Tag Archives: Letter

Words of Love

“Christ would still die for you. Even if you were the only one.”

Yeah, I know. I do. Your reminder is exactly what I need right now. Because sometimes, recently, I have not been able to fully believe that. So thank you. I’m glad you said that—glad you care enough to make sure I know that. But I do know. In fact, I have said those words to anyone and everyone I think needed to hear them. I’ve drilled them into the heads of my Quizzers, my Sunday small group teens, and my friends. And I can quote all of them and then some. I memorized every word Christ ever said as He walked this earth– every word He said as He died for me. I memorized every time Paul or John or whoever else reemphasized this point as they wrote to broken people—some people who, like me, may not always truly and fully believe these words. And I think that may be the problem.

“Thanks,” I replied almost silently, without even moving my mouth. (A fun party trick I learned from my 7 years of Quizzing. Because no one has time to move their mouth when they are trying to quote every word Jesus ever said in 20 seconds or less.)

You probably didn’t even notice that I said thanks. But I did. And I meant it. Because my ability to quote these words means nothing if I don’t believe them. And I don’t know how much I believe them right now. Because right now, at this moment, I’ve been struggling to believe them. Because I know them. I understand them—I always have. To me, the words of Christ, or Paul, or John, or Moses—the words of God– have never been shrouded in mystery and difficult to understand. They’ve always been easy to understand. At least on the surface. I comprehend them. What I haven’t really done, until recently, is really feel them. And that is my problem—I now feel them.

I reached out and gladly accepted the hug. Because actions speak louder than words. And hugs speak louder than, well, just about everything. And I couldn’t say anything because I was afraid that if I did, I’d start to cry. In fact, I almost did. (Which, to be fair, has been happening a lot recently. Between college, whatever feelings I’ve been trying to sort out, and my medicine that’s supposed to help me regulate my emotions but also seems to make them go all over, I have that feeling a lot.) But had that hug lingered even a millisecond longer, I probably would have.

“I don’t want to pry. I just thought you needed to hear that. Give you some encouragement.”

No, pry. Please. Make me talk about it. Because I don’t exactly know what to say. I don’t exactly know how to describe what the heck I’m thinking—what I’m feeling. I can’t put it into words. But you would know. Something tells me you’d understand. Because if there is anything you’d understand, it’s confusion. It’s overwhelming, indescribable emotion. So please pry. Because I think I need someone to. And you—you’re comfortable. You’re safe. You’re someone who’d get me. Maybe because you remind me a lot of me. Or maybe because, low key, I wish I could be like you when I grow up. You’re a friend I never thought I’d actually have, or get to call my friend. And you’d have the words because you know the Word—probably, definitely, better than I do.

“Thanks. And no, it’s ok to pry. It’s just… I…”

It’s just that I don’t know. I’m feeling so much. And it’s hard to sort out what feelings are due to college being college, what are due to my medicine messing with my head, and what’s due to the actual issue. Because the actual issue is that I’m finally feeling all the words I’ve memorized and known throughout my life. And I don’t know what to make of that. Because I don’t know how to handle the fact that “God is love,” and that “He loved us and sent His Son as an atoning sacrifice for our sins.” Because I don’t deserve that, and I don’t know how to feel about that. I don’t know how to deal with the fact that Love loved me enough to die for me despite the fact that I am a sinner who, no matter how hard I try, can never get it right. I don’t know how to cope with Love’s broken heart, with the fact that I broke it, with the fact that He’d do it again—even if I was the only one–and with the fact that He still wants to heal my broken heart. That’s a Love that I honestly can never understand. The more I study Love, the more I know and the less I understand. Which is what makes Love beautiful. But also frustrating. Love can never be fully comprehended—not by my finite human mind. And I’m not sure I know how to handle that.

“College. Life.”

“Yeah, that’s…yeah.”

Yeah. College. The part of life where I am supposed to be figuring out what I’m doing with my life but the part where no one actually knows. And the part of my life where I realize I’m graduating next year and I am further from figuring out my life than I was when I started. Because every time I think I might have an idea, I find something, some reason, I can’t. But, I also can’t because I’m realizing that nothing I could do could compare to what Love did. And Love really just wants me—my love, my life, my all. But that all still feels so inadequate. And so, I live my life in awe that Love would die for me without expecting my perfection. And I live my life in humble admiration that Love died for me just so He could have me—so I could have Love. I live my life reminded that though “for from dust you are and to dust you will return,” Love reaches out His hands that were pierced for me and picks me up from the ashes where I so rightfully belong. I live my life trying so hard to give Love my love, my fear, my reverence, my talents, and my everything. And I finally feel these words I’ve spent years memorizing. Which leaves me feeling humbled, in awe, inadequate, amazed, appreciative, Loved, fearful, and a bit confused.

“I think you’re putting on a brave face. But you’re dealing with something. And He’ll make beauty from the ashes”

Well, yeah. I’m putting on a brave face because, right now, that’s all I can do. All I can do to keep from crying, or pouring my soul and my confusion and my pain out to a random stranger in the library. I’m dealing with something because I’m dealing with something I can’t even explain. And I’m dealing with the fact that He’ll make beauty from my ashes. Because, I hear that all the time– those stories are everywhere. Heck, you want to talk about really making beauty from ashes, talk to my sister. Now that’s a real beauty from ashes story. But really, what I’m dealing with is the fact that I don’t actually know how to walk away from my ashes. Because I don’t deserve that. Which is how Love’s grace works—it can’t be earned, it isn’t ever fully deserved. But that’s how Love is. And I’ve read the Words. I know that it is a story of grace and Love. But I now feel the story. I’ve been feeling how much I am Israel. I constantly ignore Love. I reject Him. I put other things first—I make other things my god. I’m realizing we all do. And I’m suddenly overwhelmed because, despite all that, despite how often I lose faith and start to sink, Love still reaches out to save me again and again. And that’s indescribably amazing and beautiful. And I can’t understand why, so I just accept that it is—that Love is—and try my best to show Love, and to show Love that I do want Love. But some days, it’s harder to accept than others. And sometimes, more often than not, that type of Love is so indescribable that it hurts.

