Keeping my Religion for Equality

I have always had a conflicted admiration for former President Jimmy Carter's infamous piece, Losing My Religion for Equality. In this revolutionary work, Carter outlines his reasons for leaving the Southern Baptist Convention, and ends with the following statement.

The truth is that male religious leaders have had - and still have - an option to interpret holy teachings either to exalt or subjugate women. They have, for their own selfish ends, overwhelmingly chosen the latter. Their continuing choice provides the foundation or justification for much of the pervasive persecution and abuse of women throughout the world. This is in clear violation not just of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights but also the teachings of Jesus Christ, the Apostle Paul, Moses and the prophets, Muhammad, and founders of other great religions - all of whom have called for proper and equitable treatment of all the children of God. It is time we had the courage to challenge these views.

On one hand, I applaud and deeply embrace the various sentiments Carter expressed throughout the piece, (which I highly recommend you read in full,) and on the other, the terminology associated with "losing religion" disturbed me. I understand his statement, I truly do. I once told a friend with deep conviction that I "could not worship a god who encouraged the subjugation of half of his people based on a gender which he had assigned them", and was greeted with her horror and immediate defensiveness. This surprised me. I assumed that what I was saying was obvious; if a god gave equal gifts and abilities to all creation, then denied the use of them to half based on an element outside of their control, then clearly, that god was not God at all, at least not the God described in the Bible. God who created male and female in His own image, could not be the same god who says that women in fact get a little bit less of his image. I find that notion jarring with the very spirit of Christ in me, and I reject it utterly.

So why do we cling so dearly to our "religious" affiliations? I think to a certain extent, it is valid and understandable. Any individual who claims faith as a key life element needs to be able to define this influence and identify how it impacts their daily existence. Nothing quite like understanding why you believe what you believe and what God you associate with as when you are being tossed into an arena full of hungry lions (here's looking at you, early Christianity).

But how do we address issues of conscience, deeply rooted in our passion for social justice and Christ-like living in this world, that are antithetical to the teachings of a particular denomination? Well, I had to figure out how I felt about this right-quick, as my home church established its charter membership. (Quick note: my church has never in my memory had "membership", we were simply a warm and welcoming family to any who entered our doors. However, in order to build a necessary handicap ramp to the building, the church was required to produce a membership list to governing authorities. Hence, the establishment of an official set of bylaws.) So I was faced with a decision, to sign or not to sign.

Now, if you know me at all, you may be surprised that this was such a difficult decision for me. After all, my church family is my family, in every possible way. Sure, my dad is an Elder and my mom leads children's ministry, my brother played guitar on the worship team and I directed a youth ministry, but it is so much more than that. You see, my pastor and his wife are like a second set of parents, they know me so well and I look forward to the far-too-occasional catch-ups over tea in their living room. Another dear church friend made herself a cup of coffee and sat in front of her computer for the entirety of my 4 hour graduation ceremony to watch me walk across that stage in another state. I can count on more than one hand the number of people that I know are praying for me on a weekly if not daily basis. I walk through those worn, wooden doors after being away for months at a time, knowing that nothing but peace, love, and a multitude of hugs awaits me. That church is my safe haven in a world of pressure, conflict, challenge, and struggle. They love, and they love well.

Now, I am in no way saying they are perfect. We are a group of beautiful humans who are trying each day to submit our humanity to the glory of holiness, and in the struggle to glorify the God who made us and brought us together. But I am trying to illustrate how dear this place and these people are to me, so to better highlight the true depth of my struggle.

Because it was a struggle. You see, part of the new bylaws indicates that the role of pastor and elder may only be held by a man. And this, dear friends, is where my heart bled. You see, I find this truly heartbreaking, for many reasons. (If you have about 6 hours and a desire to buy me coffee, I'd be happy to fill you in on why.) But instead of embarking on a manifesto of God-ordained equality in the church, I'll simply say that this is one of the greatest issues that I wrestle with and advocate for throughout my life.

So what to do? I spoke with my dad, (who, by the way, is one of my biggest supporters. Even when we have disagreed, I have never doubted his unconditional love and pride in who I am and who I am trying to become.) He reassured me on several elements, including the differentiation between core elements of belief necessary for agreement with the bylaws, and those beliefs that reflect areas with which I may disagree and still ethically express commitment to the church as a whole. I sought counsel of friends and mentors (shout-out to my grandpa, who spent a significant amount of time on the phone hearing me process through this decision,) and prayed, a lot. And I fluctuated. After speaking with my dad, I leaned heavily towards signing. Then I re-read the bylaws, and leaned heavily towards not signing. But the decision was made on Sunday, March 6, as I pulled into the parking lot of the church, approximately 45 minutes late for the membership service. A series of circumstances had delayed my arrival from Edinboro, Pennsylvania, and I was sweating as I pulled into the gravel lot. Sure, I was anxious because of my late arrival, but I was also anxious because as of that morning, I still had no idea what I was going to do. My church was having a special afternoon service, celebrating this new chapter in the life of the community and offering an opportunity to sign the charter membership document. I wanted so badly to be there. It felt kind of like I imagine the desire to be at your best friend's wedding or child's christening; a significant moment in your relationship and in their development. But I didn't know what part I would play in that moment.

Until I pulled into the parking lot, that is. Then I heard the sound of voices coming from the sanctuary, singing together, with joy, peace, and the love of the Lord. And I knew my family was in there. Not just my mom, dad, and brother, although they were certainly there. But all the other members of my family. And in that moment I knew that committing to a community that loved God, loved me, and love one another was a privilege and a calling.

So I walked in, late, but welcomed with laughter and smiles, and sat next to my parents. I later walked up to the alter with my brother to sign the charter, with the strains of one of my favorite Hillsong hymns playing in the background. Appropriate, I thought. Christ alone Cornerstone. Weak made strong, in the Savior's love. Through the storm, He is Lord. Lord of all.

Do I still take issue with anything that smacks of inequality? Undoubtedly. (Just ask my poor, gracious friends who have heard me lecture, fume, and cry over the subject.)  Have I decided that equality is better served by me clinging to my "religious" family? Absolutely. Because, you see, these people view truth as superior to opinion, and I know that dialogue will always be an option.  For example, when my pastor called me to check if I had received a copy of the bylaws and if I had any questions, he responded to my concerns with, "I would have been disappointed if you didn't challenge me on this!" Because we follow the teachings of Jesus, we are able to approach one another as flawed, frail humans who bear the image of God and the compulsion to pursue His Way.

So, not in conclusion, as this story is very much "in the works", but rather, in continuation, I signed the charter membership. And I am at peace with that decision. No, more than at peace - at joy. I support these people and how they are seeking God in their community, and I want to be a part of that in as many ways as possible. Will I continue to challenge any exclusive, patriarchal mindset? You bet. Does my family expect nothing less? Believe it. And that is what makes us family. We push one another forward in our individual and communal journeys towards the very heart of God, and His calling for each of us on this earth.

