks of me, never thinking twice about whether or not I am capable of it. Never thinking twice about whether or not I am equipped for it. You see, God is so much greater than me, and I don't have to rely on my own capabilities or my own equipping. All I have to do is say, "YES!" to God and know that in Him, all things are possible.
Sunday, December 14, 2014
Rest Assured
It's hard for me to be patient, to sit still, to rest. I'm one of those people who would much rather stay busy 24/7 than actually have the downtime to sit around and do nothing. The problem with that is we, as Christians, are called to rest. We're called to pause, reflect and refocus.
Earlier this year, I had a plate much too full. I was overcommitted to the maximum degree, and rest was the last thing I was willing to do. How was I supposed to make time for rest when I had huge goals to accomplish alongside working and volunteering? There was simply not enough time to pause. So my days went by, one blur after the next.
At that point in time, I knew I needed to let something go. I knew I was juggling one too many things. There was teaching, coaching videos (soon to be my first year of coaching softball), leadership at church, marathon training, working on a novel, family time, friend time, etc. Throw into that mix two bible studies and a few other weekly commitments. It all seemed so good - so worthy of my time. I knew I needed to cut something, but how do you cut a "good" thing?
The more I prayed, the more I knew something had to go. Instead of doing anything about it, though, I just decided that if I worked that much harder, I could finish things quicker. Finishing things quicker would mean more time to rest. So that's what I did. I squeezed everything into my life as quickly as possible, which only left me feeling unfulfilled and exhausted. Nothing was done with full effort or full focus because I'd spread myself too thin. Not to mention, by the time I had time to rest, I was too tired to do any reflecting and refocusing.
My plans to pray and grow in my relationship with God while marathon training faltered. My brain was too all-over-the-place. Instead of praying and praising God, I made to-do lists in my mind. Marathon training began to be nothing more than a check on one of those to-do lists rather than the prayer time and solitude with God it'd been in the past.
Still, I refused to sit down. I grew more and more confident with my own abilities to get through each day, forgetting to spend quality time with God (time with God while in the midst of a mental fuzz is not quality time at all). I read through my bible, barely retaining anything and surely not letting the words take root in my heart. I wanted them to, but I wasn't patient enough to let them.
Then one day God sat me down. I couldn't run a mile without walking home limping. I had shin splints, tendonitis in my IT band and a sharp pain in my ankle that would not subside. If I'm being honest, I actually pushed through that pain for a while. I ran some sloppy and slow ten milers just to cross it off my to-do list. They were miserable runs with an even more miserable aftermath. I tried stretching, icing and all that jazz before a group of ladies in one of my bible studies convinced me to see a doctor.
The doctor sent to physical therapy for several weeks, where they tried every type of therapy, including dry needling, to get me back into running. My IT band and shin splints healed, but my ankle pain remained. My peroneal tendons wouldn't stop snapping out of place so they stayed inflamed.
God was trying to tell me to rest, but I was too stubborn to listen. I replaced my running time with time on a spin bike, determined to stay in shape - determined to still run the marathon - determined not to rest. But God had other plans. My ankle injury was one that required surgery, meaning marathoning was out of the question. This ankle surgery would also prevent me from walking and driving for 6 weeks. The only option I had left was to rest.
I don't think it fully hit me just how stubborn and prideful I was until one night about a week or so after my surgery when I tripped and fell face first to the ground. At first, I was worried that the fall had reinjured my healing ankle (it didn't). Then, I realized just what position I was in. Sprawled out on the floor, even though no one was around, there was no room for pride. I'd been completely humbled and the only thing left for me to do was praise God for letting me fall so that I could see just why He wanted my attention.
He wanted me to rest. Not just to sit down in a chair, but to rest in Him. He wanted me to refocus and reflect. The whole time I'd been looking for something good that could come out of having an injury, such as going on a mission trip or finishing a novel, and all the while, that something good was right in front of me. It was quality time with God.