“Love you”

Thank you. Seriously, thank you. For the reminder. For the encouragement. For caring. For noticing that maybe I needed the encouragement. Because I am not even sure I recognized that I needed it until you gave it. And I love you too. I am so thankful to Love that He allowed me the opportunity to meet you. Because I joke about how I want to be you when I grow up. But in all seriousness, I’d love to be like you. I’d love to have your passion, your gift for encouragement, your warm hugs, your sass. And I’d love to have your wisdom. So, thank you for the encouragement, and for being a friend, and for giving me a hug. And right now, I’m going to give you another hug because that’s all I can do. If I say anything, I’ll probably cry. And I can’t do that here, not now.

“So, when are you coming back?”

And okay, I know it’s not actually up to me. And you would if you could. But, also, when are you coming back because I miss your classes. Because they were the places where I first truly discovered the Word come to life—where I first began feeling the Words I’d memorized. They are the places where this all began. When are you coming back because I miss your passion, your smile, your sass, and your light. When are you coming back because this—this moment right here—I wish it could stay like this forever. And I need more of these. When are you coming back because we all need you—or someone like you—in our lives. And so many others’ lives have been impacted by you. Because I, we, love you. And Love loves you. You helped show me, briefly, at a glance, Love. And, I’m sure you know this, but I want to remind you anyway since you reminded me.

“God is. I don’t know what He is, but I know that He is.”

God is a lot of things. He is good (although maybe not what we think “good” is). He is just. He is the beginning, He’s the end. He’s omnipresent, omniscient, and an all-consuming fire. He is I Am. He is the bread of life, the light of the world, the Messiah. He’s indescribable and unchanging. He is life. He is Love.

There were a lot of things I wanted to say but couldn’t and a lot of things I should have said but didn’t. But sometimes, words are hard. And sometimes, the Words of Love can be even harder. And sometimes it takes words of love to help you understand what love is and who Love is. But, man, am I grateful for all kinds of words of love, and for those who love, because sometimes, that’s what I need to truly understand Love. (And sometimes, actually most of the time, the hugs help too.)

Advertisements

Leave a comment

Filed under Uncategorized

Wait, What? Oh, Yeah. It’s Valentine’s Day.

This post actually makes no sense. But neither does my life right now. And it actually has not really anything to do with Valentine’s Day. But neither does my life. So, Happy Valentine’s Day.

It’s Valentine’s Day again. *insert whatever reaction here*  And I could write another post about my thoughts on Valentine’s Day, but that’s been done before. Not just by me– by literally everyone. So, I’m not going to do that. Because let’s face it– we’re all tired of that type of thing. We’re all tired of singles posting statuses or photos or whatever else on the internet on Valentine’s Day claiming they don’t care or complaining because they do. We’re almost as tired of that as we are of all the couples posting their seemingly perfect adventures. And guys, to be honest, I’m not a brokenhearted jealous single who’s just trying to validate my feelings. But, to be fair, I’m not a perfectly content single who’s trying to encourage others either. I fall somewhere between those two lines– some days, like today, closer to one end than the other. But, that’s okay. And this post isn’t really about that. It’s not really about Valentine’s Day either. It’s mostly about life.

I’ve been having a rough time recently. I am not sure how to describe exactly everything I’ve been feeling and thinking, mostly because I don’t know. But, I am trying to write a post(s) explaining it all– it’s just a slow process because I’m trying to sort through all my thoughts. And my ADHD (surprise?! A post I’m planning to finish soon) makes that incredibly difficult because I am trying to figure out what’s important and trying to not hyper-focus on what’s not. (Like, I probably should be doing homework right now, but I can’t focus on that until I write this, but this isn’t that important to write, but my brain refuses to acknowledge that so I’m basically not going to sleep at all tonight, but it’s fine because I’ll drink like 4 cups of coffee tomorrow which is fine because the caffeine helps my brain focus which is good because then I’ll be able to do what’s important, and wait, what was I talking about again? Right, my life. So, I am feeling a bunch of things and thinking a bunch of things and I’m an introvert who didn’t have enough introvert time this past week, so I’m kind of a wreck. Yesterday, in an attempt to change the scenery and hopefully convince my mind to focus on the tasks at hand, I ventured from my usual study spot to the library– mind racing and thoughts darting back and forth.

After getting settled and beginning to start my many tasks at hand, I ran into a friend. I said hi, with the intention of just being a nuisance for a brief moment. However, somehow the conversation progressed to a not terribly annoying one (it happens…occasionally). He gave me some unoriginal advice (sorry, dude, if you’re reading this. But, like, I told myself all that already in order to convince myself I wasn’t actually a failure when I switched my major) and asked why I don’t switch my major (Little behind the eight ball, aren’t we?). And then, somehow, it transitioned to mutual friends of ours’– both of whom are in relationships. And I made some joke about them not hanging out with me because they were too busy spending time with their girlfriends (which is, in fact, a joke. We didn’t spend that much time together before they had girlfriends, so it really is no different now). To which he responded, “Does that bother you?”  (welcome to the mind of an overthinking, emotionally unstable, completely confused, physically exhausted, young single woman with ADHD on Valentine’s Day. You’re welcome.)

“Does that bother you?” Well no. But also yes. I’m annoyed but I don’t know what to tell you because it bothers me for reasons you wouldn’t think or understand. And you’d probably say they’re dumb anyway. Which, they are. Because he and I-we- there’s a- history- thing– it’s complicated. And him? I don’t really know. That’s just a thing I can’t really explain. And I don’t want to talk to you about this. Because you know. But also you don’t. And also, you don’t really know me super well. And, you’re like their brother. But you’re also like mine. My super annoying brother, but brother nonetheless. And you’re also like a 12 year old. Sometimes I wish I were 12. I act like it all the time, which is probably why they all love me and I get along with them so well, but, wait, I’m an adult, when did that happen? Wait, what’s happening to my life? Where’s it going? Wait, what’s going on? Oh yeah– no, it doesn’t bother me. Yes, it does. I don’t actually know.