"So in Christ Jesus you are all children of God through faith, for all of you who were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ. There is neither Jew nor Gentile, neither slave nor free, nor is there male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus. If you belong to Christ, then you are Abraham’s seed, and heirs according to the promise." {Galatians 3:26-29}

Poked, Prodded, & ANGRY

This morning I had an appointment with my Gynecologist. [Insert involuntary shudder.] The last time I spoke with her, she told me that despite my commitment to abstinence, the fact that I was physically feeling fine, and overriding my best attempts at argument, she would in no uncertain terms refuse to continue my birth control prescription without an annual examination. I've been dodging that sucker for like 3 years running...

[By way of explanation, I have large ovarian cysts that occasionally decide to burst and send me to the floor in crippling pain, NBD...] Hence the very real need for this prescription.

Well, I showed up today in a less than positive mood anyway. I had done some research and found that the scientific community has largely found that annual examinations are unnecessary for someone in my situation, and yet the medical community continues to require them for continuation of services. Now, I do really like my doctor. She is funny, kind, and very genuine, and she did tell me that it was my right to refuse a pelvic examination. [She clarified that it was my right to refuse any examination, but that she would not give me a prescription without at least a "general" examination.] Anyone else feel the pressure? Yeah, I did. In a big way.

So I showed up, refused the pelvic exam, had my vitals charted, and underwent a very short and painless breast examination. 15 minutes in-and-out of the examination room. Prescription updated. Boom.

So why did I sit in my car and cry afterwards? It was stupid really, I mean, it was the shortest clinical visit I've ever had. I chatted with a doctor I like and it was completely painless - what was my issue? My mom hit the nail on the head when she asked gently if I felt upset because I felt powerless. Because that was it, completely. While I trust this doctor and in no way felt weird about her, I did not feel like I had a choice about when and how I was poked and prodded. Sure, I could have walked away, but I would have been without very important medication. Sure, I could have found another doctor, but that would have taken weeks to set up an appointment, and I would have had to undergo a pelvic exam at a new office anyway. If I wanted my prescription, I had to sit in a paper gown and be poked and prodded. That's just how it was.

I went about my day normally, but I felt off. No one should have to feel like this. I feel like this, and I was touched appropriately, by a doctor, and with my consent. So my frustration with the health care system aside, I think this situation really just brought to the surface deep feelings about the value of the female voice and an individual's right to self-determination. [If you are concerned that I am about to address this from a feminist perspective, damn straight. Put the kettle on.]

For thousands of years and from culture to culture, women have been poked and prodded, told when and where to go, told what to do and who to see. From covering heads and ankles in the Middle East to waxing and tanning in the United States. From military assignments that may never see combat but will see sexual harassment, to religious institutions that value the nurturing instinct of women but not their God-given leadership abilities. From wage gaps to "normal" groping on the bus, assertiveness seen as bitchiness, reservation as weakness, and an intolerance for the subjugation of half of the human race as "radicalism", I am so tired. And I am so not okay with any of it.

Did I take my rather generic experience today and run with it? Absolutely. Was I in any way harmed by my appointment today? Not at all. Is this an opportunity to realize an emotion that is a common reality for millions of people around the world? I hope so.

I'm not sure what to do with these thoughts and experiences, so I write. I hope that each of you, male and female, take your experiences, thoughts, and emotions, and use them as fuel to change this fragile world for the better. We, as women in particular, need to begin living the reality of the world we want to leave for our daughters. Anaïs Nin wrote, “How wrong is it for a woman to expect the man to build the world she wants, rather than to create it herself?” And I believe this is true. We have many partners who will gladly join hands with us, fathers and mothers, brothers and sisters, children and friends. I believe that many are willing, and even eager for change. For something greater. For the beauty of humanity for which we were created. 

How will you use your story to begin the change?

An Experiment in Transparency

Social media can be a dangerous thing. It can tell a compelling story that lacks detail, or show a beautiful piece of art, neglecting the shadows in the background. Social media is wonderful, because we can stay in touch with people we care about but cannot see or talk with frequently. It can be dangerous if that is the only way those people know us. It is so one dimensional.

So let's try an experiment in transparency.

I am not the perfect woman, friend, daughter, sister, leader, or grad student. Honestly, I am a perfect mess right now. I have large amounts of credit card debt and student loans that I will be paying for the rest of my life. I deal with anxiety and job stress on a daily basis, which often results in indigestion, hair loss, or migraines. I question myself, doubting if my abilities align with my sense of calling, or if I understand my sense of calling at all. I feel guilty about not being available enough for my friends, but resent too many demands on my all too little time. I struggle to overcome my controlling nature, and my "leadership qualities" (aka bossiness) often lands me in hot water. I am impatient, ungentle, discouraged, and tired.

....

I could just leave it there. I clearly don't have it all together, so maybe the point is that my messiness should encourage you, (“hey, at least I’m not sporting bald spots like that Graybill girl!”). Or maybe, just maybe, I should talk a little less about me, and a little bit more about those who are responsible for the best I have to offer. You see, my ungraciousness has been worn away by those friends whose gentleness shines from them like spring sunshine. My bossiness has been refined to actual leadership skills because of the guidance and example of supervisors, mentors, and bosses, who each took time to invest in who I was and who I am becoming. My self-absorption and roller-coaster emotions have been buffered and caressed into a more genuine nature by the unconditional and unfathomable love of my mom. My arrogance has been humbled by the wisdom of my dad, and my rudeness quenched by the grace of my brother. My irresponsibility has experienced accountability in the generous figures of my grandparents, and my anxiety quelled by the prayers of my best friend.

Ultimately, substantially, I owe any of the good I do or grace I exhibit to who I believe God is, and how I allow my God to work on and through me. That is the point I am oh-so-clumsily trying to make. I am not perfect; I am not even remarkable. I am very, very human. But each day that I grow to be a little bit more like the Jesus I love, I consider to be a good day. And each of those days I owe entirely to God and to the amazing people He has put in my life.

So to each of you, to those I owe my grand life and never thank enough, “thank you”. Stay amazing. 

And to each of you who feel like perfect messes today too, I highly suggest taking a walk in the wild. There is something incredibly healing about feeling totally accepted and at home in nature. Give it a try, I dare you. Just don't forget to come home again. Tomorrow is a brand new day.  

For Gram

Today I made a sweet potato casserole, and I thought of you.

Catholics believe I can talk to you, and you will hear. And maybe even put in a good word for me with our Father in heaven. I wonder if you can see me.

Do you remember making sweet potato casseroles every Thanksgiving? I remember.


I kind of hope you can't see me. I believe heaven is a happy place, and I can only imagine you would cry if you could see the world you left behind.

Today we are on the brink of World War III. Immigrants fleeing terrorism have no place to go. Terrorists go everywhere. Politicians argue policy while people starve and die. Religious persecution runs rampant. Fear is the word of the day.

At the expense of humanity we label, blame, and vilify. "All white people are rich and ignorant". "All black people are angry and violent". We see in two colors, and we lump each other into blanket categories for our own comfort.

Compassion is viewed as stupidity, faith as irrationality.

And yet, I believe. I believe in a better world, a world where we view each other as brothers and sisters. A world where orphans are adopted and widows are loved. A world where bombs and drones are no longer the answer.