Earlier this year, I had a plate much too full. I was overcommitted to the maximum degree, and rest was the last thing I was willing to do. How was I supposed to make time for rest when I had huge goals to accomplish alongside working and volunteering? There was simply not enough time to pause. So my days went by, one blur after the next.
At that point in time, I knew I needed to let something go. I knew I was juggling one too many things. There was teaching, coaching videos (soon to be my first year of coaching softball), leadership at church, marathon training, working on a novel, family time, friend time, etc. Throw into that mix two bible studies and a few other weekly commitments. It all seemed so good - so worthy of my time. I knew I needed to cut something, but how do you cut a "good" thing?
The more I prayed, the more I knew something had to go. Instead of doing anything about it, though, I just decided that if I worked that much harder, I could finish things quicker. Finishing things quicker would mean more time to rest. So that's what I did. I squeezed everything into my life as quickly as possible, which only left me feeling unfulfilled and exhausted. Nothing was done with full effort or full focus because I'd spread myself too thin. Not to mention, by the time I had time to rest, I was too tired to do any reflecting and refocusing.
My plans to pray and grow in my relationship with God while marathon training faltered. My brain was too all-over-the-place. Instead of praying and praising God, I made to-do lists in my mind. Marathon training began to be nothing more than a check on one of those to-do lists rather than the prayer time and solitude with God it'd been in the past.
Still, I refused to sit down. I grew more and more confident with my own abilities to get through each day, forgetting to spend quality time with God (time with God while in the midst of a mental fuzz is not quality time at all). I read through my bible, barely retaining anything and surely not letting the words take root in my heart. I wanted them to, but I wasn't patient enough to let them.
Then one day God sat me down. I couldn't run a mile without walking home limping. I had shin splints, tendonitis in my IT band and a sharp pain in my ankle that would not subside. If I'm being honest, I actually pushed through that pain for a while. I ran some sloppy and slow ten milers just to cross it off my to-do list. They were miserable runs with an even more miserable aftermath. I tried stretching, icing and all that jazz before a group of ladies in one of my bible studies convinced me to see a doctor.
The doctor sent to physical therapy for several weeks, where they tried every type of therapy, including dry needling, to get me back into running. My IT band and shin splints healed, but my ankle pain remained. My peroneal tendons wouldn't stop snapping out of place so they stayed inflamed.
God was trying to tell me to rest, but I was too stubborn to listen. I replaced my running time with time on a spin bike, determined to stay in shape - determined to still run the marathon - determined not to rest. But God had other plans. My ankle injury was one that required surgery, meaning marathoning was out of the question. This ankle surgery would also prevent me from walking and driving for 6 weeks. The only option I had left was to rest.
I don't think it fully hit me just how stubborn and prideful I was until one night about a week or so after my surgery when I tripped and fell face first to the ground. At first, I was worried that the fall had reinjured my healing ankle (it didn't). Then, I realized just what position I was in. Sprawled out on the floor, even though no one was around, there was no room for pride. I'd been completely humbled and the only thing left for me to do was praise God for letting me fall so that I could see just why He wanted my attention.
He wanted me to rest. Not just to sit down in a chair, but to rest in Him. He wanted me to refocus and reflect. The whole time I'd been looking for something good that could come out of having an injury, such as going on a mission trip or finishing a novel, and all the while, that something good was right in front of me. It was quality time with God.
Sunday, November 16, 2014
#ProjectRippleEffect
If you somehow come across this blog, I challenge you to make a ripple in this world. There's enough negativity out there. Let's turn this world positive. Don't forget to use our hashtag when you make your ripple: #ProjectRippleEffect.
Need more information? The link below will take you to a video created by one of my eighth grade classes and an eighth grade computer class at my school.
The Project Ripple Effect link: http://youtu.be/Ced6_bt2aRY
If the video made you smile at all, don't let it end with you!
Need more information? The link below will take you to a video created by one of my eighth grade classes and an eighth grade computer class at my school.
The Project Ripple Effect link: http://youtu.be/Ced6_bt2aRY
If the video made you smile at all, don't let it end with you!
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