But “no, it’s not much different than before, you know. Good for them.” But also, I don’t want to do this– not here, not now, not with you. I can’t do this with you now. I’ve got homework and thoughts and emotions to think through. And honestly, I kind of think I’m about to cry. But like, that’s not really your fault– and I’ve kind of been feeling that way a lot these past few days. My medicine that is supposed to help me control and clarify all my emotions is wearing off so I’ll have very little control over my emotions for the next half hour or so until, coincidentally, it wears off completely. And also I’m stressed and confused about life. And I kind of just want to sit around and contemplate Ezekiel or whatever other book because I’m kind of mad at the church right now for whatever. And God’s kind of been making me feel Him too much and also not enough recently. He’s been leaving me awestruck but also feeling unable to do anything about anything. And I’m exhausted and I don’t know what to say when people ask what’s wrong. And I’m an introvert who hasn’t had enough introvert time recently and I’ve got way too much work to plausibly get done before break. Because I did nothing yesterday because my friends were having crises. And I had to help them figure out what the heck was going on. And I am really just super confused about everything. And freaking feelings, hormones, and medication keeps screwing with my mind. And tomorrow’s Valentine’s Day, and two days ago was Sunday. And my one pastor wasn’t there Sunday. And oh my goodness, I thought about maybe being a pastor. But I also definitely cannot do that. My pastor told me he figured my life out for me. And, oh yeah, my pastor joked about talking about a passage on love during Valentine’s week. But like, Valentine’s Day is stupid except for the chocolate. But I always buy that the day after anyway because it’s cheaper. And my brain can’t shut up. And I really don’t want to cry in front of you. I really don’t know you that well. But I might. Or I might punch you in the face– I’m not entirely sure.

“You know, I know it can be hard seeing people you’re close to get in relationships.” Well yeah, but also not at all. Like they’re happy and all that crap which is cool. And I’m happy, I think, which is good. And like, relationships are great. I know lots of people whose relationships are doing great things for the Kingdom. Oh, crap, I used to write KOH on my paper in New Testament and always tried to figure out why I was writing about potassium hydroxide in Bible class. Ah man, I miss that class. That professor is my favorite human being. She’s married, and her and her husband are pretty chill. They’d be like relationship goals, if I believed in that type of thing. She’s one of the reasons I switched my major. Why’d I not completely switch again? How’d you not know I switched? Have you been living under a rock? What am I doing with my life? How old am I? I have no idea what I’m doing. You’re older than I am and you just said you have no clue either. But also I didn’t remember you were that much older than I am. Didn’t you graduate with my sister? Oh yeah, I can’t believe she doesn’t know what she’s doing with her life either. Why is everyone clueless and having crises? And wait, dude, why are you giving me relationship advice for my non-existent relationship if you have a non-existent one too? No, it doesn’t bother me because I’d have to be close to a person for it to be hard to see. But I’m not that close to them anymore. And all the closeness I thought we had seems now like a lie. Oh shoot, did anyone notice how unnecessarily close that dude was sitting to me? Because that was weird. And a weird place to do that. But also, why was he sitting so close? Like go away. Crap, I still feel like I’m about to cry again. Shut up

“Shut up”

And so, after trying my hardest to finish my assignment due at 10 while simultaneously thinking about– well, everything– I re-read old Valentine’s Day posts I wrote. Because today is Valentine’s Day. And I read old letters to people I’d written that they’d never read, and some I hope they will. Because Facebook reminded me of a status I posted on Valentine’s Day last year about one of those letters. And now, here I am. Writing this post at 2 am on Valentine’s Day. Procrastinating homework that I definitely should not be procrastinating. Because my life has been weird recently and my mind has been unfocused, despite being on medication to help it do the exact opposite of that. And words are hard to find to express anything. But, today is Valentine’s Day. And love has a lot of meanings, and my brain thinks a lot of thoughts, and I’ve had a lot of different conversations about Valentine’s Day these past few days. And I’ve been writing something on Valentine’s Day these past few years but I kind of don’t feel like it this year. Because I don’t want to write an encouraging letter to singles because even if I believe it, those are so cliche and overdone. And one of the reasons I hate Valentine’s Day is the cliches. And I don’t want to write a post about the jealousy singles can feel on Valentine’s Day. Because I don’t really feel that super deeply. I’m somewhere between two points, and while I may be closer to that side today, y’all have heard that before too. And I’m kind of sick of hearing it. So instead I wrote this. Because there is a lot in my life happening right now. And the fact that it’s Valentine’s Day and Ash Wednesday and three days before break makes everything more confusing. And this, in a way, helps to begin to explain some of it. But also leaves everyone, including myself, a lot more confused. Which is what Valentine’s Day kind of does to me. So, instead of rewording posts you’ve all read a billion times, I’ll leave you with these words from my past self:

“I live a love story of death and eternity, and unconditional, always present love. My life is a love story and my love is the Creator of Love itself– Himself” -Why I”m Choosing to Reject Valentine’s Day

“So, maybe I am that stereotypical girl I never wanted to be. Maybe I don’t actually hate Valentine’s Day. Maybe I still do. Or maybe just this time around I do… I’m sitting here filled with this overwhelming feeling of something indescribable. Something somewhere between sadness, anger, confusion, love, and hope…  I miss you, as much as it is possible for someone to miss a person they have never actually met and have no concept of. But tonight, I’m confused and broken and inexplicably sad. “-excerpt from a letter to you that one day you’ll read

So yes, I hate Valentine’s Day. But no, I don’t really. Really I just can’t make up my mind about anything and everything makes it more confusing.