I hope you cannot see this world. But, I confess, a small part of me hopes you can see the very first sweet potato casserole I ever made. I think you'd be proud of me.

If you can hear me, say hello to Grandpa for me. And happy Thanksgiving.

A Girl Named General.

If I ever have a daughter, I will name her General.

......

Every time she enters a room and is greeted by her name, she receives a verbal salute.

She will know that she is worthy of respect.

Brave.

Strong.

Free.

She can lead.

She can listen.

And most importantly, she will always fight for what is right.

......

Names are powerful, and so are little girls.

Image retrieved from: http://www.athleta.net/2014/04/18/strong-is-the-new-pretty/

On Nonviolence & a Warrior's Heart

Big, hot tears glistened in round, baby-brown eyes and rolled down over sweet chubby cheeks as his lower lip trembled. My precious little 6-year-old brother was crying. And 8-year-old me, in a frilly Sunday dress, felt a white-hot rage engulf me in an instant. That moment was all it took. I let a punch fly, connecting squarely with the jaw of the bully who just dared to call my brother "fat". It sent him straight to the deck, or rather, the blacktop outside of the front door of our church. This was particularly unfortunate, as the service had just let out, and so my little act of very non-Mennonite aggression had been witnessed by more than a few. 

Who wouldn't want to protect this adorable kid?!

Fast-forward a week - I had to write a letter of apology to the boy's mother for striking her son, even though she said that he deserved what he got. Fast-forward to high school - the "bully" is actually a pretty cool guy, and he and my brother and I are all actually friends, and I have never felt the need to punch him in the face again. Skip ahead to grad school - I have had the urge to punch quite a few people in the face since my single flirtation with violence, but gratefully report that no one has been harmed in the making of this memoir. Only once did I take a swing at someone, (unsuccessfully, thanks to the quick interventions of a few good friends,) and in that case, I was being sexually harassed at a bar, so at the time I figured it was justified. Why do I share these slightly ridiculous stories, do you ask? Well, I have actually been struggling with the whole notion of the practice of pacifism in our violent world today, so this is more like "thinking out loud". 

For clarification, while the Mennonite tradition, (with which I do most closely align theologically, and to which I credit my spiritual development as well as family background,) does include a strict pacifist standard, my home church had never "enforced" this mantra. Rather, we were the church in the district that had families representing military service, and so were allowed by the Bishop to simply say nothing at all, rather than condemn a non-pacifist lifestyle. Yeah, I'm very grateful for my "fringe" church, it was a great family to grow with. As a whole, they grasped the best tenets of the Anabaptist faith and ran with them in a way that Jesus would in the 21st century.

Aside from avidly supporting our military sisters and brothers, which I do wholeheartedly, I began feeling convicted a few years ago about how my expression of either peace or violence represented Christ as He would walk in our world today. Because I have a confession...I have a warrior's heart. When I hear of injustice in the political system of this nation, some travesty committed against the helpless in another, and the overall degradation of our world as a whole, I get angry. And not necessarily like the cool righteous anger that was involved in the whole Jesus-flipping-tables incident, but an anger that makes me want to take someone down for what has occurred, to wring some justice out of the dirty dishrag that we have created of our universe. 

But since even the Son of God refused to be a militant Messiah, I have tried to never allow my first "fight" instinct to control me, but to rather combat injustice with truth and love. In college, when a favorite professor and 7 other members of faculty were unjustly removed from their positions, I used my role as Student Chaplain to encourage and organize a peaceful protest, one that involved written petitions and public statements rather than angry protests. Ironically, even that manner of questioning the actions of authority resulted in a meeting with University leaders who called my behavior "un-Christlike" and "inflammatory". I suppose truth is often inflammatory, but so was Christ. 

The only real conclusion I have discovered is that I have a deep and abiding belief in nonviolence, but I am not a pacifist. The basic difference here, is perhaps best explained through the words of Francis Schaeffer.

 "The Bible is clear here: I am to love my neighbor as myself, in the manner needed, in a practical way, in the midst of the fallen world, at my particular point of history. This is why I am not a pacifist. Pacifism in this poor world in which we live - this lost world - means that we desert the people who need our greatest help."

I say that I am not a pacifist because I believe that there are times when, in defense of the defenseless, violence is necessary. If I see my neighbor attacked on the street, I will respond with protective force because I believe that is the loving response. I do however believe in nonviolence as an overarching way of life, which includes committing to a peaceful response when I am personally threatened, physically or verbally, and to advocate for peaceful resolution strategies as the first option always in any conflict. I do not get this right all the time, or even most of the time. (Case in point, taking a swing at a pervert in a bar.) And at some point, I would also like to share some thoughts on what I have learned about how nonviolence must be present in our language, how we speak to and about one another, as well as our actions, for our belief in peace to be valid.

But I keep trying. I keep trying because I believe that those of us who were born with warrior hearts are necessary. I believe God can use this nature as a force for good and justice and yes, ultimately peace in the face of evil. But that is only possible if warriors submit their raging hearts to the One who created their very souls.

Oh, and in case you were wondering, my "little" brother protects me now, so watch what you say...

My Sister Act

Total transparency - the past few months have been filled with frustration, pain, discouragement, and loss. The last several weeks have been particularly hard, and as I prepare for a brand new week, I had to share some reflections. I'm going to skip over the hurricane of my Monday-Friday drama, and focus solely on how the Lord came through in a big way, in a completely unexpected way, in a God-sized, magical kind-of-way.

I decided to visit a monastery. I was facing an inevitable emotional breakdown about four weeks ago, and I knew it would take something a little crazy to overcome the overwhelming hurdles I was facing. So, in classic Steph style, I chose something a little nutty. I decided to visit Mount St. Benedict, a monastery of Benedictine nuns in Harborcreek, PA, about 40 minutes away. The pastor of a church I had been attending mentioned that he had stayed in a guest cabin at the Mount during his sabbatical, and so I sent the Sisters an email and arranged to stay from Saturday morning into Sunday afternoon.

Let me put this in perspective. I had never even set foot in a Catholic church before that weekend. Raised in the Anabaptist tradition, I had always harbored a vague fear and distrust of Catholics, which had something to do with that denomination's ancient history of burning my ancestors at the stake, and also a suspicion that Catholics really just sat around and worshiped statues of Mary. On top of that, pretty much all I knew about nuns I learned from The Sound of Music and Sister Act.

But I believed that I needed silence and solitude, so to the Mount I fled. What I encountered was unlike anything I have experienced before. I found a community of good, godly, genuinely loving women who welcomed me like a friend. The Sisters of St. Benedict are educated, intelligent, hard-working women, who dedicate their lives to living in community and advocating for social justice, peace, and equality. They love God and they love others. It is that simple. I was welcomed, hugged, and invited to participate in the Eucharist. Sisters actively saved seats for me in the sanctuary, and had a praise book laid out with all the pages marked so that I could follow along. I suspect that I found myself nestled in the second to front row with a lot of musical Sisters during my first Evening Praise so that I could comfortably copy their voices and movements, instead of struggling to join in from the back row. I had Sisters to sit and eat with, and Sisters to invite me to their movie night. (Oh by the way, these Sisters do not wear habits, but they do watch tv, espouse feminist ideals, and tell very funny stories and jokes that I could never have anticipated hearing from a nun.) They are self-acknowledging "normal people". Yes, I walked the grounds of the monastery and participated in "spiritual direction". I spent some time in solitude and silence. But unexpectedly, sweetly, the most life-changing moments I experienced during this weekend were spent simply being with the Sisters. These authentic, beautiful, dear Catholic nuns.