So, Happy Valentine’s Day. Enjoy your chocolate, your significant other, and/or your adorable pet. Or enjoy none of those and sulk like Scrooge on Christmas. But whatever you do, please don’t ruin other’s day. And please don’t tell anyone how they should feel. Because, if it were me, I’d probably cry. Or punch you. Who knows? I can’t make up my mind about anything:

Leave a comment

Filed under Uncategorized

The Christ of the Church

This was not the blog post I wanted to write. It’s not the one I had half finished and was going to post today, but I think that this is the one I had to post. I had to write this because, right now, I have to say some things. This may be risky, and it may ruffle some feathers, but I’m sorry– it’s too important (and I’m too mad about it) not to post.

Actually, you know what? I take that back– I’m not sorry and I don’t apologize. So, here I am, speaking my heart, despite the repercussions. Because we need to talk about the church for a minute.

Recently, I thought about walking away– not from church altogether, just from my church– the place I had grown up. Something was missing, and I didn’t know what it was, but I could tell it was something I wanted. I have since discovered that it was passion, vision, and most importantly, truth. My church has recently undergone changes, and now, I have seen this passion, vision, and truth more than ever.

Recently, my sister wrote a post similar to the one I’m about to write. For those who are unaware, my sister has a powerful testimony. (which you should read about by reading her other posts). It’s filled with tragedy, bumpy roads, thunderstorms, and dark tunnels, but it’s also filled with hope, light, and strength. But throughout all of this, the place she felt the least welcome was the place that she should have felt the most welcome– church. She didn’t feel at home at the place where she met Jesus for the first time.

Because this Jesus she met here, and the Jesus a lot of people meet at church, is not the real Jesus. It is not the Jesus found in the pages of the Bible that our pastors preach on. It’s not the one whose words we read (or memorize). It’s a Jesus that’s sugarcoated, misquoted, and misunderstood.

Because here’s the truth. Here is the thing I commented on my sister’s recent Facebook status about her anxiety and recent struggles and about how thankful she is that God meets her where she is– brokenness and all.

My favorite Bible stories (besides all the other ones) are the ones where Christ, once made human form to meet us, ate with tax collectors, sinners, and broken people. Because that’s who He came for. The Pharisees (or, comparatively the church), thought He was crazy and shouldn’t associate with those people because they weren’t perfect. But, Christ actually wants our brokenness and not our perfection. He doesn’t want the whitewashed walls— He wants the sinful woman pouring perfume on His feet and the criminal hanging next to Him on the cross. He wants the doubter who says “God, are you even real?” Because He wants to say, “Yeah. Here are My hands that were pierced for you,” as He stretches out His hands so you can feel His wrists. And if you still don’t believe Him, He wants to walk on the waves toward you and say “come to me”. And once you do, and you start to sink, He says “Why do you doubt?” as He reaches out His hands to save you– even if you continue to sink over and over and over and over again. Because Christ can calm the storm, but only if you ask Him. He’ll raise His hands, pierced for you, and say “Be still!” But, He never once says “heal yourself,” because those who are already perfect have no need for Him. Let’s be honest, anyone who says “I’m too good for Jesus and I don’t need Him,” is lying. And anyone who says that anyone else is “too broken” for Christ doesn’t understand the true nature of Christ.”

And so, here is my thing, the whole reason I’m even writing this post. Too often, our churches claim to be Jesus’ disciples, and yet act like the Pharisees. We claim to know it all and don’t let the outside world see our brokenness for fear that it will somehow make our Jesus less attractive. But, if we really want to be Jesus’ disciples, we would be doing exactly what Jesus Himself did and associating with the broken, sinful, “messed up” people, while admitting that we ourselves are broken, sinful, and messed up. If we want to make Jesus attractive, we would preach a Jesus who meets us where we’re at– brokenness and all. We would claim that we need Jesus as much as everyone else. Church should be a place where people can show up with their messy lives and find a place where that mess can be embraced and peace can be found.

And here is where I ruffle some feathers (if I haven’t already), and where I also share a little bit of a personal update.

I don’t have any idea what the heck I want to do with my life (as anyone who knows me or has read any of my recent posts could easily tell you). But, recently, I’ve had a lot of people tell me the same thing. I’ve had my parents, my sister, my pastors, my fellow Quiz coaches, and my friends tell me that I’m going to be a youth pastor. And, in all honesty, the idea of that has grown on me, and it is something I have seriously considered. But, the more I think about, the more I’m torn, because the more I don’t think I can do that. I can’t do that.

I’m not saying I can’t do that because I’m not able to, or because I don’t have the gifts or the passion or the desire to. I mean, there are definitely some things I could say to convince myself, and others, that those things are true. But, that’s not the real reason I can’t do it.