But that's the great thing. When I am at Mount St. Benedict, I don't see the "Catholic Church," I see the Church. The living, breathing, loving body of Christ. I see Jesus in motion. I see the miraculous hand of God at work in the simplicity of community life and selfless friendship. I have walked in peace and felt the touch of God's sustaining hand, and I have experienced Emmanuel, "God with us", at the Mount. I carry Emmanuel with me.

I have glossed over the details of what happened during my weekend at the Mount, but I simply put to you that it was one of the most life-changing weekends of my life, even in its uneventful simplicity. In the quiet easiness of community I found healing. I have since attended several workshops with the Sisters, and regularly participate in Sunday Morning Praise and Liturgy at the Mount. I have found a community, and this community has loved me.

Yes, these fabulous ladies tease about recruiting me; one Sister just this morning elbowed me as she walked past my seat and asked when I was moving in. I find these indications of invitation and warmth both heartwarming and intriguing. When my grandfather asked me on the phone if "those nuns have converted you?", I responded quite seriously, quite joyfully, "I would sign up in a second for what these women have". And isn't that the point of our life here on this earth? To be such an authentic reflection of Jesus that others cannot help but be drawn to His very heart.

So, who knows what the future holds? I know that I don't. What I do know is that my desire to actively pursue the heart of God drew me to the Benedictine Sisters of Erie, and I have been forever changed because of their friendship. What happens next, well, in the words of Maria, "When the Lord closes a door, somewhere He opens a window."

2k14 Lessons & Resolutions(ish)

(Blogged while listening to Wild Wild Love.)

As I look back on the entirely crazy and largely fantastic year of 2014, I've compiled a list of lessons/wisdom/ironic anecdotes that I have gathered over the past 12 months. May they inspire, convict, or simply entertain you. Also, may they remind me throughout the year of the value of growth and the ability to find humor in every situation.

1. God > Family > Friends > Everything Else...
2. Change is normal, change is inevitable, and above all, change is good. To resist is foolish and futile, and to blame someone for natural growth is unhealthy.
3. The fastest way to grow and mature is to put yourself in an alien environment far outside of your comfort zone and [humbly] make it work... Read: spend an entire summer as a Yankee, post-college camp counselor in the south.
4. Drive like I have my pregnant best friend in the passenger seat (even when she is safely at home munching pickles and singing along to Pentatonix!)
5. Make a life playlist. Seriously. I create a new playlist in my iTunes for every season of life or special trip, and add songs that are important to me at that time. Then later I can hit "shuffle" and enjoy a musical time transport. (Wake Me Up will always bring me back to France...)
6. Good friends know you will drink all their coffee and wine, and they invite you over anyway.
7. Changing life goals is okay - if you didn't pursue your past ambitions, they wouldn't have led you to your current dreams. 
8. Being a morning person isn't so bad, in fact, it is quite good for you. (I am a reconditioning night owl.)
9. Death is holy business. Joining journeys with someone who is dying puts living in perspective, and gives new reverence for the gift of breath within our bodies. For believers, death is a natural, progressive part of eternal life. As humans we have lost the art of dying "well". I have been privileged to witness two close relatives live a good life and die a good death. Because of their example, I intend to live and eventually die well. 
10. Sparkle and light your own fire. You are wonderful.
11. "Dress shabbily and they remember the dress; dress impeccably and they remember the woman." {Coco Chanel}
12. Recognize the difference between someone who likes you and someone who "wants" you.
13. Find the perfect combination of professional and classy, then apply to all areas of life.
14. Be alone, not lonely. 
15. Love yourself. You would only be more awesome if you had a mermaid tale. 
16. Challenge the status quo. Don't be antagonistic for the sake of being an ass, but at least within yourself seriously contemplate your assumptions. 
17. Observe a Sabbath. 
18. Singleness, seasonal or otherwise, is fantastic! 
19. Challenge inequality. Social justice is a life-long calling. 
20. Never burn bridges, (unless those suckers are clearly evil, unhealthy barricades!) You never know when you could run into someone again, or who may recall you as "that Christian" they once knew... Make sure you represent yourself and the Christ-in-you well. 
21. Live courageously. All good things are wild and free. 

There are so many more thoughts I could add or stories I could tell, but this late at night I begin to ache for my bed, (mostly because the sooner I sleep the sooner I can wake up and drink coffee!) 

"May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in Him..." {Romans 15:13}, and feliz 2015 to each of you!

The F-Word

The F-word. It's scary, abrasive, and attention-grabbing. It always gets a reaction. People have strong feelings associated with the F-word. Some abuse the word, others don't understand it. Some people believe the word shouldn't even exist. Most people have heard the word, and many are afraid to use it, in case they are misunderstood or considered offensive.

The word I am referring to is, of course, feminism.

Webster defines feminism as "the belief that men and women should have equal rights and opportunities; organized activity in support of women's rights and interests". Well that doesn't sound so bad. Actually, that sounds like something everyone should believe in, right? I mean, if this is the definition of feminism, shouldn't we actually be asking those around us why they aren't feminists?

But feminism still gets a bad rap. Now whole blogs could be (and have been) written on why there is such anti-feminism out there, but I'm not all about just regurgitating information - so here.

In an inspiring TED Talk video, the role of men in feminism is highlighted and championed. "We need more men who have the courage and strength to start standing up and saying some of this stuff. Standing with women, not against them, somehow pretending this is a battle between the sexes and other kinds of nonsense. We live in the world together." So clearly, this isn't just a "women's issue".

Feminism is about equitable treatment for all human beings. I use the F-word. I am a Feminist. I want my dad, my brother, my mom, my male and female friends to be feminists. I sincerely hope you are a feminist too.

Frankly, there's no good reason not to be.

Worry Lines and Insatiable Joy

Tonight I discovered something that I had never noticed before - I have worry lines. They are there, hovering between and just above my eyebrows, slight creases furrowed from twenty-some years of life.

That is twenty-some years of worry carved into my forehead. [With probably a little sarcasm or skepticism thrown in there, I notice those expressions are similar, at least on my face.]

I have not spent twenty-some consecutive years constantly worrying, no, I would say my life has been relatively free from over-anxiety. It is amazing, then, how single occurrences of worry, segregated episodes of doubt can mark you so permanently.

But then again, so can joy.

A single moment of unmitigated joy can imprint itself on your heart and change your life forever.

“I call it Joy. 'Animal-Land' was not imaginative. But certain other experiences were... The first is itself the memory of a memory. As I stood beside a flowering currant bush on a summer day there suddenly arose in me without warning, and as if from a depth not of years but of centuries, the memory of that earlier morning at the Old House when my brother had brought his toy garden into the nursery. 

It is difficult or find words strong enough for the sensation which came over me; Milton's 'enormous bliss' of Eden (giving the full, ancient meaning to 'enormous') comes somewhere near it. It was a sensation, of course, of desire; but desire for what?...Before I knew what I desired, the desire itself was gone, the whole glimpse... withdrawn, the world turned commonplace again, or only stirred by a longing for the longing that had just ceased... In a sense the central story of my life is about nothing else... The quality common to the three experiences... is that of an unsatisfied desire which is itself more desirable than any other satisfaction. 

I call it Joy, which is here a technical term and must be sharply distinguished both from Happiness and Pleasure. Joy (in my sense) has indeed one characteristic, and one only, in common with them; the fact that anyone who has experienced it will want it again... I doubt whether anyone who has tasted it would ever, if both were in his power, exchange it for all the pleasures in the world. But then Joy is never in our power and Pleasure often is.” ― C.S. Lewis, Surprised by Joy

Joy can be insatiable. Worry may stain the forehead, but joy saturates the bones.

I want to breed joy in my life. I want to sleep more, criticize less, pray constantly. I want to eat good food, read great books, listen to music that lifts my soul. I want to take long walks and have surprising adventures.

I choose joy.

The Everyday Jireh

Life has been good lately. School is going well. I've been traveling to new places, meeting new people. I love my job. I can afford to eat out now and then.

And I got comfortable. I relaxed. I took for granted my need for daily communion with the Lord. I thanked Him as I remembered, gave Him the glory when He came to mind. After all, I reasoned, He knows that I love Him, that I am grateful.

Then life happened.

It has a way of doing that, especially when we get comfortable.

Now my facade of comfort is gone, and I recognize yet again my terrible need for Him.

As I find myself yet again in this place of desperate need, where all my best-laid plans have vanished into dust, I taste so clearly the unbelievable Grace that emanates from a God who waits for us, even when we forget our need for Him.

That is one of the many reasons that He is the model for all love relationships. He never forgets or forsakes us, even when we take Him for granted or squander His gifts.

My resolution? To celebrate, to love, to communicate constantly, to worship Jehovah-Jireh, the God who provides day-to-day. His everyday provision is just as worthy of praise as His deliverance in our most desperate times of physical need, for He has pledged His love to us for a lifetime. "I have cared for you since you were born. Yes, I carried you before you were born. I will be your God throughout your lifetime" {Isaiah 46:3}.

From this moment forward, I pledge my constant attention to the Everyday Jireh, the God who provides in the good times and bad, and never leaves my side on this journey I call "life".

After all, "His mercies are new every morning..."

Cappuccinos and Red Balloons

I will always be an advocate for international travel. To see how someone lives on the other side of the world, to walk on their streets, to glimpse their joys and their struggles - all this gives us a new perspective on how we live in our little corners of the world.

Just before Christmas I spent 4 days in France visiting with my friend Meghan and experiencing a bit of this new country through her knowledge and love of the culture. This was by far my favorite international experience to date, primarily because she and I are similar travelers. We take every opportunity to experience the culture we are in, after all, why not? Why wouldn't we want to make the most of a chance to gain a richer appreciation for the beautiful diversity around us?

"Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness, and many of our people need it sorely on these accounts. Broad, wholesome, charitable views of men and things cannot be acquired by vegetating in one little corner of the earth all one's lifetime." {Mark Twain}

On a beautiful, warm, (8 degrees celsius!) Saturday afternoon, Meghan and I stopped at little Cafe Esmeralda, appropriately located directly across from Notre Dame Cathedral.  We slid into delightfully delicate wicker chairs, positioned not facing one another, but looking out onto the street. (French culture encourages people watching, so cafe chairs are usual set like this!) Around us life in Paris was business as usual. French teenagers strolled by, giggling and chattering in impossibly fast dialogues, tourists darted back and forth, stretching like professional contortionists to get just the right picture of the massive Cathedral standing guard silently over our heads, and several artistic looking young adults (film students?) were in the process of shooting a commercial on the sidewalk to our left. As the cheery serveur materialized with our order, 2 shots of espresso for Meghan and a frothy cappuccino for me, we settled back to rest our feet and take in the bustle around us. I wondered then how I would ever go back home, spend Christmas on an upstate farm, visit Lancaster County, and then resume school in rather unremarkable Erie, Pennsylvania. But maybe, I quietly pondered as I sipped the decadent foam from the top of my cappuccino, that was the point. What is the good of experiencing life if we don't allow it to change us, and in turn, how we live in the everyday moments?

"Why do you go away? So that you can come back. So that you can see the place you came from with new eyes and extra colors. And the people there see you differently, too. Coming back to where you started is not the same as never leaving." {Terry Pratchett} 

On my final day in France we yet again caught the train into Paris, this time to the south end and the Champs-Elysees. As we migrated through an expansive park, the object of our wanderings at the far end, we were arrested by a peculiar spot of color above us. On one of the bare trees lining the walk, someone, (human or faerie folk?) had tied bright red balloons to the uppermost branches. We lingered only a moment to snap a few pictures before resuming our rapid march, but the memory of that sensation lingered even as I boarded my flight home the next morning.

Why, I wondered, would someone go to all the trouble of stringing those decorations high up in a tree along a fairly untraveled walk in a solitary park? Was there something special about that tree or place? [Insert American indignance] Who even has time to inflate that many balloons?

But then, I think that may have been the point. While that city and that park were new and fascinating for me, they were someone's ordinary. Someone lived and worked there, probably passing that park on a daily basis out of routine, perhaps dreaming of a visit to another country far away. But the point is that someone stopped, stepped out of the ordinary, and made something beautiful. They allowed their perspective on the world to influence how they lived in the everyday.

"The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes." {Marcel Proust}

As I prepare to head back to another semester of grad school, I want to have learned far more from my travels than how to say "bonjour" and the trick to maneuvering the metro system. I want my new perspective to impact how I live in the everyday. I believe that I will be held accountable for what I do with my little piece of the world, and so I want to leave a few "red balloons" behind me, so that maybe one day someone from another time and place will stop and say, here someone found something extraordinary in the ordinary.

"Though we travel the world over to find the beautiful, we must carry it with us, or we find it not." {Ralph Waldo Emerson}

Thank You for Letting Me Go...

"Only know you love her when you let her go...and you let her go." (Let Her Go, by Passenger.)

As I spend my first evening of the weekend before my first grad school finals packing my room and suitcases for the next crazy adventure, (France here I come!), I am surprised at some of the things that come to floating to mind along with dust and wisps of lint. Chief among these unexpected thoughts are the memories of those relationships with friends and family that have changed or ended over the years. At one time I was so afraid of this very thing happening, and would hang on with both arms and legs to the relationship despite the kicking and screaming of circumstance. Yet looking back, it occurs to me that I owe a very real debt of gratitude to the people who came and went in my life.

You see, they had courage to love me for a time, and a love courageous enough to let me go.