I can’t do it because I can’t stand up and teach a generation of people who don’t feel the church accepts, values, or wants to listen to them because they are too young, messed up, broken, confused, doubtful, or whatever. I can’t teach them how much God loves them just to see them struggling but too scared to say it because they feel they are “too broken” to accept God’s love– too broken for Christ to even want them. I can’t watch them be afraid to be honest because they feel that church is not the place for doubts and that if they don’t answer the questions with the “right” answers they are somehow failing at being a Christian. I can’t help them learn that they are not failing, nor are they “too broken” for Christ and help them accept Him and come to Him as they are, just to watch them graduate and get forgotten about. Just to watch them enter a church that is so focused on helping children and teens find Christ and helping adults continue to live like Him, that they forget that college students and young adults need Him too, but they feel too out of place to know where to go to keep finding Him. They aren’t children, but they aren’t really treated like adults, so they are forgotten about in the most critical time of their life simply because the church doesn’t know what to do with them. I can’t watch them enter that church, then walk away because they feel lost and abandoned, like everything they were taught was a lie since they no longer feel that they have a place. I can’t work for a place that acts like we have it all figured out. I can’t stand up and pretend I have my life figured out and nothing is wrong while I know that not a single person leads a life like that. I can’t work for a place that, once I do admit my life is not figured out, has the tendency to say “you can’t be a leader if you have flaws because you’re supposed to have it all together if you want to lead– especially if you want to lead our young, vulnerable members.” I can’t be a youth pastor because so often our youth pastors are not taken seriously enough. Too often, they are viewed as “Junior pastors,” people who took that job so that they could get their foot in the door and hopefully, eventually get a job as a “real,” “adult” pastor. Their ideas are brushed aside and their passions are stepped on, because we trust them to lead our youth, but only if they do it within the system that has been in place for so long but has stopped working years ago. I can’t enter a system like that– a system that, at times, can be so messed up it misses the point of the gospel it preaches. A system that embraces change until it goes against their traditions and then they resist it and allow it to cause drama and tension and awkwardness. I don’t want to continue to encourage that atmosphere and I can’t help young people who love God so much love Him more just to enter a church as an adult and have to deal with all that. Quite honestly, I don’t want to watch them get the same shock I had with all this change going on and discover that there is more tension in the church than love and acceptance. I don’t want them to grow up and find out that the Jesus of the Bible, the Jesus that is preached, is not the Jesus that is practiced.

Today in Sunday school, we asked the teens what Paul would say if he were to write a letter to our church. We were speaking specifically of our one church, but I think the answer works for the entire church body as a whole. Some of the things they said were honest and difficult, but I compiled them, and added a few words of my own:

Dear church,

Can you stop being so stubborn? Stop being so stuck in your own traditions and ideas that you neglect to recognize that not all change is bad, and sometimes, it is necessary. Stop treating kids like they are “too young” to be important, teenagers like they are “not mature enough” to make an impact, young adults and college students that they are “not old enough” or “properly educated” to have any good ideas or wisdom to impart. Don’t forget about your “young” members just because they are young. You don’t like the direction the future generations are going, and yet, you don’t let them find direction in the church. Stop being so judgmental and self-centered. Allow people to bring their brokenness, messiness, and sin inside your doors and be a place where they are free to talk about it without judgement and with love. Go back to the Word and find out what it really says and follow it– even if it doesn’t say what you want it to. You can’t change the gospel to meet your needs and justify your actions. You have to learn what it says so you can better imitate the Christ within its pages. Because the Christ you preach is not the Christ you practice.

And I’m glad that my church has people with a passion. A Pastor who isn’t afraid to share hard truths and call us all, including himself, on our crap. And I’m glad we have a pastor whose passion is for those of us who are “in between.” Who are old enough to make decisions about their own life but not old enough to have others we need to make decisions for. I’m glad we have pastors who are willing to fight for the truth regardless of the tensions or anger it may cause. I’m glad we have pastors who try their hardest to practice the Christ they preach. I’m not sure about the other churches, but I hope they do too. Because look, if you ever even want a chance of me entering into that system then the church as a whole has got to stop being hypocrites and resisting all the hard truths because they are uncomfortable. Because quite honestly, I’m tired of it, and it makes me a little angry. And if we ever want to reach those who are unreached, we have to start preaching, and most importantly, practicing, the Christ of the Bible.

Leave a comment

Filed under Uncategorized

It Is Well

Boppa Guy, as you were known, in order keep our two grandfathers straight, it’s been 11 years to the day. 11 years since you last smiled, and, although I wasn’t there, I know you were smiling, even as you were dying, because that’s who you were. It’s been 11 years since you went home- a place that you never felt was here on earth. And while I can’t believe it’s been 11 years, it’s even harder for me to believe why today it hurts more than it has in years. Why it hurts not nearly as much as 11 years ago, but at least as much as it has since.

I still remember the day it happened. Or, at least I remember the moment I found out. It was a Wednesday night. I remember my dad calling my sisters and me into his room. He had gone to visit you earlier that evening and had returned about the same time we had returned from church. We sat on his bed, knowing what he was going to say, yet hoping he wouldn’t say it. Because, although we were young, the oldest of us just 11, we understood what his silence meant. We knew you were sick. We saw you just a few days earlier when they brought you home from the hospital because you no longer wanted to be there. You just wanted to be at home, surrounded by those you love, comfortable and at peace. And, although you had come home, we knew that it didn’t mean you were better, but that it meant you wanted to be home when you went home. We knew. So, when my dad said the words I still remember to this day, the words I sometimes still play back in my mind over and over again, none of us were shocked.

What I don’t really remember is how it felt. I don’t remember if I cried right away. I don’t remember if I ever got mad at God for taking you. Or at you for leaving us. I don’t remember if I told any of my friends the next day at school. I don’t remember if I ever tried to deny it. I don’t remember if I actually completely understood what was happening. I remember I cried at your funeral. But, I wasn’t entirely sure if I was crying because I was sad or because everyone else was. I remember asking my mom why she was crying. You weren’t her father, and I thought that meant she shouldn’t be sad. I remember people sharing stories about your life. I remember seeing you in the casket. I even remember thinking you would sit up any minute and yell “Got you!” or something. I remember tears, and someone handing my grandmother a flag. But, I also remember there was laughter. And family. And food. And I remember thinking that is exactly what you would have wanted.

Mostly, I remember the music. I remember my dad quoting “Big House”- one of my all time favorite songs that I have grown to love even more since that day. I know that now, every time I listen to that song, I want to get up and dance- which is what you would want. But I also want to sit in a corner and think about you- which is something you would want as long as I wasn’t sad. I remember my oldest sister and cousins singing “It Is Well.” And I know that now, every time I hear that, I want to cry- which you would not want me to do. But, I also want to sing it with a beautiful passion as I bask in God’s amazing beauty- which is definitely what you would want me to do.

You would want me to jump up and shout “Come and go with me, to my Father’s house. It’s a big big house, with lots and lots of room.” You’d want me to pretend to eat food and throw a football as I exclaim “A big big table with lots and lots of food. A big big yard where we can play football.” And, I do it. Because I know you’d want me to. And, I know you’re doing it with me.