This is an incredibly hard concept to grasp. I continue to allow memories reside in my heart and mind, whose unresolved voices whisper "why?", "what did you do wrong?", and "why couldn't they love you enough to stay?".

And in truth, some relationships end because of a foolish blunder or selfish misstep on the part of one or both persons, but the easy majority of these seasonal relationships in my life came to a close because they needed to. Because in order to grow, we needed to be pruned.

Pruning hurts. When fruit trees are pruned they bleed sap out of their raw wounds, in an attempt to heal themselves and cover the scars. But the following season, it is these trees that underwent such pain that produce the most glorious fruit.

So while I may from time to time wistfully think back to family members that I never seem to see anymore, boys that married other girls and started other families, or friends that I miss hearing from and relating to, I realize it is because of each of these people that I am myself in this moment.

So thank you. "Thank you", to the family members that realized new wings need space to spread. "Thank you", to the boy who broke my heart and told me my dreams were too big for him to follow. And "thank you", to the friends who recognized the fork in the road.

And "thank you" to those friends who continue to impact my life today. Those friends that Shakespeare describes as someone who "knows you as you are, understands where you have been, accepts what you have become, and still, gently allows you to grow."

You have each been such an integral part of my journey. I wouldn't change any of it. Not even the painful stuff; not even the pruning. Because of those seasons, I am pursuing my dreams and continuing to grow into the woman that God has created me to be.

Thank you. Thank you for letting me go.

"To Let the Oppressed Go Free..."

"Sometimes you are so hungry that the only way you can be fed is to fast." -Susan Gregory

So this month I am trying something new, the Daniel Fast. While this particular concept of fasting is new to me, it has been around for thousands of years, namely, since the time of the prophet Daniel in ancient Babylon. In a nutshell, King Nebuchadnezzar of Babylon attached Jerusalem and took many young men of Israel back with him as captives, including Daniel and his three friends, Hanahiah, Mishael, & Azariah, (the three dudes of fiery-furnace fame). As these guys were being prepared to appear before the king, they were served the same food as the royal court. But Daniel and his friends asked to only be given vegetables to eat and water to drink, in order to avoid being made ritually unclean by the richer foods offered to them. God blessed these young men, and they found high favor in the king's eyes, and became members of his court.

The notion of a "Daniel Fast" has become more popular lately, largely due to Susan Gregory's book/devotional on the subject. I have always loved studying the spiritual disciplines, especially the different types of fasting that were observed throughout history, and I had been looking for a significant way to observe the International Day of Prayer for the Persecuted Church, (Nov. 3). It has been heavy on my heart to spend more time in intentional prayer for persecuted believers around the world, as the number of attacks on Christians grows by the week.

So for the next 21 days, I will be fasting and praying for the church around the world. In week 1, specifically for believers in Asia & South America, week 2, Africa, Australia, & Antarctica, and week 3, North America & Europe. All continents experiences universal persecution from a world that stands in direct opposition to Jesus Christ, and each region faces challenges unique to that cultural and political system.

From a fast inspired by the prophet Daniel, to the words of another great prophet, Isaiah, I truly want this time to be consecrated to seeing the Lord work in a powerful way in me personally, and around the world in the lives of believers everywhere. I want to hunger for their deliverance and their encouragement.

"Is this not the fast that I have chosen: to loose the bonds of wickedness, to undo the heavy burdens, to let the oppressed go free, and that you break every yoke?
Is it not to share your bread with the hungry, and that you bring to your house the poor who are cast out; when you see the naked, that you cover him, and not hide yourself from your own flesh?
Then your light shall break forth like the morning, your healing shall spring forth speedily, and your righteousness shall go before you; the glory of the Lord shall be your rear guard.
Then you shall cry, and He will say, 'Here I am'.
....
Those from among you shall build the old waste places; you shall raise up the foundations of many generations; and you shall be called the Repairer of the Breach, the Restorer of Streets to Dwell In."

{Isaiah 58}

This is the fast that I have chosen - one of power and of promise. Can you imagine what would happen to our world if Christians just in the United States put aside a period of time to really pray for other believers? To fast for their provision and protection? To intercede for their families and their churches? Can we dust off the foundations that previous godly generations laid for us, and actually rebuild a strong, selfless, power-filled Church?

Will you join me?

"Life Starts All Over Again When it Gets Crisp in the Fall"

So, this is embarrassing. Not only was I too lazy to keep up this blog appropriately, but I am also conceited enough to assume that people would read it if I did. Seriously, in this age of self-obsessed social media consumerism, internet readers have a plethora of highly intelligent, informed, substantial sources to peruse, as well as an infinitely larger number of ill-informed but very humorous sources available for light reading and a hearty chuckle.

So why continue? I suppose it is more for myself than anything else. I am terrible at journaling, I find it extremely boring and a little embarrassing, (my last visit home included an honorary "diary burning" - it was liberating.) But I want to be able to look back and see where I have been, and observe the crazy journey that I am traveling.

It is also for those few, dear, dedicated friends and family members who do actually attempt to keep tabs on where I am at any given time in my life. (My sympathies and deepest gratitude to you for your selfless love and determination in this daunting task.) I can barely remember my current zip code, much less keep track of anyone else right now.

So for the necessary detail updates: I am currently living in Edinboro, PA (30 minutes south of Lake Erie), and attending the graduate school at Edinboro University of Pennsylvania. I am in the Secondary School Counseling Master of Arts program, live on campus, and work as a Graduate Assistant in the counseling office, as well as serving lattes to bleary-eyed college kids in the library cafe every morning.

I am loving where I am at right now, (more about that miraculous story later - suffice it to say that I am "supposed" to be at a seminary in Boston right about now, but God has a funny way of totally turning my world upside down now-and-again). The area is rural and gorgeous, surrounded by wild mountains and serene lakes, but with a TJ Maxx and Panera Bread just half-an-hour up the highway! The weather is as erratic and fierce as I had been warned. Just two weeks ago I was basking in the comfortable warmth of early autumn. Then it snowed. On October 23rd. We got several inches in the matter of a few hours.

I love it.

I couldn't stop grinning while I poured coffee and served donuts at the library cafe this morning, huge white flakes blowing past the giant windows in the seating area. The locals all groaned, claiming that we are in for one heck of a winter; the undergrad girls whined, carefully-straightened hair wrecked by the damp flurries, and I just grinned. This is my kind of place. While I love the metropolis for its provision of every possible want or need and its close proximity to everything and everyone, I adore the untamed, unpredictable north. At the risk of waxing-Gaskell, I feel like there is a north in me that I will never be able to shake.

When I mention such whimsies to my friends, the majority groan and list all of the reasons that a retreat south of the equator would be more favorable. I am reminded of Margaret Hale's first impression of the north of England, in Elizabeth Gaskell's classic, North and South. 

“I wish I could tell you how lonely I am. How cold and harsh it is here. Everywhere there is conflict and unkindness. I think God has forsaken this place. I believe I have seen hell and it's white, it's snow-white.” 

Well, I wish I could tell all of you how contented I am. How welcoming this place has been to me, how the harshness of the way of life up here is mediated by the warmth in the hearts of those people breaking a living out of this hard ground. I know that God is in this place, I think I've seen a glimpse of heaven, and it is white, it's snow white.

Celibacy is NOT a Disease

Dear World,

Hello, it's me again, asking another question. WHY IN THE WORLD IS IT SO WRONG TO WANT TO STAY SINGLE FOREVER???? The correct answer should be - "it's not. If God called you to be celibate, great! You're probably going to be able to focus more on the Lord this way anyway". Yes, thank you.

Unfortunately, that is not the response I get...ever. More often than not, I get the blank, half-panicked stare and shudder of discomfort, as the dumbfounded individual stutters, "b-but, you are too pretty to not get married!" Really? That was the best response? Like, God only calls really ugly people to celibacy? Sigh.

Celibacy is a choice, not a disease.

This has been a subject that has been on my mind a lot lately, what with everyone and their brother getting married and having a half-dozen kids or so. I discovered that my life had turned a corner, when, at a reunion of some old girlfriends back in Lancaster, our main topics of conversation were husbands and who was pregnant this time. Now please don't misunderstand me, I loved it. I really enjoy hearing about my friends and their lives, and what is important to them is most certainly important to me. The part I dislike is the almost inevitable awkwardness that comes when it dawns on whoever I am talking with, that I have no clue "how frustrating it is to have burned my new husband's mashed potatoes, when his mother makes perfect meals all the time," or "if wanting to eat pickles dipped in peanut butter was normal during the first trimester", or best of all, "if everyone thought sex was a little weird and maybe, just maybe, slightly overrated". Yeah. That's my life. And I wouldn't mind a bit, except for the awkwardness that arises when people don't know what to do with me. Like, when I come to a wedding, and inevitably get stuck at the "single and dateless" table at the reception, generally with a bunch of giggling teenagers. Or at church, where everything I say is translated into "I just haven't found the right guy yet", even if what I'm saying is, "no really, I think God has called me to a life of celibacy".

I am grateful for how my family are supportive of me in this, however. They trust that my heart is after the Lord and His will for my life, and that if He really wants me to get married, then He will change my heart. A few years ago, my mom told me that she knew that I would probably never be "a Lancaster County farm wife", barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen and all that, and that was okay. (Although I do often wander about barefoot, including in the kitchen). I am not less of a person because I am choosing to live a different life, and it doesn't mean that I value that life less. No way, you better believe I'll be relaxing in my friends' kitchens, playing with their munchkins and enjoying a cup of tea and some homemade bread! I love Lancaster farm life with all my heart, it's just not where God is calling me right now.

So I will continue holding onto Paul's teaching, that it is actually better to remain as I am (yes seriously, check out 1 Cor. 7), because when I am unmarried, I secure undistracted devotion to God. Yup, it is just the Lord and I. And you know what...I could never be more loved, protected, or fulfilled. Barefoot and pregnant? No, but married to the Creator of the universe and the Lover of my soul? Yes please!

Dealing With Disappointment

Disappointment is one of those things that really can suck the joy out of life if we let it. And I will be the first to admit that I don't handle disappointment well. I will also admit that I have a perpetual and sometimes irrational fear of disappointing others. I think I'd rather get run over by a combine than let down someone I care about.

I also really don't like being disappointed, (really, who does?) But I have come to realize that it has gotten to the point where I would rather place low, if any expectations on myself and others, rather than risk disappointing them or myself. If someone says, for example, that they would like to go hang out with me at an event I was planning on going to, say a concert or party, I subconsciously and automatically assume that something will come up and they won't make it. This is less risky, as I won't be disappointed if in fact they don't go, and pleasantly surprised if they do. I suppose I just don't trust people. I don't trust that they are actually going to do what they say they are going to do, because often they don't.

The same is for myself. When I begin a college course, for example, I begin assuming that I will mess something up, and not be able to keep a high grade. That way if I do excel in the class I am very happy, but if for some reason I don't, then I won't be too disappointed in myself. This creates a frustrating power-struggle within my nature, as I am also a born perfectionist with a severe case of "fear-of-failure". I would rather not do my best, so that if I don't do just perfectly, I will know it was because I didn't give it my all, not because I simply wasn't good enough. This method does backfire, however, because the perfectionist clawing around within me always beats my insides to mush if I do not excel at simply everything.

Yeah, you can feel free to roll your eyes and reduce me to a disturbed psycho after reading all that, and it won't even disappoint me! =) All I can say is that living like this is exhausting. But it is who I am, for now. And praise be to our amazing God for who He is! I know He is the only One who will never disappoint me. And so I can wait without fear of disappointment, "looking for the blessed hope and the appearing of the glory of our great God and Savior, Christ Jesus" (Titus 2:13). And that is one promise that I expect with all my heart to be fulfilled!

Changes Again...

I do not like change. I can admit it - I'm not good at it and I generally try to avoid it at all costs.

And boy...is this a time of change for me. I think sometimes God is looking down and laughing kindly with the angels at "that little Graybill girl," trying to control every detail of her existence, then frantically trying to find stability in a world of shifting shadows. In my imagination, (which is a glorious place, I assure you,) God is forever holding out His arms, offering rest from the storms of change that blow like leaden clouds and dancing prisms of rainbow-colored light - sometimes this change is exciting and vibrant, sometimes heavy and dark, but always somewhat exhausting. That is when I come to appreciate the solid Rock all the more...as one of my favorite hymns goes..."Rock of Ages cleft for me, let me hide myself in Thee."

But some days change is a good thing, a God-ordained process. I need to continually remind myself to go with the flow and cling to the solid Rock for dear life, instead of digging my heels in and refusing to budge. (Which, by the way, only works for a very brief time. I'm convinced it gets to the point where God just gets a little tired of my stupid obstinance and gives me a mild jolt to get me going.)

I don't know what kind of change affects you the most...lately, mine has been the shifting of my my "base of operation," my home. My "home" will always be back with my family in Lancaster, but when I moved to Virginia Beach, that distinction became a little more cloudy. I don't really "belong" anywhere now, when I visit my home, it is always a little jarring. I have the warm-fuzzies of being back where my family is, of settling into the home where most of my memories were created, but I also experience the unsettling discovery that life has moved on without me in Lancaster. My friends get engaged, my parents buy a new tv, my favorite coffee shop is relocated....all these changes happened without my even being aware of them.

But now that this change, this shifting has occurred, I can't go back. I can physically go back...I can visit, I can even relocate to Lancaster again. But I can never go back. And you know what, that is okay. It is okay because the more change I go through, the more I realize that this earth is not my home. I will never quite fit anywhere, because I was not created for this world. I belong in another Place, with another Person, and until I meet Him face-to-face in that world, I will always feel a little lost...and that is okay.

So now that I have realized this, I can take Aslan's advice in C.S. Lewis' The Chronicles Of Narnia, and continue going "further up, and further in!" Always in pursuit of my true land, where one day I will dance on those streets of gold, and I will know that I am Home.

I Will Praise You In This Storm....