You’d want me to remember God’s faithfulness as I sing “When peace like a river attendeth my way. When sorrows like sea billows roll, whatever my lot thou hast taught me to say, it is well, it is well with my soul.” You’d want me to raise my voice and sing with a passion as I echo “Praise the Lord, Praise the Lord oh my soul. It is well (it is well) with my soul (with my soul) it is well, it is well with my soul.” And I do. Because it is well with my soul.

And Boppa Guy, maybe that’s why today was so difficult. You see, I woke up with a painful twinge in my stomach and ache in my head. I thought maybe it was because I needed more sleep, or maybe it was a result of my current emotional state due to my recent heartbreak. But, then I remembered what day it was. January 18. And, then I knew. I knew the twinge was a reminder of the sadness of life but also that there’s “a big big table, with lots and lots of food.” I knew the ache was a reminder that pain exists, but that “whatever my lot thou hast taught me to say, it is well, it is well, with my soul.” And suddenly, I felt a sense of peace. You were reminding me that God’s present and that He, and you, love me. Because whatever my lot, you, Boppa, have taught me to say, “it is well with my soul.”

They played “It Is Well” at the end of a beautiful chapel service this afternoon. A service devoted to prayer. A service that I needed. A service that spoke to me so much at this point in my life. And, as I was walking out, I was already thinking of you, because you would have loved the service. And when they started playing “It Is Well,” I thought of you more. I thought about the fact that you have been gone for 11 years. Which means I have lived longer on this earth without you than I have with you. Which means I have few memories to remember you by, and each day my memory fades more and more. I thought about how I didn’t see you as I often as I would have liked, and I didn’t really spend time with you even when I was with you. I thought of all the memories we didn’t make. I thought about how I lost, or destroyed, or both, the rose I had gotten at your funeral. I thought about how there are few pictures of you and I together, but how I have a photo of you holding my doll- which at the time, was my most loved possession. The only thing I have of yours is a Bible that was given to me because you, like me, were hard of seeing. I thought about how you weren’t there to see me get baptized, or perform at my first Synchronized Swimming show, or compete at my first Bible Quizzing tournament, or graduate from high school. Or how you won’t be there to see me go on my first date, graduate from college,  or get married. You won’t be able to meet your great grandchildren or watch your children and grandchildren grow up.

But, I guess in a way, you were there, and you will always be there. Because I see you everywhere. I see you in grandma, who misses you so much, and in the artwork she does that would make you so happy and so proud. How each stroke of her brush or line of her pen somehow reflects you and your love for her. I see you in your children. In my uncle who shares your name. My aunt who was always daddy’s little girl and who never stops talking about you. My dad, who acts more like you everyday, with each made up song lyric and ridiculous story. How he insists that every time something is wrong it’s “because we don’t drink enough water.” I see you in my cousin, who never got to meet you, but who looks so much like you. I see you in your great granddaughter, who may have been born into unfortunate circumstances, but who shares your joy for life. Who is so sweet and innocent- you’d love her so much. I see you in my older sister, who acts so much like you. Whose photo we have, sitting next to you on the couch, both of you crossing your arms, copying each other’s face. I see you in my oldest sister who looks exactly like your daughter and who makes jokes exactly like you would. I even see you in the flowers, trees, wind, and rain. Because you’re always here.

And so, Boppa Guy, I am still not sure exactly why today hurts more than it has in any of the past 11 years. Maybe it’s because we talked about the death of loved ones in one of my classes yesterday. Maybe it’s because I heard that song in chapel. Maybe it’s because I was so young when it happened that I’m just now realizing how painful it is. Maybe my sadness doesn’t just come from missing you. But, whatever the reason is, I know that today, I missed you. Bur, I also know that you loved- love- me, and would be proud of me. Although, to be fair, you were always proud of all your grandchildren. But, you’d be proud of who I am, and who I am becoming. You’d be proud that I have 19 books of the Bible memorized- some of which I memorized using your Bible- because you always loved to share your love of the Bible. You’d be proud to know that I have that same hunger and love for God’s Word you had. You’d be proud to know that I don’t know what I’m doing with my life, where I’m going, how I’ll get there, or what will happen along the way, but I know the One who does. And so, I know I missed you. I know that I am struggling through life right now, my heart is broken, and I don’t know if it’ll ever be whole again. But I also know that you have taught me to say “it is well.”

Leave a comment

Filed under Uncategorized

To You

Dear you,

I know I have no idea who you are. I mean, I may have a picture of you in my mind. An idea of who I wish you are or want you to be. But, that’s all in my mind. In reality, I have no idea who you are. But, I am writing you this letter anyway. Well, actually, I am posting this letter anyway, because, to be perfectly honest, I have notebook pages and Word documents filled with letters to you. That’s because I am an emotional, reflective person, and the way I cope, think, and process is through writing. So, I hope you read this letter, eventually, even if I don’t yet know who you are.

Dear you, I’ve prayed for you. Not that I would find you or that you would like me. Instead, I prayed for you. I prayed you would discover God’s uniquely amazing purpose for your life. I prayed you would prepare your heart and you wouldn’t give into temptation or desire. I prayed you would develop a hunger for His presence. I prayed for myself. I prayed I would prepare my own heart, resist temptation, and discover God’s purpose for me. And then, I prayed for us. I prayed that God would lead us together and prepare us for each other. I prayed that we would build a relationship that strengthens, encourages, and draws us closer to Christ. A relationship that reflects Christ. And then, you appeared.

Okay, well, that’s not really true. You didn’t show up at my door one day dressed all nice with a beautiful bouquet of flowers in your hand, all Prince Charming like. Nor did you magically appear by my bedside one night after I finished praying for you. You didn’t announce your presence with flashing lights or resounding trumpets. In fact, you kind of slipped into my life unnoticed. You crept your way into my mind and heart without me actually realizing how you were making me feel. But, you did eventually turn out to be Prince Charming. It was just when I wasn’t expecting it. It was once I had stopped thinking of us and started leaving us in God’s hands.