"I was sure by now
That You would have reached down
And wiped our tears away, stepped in and saved the day
But once again, I say, Amen and it's still raining...

"As the thunder rolls
I barely hear Your whisper through the rain, "I'm with you"
And as Your mercy falls I raise my hands
And praise the God who gives and takes away.

"And I'll praise You in this storm and I will lift my hands
For You are who You are no matter where I am
And every tear I've cried You hold in Your hand
You never left my side and though my heart is torn
I will praise You in this storm."

~Casting Crowns~

So...yesterday definitely counts as "one of those days." One of those days that you, (okay, or at least I,) never see coming. Maybe because they really don't come that frequently for me, so it is hard to recognize them until they are on top of me. They usually start quietly enough...nothing out of the ordinary. Then - wham! Something happens to turn your world upside down, even if for just a moment. Maybe it is a conversation, or an e-mail, or unexpected news. But when you get it, there is no avoiding the inevitable...you just have to walk through it, and pray that God in His abundant mercy covers you and keeps you from falling apart.

I hate these days - with a passion. I hate feeling helpless, hopeless, and weak. When these storms come, I usually try to lock myself away, huddle within myself until it passes, cling to my precious Jesus with all my strength, and let the rain and tears fall down. But I have recently discovered that perhaps that isn't always the best way to handle these storms...

Sometimes God will send people into your life to walk with you through the storm...(or in my case, sit with me as I curl in a fetal position on the couch.) One of the reasons I lock myself away is because I do not like sharing my pain or fear or, God-forbid, tears. Perhaps it is a pride-thing, I don't know, I just know that is what I have always done.

But I have come to realize that sometimes we need to just suck up our pride and self-reliance, and admit that we need each other. Sure, there are times when perhaps the best way to find healing is through silence and solitude, but when the Lord is gracious enough to send you another believer to walk alongside you, it is time to take a leap of faith and trust that He and that person will not let you drown.

So as the rain falls and the thunder rolls above your head, and all you can do is cry the name of Jesus... if God brings someone into your world to walk with you through the storm, absorb your mucus and mascara with their shirt, and simply hold you until the pain passes, see it as a gift from God - a physical sign of His presence and love. And then hold onto them and Jesus with both arms and legs....and choose to praise Him in the storm.

A Beautiful Mess....

Have you ever had one of those days where it felt like your little world was just crumbling to pieces? And I'm not talking a grand, dramatic explosion...but one of those days where even your best-laid plans turn to ugly, messy rubble...and you are left huddling in the ruins wondering if any of it was worth it....?

Please, don't misunderstand this post's topic by calling me with concerned inquires into my mental and emotional health...I am fully stable and of sound mind and body, thank you very much. But I think it is time that we start being a little more honest about the things that tear us up inside, threaten our security, and even shake the very foundations of everything we believe in...those moments that turn our castles, (okay, or for some of us, adobe huts,) into rubble. Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about...you know you do. I don't care how important or "unimportant" the event or circumstance is, if it shakes your world to the core, rest assured, it is both important and worth a listening ear...

Okay, so you aren't convinced that I'm serious....then I'll start. Something that has truly shaken my life lately, is the absolute demolition of my job-security. Regent University, (in case you weren't aware,) is a highly expensive school to attend, and so, being the over-achiever and control-freak that I am...as soon as I decided that I was going to Regent, I started planning how I could pay for it. [Side Note: I also come from a conservative, hard-working, Swiss-German Mennonite family...so I came in with the ingrained notion that since I picked this school, it was my responsibility to make it or break it, and if I couldn't work hard enough to put myself through school, I was a failure. This notion isn't a bad one necessarily - a solid work ethic is always a good thing, but I took it to the extreme, (shocking, I know,) and thus relied entirely upon myself to accomplish this huge, (and really, almost impossible,) task.] My plans included going to school full time, as well as working a full time job at the Inn on campus, so that not only was I earning $$, but I also would receive a discount on tuition if I could carry the full time work status for a year. This, according to my plan, was a sure-proof way to accomplish my goal...

...and then the wrecking ball came. The full time position I had been promised, was eliminated due to a company/management shift, and suddenly, I was struggling to work even 8 hours a week. The structure of my plans were crumpling around me, and when I looked down at my hands, (so accustomed to holding tightly to and controlling my life,) all I found was the ashes of my "best-laid plans"...

I was angry. Furious, actually. How dare they do this to me? Were there no ethics in the corporate world anymore? Didn't they realize that without this job, I may not be able to continue studying at Regent, much less living in VA Beach? And by the way, where was God in all of this?!?

Okay, so that poor attitude lasted about an hour and a half....then I was reminded of Jeremiah 29:11, "For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you a hope and a future." He knew exactly what I was going through, in fact, He knew that I would go through that even before I ever heard of Regent University, much less decided to go there. He knew, and yet He allowed me to make my plans....knowing that those very plans would be crushed in my hands. So He must know that I can handle it, or rather, that He could handle it through me. And yes...I took it further...He must have something better in mind for me. He has never let me down, and I trust Him implicitly. He is taking care of me, and I am choosing to trust that the structure He builds, will fare much better than my pathetic attempts at scaffolding the "perfect plans."

Another part of this experience that I had to overcome was my shame. I don't know if that surprises any of you, but it is a very real feeling for me. Remember, I came here with the preconceived idea that if I didn't make it happen, if I couldn't succeed at working hard enough to pay my way through, I was a failure. And so I found myself going to God and apologizing for not making it work, and calling my family feeling so ashamed of myself, so unworthy, like such a disappointment. This has been something I have dealt with my whole life...the feeling of "not measuring up," and of perpetually disappointing everyone around me. I know I am not alone in this attitude, and that each of you, (if you think about it for a moment or two, but no pressure...) could come up with at least one area that you continue to feel like an "underachiever" in, or "unworthy," or even a "loser." These are words that I attach to myself in many areas of my life...I am beginning to recognize that, driven by my perfectionism, I buy into a lot of lies about myself that are not at all what my Maker is speaking over me.

So as I thought about my rubble - the ruins of my well-laid plans, I wept over the ugly mess that they had become. But as I cried, it was as though the Lord spoke sweet words directly to my heart...almost as though He were saying, "My child...this ugly mess that you speak of, I do not see it. This failure and disappointment and shame that you repent of, I do not remember it. My Son has redeemed all of the rubble, He has built a foundation of holiness, purity, and strength...and all you need do is build upon it. I will help you - I will direct you - I will give you the building materials. Give me your hands, and I will use them. I am giving you a hope and a future. Your mess is beautiful to me..."

These words are true in not only the situation I mentioned, but the other situations in which we feel like we have made a royal mess of things, and are no longer worthy of God's love and attention. It is true of the situation that is crossing your mind right now...

So as you go about your week, building your castles and creating your well-structured plans...1st) be sure to build only upon the Foundation, the Rock of Jesus Christ, and 2nd) allow God to use the rubble of past experiences to build a stronger structure this time-around. Remember - His plans never fail. If He is your Architect, your castle will stand. And do not waste any more time wallowing in the mess of the past...Jesus has redeemed it, and is creating it into a thing of beauty...