And I am so glad I left us in God’s hands. Because we were able to grow together separately before we began growing together with each other. And, because of that, I am able to love you so much more. And I do love you. (I also really like you.)

I love your intelligence. The way your mind works. I love the way you form ideas and opinions and the way you express them. Your intelligence that is both conventional and unconventional at the same time. How you can learn but also create. How you feel. How you relate. How you express yourself. Because intelligence comes in so many forms and each one is beautiful.

I love your passion. Because, to me, there is nothing cuter than a person expressing their passions. And I love the way you express yours’. The way your eyes light up and your smile shines so much brighter. How you could go on about them for hours. I love the way you love them- even if they are a little weird. Because I think that’s beautiful. And I think you are beautiful.

I love the way you laugh. Because nothing is more pleasing to my ears than the sound of happiness. And I love the sound of your happiness. I love the way your eyes are always shining and your smile is always sparkling. And if I were the type of girl who enjoys cliches, I would compare them to the stars or diamonds. But, I’m not, so I won’t. But, I do love the way you light up the room, even though that is a bit cliche. I love the way you attract people to you, not solely because of your beauty but because of your personality. Your character. And oh, do I love your character.

I love the way you love my saltiness and sarcasm. And not only the way you love it, but the way you throw it right back at me. Because I totally deserve it. And you know that I take Colossians 4:6 very seriously.

I love the way you at least pretend to like my friends. Because they mean so much to me. And my best friends were the first to know about you. From the day my feelings for you shifted to the day you let yours be known. I love that you at least make an effort to know them.

I love the way you got to know me. Because I am not easy to get to know, and I am difficult to understand. I have so many weird things about me. So many hidden and often difficult to uncover layers. I love that you put the effort into discovering my mind and my soul.

I love you for opening up to me and for making me feel comfortable opening up to you. Because, despite the fact I often write openly, genuinely opening up to people is not easy for me to do.

I love you for accepting my flaws and insecurities. You know I am not perfect. I love you for loving me anyway.  Because I am often so imperfect I convince myself I don’t deserve you. I know you’re not perfect either. That’s one of the reasons I love you so much. Your flaws not only make you human, they make you, you. You wouldn’t be your adorable, beautiful, hilarious, kind, wonderful self without them.

I love you for accepting me even on those days when my insecurity is drowning me. Because I know everyone has strengths and weaknesses, but there are some days when I feel my weaknesses are too strong. There are days when they overcome me so much I wonder why you chose me and not someone else. Because sometimes I think you could have, and should have, chosen someone else. But, I’m glad you didn’t. And I love you for dealing with my annoying comments, nerdy quirks, social awkwardness, introverted loudness, and wandering mind.

So, dear you, I am writing this to tell you how much I love you. But, I am also writing this to tell you I’m glad you’re not Romeo. Because I don’t want a Romeo. I’m not sure if you ever actually read Romeo and Juliet, but I do not really want that story to be the story of us. Not that that’s a love story anyway. And there is so much more I could say to this, but I am sure you have already heard me say it. So, thank you for not being Romeo. And, thank you for not being “The One” either. Because I never bought into the whole idea of “The One.” With 7 billion people in the world, it seems ridiculously far-fetched and statistically impossible. But, I do thank you for being the one. For being the one who chose to pursue me, and for being the one who stuck around.

Also, I kind of wish we could have skipped the whole awkwardness at the beginning of everything. Because there was a lot of it. I definitely made a fool of myself on multiple occasions, and I definitely looked like an idiot more times than I didn’t. And you probably hated me when you first met me. But, even after we got past that, we dealt with the whole awkwardness that came with both of us denying and ignoring our feelings while trying to figure out the other’s. And, once we got past that awkwardness, there was the whole awkwardness at the beginning of trying to transition from deeply loving friends to friends who love each other deeply but differently. So, there was a lot of awkwardness, and maybe it’s just because I am an awkward person. But, regardless, I wish we could have skipped it.

I hope you understand I don’t need you. I don’t need you to survive. I don’t need you to complete me. I am not broken. I am not half a person. I am complete. I can live without you. But, life is a whole lot better when I live it with you.

From,

Me

 

 

 

 

Leave a comment

Filed under Uncategorized

To My Roommate 

Dear roommate,

First off, I hope it’s okay that I wrote you this letter. I know it’s in a semi-public forum where it could possibly be seen by people neither of us know. But, if there is one thing you should know about me, it’s that I write. A lot. It’s how I process. It’s how I think. It’s how I cope. I write things to people, and I write things for people. Because one day, a few years ago, I decided that I had things to say. However, speaking about those things is not one of my strengths. But writing is. Putting my thoughts into words and writing them on paper is. So, I write things. Things to those I’ve met about things that have happened. Things to those I have never met about things I don’t know will happen. Things to people I know. Things to nobody, but also to everybody. Some I share with others. Some I start but never finish. Some I post for the world to access. Some I leave in the dozens of notebooks scattered around my room, never to be seen or read by anyone but me. But, dear roommate, dear friend, there are things I want to tell you. And maybe there are things that others need to hear too. So, I hope it’s okay that I’m writing you this, here, because there are so many things I have wished to say, but couldn’t find the words to.

Dear roommate, in three weeks, we officially move into college. We leave our parents and our homes, and we move into a room that we will call home for the next year, with a person we call our friend. And I am beyond excited! I am excited to go to college and pursue my dreams and my passions, and discover more of God’s plan and purpose for my life. I’m excited to see what God has planned for your beautiful, wonderful, amazing life. I’m excited to see what He’s going to do with us, and through us. I’m excited to see you fulfill your dreams. And I am excited to share this journey with you.

However, I do feel a little bad for you. Because I am a little insane. Sometimes I rant for no reason about things that don’t matter. I tell too many nerdy jokes- most of which no one understands or thinks are funny. I love puns- almost to a point of annoyance. I tell a lot of dad jokes for a person who is not a dad. I discuss football a lot for a girl who spent the first 15 years of her life claiming she hated it. I’m worried that you don’t actually know what you got yourself into. But, I’m sure you’ll be fine. Because you’re awesome. And I’m not too bad myself. Plus, I know you’re a little insane yourself. Your insanity may just be less obvious than mine.

I’m glad you agreed to by my roommate. I’m glad I met you at Quizzing Nationals however many years ago. And I am glad you decided to come to this side of the world. Because there are so many Rochester things you have missed out on in your life, and there are so many Wegmans you haven’t experienced.

But, I know that with this new adventure comes many scary things. For both of us. And, as excited as I am, I am also terrified. The beginning of something new, being away from our parents, becoming adults, having real responsibilities- all these are things I have avoided up until this moment because they scared me. And I know that it may be even a little more frightening for you. Because you are traveling 800 miles from home. So, there are a few things that I would like you to know before we embark on this adventure together. Some things I hope will make both of our transitions a little easier.

First of all, mi casa es su casa, chez moi est chez toi, my house is your house. Literally. Because you are moving 12 hours from home. And I am moving 5 minutes from home. So, anytime you need a home, come to mine. It’s always open. Any break that you don’t want to make the journey home for but you also don’t want to stay on campus alone for. Any time you want a home cooked meal, or a place to crash, or even just a place to get away. You’re always welcome, even if I am not going to be there. Even if no one else is there. Make yourself at home. It’s been my home for 18 years and now it’s yours too.

Secondly, my grandparents live within walking distance. You will be introduced to them. And they will love you. You will immediately become one of the grand kids. They’ll ask about you if they haven’t seen you in a while, and they will always do their best to make sure you know you’re welcome. So, know that their house is always open. And my grandma will try to feed you every time you show up. She’ll convince you that you’re hungry, even after you just ate more than you thought was even possible. So, if we do go to their house, feel free to eat. But also feel free to say no. Because she always makes way too much food anyway.

As you know, my mom works on campus. So, expect me to stop by her office from time to time. If you ever need anything and don’t have a way of getting it, let me or her know, and we’ll make sure you get it. Also, she has connections, and she knows things. Which can sometimes come in handy.

I have shared a room for almost 15 of the 18 years I have been alive. Which means having a roommate is nothing abnormal for me. In fact, not having one is weird. When my sister moved into college last year, I couldn’t sleep well for a few days because I wasn’t used to the silence. But, I understand that you haven’t shared a room your whole life. And I understand that it takes some adjusting. So, I’ll be patient. But, don’t worry or freak about making sure whatever you are doing is okay with me. Don’t feel you need to change your behaviors to please me. I shared a room for 15 years with my sister, who is as close to my opposite as a sibling can be, and we both managed to survive- mostly. Sharing a room has made me an expert at ignoring annoying messes until they are picked up (or I fall and decide to pick them up myself). It has made me more adaptable and indifferent about things. I have learned to have opinions but to know when they matter and are important. I am better at picking and choosing which battles are worth fighting when it comes to rooms and shared space. I have also gotten pretty good at making myself scarce when my presence is neither wanted nor beneficial. So, relax and don’t worry about it.

With this being said, it does work better if you communicate. Tell me what is bothering you. What I am not good at is reading passive- aggressive behaviors or subtle hints aimed toward me. So, just tell me what the deal is. I will be a lot less angry or frustrated if you just tell me right away. Because I can’t fix a problem that I don’t know is a problem. And I think communication is the key to every relationship.

I, like you, like my sleep. But, I also do my best thinking, coping, processing, and writing, at night. And sometimes, I can’t sleep until I think, cope, process, and write. So, some nights may be restless for me. You may hear my pen scratching on paper, or my fingers tapping away, and I apologize ahead of time. If I disturb you, let me know, and I’ll process silently, in my head. Or, I’ll process silently by having a conversation with God, because that works well too.

Being my roommate may be difficult at times- as it is with any roommate. So, I’m sorry for being stupid. Or stubborn. Or whatever.  On the plus side, we have similar personalities. Which could work out great. Or it could end terribly. But, I’m betting it’ll be great.

I know there is a lot in store for us and for those around us this year. And I am happy that you will be there through it all, and I hope you’re glad I will be too. Through that class we hate. Through those late nights and early mornings. Through finals week, when all we want to do is kill each other. Through our first “roommate fight.” Because it’s going to happen- we’re girls, it’s inevitable. Through the guy drama, because guys are dumb, and so are we. Through the heartbreaks that I pray never happen- to either of us. Through the chemistry experiments and nursing simulations gone wrong. We’ll be there for the friendship drama. Or that annoying girl on our floor. Or if one of us is the annoying girl on our floor. Through the awkward social situations that the two of us semi-introverted, socially awkward, weird, nerdy girls will get in. 

You may have to deal with some of my weird obsessions. Like elephants. And chemistry. And good literature. And dissecting animals. In fact, just the other day I was trying to decide how many elephants is too many to bring with me, and if it would be reasonable for me to bring my favorite novels to college. Fortunately for you, I decided on only two or three elephants. And only one novel, besides my book on chemistry and the elements. And I chose to leave my taxidermy rat at home.

Fortunately for you, your roommate has many talents. One of which includes social media stalking. You know, in case that ever comes in handy. Another one, unfortunately for you, is getting in the way. Or having my things get in the way. At least I have a great taste in music though.

Freshman year is tough. But it’s also amazing. And I can’t think of anyone better to share it with. So, thanks, dear roommate. Thanks for agreeing to journey with me. And thanks for being your amazing, beautiful, hilarious, wonderful self. I can’t wait!

Love,

Your roommate

3 Comments

Filed under Uncategorized